Hi, guys. I know that people all over Fanfiction are currently working on novelizing the entire movie, so this idea of writing the story in Hiccup's point of view (or perspective, depends on what you want) is not the most original.

Anyways, this fic was born out of boredom. I just switched on my computer and started working on novelizing the entire movie in Hiccup's point of view (such that I could add in his thoughts and feelings along the way). It took me quite a while to get this done. This is my first attempt at a fic, so it might not be top notch.

Disclaimer: What can a 14-year-old kid do with this fic? Make millions of dollars out of it? I think not.

So, here is the story of a little Viking who wants so desperately to prove himself to his tribe. But then, on one fateful night (and day) he shot an elusive Night Fury out of the sky and that changed his life, and the life of his tribe, forever.

Read, but most importantly, enjoy.

Chapter 1: I Hit It!

This is Berk.

It is twelve days north of hopeless and a few degrees south of freezing to death. It is located solidly on the 'Meridian of Misery'. But it is here that we have a place to call home. We live in a small fishing village to the south of the island. Life here is great, although it can get very cold during the winter seasons. The village has been here for seven generations yet every single building is new. Why? You'll find out later. Anyway, our recreational activities include fishing, hunting and dancing. We also happen to have a magnificent view of the sunset. The only problems here are the pests. You see, while most places have mice or mosquitoes. We have…

Dragons.

I narrowly missed being scorched to death by a blast of fire. There you have it. That is the reason our village has constant renovation schemes. Dragons have been plaguing our island for the last three hundred years. Their fiery breath makes it difficult for us to maintain our wooden houses. Yeah, I know what you are going to say. Why not just leave the island and find another place to settle down? Well, we're Vikings. And we have some major stubbornness issues. Oh, and by the way, my name is Hiccup. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock The Third. Brilliant name, huh? But it is not the worst. Parents believe a hideous name will scare off gnomes and trolls. I have always been considered the village idiot due to my size. Well, all Vikings on this island are big and stocky with a muscular outlook. Me? A bony, meatless, sarcastic geek. I was the first bony 'Viking', which made me pretty much a laughing stock. Anyways, our village is currently under attack from dragons. And did I tell you I was a blacksmith's apprentice? I guess not. In state of full-scale pandemonium emergencies like this, blacksmiths are usually very busy. So I am guessing that my master was going to need me.

I burst out of my house through the front door and was met with complete chaos. People were running helter-skelter in every direction. The dragons clouded the sky and were shooting bursts of flame occasionally. The dragon-fighting Vikings were doing damage control, firing catapults at the swarm of dragons. Some of them got engaged in close-quarter combats with the dragons. As I made my way down the winding path leading to the forge, I got blown sideways by the force of an explosion somewhere nearby. A Viking pounced on me and let out a war cry. Then, he stopped abruptly and greeted me,

'Morning!'

Ain't that charming?

I crossed the bridge and was met by a surge of Vikings. A few of them looked at me and let out a disapproving snort. Some just shook their heads and went on with their business. But most of them just said, 'Get back inside, Hiccup. You are not supposed to be out here.'

That is the problem with being the village runt. Most people will dismiss you based on your looks. Only a few people will sympathize with you, and I'm telling you that I do not have many sympathizers.

Then, just as I turned a bend, someone grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and lifted me up into the air. A gruff voice said,

'Hiccup! What is he doing…' he recognized my facial features and changed mid-sentence. 'What are you doing out? Get inside!'

The man flung me aside. Landing on my rear, I got up and turned around to see who had flung me out of his arms. He donned a coat of elaborately designed armor. The villagers call him Stoick the Vast. He is the chief of the tribe and an expert dragon fighter. He had a small round face with a very long beard (very long indeed), his arms were huge and chunky. A blow from one of those could knock out a full grown dragon. They say that when he was a baby, he popped a dragon's head clean off its shoulders. Do I believe it? Yes, I do. How I wish I could be like him. But too bad I wasn't gifted with physical prowess. I ran up the last flight of steps and arrived at the forge at last. There was a long queue of Vikings waiting to get their weapons sharpened. I entered through the back door and saw that my master was already there, no big surprise. He spends half of the day (every day) at the forge sharpening swords, making new weapons. He saw me come in and greeted me with the same old greeting I get every time during a dragon attack.

'Oh, nice of you to join the party, Hiccup. I thought you've been carried off.'

They say that self-praise is the worst thing one could do. But at that moment, it did not really matter to me.

'Who? Me? No, come on, I am waayyy too muscular for their taste.' I said as I lifted an iron mallet onto its rack on the wooden shelf. 'They wouldn't know what to do with all… this.' I continued, flexing my arms.

