FIVE.

Gobber looked up from the phone and his eyes widened in shock. Rising to his foot and prosthetic, he muttered an acknowledgment as he hung up and then knocked on General Stoick Haddock's door, letting himself in before he was ever invited. Cool grey-green eyes flicked up at the breach in protocol, asking a silent question.

"He's missing," he said as the General looked up before dismissing the adjutant sitting before him. He rose, his face locked with determination.

"When?"

"An hour ago," Gobber explained as the General grabbed his hat, coat and pistol. "That was Fishlegs. He called me because no one would put him through to you. He was injured in a shell explosion when he saved Fishlegs's life. He covered for them escaping because he wasn't mobile. Fish was persuading his CO to send out a small rescue party when he heard the shout of 'mine' and two explosions. The voice was Hiccup's. But he never came back. He's already listed as Missing In Action."

"Get the car," he ordered. "And put me through to his commanding officer. If they aren't searching for him when I arrive, I have the lot of them in front of a firing squad!"

oOo

Fishlegs was already out on No Man's Land when Stoick arrived, his CO-Captain Andarson-greeting the famous general in his stead.

"I really hadn't realised that Corporal Haddock was your son, sir," he said politely as Stoick looked down his large nose at the man, seeing a lightly-built man with pale blonde hair and thoughtful grey eyes.

"Aye, well he looks like his mother," the General muttered as Gobber emerged from the staff car. "Though how many Haddock families do you think there are in Berk?" The Captain flushed at the rebuke and then invited the General into the staff office. "I take it the search party is already out." Anderson nodded, automatically pouring his superior a small measure of mead.

"Sergeant Ingerman is leading," he reported briskly. "We saw a patrol from another stretch of trenches wander into the mine field and I believe Corporal Haddock tried to warn them. He may have got involved in the explosion."

"Aye, well the laddie could get in trouble in an empty room," Gobber muttered darkly, accepting a small mead gratefully. "But he tried to warn the misplaced patrol and he saved his own, ensuring they got back safely. That's our Hiccup." The Captain stared.

"Why wouldn't he say anything about his connection to you?" he protested. "I could have made sure he was put on safer duties..." But Stoick sipped his mead with a sad sigh.

"He joined up because he couldn't cope with being called a coward for not being here," he murmured. "He is a talented engineer who builds and develops weapons for Berk Munitions and Ordnance-you know the Mangler?" Anderson nodded. "One of Hiccup's," the General confirmed as the Captain started and opened his mouth to comment on how effective the device was-but Stoick cut him brusquely off. "He should never be here-but being judged for staying at home and using his skills instead of fighting on the Western Front was killing him, so he joined secretly...much to the dismay of his wife. And now his daughter, my grand-daughter Valerie." Andarson rubbed the bridge of his thin nose and shook his head. For the briefest of moments, the great General looked old and tired.

"The chances are very slim we will even find his remains," he said heavily. "Many vanish into the mud..." Stoick's eyes glinted wth anger.

"He's only a short way away from the trenches," the General growled. "He deserves a decent burial. And I will not stop until I have him back. He is my only child and he will rest with his ancestors in Berk."

"He's being cited for bravery above and beyond the call of duty," Andarson added in an embarrassed voice "He saved the patrol and his commanding officer out there."

"No," Stoick said sadly. "He saved his friend, as he promised he would. He stayed back to ensure they got to safety. We owe him to get him back and bring him home." Andarson opened his mouth to speak but there was a knock and Fishlegs entered. He saluted briskly and remained at attention until Stoick told him to stand 'at ease'.

"Report, sergeant," Andarson invited him and the husky former teacher sighed.

"We found the area where the patrol died," he said tonelessly. "There were some remains-but a stretcher party had already been through and taken the bodies back to another stretch of trenches. There was a rumour that a couple were alive but I cannot confirm that. There was no sign of anyone else...but we were in the right place." He lifted a muddy rifle and turned it over to display the initials carved carefully into the stock: HHHIII.

Quietly, Stoick grasped the weapon and pulled in to nestle in his hand.

