As my first fanfic, it turned out worst than I had imagined, so this is a re-do, as will be all the following chapters. I hope you enjoy. I always do.

He could see the banners of the clans above everyone's head, but he couldn't distinguish faces. He shifted in his chair, trying to get feeling back into his limbs.

"Oh, the gods must hate me," he muttered under his breath. "Some people end up eaten by bears, others by dragons. No, not me! I end up married."

Beside him, on the other heavy chair, the princess inched away slightly, as if the wider the gap, the further she could get from him, no matter that it was a few mere inches. It probably didn't help that he was muttering to himself. Something that definitely did not scream Crazy! Throughout the activities, not once had she even looked in his direction.

He bet Astrid would be glad to kill him, especially after he had beaten her in Dragon Training. He would rather do that all over again than be married to some girl he barely knew and would probably hate when he actually got to know her.

For all he knew, she could be a nasty person, stubborn as a goat, and with the temperament of one.

Even after an engagement of two months, they had barely spoken a whole conversation together. It was mostly "Yes", "No", "Whatever my lord believes is best", and variations on a theme. The entire time she had been polite, but cold and distant, and he had did the same. It wouldn't have gone over well if he had gotten to know her and found that he hated her, and then had to marry her anyway.

The games were part of the engagement celebrations. There had been a celebration held in Scotland, with the Highland Games and feasts. But when the Vikings were to take their turn with hosting a celebration, they decided to run Scotland into the ground. By all accounts, Vikings knew how to throw a party.

After a three-day feast, there was another three days of battle games, of which this was the last. The handfasting, which would be held on Thor's Day, would bond the two clans together. But first, they had to suffer through one last day of war games.

What Hiccup and the princess were being forced to watch now was a mock battle between men from Berk and Vikings dressed as Gauls, reenacting the Battle of Horkheim. All around the ring, people were laughing at the antics below in the dragon-trainer's pit, but Hiccup just slid down in his seat, wishing he could drown in the bearskin cloak and die.

Grunts and cries echoed through the training pit, accompanied by the clang of metal weapons and the smell of blood and sweat. Ah, the Viking's favored fragrance. There was nothing else to do but plot and plan. He surreptitiously pulled out his little book and started to write, shielding the book with his right arm as he scribbled with his left. There was really nothing he could do but wait it out. Then there would be another feast and everyone would get ridiculously drunk. This was his last chance to escape before he would be sold to Scotland for a few warriors and some Celtic gold.

There was an approving roar from the crowds and he looked up to see the Viking side win. He quickly closed his book, tucking it back under his vest. Beside him, the princess shifted restlessly, her fingers tapping tensely against the heavily carved armrest of her chair. Hiccup glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, taking care not to turn his head.

He guessed she was pretty.

Nothing remarkable.

She had wide blue eyes fringed with red-gold lashes and a small nose. Princess material. But she had a grim, slightly disdainful mouth. He couldn't tell if that was because of him, the games in front of her, or the wimple she was wearing. She looked about as uncomfortable in that blue dress as he felt in his cloak and full-regalia Viking garb.

Her eyes shifted and he quickly snatched his gaze away and stared frozenly ahead, hoping she hadn't noticed him staring at her, almost afraid to move a muscle. Thankfully, he was saved when Gobber approached. "Time to go, lad," he said quietly, his prosthetic leg clicking against the wooden platform.

He quickly and gratefully left his seat beside the princess and was taken to one of the lower entrances into the training ring. He gladly shed the bearskin cloak and the extra vests and ornaments, leaving him in what he was used to wearing; a simple green long-sleeved tunic, dark pants, boots, and a simple fur vest.

He saw his father step forward, his thick, massive arms outstretched as if to embrace the crowd, Scotsman and Viking alike. "And for the final exhibit of the prowess and bravery of our people, I present my son and heir, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, first-chosen warrior of Dragon Training."

There was a loud cheer and everyone looked expectantly down into the ring. Hiccup swallowed sharply, trying to keep what little food he had eaten that morning from making a second appearance.

"Knock 'em dead," Gobber said, suddenly beside him, ruffling his hair. Then his mentor was gone and he took a deep breath, trying to calm the hysteria and panic that begging to be let out.

Relax, he thought. This is just like what you do with Toothless. Just with a dangerous, man-eating dragon that can light itself on fire and is twice the size of one of our ships. No biggie. You just might lose a limb. Or your life.

The grate was raised and he stepped out into the ring with those comforting thoughts stuck in his head. Everyone cheered as he entered into the weak autumn sunlight, lowering his horned helmet onto his head.

