Stoick thrashed around in his bed, sweat beading his forehead. The nightmare he hadn't had in years had come back to haunt him again.

He was running through Berk. Houses were going up in flames everywhere he looked as savage Outcasts raced, whooping, through the streets. 

Screams of women and viking war cries split the smoky night. Even the dragons knew to stay away. Outcast warriors surrounded houses, forcing their way inside to claim whatever took their fancy. 

Thrusting forward desperately, Stoick heard a scream that stopped his heart. It was Ria. She was alone, he had left her to fight. And now she was defneseless. 

Angry tears now burning his eyes, he threw himself forward. His house loomed out of the smoke, and he could just make out the dark forms of Outcasts hurling themselves inside. And then he heard Ria.

"Get away! Get out of my house!... No! Get away from Hiccup!" His panic reaching an even higher peak, Stoick burst into the house. Ria was pinned against the wall by an enormous brutish viking. Hiccup sat huddled against the wall, his green eyes huge and terrified. 

The viking intruders ripped apart cupboards and yanked open chests, looking for valuables. Ria saw him standing in the door, and shook her head violently, brown eyes wide. 

He paid no attention, but charged into the room, knocking away the viking that held his wife. Snarling, the two fighters dove at each other. Stoick sank his fist deep into the intrider's gut, but the man responded with a furious smack in the side of his head. 

Dazed, Stoick staggered backward, slipping to the floor. His opponent drew a long cruel knife and advenced. Slowly, Stoick saw him raise the glinting dagger. 

As it started to fall, a body fell across him, shielding him from the knife point. 

The dagger sank into Ria's chest. She gave a little strangled groan, then fell limp against him.

"No!" he yelled, sitting bolt upright in bed. Adrenaline and fear pumping through him, he saw a strange person in his room. An Outcast. 

Lurching forward with a bellow of rage, Stoick pinned the intruder to the wall by the throat. As he spluttered and gasped for breath, Stoick's screen of panic subsided. It was Rylan, choking and coughing for breath now, his blue eyes wide and scared. They looked just like Hiccup's eyes had on that horrible night. 

Stepping back, horrified, Stoick released Rylan, who crumpled ot the floor. 

Breathing quickly and shallowly, Stoick turned him roughly over.

"Rylan! Rylan! Answer me boy!" he said gruffly. Rylan shuddered, trying to breathe.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Stoick muttered, trying to see if he was conscious. Rylan's eyes fluttered, and he gasped in a breath of air. His blue eyes were wide and still glazed with fear. Taking deep gulps of oxygen, he croaked,

"I... I'm sorry," he gave a small choking cough, "I woke... you."

Stoick hung his head in shame. He had just endangered Rylan's life. How could the boy ever forgive him? How could HE ever forgive himself?

But the memory of Ria wouldn't leave him alone. She had sacrificed her life for him and for Hiccup. She could have run on her own, could have stayed out of the fight. 

Stoick put his hands over his face and moaned, slumping back against his bed. Rylan lay on the floor, rubbing his throat and staring in wonder at the viking chief. To the vilage he presented a calm, level headed leader. But now here he was, shaking with remorse for Ria's death and his attack on Rylan. 

Tentatively, Rylan got up and walked over to Stoick. Hesitantly, he put his hand on the chief's trembling shoulder. Sliding down on the floor next to him, Rylan stared at his hands and muttered,

"I get it. I know what you're going through." Glancing sadly at Stoick, Rylan said, "You lost someone, didn't you?" 

Stoick raised his head in amazement, eyes stil moist. They were full of confusion and wonder. 

"How.. how did you know?" he croaked, trying to get himself under control. Smiling a smile that didn't reach his eyes, Rylan replied,

"Because I've been through it too." 

"Who-"

"My mother," Rylan said shortly, not allowing him to finish the question. 

"She... well, my dad was drunk. He came home one night, really unstable. Something set him off and..." he trailed off, voice becoming brittle. 

"I was 12 then, but I still dream about it sometimes."

A silence fell. The Outcast and the chief sat together in a small dark room. But somehow, the silence was comforting. Stoick took a deep breath and said,

"I'm... I'm sorry that, you know, I haven't trusted you. I just... don't have a good background with Outcasts." 

Rylan shook his head in understanding. "I get it. Why do you think I wanted to leave? I never felt safety or kindness there! Berk is the only place that's treated me right so far. And... thanks for, well, letting me stay. You don't know how much it means to have the benefit of the doubt."

He felt a little strange putting his feelings into the open like this. He was generally pretty closed off, hard to get to. But somehow, Stoick needed to know that he wasn't the only one who went through this.

Grunting, Stoick heaved himself off the floor, and yanked Rylan up too. He seemed to be struggling with something. Finally, Stoick the Vast said,

"I think you've earned the right to fly on your own. Of course," he added, not wanting to sound too soft, "it doesn't mean I fully believe you, but you've got your chance."

Rylan blinked. He hadn't expected this, but was thrilled to hear it. 

"I.. Seriously? I'm allowed to go out on my own?!" 

Stoick gave a little nod, a shadow of a smile, and left the room.