People would talk about the miracle that took place on Berk for the rest of Viking Time. It was the talk of the village, for quite a while, and Hiccup was happy when all the commotion dies down to the point where he could step out of his own hut and not be swarmed by a number of Viking, all asking him absurd questions in rapid succession. Asking what it felt like to have dies, whatValhallawas like, if he'd met Odin or reunited with his mother…

But no one asked about Hiccup's new power. Plainly put, no one knew about it. Mathalda hadn't told anybody else before she left and Hiccup, small and largely unimportant, did not want to bring any more attention to himself. Over the years, Hiccup had perfected the art of fading into the background. It wasn't hard – at least not to Hiccup. You see, he really was a small and largely unimportant boy. He had an almost entirely unmemorable face, a very slight frame for a Viking, and he was very, very ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that one might not believe that Hiccup is the hero of this story. He wasn't at all what one would expect a hero to look like. Even his hair, which was a mousey brown and fell in lank curtains to frame his face, was unheroic, which he noted as he pushed it unceremoniously from his eyes as he ran.

The village was under siege – one massive Dragon on a wild, furied rampage.

The boy ducked, bringing his helmate down to shield his eyes as the building behind him collapsed in on itself. There was a horrible roar, and he skidded to a halt. Over the burning building clambered a great orange Monstrous Nightmare. It gave another roar and threw itself in front of Hiccup, searing flames licking at its body. It shook itself and the fire fell, sputtering out in the dirt.

The boy swallowed hard as the dragon advanced on him. Hiccup reached a hand out and laid it on the horn on the beast's muzzle. In a single instance, all the fear in his cheat had gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of, Thor help him, maternity.

"What are you doing all the way here?" he asked gently, petting the dragon, still noticing the undenyable tone of pure terror in his voice. Under any other circumstances, he would think doing this was crazy. However, this particular dragon had flown an entire day's trip to get to Berk, and there was no mistaking the orange and red markings on the beast, like a perpetual fire, or the look in its eyes that said he not only recognized Hiccup, but desperately needed his help.

But what, the young Viking wanted to know, had RazorFang so upset?

The beast opened its jaws to lament to the child, only to be drowned out by an inhuman war cry. The dragon's docile eyes widened, large pupils turning into dangerous reptilian slits with anger. He turned from Hiccup and roared as Stoick charged at the intruder, axe raised. In a lapse of judgment, Hiccup ran out in front of the dragon and tried to stop his father's attack. He stood between two horrible deaths, one at the claws of an enraged dragon, the other at the hands of his father, blind in battle and eager to rid Berk of the invader who had destroyed nearly a third of the village.

Hiccup braced himself for an impact. He felt the dragon's breath on his back and, out of the corner of his eye, saw that the mighty dragon had lowered itself to Hiccup's side. His father still had the axe swung high above his head. His son, in one last attempt at stopping the battle, spread his arms wide and threw himself directly between the two, as Stoick readied to decapitate the dragon. Hiccup closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as his father brought the axe down on him and RazorFang.

Nothing.

He felt nothing.

The boy opened his eyes and saw his father's double-bladed axe inches above his head. His father, panting in front of him. "Move." he barked.

"No, dad, he needs help!"

"It will NOT find help here!" Stoick's voice was thunder in his son's ears, but the older man paid no heed to his unnecessary volume. He was angry, and under attack, and all that mattered to the leader of the tribe was protecting his people.

"Dad," hiccup asserted, "This is RazorFang." He gave the beast a reassuring stroke on its muzzle. "Mathalda's Dragon."

"All the more reason to kill it!"

Hiccup was suddenly mad. Did Stoick not understand that he and Mathalda's thirteen year long hate for each other was HIS fault? The boy pushed his father's axe out of his face. "She saved my life! You owe her that much!"

Stoick scowled at this son. Both knew that the Witch would have killed Hiccup had he not first saved her from drowning. But she did not have to, and for that, Stoick owed Mathalda for his son's life.

The man threw the axe to the ground and shook his head in clear disappointment in his son, turning abruptly and sauntering off to help put out the fires.

Hiccup turned to RazorFang, who had laid himself solemnly on the ground. "What's the matter, bud?" he asked. The beast blinked slowly, allowing the boy to scratch him behind one of the massive horns on the back of its head. Perhaps it found comfort in the action. "Where's Mathalda?"