"Hiccup," he murmured. "Son-I will find you. I will bring you home."

oOo

Astrid was sedated by Doctor Gothi, who had returned to Berk shortly after Snotlout was invalided out. She had been the family physician for the Haddocks for fifty years and there was real sympathy in her squinting gaze as she stroked the blonde hair off Astrid's tear-stained face. The tiny hunched female doctor was mute but understanding, seeing the blonde broken by grief and knowing there was nothing she could do to ease her pain except support her. Heather was caring for Valerie and Snotlout was pacing up and down, sitting then rising and pacing again.

"It should have been me," he said, sitting down and burying his head in his hands before he was up, pacing again. His limp had lessened, though it had never completely gone and Heather, who was sitting with Valerie playing at her feet, sighed. She and Astrid knew the truth but it was something they had sworn they would never raise.

"Snotlout-you did your part and you were rightly invalided out," she reminded him. "You had nothing left to give." The stocky man paused by the mantle, gazing at the image of Hiccup, smiling in his uniform and he shook his head.

"I should have given my life," he said with self-loathing. "Instead, Hiccup has given his. And he has a wife and a daughter who will never know him and...and I have nothing and no one. It should have been me."

"Snotlout! This was his choice, made in a town where anyone who wasn't on the Western Front was seen as a traitor and a coward," Heather told him smartly as the stocky man stilled and his blue eyes widened in shock. "You had no idea the pressure he and Fishlegs were under because they weren't fighting."

"And the people who were baying for them to go were people who will never understand what it's like," he said, slumping onto the couch and almost standing on Toothless's tail. "Sorry, Toothless," he added automatically. The dog gave a small whine and his big green eyes focussed on the distraught Snotlout. "And I'm sorry, too-because you won't understand. You'll wait for Hiccup to return for the rest of your life."

"And so will Astrid," Heather said softly. "He was her soul mate. And I cannot see her ever loving anyone else." She leaned forward and scooped Valerie into her arms, the child's pudgy hands immediately grasping the braid Heather was wearing over her left shoulder and stuffing the end in her mouth. She smiled but her voice as steady and determined. "And between us, we will make sure this little girl never suffers because her Daddy gave everything for his home and his wife and family. You and I, Fishlegs when he gets back, your parents and Fish's family and the General will wrap her in so much love and protection that she will never miss out on a thing because she doesn't have a Daddy. Astrid will never have to struggle because she will always have us. Friends forever."

Snotlout looked up and despite the fact his eyes were still filled with self-loathing, he nodded. Her plan gave him something to do, something positive he could contribute to his cousin's widow and his 'niece'.

"Friends forever," he said quietly. "Don't worry, Hicc-we'll look after your family."

oOo

It had taken all the General's strength of will and iron constitution not to heave as he carefully inspected every man who'd been collected from No Man's Land in his search for his son. But despite the wrecked state of some of the bodies, Stoick knew his son and none of these men were tall and lanky with auburn hair. Not one had the piercing emerald eyes of his late wife and son and it was an odd mixture of relief and disappointment that he turned away from the last shape, leaving the man to be shrouded and prepared for burial.

"He's not here," he said gruffly to the mortuary officer. "Is this everyone?" The man-a short round hairy inhabitant of Berk named Mulch-nodded, his manner respectful but cheerful.

"All but the survivors, of course," he added. The General stiffened and turned to look down on the little man.

"Survivors?" he breathed. Mulch nodded, walking to the ledger and running a grimy finger down the list.

"Aye-there were three men pulled alive out of that swamp," he revealed. "They were taken back to hospitals a long way behind the front lines. All were very badly injured, by all accounts..." Stoick grabbed his shoulders and stared into the light hazel eyes.

"Did you see them?" he demanded, his voice icy and Mulch gave a rueful shake of the head.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I only get to see them when hospitals are no longer of use," he reminded the General and slowly, Stoick's enormous hands relaxed, releasing the little man. "They may have more information for you, sir..." And dumbly, the General nodded, the faintest flicker of hope appearing in his eyes.

"Assuming they know who he is," he sighed. "There are many hospitals and hundreds of injured men flooding in. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack." The little man looked up into his tired face and smiled.

"Sir-I have no doubt you would go to the ends of Midgard to find your son if there was even the smallest sliver of a chance," he said. "Don't give up. Because if he is alive, he will need all the help he can get."

oOo

It seemed to Heather than Astrid was just going through the motions in life, her answers almost monosyllabic, her motions mechanical and without any grace. She had refused to eat and gotten thin but the only thing that sparked any interest in her dulled eyes and desolate face was her daughter. And she would sit for hours, rocking the child and talking quietly to her. And it was only when she was holding Hiccup's daughter that she would talk with a fraction the animation of the woman they knew.

