47. A past that cannot be changed

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Stoick and Syn walked past the numerous rows of buildings and dragon-friendly contraptions that littered the village of Selardalr at an even pace. The Berk chief could only guess how long their little reunion with Hiccup could have lasted based on how the black sky was beginning to lighten. Combined with the warming light of the lit torches that stood above, it seemed almost as bright as morning. Daylight had always had a calming effect on Stoick for the fact that it meant his people were safe from any raids – dragons mostly raided during the night for whatever reason.

And yet here, it was the complete opposite; dragons of all kinds were visible, perched vigilantly on the rocky cliffside, in cozy little hay-filled pens for pets, on the rims of the roofs in the case of the smaller species, and everywhere in between. They sat contently on this island like festering pimples on a face, befouling the village with their stench of promised ruin. These people were obviously sick in the head to be content with such dangerous monsters sitting about free, and several of which were beginning to wake at this very moment, most likely from the shouting that had gone on over at Hiccup's 'home.;' Stoick had been more worried now than ever that his companions had been left behind at the house while he was taken ahead to have a chat with the girl.

All the while, the girl, Hiccup's wife as was claimed, just walked on, adding to the tension by simply keeping silent as she led him to some unknown destination. Never once did she look back, she just kept moving with her hands together, at times rubbing her enlarged pregnant belly carrying her and... Hiccup's...

Hiccup's baby.

Stoick never thought he'd see the day that a girl would even look at his scrawny son, much less show an interest in her. Looking at the young woman in front of him, a weak looking thing, he couldn't deny that he was a bit saddened that this was the best Hiccup could do. Next to the Hofferson girl's shining steel, this girl seemed like some rusted mallet at the bottom of the junk pile. Hiccup would have to pick someone just as un-Viking as he was, Stoick thought with a dulled look.

But if Stoick had learned anything from the shock of learning how his son had turned around and become a legendary savior behind his back, it was not to underestimate anyone. Even if he still had trouble believing that. And given how the woman could clearly raise her voice and state opinions clearly in front of him, he certainly wasn't going to make that mistake with her.

"Well?" The girl finally spoke up, still with her back turned.

"Well, what?"

"I'd at least like to hear what you think of our little village." This time she turned, and there was no trace of anger or annoyance. In fact there was no hint of any emotion – if Stoick had to guess, the girl was apparently trying to keep her personal opinions reserved for the moment.

"I came here to take my son back." Stoick scoffed crossing his arms. The glare he gave locking eyes with her was burning with revulsion. "I have no interest in a tour of your little town of idiots."

"I guess that makes your son the chief idiot. He is responsible for creating all this, remember?" Syn asked snidely with a raised eyebrow.

Stoick gave an audible growl while intensifying his glare, only for the girl to turn and continue walking again. He had to admit, way deep down, he would be proud beyond words if even half the stories were true about Hiccup's accomplishments. That is, if those stories could have gone more along the lines of Hiccup wiping all dragons out. "My son's no dragon-lover; he may be incompetent and scrawny but he knows better than to go around with blasphemous ideas in his head such as peace with dragons." He muttered pointing a meaty finger towards her.

"Well, at least there's that..." Syn muttered crossing her arms.

"Watch your tongue, girl. You will speak to me in the proper tone." Stoick said in a voice seething with a clear threat.

"You're trespassing on our island and tried attempting to kidnap our chief, not to mention the fact that you threatened residents here, namely yours truly. I think I am using the proper tone for you." Syn said while shooting a defiant glare right back. This imbecile before her was foolish to think his title of chief extended as far as to allow him to set foot anywhere and take whatever he wanted.

"We are not trespassing!"

"Really? Where is your ship again?" Syn looked around in a show of mockery.

By now they had reached the docks of the island. Like everywhere else they seemed to sport strange and stupid-looking machines that could only be his son's contribution. Painted shields that looked like target marks attached to mysterious mechanisms that served whatever unknown ridiculous purpose Hiccup had made for them. The only semblance to a normal Viking village was the number of fishing vessels tied to the posts, with the occasional maintained but unused war vessel nearby. Any brainless fool with one good working eye could see that Syn had raised a point in that a Berkian crest was nowhere to be found on any of the ships' sails or bodies. Stoick might have felt a hint of embarrassment, but his proud nature allowed him to quickly shrug it off.

"Argh, forget that, I'm tryin' to tell it to you like it is! You think you have peace, that there can be peace with those beasts!? They're nothing but vermin that need to be exterminated!" Stoick shouted. 