Something was wrong; Hiccup could feel it. He patted the dragons softly, "I'm going to go find my Grandfather." He told it. As if in answer, RazorFang stood up and followed the boy. He found it peculiar, but also had to bear in mind that RazorFang probably understood him. The Dragon's Fire was far more powerful than he'd initially thought. A growing sense of fear expanded in his chest, the feeling that every moment not spent with Mathalda was time wasted…

The boy was lifted, very suddenly, off of his feet; he felt slick scales beneath his fingers and a bony spine against his back. RazorFang had hoisted Hiccup up onto the back of his neck. He took two bounding strides and the pair leapt up into the sky, the smaller of the two clinging to the spiny ridges on the dragon's neck for dear life.

Once stable, Hiccup looked at the village below them, trying to find Old Wrinkly's Hut. Thankfully, his grandfather's home was the only one in the village with a double-thatched roof, which not only reduced leaks during Berk's rainy season (which lasted nine months out of the year), but also made it easy to spot from the air.

He tried to pull RazorFang in the direction of the hut, but the beast would not have it, merely shaking his head in that irritated way, as if Hiccup's tugging was an irksome fly, and pulling the opposite direction. Hiccup looked after his homeland with growing ease – this was the second time that RazorFang had carried the boy away from his home. Only this time, he knew exactly where they were headed, and he was far less frightened.

That is, he had no fear of his own – the dragon's anxiety filled his heart, and though the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, Hiccup could not sleep; the underlying sense of urgency and the cool ocean winds beating against his face kept him awake. And even when he felt he truly could no longer keep his eyes open, what would appear in the vast blue blanket before him but the lonely green dot of Cannibal Isle?

The pair landed lightly on the white sands of the beach. Hiccup dismounted and stepped to the edge of the tide, watching the water lap over his boots, matting down the fur. He knelt down and cupped his hands in the ocean, throwing the cool water at his face to wake him up. RazorFang came up behind him and gave him a purposeful nudge, nearly sending the boy sprawling into the shallow pool of the tide. He set his hand on the dragon's back and followed him into the thickness of the woods. The path, untouched by man, had changed since Hiccup's last visit,; nothing looked the same, and the boy was certain that, without RazorFang, he would have perished wandering aimlessly around the forest looking for Mathalda's tree-hut.

Eventually, the two broke into a clearing and, just ahead, he could see the hallowed out tree that was Mathalda's hut.

Hiccup's breath caught; something was very, very wrong. Even RazorFang shied away from the darkened home. A low growling groan escaped the dragon's throat and, without thinking all too much, Hiccup broke into a run, trampling over low brush and ducking under branches.

He threw aside the weaved curtain door. "Mathalda! Mathalda!"

Hiccup did not wait for an invitation; he bounded into the single room home, searching wildly for the Witch. He spun around at once and saw her – a still mass on her bound foliage bed; her cloak was draped over her like a simple sheet. Hiccup kneeled by her side. "Mathalda?" he breathed.

The woman opened her eyes and turned her head to face the boy. "You?" she grimaced as she tried to sit up.

"No, lie down. What…" he trailed off, unsure if he honestly wanted the answer. "What happened?" In the dim light of the tree house, he could see just how grave her condition was: Her skin was as pale as her hair, her blue eyes dulled. The boy could see the flecks of frothy red that lined her white lips.

The witch reached out one trembling hand and grabbed Hiccup's. "Has RazorFang brought you here?" she asked, hoarsely.

"He knew – you need help. We can get you back to Berk, get help…" He tried to help her up, but she refused.

"No, listen to me." She paused, coughing into her free hand. When she withdrew it, Hiccup could see blood. "There are some things in this world that cannot easily be undone. For instance, Death."

"That's not true!" Hiccup asserted. "If that were true, how could I be here right now?"

"I am not going to lie to you, Hiccup. You possess my power, and you deserve to know the responsibilities of doing so: Death is not something that is meant to be undone. Loki was furious that I not only cheated him of you, but I used his power to do so." She coughed again. "As the Dragon's Fire left by body, it left behind an imprint of its existence; a black imprint on my soul that smoldered into an Inferno Curse." Upon seeing the boy's brow crease slightly, her deathly white lips twisted into a weak smile. "Loki does not want me to continue living."