He saw Fishlegs and Snotlout across the pit, hanging onto the chains that were draped over the pit. The twins were a little farther away, bouncing with excitement. Astrid stood alone, staring hatefully at him. If looks were daggers, he thought, suddenly grateful he was in the pit and not next to her, I'd be dead.

The princess just slumped a little in the chair and she pulled the edge of her wimple slightly over her eyes, as if trying to hide from the mortification of marrying a Viking who actually engaged in the brutish acts of mock battles and rough-and-tumble display. Sorry to disappoint you, he thought with a roll of his own eyes. With a body like his, all thin and twig-like compared to his father and every other Viking on Berk, he would never be a warrior.

Standing next to her, his father had such a proud look on his face that Hiccup hated himself for what he was about to do. He went to the weapons rack that was set up and slung a shield onto his arm. With an internal shrug, he picked a small knife from the wide selection.

"I would have gone for the hammer," he heard his father remark to Gobber.

He saw the princess sit up and pay attention for the first time since she had come to Berk. Probably hoping he'd be eaten and she wouldn't have to marry him.

He looked up at the men standing above the Monstrous Nightmare's gate and nodded. The great log holding it closed was winched upward and the dragon burst out, already on fire. It scampered across the chains that overarched the ring, dripping fire burning in its wake.

It loosed a bolt of fire toward the crowd and they, almost all who were Vikings, stepped aside, grabbing shell-shocked Scotsmen out of the way as the fire erupted past them.

The Nightmare's slitted eyes fastened on Hiccup below and it slowly lowered itself to the floor of the ring, its self-inflicted fire flickering out. A low growl emanated from its throat as it inched toward him, its mouth opening slightly, its long fangs dripping with liquid fire. He gulped, hoping this wasn't how he was going to die. Taking a deep breath to steady his already fragile nerves, he dropped his knife. The small clang of metal against stones sounded thunderous in the dead-silent air. He could see the confusion in the Nightmare's eyes.

He gingerly took the helmet from his head and dropped it to the flagstones. The princess leaned forward, her brow furrowing in puzzlement and . . . something else. "They aren't what we think they are," he said, projecting his voice so all could hear him. But he was pretty sure that everyone would have been able to hear a pin drop.

"Stop the fight," his father ordered.

Hiccup held out his hand. He dropped the knife on the ground. "We don't need to kill them," he insisted.

"Stop the fight!" Stoic roared. He angrily slammed his hammer down on the cage and the effect on the Nightmare was instantaneous. Its pupils snapped to thread-like slits and flames burst out along its spiny back, its savage instincts taking over. Hiccup jerked back and fell onto the flagstones as the Monstrous Nightmare reared above him, its maw opening wide enough that he could see the flames bubbling up its throat. Flames spewed everywhere and he scrabbled for the knife. He dropped it with a hiss, and it lay on the ground, smoking from the heat. The skin had been burned away on his palm, but there was no time to examine it, as the Nightmare was thrashing about, trying to find a way out of the cage. Its wings slashed this way and that, its claws tearing at the chain above.

Hiccup dove to the side, gasping when he pressed his burned hand into the ground for support. Sharp bits of rock cut into the burn, making the flagstones slick with his blood.

The Nightmare gave up on the chain netting and jumped to the ground, its narrow head darting this way and that, examining its cage. Hiccup huddled against the wall, hoping it wouldn't see him.

No such luck.

It locked eyes with him, and its nostrils flared. He knew it smelled his blood. There were smears of it all over the flagstone ground. The dragon lurched forward, its jaws snapping at him. Its teeth caught his shoulder, but he rolled away, actually making it, unlike all the other times in Dragon Training.

Then there was a shrieking whistle and the Nightmare's head snapped around. Then it was gone in a flicker of fire and a flash of blue illumination erupted in the training pit. "Night Fury!" someone shouted and many people ducked and ran, scattering away from the training pit. A lithe black shadow pounced on the chain cage and tore through it to get into the pit.

"Toothless!" Hiccup shouted. The black dragon crouched over Hiccup, snarling and spitting. "Come on, bud!" Before the Viking warriors could approach with their spears and nets, Hiccup swung up into the saddle and the Night Fury leaped over their heads.

The princess was leaning over the railing on the canopied platform, her eyes wide and excited as she watched them. This was the most response he had seen in her since the day he had met her, the day their arranged marriage had been announced.

But Hiccup couldn't think any more before Toothless launched into the sky and headed toward Raven's Point and their secret cove.