Syn finally turned around in full so Stoick could clearly see the redness in her eyes and the slightly visible veins on her forehead. By now she must have had a migraine the size of a yak, judging from how she gripped her head and massaged her temple. "Oookay, let me see if I got this... dragons will never be anything other than enemies, and if we kill them all, we'll be happy?"

"Exactly." Stoick snorted as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Nodding to the village he continued. "Just look around, how can those monsters be beneficial to any way of life?"

"So to dream of a life filled with anything other than war and conflict would be idiotic?" Syn asked.

"Yer smarter than I thought, girl, for a backwards heathen thief." Stoick said with a smug smile; Syn had to wonder if the baby might have been affected by how her stomach was boiling at the sight of it. "Unfortunately you were still stupid enough to try and bewitch Hiccup. But I'll take him home, and we'll relieve him of these sick thoughts you've shoved in his head. Now if you don't mind, kindly hand him over and we'll leave you... people be."

A sigh laced with frustration and exhaustion came from Syn as she turned back over to the ocean, something she found she did a lot when she became lost in thoughts. "You know, I can't count how many times people have told me stuff like that – that I'm an idiot for dreaming the impossible. They say it's not gonna happen, to stop kidding myself, to wake up to reality..." At that point she became lost in blissful nostalgia, going back to a time she remembered fondly and hearing a voice so warm and familiar to her. A face much like hers, so gentle, if not frail, and radiating with a mature beauty she always admired even long after the day it vanished forever. The words echoed in her head and before she knew it, came bursting from her mouth in a quiet whisper.

"But who are they to say it's impossible?"

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Flashback~

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Syn looked back to years ago when she was just a child sitting in the room of her beloved mother, who was currently resting in bed. Her mother, Imelda, was a kind and wise woman who had come to Selardalr long ago in search of a new life, after her home had been destroyed during a raid by pirates. The people of Selardalr, the healers in particular, had treated her so kindly when she arrived in her single tattered boat as one of the handful of survivors, despite her not being one of their own. They gave the woman her own room in the huts, whatever nourishment they could spare from after raids, and plenty of time to recover from her ordeal – never was there a day that she did not feel grateful for their generosity. Battling through her grief took some time, but eventually Imelda was able to turn away from her tragic past and begin anew once she and Harold, recently appointed chief of Selardalr, fell in love and wed.

Sometime after, Imelda gave birth to Syn, and the whole of Selardalr could not have been happier; the infant Syn had taken almost completely after her mother in terms of appearance. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she would grow to become a beautiful young woman, and a fine bride for any Viking suitor. That happiness was short lived, as Imelda suddenly fell ill and was confined to her bed daily to rest following Syn's fourth winter. Imelda had always been very beautiful, and that hardly changed even as the days passed and she continued to grow sickly, her skin becoming pale and her flowing red hair turned unkempt.

Syn chose to remain by her mother's bedside not long after her illness had first appeared, preferring to talk with her mother about certain things. Truthfully it was around this time she had been falling out of sorts with her father, simply running low on things to be talking about. Harold was simply a strict man who like any chief had to devote a large percentage of his time to his people. The truth was, actually, that his business had caused him to spend weeks at a time away from Imelda, which began to upset the young girl. The pair of mother and daughter always had things to talk about, and were always happy to talk about them and leave the woes of the world put aside for a time. And Imelda always knew how to console her daughter whenever she had a problem.

And Syn remembered that one day when she had quite a problem on her mind. She sat in that chair by the bed looking down at a painting she had just made. However sloppily done, it clearly depicted a field of beautiful flowers, in a variety of colors. It was set right next to their house, with her and her whole family with big smiles right in front of it. The picture was meant to be happy and cheerful, yet Syn could only stare at it with a forlorn frown on her face.

"That's a beautiful picture, honey..." She heard her mother say while leaning over the edge of the bed to see. Her voice was so soft, almost raspy without the gritted quality – like a quickly dying breeze, Syn recalled in that moment. "Just look at all those pretty flowers..."

Imelda had only a second longer to stare at the picture before Syn crumpled it into a ball and tossed it angrily away to the floor. The little girl pouted in curled up on her small chair leaving Imelda to stare between her and the abandoned picture. "Syn, sweetie, why did you do that?"

"It was stupid..." She muttered.