'Well, they'll need toothpicks, don't they?' Gobber said scornfully.

The blacksmith with attitude and interchangeable hands is Gobber the Belch, my master. I have been his apprentice ever since I was little. Well, littler. I continued my job of sharpening the pile of weaponry that was currently piled up on the counter. Looking out of the window, I could get a clear view of the ongoing battle. A firestorm was engulfing the west sector of the village. Old village, lots and lots of new houses. Am I right? That's what happens when you live in a wooden village where it gets raided almost every single night by fire-breathing dragons.

If I weren't so puny, I would have a chance to join the junior dragon-fighting league. Oh, did I tell you about them? They are a group of youngsters about my age (but bigger than me in terms of size) that will participate in the defence of our island during times like these. Their job is so much cooler than mine. Ah, there they are, the ones wielding buckets of water and putting out the fires. The obese one with a cute-looking face is called Fishlegs Ingerman. He and I are best friends. The only major difference between us is that when he stands beside me, he'd make me look like a pathetic worm.

The two blonde Vikings are called the Thorstons, better known as Ruffnut and Tuffnut. Since they are both thin, I have no idea how they were able to get the dragon-fighting job while I was stuck in a pathetic forge forging pathetic weapons… Okay, maybe the weapons aren't that pathetic but after being a blacksmith's apprentice for seven years, you would have forged every type of weapon that ever existed, so if you have been doing this for years and you are still making the same weapons over and over again, you'll feel bored, won't you? You get the idea, right?

The not so fat and not so thin Viking with blue eyes is called Snotlout Jorgensen. He also happens to be my cousin. We are related through our uncle, Baggybum the Beerbelly. How he got the physical strength and how I ended up being a wimp, I do not know. And right behind him was…

Oh my Odin.

It was Astrid Hofferson.

She is the most beautiful Viking I have ever met. I have always dreamed of going on a date with her. But I have failed to catch her attention other than being an annoying little child (that was what she called me). If I was going to win her heart over, I would need to do something big. Something like bringing down a dragon. With that in mind, I secretly grabbed a sword from the weapon shelf and tried to sneak out of the stall. Unfortunately for me, Gobber spotted me and grabbed my by the scruff of my neck (not again) with his prosthetic left arm. I groaned in irritation.

'Come on, let me out. I need to make my mark.'

Gobber did not buy it. Instead, he poked my body with his prosthetic arm and said, 'You've made plenty of marks. All in the wrong places.'

'Please, two minutes. I'll kill a dragon. My life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date.' I spoke in desperation. Gobber sighed and started to state a few facts about my muscular capabilities.

'You can't lift a hammer. You can't swing an axe. You can't even throw one of these!' he finished, holding up a bola.

Now that Gobber had mentioned bolas, I decided that it would do me some good if I were to show him my latest creation. I felt a glimmer of hope. If my creation could work, then my life will get infinitely better, and I might even get to go on a date with Astrid.

'Yes, but this will throw it for me.' I pointed out my cannon, giving it a slight pat. Perhaps I forgot to unwind the trigger, because the next moment, my cannon sprang out of its container and fired a bola. It hit an unlucky Viking (on his forehead) who was happened to be queuing up for his share of weapons. He let out a yelp of pain and collapsed onto the floor, clearly unconscious. That must have hurt, a lot.

Sorry, I thought.

Anyway, since I mentioned my bola cannon, I might as well give you a brief history about its development. A few months back, while I was manning the stall during a dragon raid, I noticed that bolas were extremely devastating. A bola is essentially made up of a few rocks tied to a central ring. When it hits a dragon, the vine cords will wrap around the dragon's wings and the combined weight will cause the dragon to plummet to the ground. Very effective, but the only problem was that it had to be thrown by hand. Not very effective for long-range shots. So began the development of 'The Mangler'. It took me three months to get it right, and I wasn't going to let the effort go to waste. Gobber, however, did not approve of it.

'Now this right here is what I'm talking about!' he said impatiently, pointing his good hand (the one that is not amputated, duh) at my cannon. Oh, and did I mention that the aiming mechanism wasn't sorted out yet? I thought that by telling Gobber that I could probably get my chance to test out my cannon.

'It is just some mild calibration issue. Once I get it sorted out I could…' I began.

Gobber waved his hands in an irritated manner, cutting off my sentence with a sentence of his own.

'Hiccup. If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons,' he poked my chest with his prosthetic arm. '…you need to stop all… this.' he stated, waving his hands in a manner such that he could point out my entire body in one go (everyone does that to me).

