Hey, guys!

So, um, about that Song Contest, when I said "whichever song has the most votes by the next update wins", I think what I meant to say was "whichever song has the most votes by the time the chapter that needs it is uploaded". The reason I say this is because right now, they're tied at one vote. So, I'll give it some more time, and feel free to ask me what the songs are if you want to know.

***

The next month passed by in a blur. Hiccup dove wholeheartedly into Alf's research, memorizing as much as he could. When he wasn't studying, he was modifying Toothless' prosthetic tail fin, seeing as how the dragon was still unable to fly without Hiccup hanging on to his tail for dear life. But three weeks and six prototypes later, he still wasn't any closer to achieving his goal. Frustrated, he went back to Alf's notes, comparing his methods with Gobber's, drawing on every ounce of knowledge the blacksmith had given him in four years. What was he missing?

He sat down at the table after dinner one night, flipping through Alf's notebook, his mind blank and fuzzy, when a page he hadn't seen before caught his eye. Curious, he opened the book back up and gasped. What he saw was unbelievable.

Alf had written a note on one side of the page, and on the other was a drawing of a hovering Gronckle. Perched carefully on the dragon's back . . . was a man. He sat just in front of the wings, his legs hanging down on either side. Floored, Hiccup poured every bit of his awareness into the note accompanying the drawing.

Today, I did something strange. I can't decide if I never want to do it again, or if I never want to stop. I rode a dragon. It wasn't one of my more graceful moments, and I'm sure my scaled volunteer felt the same way. Being that far off the ground was absolutely terrifying . . . and yet exhilarating at the same time. I felt as though I was invincible. What shall I do with my time now that I have discovered this thing called flight?

Hopefully, do it again, if there is anyone willing!

Something nudged Hiccup's arm, but he was too engrossed in the drawing to notice, his mind rapidly putting the pieces of the puzzle together. It could work, but he'd have to—

"Aah!" Hiccup screamed, falling out of the chair in response to a dragon's loud exclamation. Surprised, Hiccup stared at Toothless' annoyed face as he came around the chair. The Night Fury hummed and lay down by the empty fireplace, waiting for an explanation.

"Sorry. I wasn't paying attention," Hiccup said, picking himself off the floor, his heart rate returning to normal. He grabbed the book from the table and showed it to the dragon. "What do you think about this?"

Toothless cocked his head and considered the picture. What are you asking?

"I think I've been going on about this wrong. I can't figure out a way to make you able to control the prosthetic yourself, but maybe you don't have to."

Meaning?

"May I sit on your back?" Hiccup asked politely, and the dragon obliged, shifting into place. Hiccup placed his feet on either side like he'd seen in the drawing and gently eased himself down in front of Toothless's shoulders. He looked back at where the still-useless prosthetic hung limp from the tail. If I were to wire the fake fin and somehow control it from here, then maybe you might actually get to fly longer than a chicken. A saddle might help, if you're up for it.

Toothless snorted derisively. Do what you must, but I'm not wearing a saddle unless it's absolutely necessary.

As you wish, Hiccup replied, heading to the smithy. Maybe I can use rope instead.

How? Toothless got up and followed him; he couldn't help but be a little concerned about the coil of rope the boy had in his arms.

"I'll just tie it to the prosthetic, sit on your back, and then pull it in different ways, depending on where you want to go."

Not now, you won't, Toothless answered, making Hiccup pause uncertainly. Had he done something wrong?

It's almost midnight, the dragon informed him. Get some sleep. We'll try again in the morning.

Nodding, Hiccup bade Toothless goodnight, then went upstairs and crawled into bed, falling asleep within seconds.

***

Gobber was finding it harder and harder to do his work these days. He was so used to Hiccup shadowing him that every time he remembered, pain stabbed him in the chest. The grief over not just his best friend's death, but that of a boy who might as well have been Gobber's own son was so overwhelming that sometimes he just had to stop mid-order and let the tears slide silently down his face. Most nights, he cried himself to sleep.

After Magnus got back after his fishing trip, no one had said anything. They all thought Hiccup was still grounded. But when the week passed and there was still no sign of him, Magnus finally let the cat out of the bag. He told them how he'd decided to take Hiccup with him on the trip and there had been a storm. In the midst of the chaos, Hiccup fell overboard and never resurfaced.

Gobber felt as though all the air had been kicked out of his lungs. It was like something inside him shut down. After the announcement of Hiccup's death, he found himself unable to speak. It didn't really bother him, mostly because there was nothing he wanted to say. He knew it was Magnus' fault that Hiccup was dead; it was no secret that the jailer had had a particularly strong loathing for the heir right from the start. But there was no way to accuse Magnus of something and still live to tell the tale.