Heather had to force her to don her best dress and jacket and pin her best hat to her hair to set out for Sunday Worship. Head held high, chin lifted, Astrid walked in holding Valerie in her arms, her azure gaze sliding with contempt over Mrs Larson and Mrs Anderson, who had called her Hiccup a coward. She grasped Valerie closer and walked past, ignoring their mouthed sympathies. Finally seeing people other than her friends, seeing their eyes full of pity was igniting a fire in her chest, of anger at the unfairness that she should have to sacrifice her beloved Hiccup for the stupid assumptions of others, that he had sacrificed himself to ensure that Heather didn't lose her husband. That he had left her alone.

The priest ran through the usual service and then they reached the part that Astrid had been dreading.

"And now, we read the names of those who have been lost in the last week, sacrificed their lives to preserve Berk and our home. Heroes who have taken their place in Valhalla. Private Geir Dagmar; Private Sven Rickardson and Corporal Hiccup H Haddock."

Mrs Rickardson let out a wail and began sobbing loudly and curiously, her distress made Astrid feel stronger. Tears coursed down her cheeks and she jogged Valerie on her knee, seeing the emerald eyes widen and a fat hand stretch out to rest on Astrid's tear-soaked cheek.

"Mama," she cooed and the young woman wrapped her into a gentle but heartfelt hug.

"Momma's here," she reassured her daughter. "Daddy's not coming home but Momma is here-and she is going to protect you and make sure you never know anything but love and never hear anything but the truth about your Daddy. And the truth was that your Daddy, Hiccup Haddock, was a hero." Her voice had risen and all other voices had stilled, every eye on the bereaved blonde as she spoke firmly and clearly to her daughter. "He was a man who created, who drew and built and imagined things that could make life better-and that skill made him precious to the war effort, because he designed weapons. His work saved thousands of our men's lives. But people here are stupid and evil and they called him a coward because he was here, doing what the government ordered him to. So when his adopted brother was killed, he defied his orders because he was so upset by all the lies and horrible horrible names the evil people here called him and he went to war. He was meant to stay but he lied to go to war, to protect his best friend. And he died, getting him away from an attack, giving his life to allow them to escape."

Her eyes were blazing now.

"So don't ever let anyone tell you anything except your Daddy was a hero, a person none of these worms here could ever hope to be. And he should be here, loving you and raising you with me. Because you are so very loved, Valerie. But I will look after you-and so will our friends. And you will be able to do whatever you want, my love. In your lifetime, you will get the chance to work, you will be able to vote, you can go to University and travel the world and become whatever you want. And I will see you have every opportunity you want because you are owed the world." She rose. "You Daddy was a hero. Is a hero. And will always be your hero-and mine."

Then she turned into the aisle and walked out past the congregation, none of whom could meet her eye. Heather and Snotlout shared a look and scrambled out after her, finding her smiling and cooing to Valerie under the warm early summer sun in the yard outside. Heather was grinning at her.

"That's the Astrid I know," she said and the blonde nodded, a small smile lifting her lips.

"At least I didn't punch anyone this time," she admitted, bouncing the little girl. "Felt like it, though."

"Me too," Heather admitted and the two shared a smile.

"What is it about you two and violence?" Snotlout protested and Astrid walked forward and hugged him.

"It's a Viking thing," she sighed and then she kissed Valerie's forehead under her little cotton cap. "And honestly, it felt so good to tell everyone off and point out that everything they assumed about Hiccup was wrong. That letter Fish sent you really helped, Heather. It let me know that, despite the fact that Hiccup is no cold-hearted killer, he did what he had to protect those he loved. And that is all I would ever have asked of him." She smiled.

"Astrid-are you...?" Heather asked and the blonde gave a genuine smile.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I am. I mean, I hate that Hiccup is gone and I am sad and I know there will be good and bad days but with you all...I can cope. because I have to. I have Hiccup's daughter here and she needs me." She smiled. "And I am a Haddock. I won't give up." Heather nodded and fell into step alongside her as they walked out onto the street.

