Author's Notes: This was just some random idea that popped in my head. ^-^' I'm still working on my other fic. Who would have thought that research and editing could be so time consuming? *sarcasm*
Warning: This is an AU story. It follows the canon story quite a bit but only just a bit as the story will later progress.
Disclaimer: I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or any of its character. They belong to Cressida Cowell (novel wise) and DreamWorks (movie wise).
Well, This is Expected
Chapter 1: Morning Raid
The people are hustling and bustling. Men are running here and there with sacks of wheat and grain in their shoulders. Carts full of food items are being wheeled into the nearest storage house while the animals are herd into the barn. Women can be seen pulling their children into the meeting hall in haste. The whole village is already alive this early in the morning. In fact, it was so early that stars could still be seen in the dark sky. Only the burning houses and hot orange flames coming from the quarterly pests illuminate the entire village.
People scream as the pests roar and flap their mighty wings. They shoot torrents of fire on our establishments and farm fields. They sweep away the unguarded sheeps, buffaloes, and pigs. If those animals happen to be guarded, they tear apart those brave protective men with their massive jaws and claws.
I'm running a midst this chaos, quickly navigating my way to the blacksmith shop. Villagers threw me dirty and wary looks as I pass them by.
"Go to the meeting hall, lad!" one of them yells at me.
"Get out of here." another one warns me.
"Hiccup!"
By the way, my name is Hiccup. Great name, I know, but it's the norm in this quaint village of Berk. Oh and those pests I'm talking about? They're dragons. That's right, dragons. Those creatures do not exist only in myths and legends. They're real. They're vicious. They're dangerous and they never ever fail to disrupt and destroy the lives of everyone in here.
Berk is one of the seven large villages in the entire country of Misery. Again, great name but like I said it's the norm in here. My community resides near the Hopeless Mountain of the north. We're blessed to be beside the great river of Freezing to Death. All in all, it's a resourceful and perfect place to live in. A paradise. But of course, that is too good to be true because for all the perfection of this place has there is a catch. A very very dangerous catch.
I'm about turn in the left corner of the street when fire blazed on my path. Luckily, someone managed to pull me back at the last moment. I'm about to thank the person when I realize-
"Hiccup, what are you doing in here? !" my father demands with great fury.
I stammer in my answer. "I- I was about to go to Gobber's. I figure that I could help and-"
One of the watch towers of the village explodes and collapses. People scream as they run away from the crumbling structure.
"Never mind. Just go!" he hastily dismisses me. Then he calls my uncle and orders him to gather the Vikings into the defences.
I run away and finally reached the smith shop where Gobber, my mentor is working already.
"Morning, lad! Come to join the party?" he greets me.
I take off my vest and wear my working apron.
"Me? No. I'm way too muscular to miss out this fight." I answer sarcastically as I lift a rather heavy iron hammer back into the weapons holder.
"Well, those blasted creatures needed a toothpick anyway!" he jests as he hammers on the broken sword he's fixing.
Some of the Vikings turn their dull bloody weapons in. I take a sword from them and begin to sharpen it.
No one knows why but for every quarter of the year, the dragons raid our village. They take our food and animals. They burn the fields and houses. It is an occurrence that no one could explain. Dragons are very large and powerful creatures. They could hunt their own food without much difficulty. So why do they take from us? Why do they burn our fields and houses? They won't get any food by destroying them. So why?
Those questions are left to unanswered perhaps forever. The people do not care about the dragons' motives in the attack. What is important is what we will need to do about it. Moving out of Berk is not an option. Relocating and resettling a community, which compose of hundreds of people, to another place is a difficult process. Berk is also a place that's perfect to live in. There's an abundant resource of water and trees. It's a paradise. We cannot leave a place like this. We cannot find another place like this in the whole country of Misery. So my village took a more dangerous but still slightly better solution: fight back.
For seven generations, Berk has trained warriors dedicated to fight dragons and protect the village from dragons. These warriors are called Vikings. They are the most celebrated and respected individuals in the village. Well our lives do greatly depend on them so the people's idolization and worship of them are quite understandable. Vikings is always given the best quality of food, drinks, clothes, houses, and even spouses. Yes, if you're a Viking in this place, you're an automatic sought after bachelor or bachelorrete. Bachelorrete? Why yes, Berkian women could also become Vikings. As long as you can lift a shield and swing a hammer or an axe, you are a Viking potential, regardless of your gender.
My father, Stoick the Vast, is also a Viking. How could he not when people say that when he was a baby he popped a dragon's head clean off its shoulder? It's a story I absolutely believe to be true. He's the strongest and the most respected Viking. That's why he was elected Chief of the village.
I tried following his footsteps as a Viking. Tried is the keyword. I can't lift a shield and a sword without stumbling. Hammers? Out of the question. Bolas? I can't throw those wretched things without having myself caught in it. Why do I fail? Well, I won't be lying about myself. I'm a talking fishbone. That's right. Fish. Bone. Everyone, myself included, always wonder how someone like my father, who is extra-large and with big beefy arms, had a son that was like err... me: thin, weak, and even smaller than the girls of my age. People can't pin the blame on my mother with my abnormal physique. Odin knows I miss her. She was a Viking too, one of the most celebrated Shield Maidens to be exact. And she's faithful. Imply otherwise and my father will kill you. So in the end, the people thought the problem is just me. I'm an odd one so I'm at fault with my shortcomings. It's unfair, I know, I couldn't help it if the gods thought it will be good to make me into something like... this. But there's nothing else to be done. I'm a fishbone and that's it.