Why does it always have got something to do with my size?

I pulled out the same excuse I always use when I am being criticized for my small build.

'But you just pointed to all of me.'

'That's it! Stop being all of you!'

That was when my snarkiness kicked in.

'Oh. You sir are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much raw Vikingness contained? There will be consequences!' I said, waving my finger at the blacksmith.

Gobber stared at me with a deadpan, no-nonsense look. He then took a big, heavy sword and handed it to me. 'I'll take my chances. Sword. Sharpen. Now.'

I staggered under the weight of the steel. I brought it over to the grinding machine and placed the sword on top of it. Sparks flew as the metal met stone. I had mixed feelings at that point in time. I was feeling irritated, because I was always denied the opportunity to prove myself. I was feeling angry because of all this treat-Hiccup-like-dirt thing going on. And, I was feeling disappointed because I had lost the chance to prove myself to my tribe again, to prove that even though I am small and weak, I could still be able to fight dragons using my various inventions.

But no matter what, I know that someday, I'll get out there. Someday, I'll be recognized by the tribe. Because killing a dragon is everything around here. There are five types of dragons that raid our village. Occasionally, there would be other kinds. But these five are the constant visitors. They are as follows, ranked in increasing order of dangerousness and the honor earned from killing any one of them. There is the Nadder. They are the most common types of dragons. Cyan in color with multi-colored spots here and there, a Nadder's fire is hot enough to melt steel. Not the most friendly of dragons. A Nadder's head is sure to get me at least noticed. Then, there is the Gronkle. They are very tough. Light brown in coloration, their hide can only be penetrated by the sharpest of weapons that are specially designed for that purpose. Taking down one of those would definitely get me a girlfriend. Zipplebacks are exotic. They possess two heads, one for breathing the flammable gas, the other for sparking it. They can create really interesting explosive patterns. Green in color, with black patterns here and there, the two head often fight with each other, as if they were in disagreement with each other. If I manage to down one of those, I would gain twice the status.

A catapult was fired somewhere in the distance, followed by the roar of a dragon.

And then, there is the Monstrous Nightmare. They are crimson red in color with a white underbelly. Two long horns protrude out of its head and it has spikes running down its back. They are the first ones to arrive and almost always the last ones to leave. Only the best Vikings go after those. Why? They have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire, making them very difficult to kill. Fighting a medium sized enraged dragon that is currently coated in kerosene flame that can melt through flesh and char bones is nasty business. Trust me, you do not want to be caught in that creature's jaws. Those canines are about half my size. It would not be a pretty sight.

I spotted one on the eastern command tower. It disappeared in a flash of flame and started to terrorize the Vikings manning the catapult on the top. But whichever Viking fighting the Nightmare was doing a pretty good job. Even as tempting the offer (or not), it is not the Nightmare I was going for. Though they are one of the most dangerous and toughest breed of dragons around here, there is still one more. It is called the Night Fury. It is the holy grail (unholy grail) for the Vikings. It is the ultimate prize, the gold medal, with eternal glory attached to its capture or slaughter… well, you get the general idea. Their fire are the most unconventional. Released in short bursts, these blue (yes, blue) harbingers of death can incinerate and not to mention obliterate (let alone implode) a command tower; a feat that no other dragon could do. In other words, it is exclusive to the Night Fury. But this advantage in firepower comes at a price. After much observation, I concluded that whenever the Night Fury attacks, it dives to a low altitude, roughly a hundred feet above sea level, just within range of my bola-firing contraption. And the other price the Night Fury has to pay is that the explosion caused by its all-so-awesome (and fearsome and awe-inspiring) fireball will temporarily reveal its whereabouts, making it very vulnerable to my bola cannon. Considering the advantages that I had over the other Vikings, the Night Fury will be what I will be going for.

Just then, a high-pitched, whistling shriek pierced through the night, masking all other noises. This is a tell-tale sign that a...

'NIGHT FURY!' someone shouted.

… is going to start its dive bombing.

'GET DOWN!' someone else shouted.

BANG!

There was a brilliant flash of blue light as the fireball hit the catapult on the roof of the eastern command centre. The catapult splintered into a thousand pieces, which flew in all directions. The Night Fury was outlined against the explosion for a split second as it literally screamed through the fireball. Two Vikings jumped down from the damaged tower. I hoped that they weren't seriously hurt.

Anyways, this thing never steals food, never show itself and never, never, misses its target.