"But it was such a beautiful painting. Why on Midgard would you think it was stupid?" Imelda asked.

"Because... Raoul..."

"Oh, sweet Odin, I should have known. That child ought to have his mouth rinsed out for all the things that come out of it." Imelda muttered testily with a shake of her head. Her daughter and Raoul had never had one single moment where they had gotten along. Every day one parent from both of their households had to give apologies for the bitter arguments between them. The boy, she had seen, had a nasty temperament and a habit of picking fights with all sorts of children ever since he was born. She couldn't say she was happy, even if all the warriors were, what with how 'Viking' it seemed to be. "Well, what did he say?"

"Well, it was a dream I had... I wanted to plant a big field of flowers somewhere near the house. But Raoul said it was too cold to plant flowers..." Syn muttered sadly. "He said I was a dummy, and to quit it with all my stupid dream stuff. Hmph, he's the dummy."

"Darn right he is! You don't listen to a thing he says, dear." Imelda said in the firmest tone of voice she could mutter.

"You... think I could...?" Syn asked, finally turning to her mother with eyes full of unshed tears nearly dried. "I could have a field of flowers near the house?"

"Why not? It seems you still think so, if you're puttin' up all this attitude about it. And just as well you should. Where would this world be without dreamers, honestly?" Imelda lightly chuckled. She reached out her hand to slowly stroke Syn's short hair with her hand and sooth her distress. Syn remembered the feeling of her mother's delicate hands on her head, and how it always helped calm her down when she was stressed or upset.

"But even dad says it's pointless... the dragons are just gonna burn them during the raids..." Syn turned away to stare back at the picture, almost forgotten on the floor.

"Then plant them and care for them again – just for the sake of wanting those pretty flowers near the house. The flowers may wilt, or be burnt or crushed, but the dream will still endure." Syn turned back to her mother, who was giving her a smile that shone like the dawn. It made Syn happy to know that even sickness could not hinder her mother's gentle soul, and that moments like these could still occur between them every day. "Every great change and every new day begins with dreams... even if people forget that in their day to day lives. They may even speak otherwise, that all of the millions of dreams like yours have no meaning... but who are they to say it's impossible?"

Before Syn knew it, those moments drew to a close.

Months after that day, and Imelda's condition had only worsened. She would cough more, deep fevers would come every other day, and her body had been drastically weakened to the point where she could no longer even sit in bed. Even the most skilled healers on Selardalr with all their remedies and herbs, could do nothing for her. The head healer had finally decided at one point that it was just best to let nature take its course.

Syn was heartbroken, to the point that she spent every waking moment right by her mother's side in the house. Imelda spent most of the time sleeping  because of how much exhausted she was, and Syn would just watch and hope she would awaken again. A clearly distraught Harold had always told her not to be too hopeful, that she could peacefully pass at any moment. Just days ago, the healers said that would be a likely case, and Imelda would likely die any day now. But Syn didn't want to listen to any of them – none of them cared, and no one could possibly understand. A child of nearly five winters being forced to loss her mother – in all rights, they most probably couldn't.

Her final night was a familiar one to her, with a dragon raid occurring in the background. Syn was told mere weeks ago of her mother's past and how her home was brutally taken away from her. Were the Gods so cruel as to make her final night a similar tragedy? It was perhaps in that, along with her daughter's anguish, that she had obtained the needed strength to awaken, only to see her daughter's face stained with tears.

"Mom, I'm sorry..." Syn cried shakily. "I couldn't get the flowers to grow in time. I wanted you to see them... before..."

"It's all right, dear..." Imelda voice was only above a whisper, Syn having to lean in close just to hear her. "You believed in your dream, and you worked to make it come true... that was more than enough."

"But it didn't come true... mom, I planted those flowers for you! I thought... the legend..."

Syn had heard of a special legend passed down among the people of her mother's tribe, special to them even if it was not well known among other tribes. The legend stated that if she could plant a field filled with over one hundred flowers, then the Goddess Freyja would smile upon her and grant her a wish. This would come in the form of a hundred and first flower that would come into bloom and a mysterious gale that would carry away the petals of the flowers to her field of Fólkvangr. Syn had decided that she would use her wish to cure her mother of her illness and keep her alive. However, she had too little time and given the harsh environment of the archipelago, even the first few buds would quickly wilt away. Now with her mother slowly fading, she began to question if there had been a point to it at all.