I tried getting better. Again keyword: tried. I run laps. I exercise. I eat well. I really really tried. But for all my will and enthusiasm, my body just can't achieve the Viking standards. My father is disappointed. He may not show it because he loves and cherishes me for what I just am but he's still disappointed. I still tried though. For the last couple of raids, I tried to help by setting up traps and throwing bolas. All of which failed. Grandly. My inadvertent victims still glare at me with a passion of a thousand suns whenever I walk within three feet radius near them.
I still want to become a Viking though despite those mishaps and trained to become better. But my father already considered me as a hopeless case. So he signed me instead to an apprenticeship with his best friend, Gobber. Gobber was the village's trusted blacksmith. He is the best smith person- the best in the whole country of Misery. His works are highly demanded: Bog Burglar village, Meat Head tribe, the list is quite long. My father thought that if I can't fight then at least I could help people to fight. Gobber did tell him that I have a potential as a blacksmith. A little scrawny but with potential. And so, my dream of becoming a Viking was pretty much ended and I was trained to become a smith person.
To the entire village, it was for the best. I won't wreak havoc anymore during the raids. To my father, it was for the best. I will be safe from myself, the dragons, and an angry mob. To Gobber, it was for the best. He finally had an apprentice who meets his expectations. But for me, it wasn't the best. I feel miserable. I'm satisfied that I'm not that useless but still miserable. I failed my father. I failed myself. I know I'm better than this. I know I'm supposed to do something more. To be something more. This can't be just it.
Suddenly, a whistling, screeching sound grow louder and louder outside.
"Night Fury!" a Viking yells. Then resounding boom shakes the entire village.
I instinctively duck. I can't help it. It's a reaction ingrained in my whole being ever since I was little. Well, littler.
People generally don't really care about the differences of dragons. Dragons are dragons however they look and act. But warriors still noted it for safety measures. Gronckles are to avoid because of their powerful shots. Nadders are difficult to deal with because of their spiked tails and agility. Zipplebacks are tricky and dangerous. It is a two headed creature; one breathes out a poisonous flammable gas while the other releases fire. It is one of the major destroyers of our fields. Nightmares, they have a nasty habit of setting themselves on fire when attacking. But the most dangerous are the Night Furies. Those dragons never show themselves and their strong powerful shots never ever miss. No one has ever seen those dragons or if they did, then they're no longer alive to tell the tale.
As swift as they came, the raid is finally over. The Night Fury's shot must have been the signal for the other dragons to end the raid. I look out of the shop's windows. The fire breathing pests are flying away, some with animals and sacks of food in their claws.
The sun was slowly rising. It casts an orange glow on burned houses, ashes, and scattered animal and human remains. Human remains. Mauled. Burned. Dead people. I hurl myself out of the window and into a nearby pail. No matter how many times I see death, I still feel the need to throw up.
"Hiccup, will you be okay? I need to help your father assess the damages." Gobber asks as I busily retch in the corner.
I feel disoriented and sick but my mentor had more important things to do other than looking after me. I cough and spit in the pail.
"I-I'll be fine, Gobber. Just go." I face him which is a bad idea as a bit of drool and vomit trickles from my mouth.
The man gives me a flat look.
I immediately wipe my lips. "Don't worry." My voice sounds a bit raspy. "This is the forge. It's the last possible place for me to endanger myself."
Gobber snorts at that. "The last time I left you alone here, I ended up facing an angry mob with pitchforks and axes on your behalf." He says jokingly. Gobber's the only person in the village who is used and amused by my antics. It is something I highly appreciate.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure that they include spears and swords in their threat this time. I know you love to have a good fight with them."
The two of us laugh at that. My mentor was an ex-Viking. He was removed from the ranks because of his amputated hand and leg courtesy of the dragons. The people deemed him incapable of fighting. He was enraged by that. He told me how he tore off half of the warrior council's ears as he screamed in protest about the decision. But father convinced him to just concede to it. He couldn't fight properly with a wooden peg leg and an axe hand, no matter how good they were made. Gobber grudgingly accepted the termination of his Viking status and poured all his efforts in the forge instead. Through the years, he found himself to be enjoying his new place in the society although he still misses the excitement of the battlefield.
"Just go, I'll be fine." I tell him when the mirth of my joke subsided.
Gobber hobbled to the shop's door. "Fine then. Man the forge, Hiccup." He says in an authoritative tone.
I give him a mock salute as a response and with that he left.
I sigh as the door closes shut. I bravely look out of the window again. The sun is now shining brightly in the sky. Cries and sobs of rage and mourning fill the village while the smell of smoke and death lingers in the air. The morning breeze picks up the ashes of wood, trees, animals, and humans and carries them to perhaps a better place we would never know.
I walk away from the window and go to work. I add wood on the burning furnace and prepare the metals and tools for repair. People will come later with broken pots, fences, shields, and weapons. It's going to be busy but I hope I will have enough spare time to work on my secret invention later.
Let's see: dragon raid, burned houses, destroyed livestock, people dead. Today is just another day in the paradise we call Berk.