The whistling shriek pierced the night once again, and the Night Fury struck the final blow to the command tower, blasting a neat hole in the centre, causing it to topple over and crash into the ocean. If only I could somehow sneak both my bola cannon and myself out of the forge, then maybe I could shoot down the Night Fury. Gobber came over to my side and announced, 'Man the fort, Hiccup. They need me out there.' He replaced his prosthetic hand with an axe and walked out of the stall. He stopped just at the exit and turned around to face me.

'Stay. Put. There. You know what I mean.' and with that, he charged out of the stall.

Stay here when I could go out to kill Night Furies? Yeah, right.

I knew at once that this was my chance to shoot down the Night Fury. And I wasn't going to pass up this golden opportunity. We have to… er, what's the phrase? Strike while the iron is hot, right? I pushed my cannon on its wheels out of the stall. When I was out, I calculated the best possible position to get a clear shot. While I was at the stall, I observed that the battle was going on mostly at the southeast side of the island, leaving the top half untouched. I saw the western command tower and decided that I would go there. I met a lot of Vikings on my way there, they greeted me the usual way ('Get back inside!'). Anyway, I could not care less. When I bring down a Night Fury and prove myself to the tribe, all this 'Hiccup is useless!' nonsense will come to an end.

I set my cannon down once I reached the desired destination. I opened the container, pulled out the cannon, released the crossbows and cocked the weapon. I was all set. All I needed to do now was to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Oh please do not make me look stupid standing out here.

I sighed in desperation. I was so close to reaching my goal… yet so far.

'Come on. Give me something to shoot at. Give me something to shoot at.' I prayed.

Then, as if the gods have heard me, a roar emanated from somewhere above me. I looked skyward, straining my eyes. And, sure enough, I could see the faint outline of the Night Fury silhouetted against the star-specked night sky. I gripped my cannon harder. The silhouette made a dive for the command tower, emitting a shrill whistling shriek. I looked through the aiming mechanism. There was a bright flash of blue light and a loud bang. The shockwave rustled my hair. And I saw it. The Night Fury was passing through the explosion, exposing its dark hide for a moment. I muttered a silent prayer to the gods. It was do or die. I would never get a chance like this again. Closing my eyes, I pulled the trigger once I got a target lock on the Night Fury.

THWACK!

The force exerted by my bola-firing mechanism was so great, it propelled me five meters back and caused me to do some involuntary back flips along my back. That was going to hurt for a while. But all I cared about now was whether I had hit the Night Fury or not. I stood up just in time to hear a sickening crack and an anguished roar. The silhouette of the Night Fury zoomed off to my right and landed in the forest nearby. As far as I can tell, it had landed in an area of the Forest of Misery was called Raven Point. I would tell that to the rest of the village later, but now I wanted to celebrate my success.

'Oh, I hit it? Yes, I hit it! Did anybody see that?' I turned away from my bola cannon and waved my hands in a melodramatic way even though I knew that there would be no audience. But we should all have some fun once in a while, shouldn't we?

A sickening crack made my heart freeze. I turned to my back only to discover, to my utmost horror, that a Nightmare was crouching behind me.

'Except for you.'

I screamed for help as I ran away from the pursuing dragon, hoping that someone would hear my plea for help. A stream of fire narrowly missed my back, hitting the stone walls instead. The Nightmare fired another stream of fire. I saw one of the torch poles and decided that I would hide behind it. It would not provide much protection against the dragon but I still held hope that someone would come to find me. A blast of heat singed my hair. The metallic part of the pole was beginning to melt away. It would not be long before I became dragon munch. And, sure enough, the Nightmare was by my side in a matter of seconds.

Oh no. This is it. Goodbye, cruel world.

BAM!

Something big and heavy slammed into the Monstrous Nightmare's face. The dragon was thrown off balance. The heavy mass stopped moving and I recognized it as Stoick. He cracked his knuckles and stared at the Nightmare with a fierce look. The Nightmare opened its mouth to breathe fire but only managed to produce a pew puffs of smoke. Cracking his knuckles menacingly, the man said in a bored tone,

'You're all out.'

Stoick charged and gave the dragon three hard whacks on its face. Intimidated, the Nightmare scampered away from the scene.

Oh, and there is one more thing you need to know.

CRACK!

The torch pole collapsed, with the still-alight torch on top of it. The flaming torch broke free from its restraints and rolled along the street, disappearing over the edge of a wooden bridge. The wooden bridge broke, sending the torch on a fifty meter drop to the bottom of the harbor. I could hear the screams of various Vikings as the torch continued on its mad rampage through the harbor, crashing through buildings. A group of Vikings were trying to haul away a net with a few Nadders, but ran away shrieking as the torch tore through the net, turning it into ash and setting the dragons free. The dragon raiders left, along with their load of sheep. They were definitely going to have a good breakfast while I was about to become breakfast. I stood there, face to face with the huge man.