"Nor will we," she admitted. "Now, let's go home. The joint should be cooked soon..."

oOo

Limited time and increasing demands as the final offensives pushed on restricted Stoick's search. It was very obvious very soon that no one called Hiccup Haddock had been admitted to any hospital close to or far from the front lines and there was no record of him anywhere else. Though he was listed as missing in action, his body had not been found and Stoick clung to the hope that the lack of body-despite the area where he vanished being swept-meant he was alive somewhere. Gobber's theory was that Hiccup was so injured that he hadn't given his name and so he was down as 'John Smith'. But the difficulty with that was that someone needed to visit the wards where the unknowns were being cared for in person to see if one of the poor wretches was his lost son.

So, though he was aching to find Hiccup, Stoick Haddock did his duty, involved in planning the latest offensive and ensuring that the army moved forward, driving the enemy back and edging inexorably-and finally-towards the victory that everyone had been so confident of four long years earlier. But when he could snatch the time-or when Gobber could concoct a good enough excuse-they would head out to another repurposed large house or other building that was acting as a hospital for the men suffering terrible damage, both mental and physical, as a result of the war.

It was in late August when Stoick began to lose hope, having been to so many wards where men broken in every way by conflict were lying still and catatonic or screaming and mad from the traumas they had witnessed. His enthusiasm for another trip was waning but Gobber, brash and loyal, insisted on one last attempt, to a small hospital twenty miles northwest of their location. They had driven by it twice, not realising the place was in use for wounded soldiers but this time, the General's staff car swung into the gravel drive and his powerful shape clambered out. The flaming beard was now liberally streaked with grey and more and more lines clustered around his tired eyes but his gait was powerful and he stood proud and tall as he entered the impressive house.

After a talk with the doctor and nurse in charge, they were allowed to visit the ward of 'lost' men, those who had no name and were in no state to offer one, wounded so badly in mind and body that they had lost contact with the world that had hurt them so much. And Stoick had steeled himself to walk into another long room, beds on each side inhabited by wraiths in white hospital gowns, men with vacant eyes and sunken faces who were just waiting for death to finally free them from their torment.

His leather boots squeaked as he paced slowly down the wooden floor, eyes sweeping methodically across each shape in turn until he reached the last one on the right, the only man turned away and staring at the wall. The man was so thin he was almost skeletal, his left leg terminating mid shin with a crisp bandage covering the stump. His unruly brown hair obscured his face and...

Brown? It looked more like...auburn.

Stoick walked closer, quietly pacing round the bed to glimpse the man's face. A sharp jaw, shaved by the caring nurses led up to a pallid face with a few freckles and vacant emerald eyes, staring at the wall. He was rocking, lips moving soundlessly as he murmured the same words over and over.

"I'm sorry..."

But Stoick froze, seeing the almost skeletal form of his son, wasted by illness and lost in his horrific, all-encompassing memories. His hand extended, almost touching the younger man's bare foot and then he paused.

"Son? Hiccup?"

"I'm sorry..."

Then the tiny clues coalesced. His hands were clamped around a thumbed and dog-eared picture that Stoick very gently prised from his grasp. The calm and stern face of Astrid and their newborn daughter looked back at him.

"Oh son..."

"I'm sorry..."

Quietly, Stoick gave him the picture back and his hands closed tenderly around the paper, the tension easing a fraction.

"I'm sorry, Astrid I'm sorry..."

"Is there something wrong?" a nurse asked, her calm face and starched cap reassuring. The General nodded silently. He blinked.

"This man...is my son," he said hoarsely. "Corporal Hiccup Haddock. I need to take him home..." The nurse sighed.

"He was found almost dead, buried among dead bodies and almost drowned in the mud of No Man's Land," she admitted. "He developed gangrene in his leg and it had to be amputated. But he hasn't spoken...except to the photograph. Is 'Astrid' his wife?" Stoick nodded. "No offence, General-but he isn't well enough to go home. He will need to be transferred to a sanatorium to be cared for and gradually nursed back to health." Stoick stared at his son.

"I will see to it," he promised and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss on the top of his son's head. "It's over, son. You're coming home."

oOo

On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month in the year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and eighteen, the guns fell silent.

The Great War was over.

oOo