"Oh, sweetie... you know, what's a legend but another kind of dream? They might be, they might not be... but people believe, nonetheless. Believing in the impossible... perhaps foolish, but for the hope it gives, it's every bit worth it." Imelda reached out with a pale, bony arm that more or less resembled a wilted flower in itself. Syn nearly snatched her mother's hand and interlocked her fingers with her mothers, spindly ones, giving whatever vital warmth she could.

"Believe in dreams... fight for them... until they become reality... and that inspires you to dream once more... That is how to truly live life." She muttered.

Syn looked away for only a moment to the battle raging outside, the village bathed in flames, and the bitter clashes of dragons and Vikings as they fought with claw and sword. "Mom... I have... a dream..."

"Good, now promise... me... promise... yourself... believe... believe..." She whispered, breathing heavily, her lidded eyes slowly closing.

"Until... dreams... are no longer... just... dreams..."

Her eyes closed, her hand fell limp, and she breathed her last.

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Flashback ends~

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Imelda had received a lovely grave, surrounded with over one hundred flowers made of metal made by Asmund with her, Juliane and Leif's assistance. It seemed a bit stale, but given how little a chance real flowers had against the biting cold, it was the best they could do. It was a fitting tribute, in the end, the metal always looking beautiful when the sun came out, even as they soon rusted and corroded away with time.

She had always regretted that she had never been able to tell her mother her dream before she passed, her dreams regarding humans and dragons. On top of all her sorrows over the loss of her mother, and how distant she had become from her father, she wondered sometimes how she ever got through it. But one thing she did take to heart if only to ease her guilty heart was how she always remembered her mother's words over the importance of her dreams. Syn had grown up becoming more adamant about her dreams and beliefs, and as anyone on Selardalr knew, gave people – especially Raoul – all kinds of hell should they ever try to bring her down. She was grateful to Hiccup and Toothless for making that unspoken dream a reality, and she had hoped that her mother, watching from wherever she was, could be happy that a dream of hers had become real.

"A utopia for humans and dragons – that was my dream. But who'd have thunk that somewhere out there, someone else was dreaming it too? What can you say about a dream that more than one person believes in? And for someone to nearly give his life for that dream?" She turned from the horizon to face the exasperated Stoick, crossing his arms in annoyance. "Maybe it's not as idiotic as you think."

"If you believe that, then you're ten times the idiot I thought you were, girl." Stoick said condescendingly.

That was all Syn could take. Before Stoick could even react, she marched with blazing speed and answered Stoick's quip with a powerful slap to the face. The sudden force behind it was enough to send the Hooligan chief reeling.

"And you're a hundred times the daft bastard I thought you were!" She screamed.

Syn's eyes burned through to his skull with a hatred he had only recognized in the most terrifying of his enemies. The striking hand still extended, her other fist clenched at her sides, her face dyed a raging crimson red. "I have dealt with idiots like you ever stinking day of my life, but you are by far the most cruel, most idiotic, most hateful person I have ever met! And I barely even know you!"

"N-Now, hold on, let's not turn this into some pointless argument." Stoick said, still recovering from the blow in part. Despite his own outrage, he could still see how rude he was being. But it wasn't as though he considered anyone here truly enemies in any way other than their choice of lifestyle. At most, this girl was nothing more than a neutral party that would get in his way of bringing Hiccup back to Berk.

"Pointless? I'd think I was raising a legitimate point in how poorly you treat your own son and ignore everything he says and how you don't even seem to care!" She shouted. Her voice was now beginning to attract the attention of people just coming out of their homes to investigate the commotion. Syn, at the moment, could hardly care how tired and cranky they all looked, she wouldn't finish until she gave this oaf in front of her a piece of her mind. "He bled, sweat, and cried to make you proud, and you repaid that by making him feel he was unsafe in his own home, to the point where you drove him away! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Look, your sentiment for my son in trying ta make me feel like a monster is appreciated, however fake it might be. But I assure you, I can work out Hiccup's problems with me myself."

"So you admit it. You are a monster!" Syn said placing her hands to her hips. "Heh, you're willing to consider this as more than just some teenage angst. Congratulations, you must feel like father of the year!"

"That is not what I meant, you little brat." Stoick pointed.

"Then what is it? What is it that you mean, what is it that you want? That's the question on everybody's mind, what is it gonna take for you to acknowledge that your son is worth something? What does he have to do for you to at least treat him like a human being?" Syn screamed.