'Sorry, Dad.' was all I managed to get out.

Yes, Stoick the Vast was my father. Stoick the all-so awesome huge, big, stocky man has a not-so-awesome midget named Hiccup Horrendous Haddock The Third as a son. Heredity, unfortunately for me, did not follow logic and caused me to be born in this manner. I was considered a let down by my father, but hey, it is not my fault that I was born in this manner. It is not like I chose to be skinny and not-so-awesome. But I could not resist the urge to say something to my father.

'Okay, but I hit a Night Fury.' I blurted out.

I half-expected Stoick to congratulate me or even to question me, but instead, I got hauled away by the scruff of my neck (NOT AGAIN!).

'Oh, dad. It's not like the last few times. This time I actually hit it. It went down just off Raven Point. Lets get a search party to find it before it…'

'STOP!' Stoick bellowed at the top of his voice as he put me down and turned to face me. 'Just stop.'

He let out a sigh and continued, 'Every time you step outside disaster follows! Can't you see that I have bigger problems here? Winter is almost here and I have an entire village to feed!'

'Yeah, well, between you and me the village could do with a little less feeding don't you think?' I said, raising the point that being scrawny has its own benefits. Stoick did not buy it.

'This is not a joke, Hiccup! Oh, why can't you follow the simplest orders?'

'I can't stop myself. I see a dragon and I have to just… kill it,' I imitated a knifing action, 'you know. It's who I am, Dad.'

'You're many things, Hiccup. But a dragon killer is not one of them. Get back to the house. And make sure he gets there, Gobber. I have his mess to clean up.' Stoick sighed exasperatedly and walked off without a second glance, assigning different villagers jobs that involved cleaning up my 'mess'.

Why don't you trust me, Dad?

I have never felt so unloved, so neglected, so untrusted in my life before. I actually hit a Night Fury for Odin's sake! And my dad just takes it as if I have done something wrong. Yeah sure, I screwed up. So what? Wait till I get you the heart of the Night Fury I shot down, dad. Only then will you have realized my true potential.

As Gobber and I started on our journey back to my house, we crossed the group of junior to-be dragon fighters.

Oh here we go again, I cursed inwardly, knowing that these guys weren't going to pass up the opportunity to mock my streak of bad luck.

'Quite the performance.' commented Ruffnut.

'I've never seen anyone mess up that badly. That helped!' exclaimed my cousin. Fishlegs was laughing silently. Heck, even my best friend wasn't on my side.

I responded to Snotlout's snide comment with a 'Thank you. Thank you. I was trying.'

Fortunately for me, Gobber pushed Snotlout onto the floor, which ended his chance of commenting further. That left Gobber and me. We walked up the slope towards my house. I desperately wanted someone to know that I hit a Night Fury, so I tried to convince Gobber.

'I really did hit one, Gobber.' I said in a tired voice.

'Sure, Hiccup.' Gobber answered with a touch of skepticism in his tone.

Yeah, you have great convincing powers, Hiccup.

'He never listens.' I stated, trying to get my point across that my father almost always never listens to me.

'It runs in the family.' Obviously Gobber wasn't trying to be much of a help.

'When he does listen, it's with this disappointed scowl, like someone skimped on meat in his sandwich.'

My snarky nature kicked in, right on schedule.

' "Excuse me, barmaid. I'm afraid you've brought me the wrong offspring. I wanted and extra-large boy with beefy arms, extra guts and glory on the side. This here, this is a talkin' fishbone!" ' I said in mock imitation of Stoick's voice.

'Now you're thinking about this wrong. It's not so much what you look like, it's what's on the inside he can't stand.' summarized Gobber.

'Thank you for summing that up.'

'Look, the point is, stop trying so hard to be something you're not.'

'I just wanna be one of you guys.' I pointed out. With that, I opened the door to my house and went inside.

My father may have wanted me to stay at home. But I had different plans. I am going to find the Night Fury for all I cared. I am going to find it, kill it, take its heart to my father and prove, once and for all, that I am a Viking. I went up to my room and retrieved all the necessary items: A knife, my notebook, and a charcoal stick.

Onwards to Raven Point!

I slipped out of the back door of my house, hoping that no one would notice my little escape.

Dad, be prepared for the greatest shock in your entire life.

There you have it, chapter one. Chapter two should be up by next week, if time permits. Now that you've done the reading, please review my story. Constructive criticism is welcome. Please feel free to point out the mistakes (I am sure it is riddled with errors) and I would try to improve on it. Have a good day!