Slowly finishing up another order, Gobber glanced in his back room to a long box that held Stoick's sword. After all these years, Gobber still made sure that it stayed clean and sharp, proudly awaiting its owner's return. Where are you? Gobber pleaded silently to the person he hoped with all his might was still alive. Why won't you come back? Can't you feel that something terrible has happened? We need you!

Spitelout approached the smithy quietly, aware of the heartache inside. "Gobber," he said gently, laying a hand on the blacksmith's shoulder, "Gothi wants you."

Gobber nodded and held up one finger, indicating that he'd be along in a minute. Satisfied, Spitelout left the room while Gobber completed his current task: polishing one of Magnus' belt buckles. With Hiccup out of the picture, the jailer had taken the opportunity to be even meaner to the villagers, treating them all like slaves and brutally punishing anyone who stood up to him. Whoever wasn't in prison was constantly busy upgrading the training ring or expanding Magnus' house. Several people had already been injured, and most families with older kids hid their children in the woods to keep them away from Magnus's cruel hands. Better that they live off the wilderness than in the village where Magnus could reach.

As the sun began to set, Gobber trudged up the mountain slope to Gothi's hut and knocked on her door. After a few moments of waiting, the old woman let him in, inviting him to sit by the hearth. He did so quietly, waiting patiently for the seer to approach. She offered him one of her concoctions and he took it, the look in his eyes that of a broken spirit. His depression had gotten to the point where he needed help going to sleep at night, and since he had no inkling of an idea about medicine, he made nightly trips up the mountain for her assistance.

After finishing the medicine, Gobber felt a tap on his shoulder. Gothi gestured to the ground with her staff, where she had written, Do you want to talk?

Closing his eyes, Gobber turned his head away. Gothi patted his hand sympathetically, as if to say, It's going to be okay.

Gobber nodded in agreement, though he didn't believe her. How could anything be okay with Magnus in charge and Stoick and Hiccup gone?

He showed himself out and walked back to his house. On the way, however, Magnus ran into him. "It's late, Gobber," the jailer said. "You always cut curfew this close?"

Curfew doesn't start until sundown, Gobber thought. He met Magnus' chilling gaze, looked up at the mountain, then back to Magnus. For a moment, the jailer's face remained hard, but then it smoothed with understanding. "Ah, I see. Coming down with something, are you?"

That wasn't the reason, or maybe it was. Either way, Gobber just nodded.

"Well, I hope you get over it quickly, because tomorrow's going to be a very busy day for you," Magnus replied. "The roof of the training ring is getting old and rusty. It needs to be replaced. I want it done tomorrow before curfew. Fail to follow through, and you'll be joining Mr. Hofferson in prison. Are we clear?"

Gobber nodded, not understanding why not completing an everyday task was worth an arrest. But this was Magnus, and with him, nothing made sense.

"Good night, Gobber," Magnus finished, walking away. But when he got no response, he stopped. "I said, good night, Gobber."

Gobber opened his mouth, part of him wanting to answer the man, another part wanting to strangle him, and another part wishing to simply duck inside his house and hide for a while. But, try as he might, nothing came out. He shut his mouth, accepting defeat.

Magnus' eyes narrowed angrily. "So that's how it's going to be, eh? No respect for your chieftain? Well, there are ways of fixing that. A week in a cell ought to straighten you out."

Quicker than Gobber realized, his hands were cuffed behind him and he was being roughly led to prison. Once there, Magnus tossed him in an empty cell, took off the manacles, and locked the door.

Sighing, Gobber sat down on the straw mattress in the corner, resigned.

"Gobber?" The blacksmith lifted his head at the sound of his name. He moved toward the voice and Thord Hofferson's pale face slid into view. "What on earth are you doing down here?"

With a pang, Gobber realized that Thord had been arrested before Hiccup was announced dead, and so would not understand why Gobber's voice box refused to work. "I didn't—" Gobber coughed as Thord's face grew alarmed "—I didn't speak to Magnus when he wanted me to." His voice was so rocky and torn up that he wasn't sure if Thord understood what he was saying.

"How long do you have?" Thord asked.

"A week," Gobber croaked out.

"What's he going to do with Hiccup? Sorry about all the questions, but—Gobber, what's the matter?!" Thord reached a consoling hand through the bars, worried and confused, because Gobber had broken down, sobbing. Slowly, through a lot of gentle coaxing from Thord and tears from Gobber, Hiccup's fate came out. Thord looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"That's why you couldn't answer Magnus," he guessed, to which Gobber nodded sadly.

Thord sat back, shocked by what he'd heard. The fact that they'd now lost not only their chief, but their true heir as well, was too much for him to process. "It—it'll be alright," he murmured, not sure what else to say.

But Gobber didn't answer. The way things were going, nothing would ever be alright as long as Magnus lived and breathed. And with most of the tribe either in prison or hiding in the woods, assassination was not an option.

Berk was doomed.

***

QOTC:

Would you guys like me to start naming my chapters?