"Shut up!" Stoick screamed back loud enough for all of Selardalr to hear. "You don't know anything, you impudent little child! Not about me, or the relationship with my son! You couldn't understand-"

"What I understand... is that you think some self-induced guilt trip and one to two words of apology is going to get you out of this 14 year-long crusade of destroying your son's trust in you! Do you honestly believe that it's possible for you to get out of this with both your son and your precious pride intact?" She chuckled.

"I just wanted Hiccup to succeed!"

"Really? Please tell me, is this coming from the mighty chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe or Hiccup's role model father? Cause from where I'm standing, I can't really see the difference!" The girl started pacing back and forth along the wooden path of the docks. "All I'm hearing is the ignorant brute, the short tempered moron, the fat son of a half-troll who'd care more to sail off to his death on endless hunts than spend a minute with his awkward child! Would it really hurt that much to at least pretended you care?"

"Now wait just one-"

"Hiccup can't help the way he was born, he can't help that he's small and skinny, but he still has so much to offer regardless, and you're too... too Viking-ly to see that!"

"Okay!" Stoick finally managed to spit out. "So, I'm not the perfect parent! Who is!?"

"Newsflash, mighty Stoick the Vast, Oh-Hear-His-Name-And-Tremble! Nobody's the perfect parent, certainly not my father. But he at least tried to make an effort in loving and raising his child. Now what do you think that says about you!?"

"you think that says about you!?"

Syn suddenly let out a small scream upon feeling a small shot of pain and clutched her stomach. Her increased agitation must have been working up the baby, enough to, literally put, get a kick out of it. Bracing herself, she grabbed the thick, rough rope hanging from the pole and leaned against the word to brace herself. Stoick gave a look of mixed shock and confusion, but otherwise stayed in place. She gave herself a few moments to breathe in and collect herself while she pressed tightly against her belly to settle her child's nerves. When she finally recovered, she braced her hand against the pole and with a final deep breath, she resumed in a tone that, as opposed to her previous fiery screams, was unnervingly cold:

"I cannot even count how many of Hiccup's ideas, the same ideas you and your people called ridiculous, have turned out to be beneficial to Selardalr. But let me give you a little look at it from his point of view. Do you know how many times he had hoped, when he was younger, that one day you would see what he had accomplished and he'd finally hear the words he had broken himself to get out of you? Or on the other hand, how many times he screamed in agony when visualizing the fear of losing his best friend and eternal damnation at your hand? Every day he would see this beautiful paradise and could only feel torn over whether or not you'd approve!"

Having recovered more of her strength enough to finally stand upright again, she stomped towards Stoick in a cold manner that made him shrink. "Look, I get it, the word 'sweet' isn't exactly in any Viking's mental dictionary and emotions are more or less a losing battle for you. But understand, if not by my feelings, then Hiccup's, that what you have done to him, the child who has always trusted you, admired you, emulated you, is nothing short of unforgivable."

"But I," Stoick wanted to scream, though he couldn't think of anything to complete the sentence. All of a sudden he just felt smaller and smaller with all the girl was saying to him.

"From the moment Hiccup came into this world, you've been crushing his spirit, his hopes, and his innocence. You and your precious little tribe of warriors, all of you just went and turned your backs on him because of a little thing like appearance. And now, twenty-three years later, you come around expecting him to clean up your messes. And you're surprised to find that he refuses and prefers to stay here where people give him the respect he deserves because he's made such a huge positive difference?"

Her voice had returned to its screams of pure anger, rivaled only by the anger in his own son's voice. And now, here, in the eyes of a stranger, Stoick could truly feel the torturous heat of all that hatred, all the anger and shame, burning his entire form black. Even being reduced to ashes by the flames of every dragon he had ever killed in his life seemed to be unable to compare.

"Seems to me you didn't need that jerk Snotlout to ruin everything – you did that all on your own! Now do us all a favor and STOP TRYING TO BLAME EVERYONE ELSE!"

With that, Syn left as quickly as she'd come, tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving Stoick standing there, in utter shock. Left completely frozen in the wake of that anger shared by not only Hiccup and his family, but perhaps all those here who had come to respect his son as their rightful chief. Stoick knew he had made mistakes in his life – he was man enough to admit that. But having them all shoved in his face right in that very moment made each and every form of rejection he had ever given to Hiccup ten times worse than it actually was.

For the first time in his life, Stoick had to question who did deserve the title of 'devil.'

What has he done?

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~~TO BE CONTINUED~~