How to Train Your Dragon and all characters associated do not belong to Travis Church.
This is written for the HTTYD Big Bang.
Act 1
Was it so cruel?
It is now year nineteen-twenty nine of our lord and about a few months after the Great War. We had fought as brothers against the Green Death. Although most people say it was a secret organization that helped create and form the Dragons D'Alcala, I know that it was a real person. What kind of person could orchestrate the raiding, massacre, and invasion of our home nation without feeling some remorse? Some guilt? Some sort of sadness? An evil one: one with the savagery of Genghis Khan, the sick mind of Caligula, the thirst for blood of Dracula, and the wretched soul of Lucifer.
With some stroke of luck, our forces found the Green Death, captured her at the volcano base she used as central command for the Dragons D'Alcala and "ended operations immediately." However I know that they found the Green Death and executed her right there. They occupied the base, took everything in it, captured everyone, and broadcast on open airways that the Dragons D'Alcala would not survive without their leader. In an hour, they surrendered. It was a day worth living, for everyone.
After the Green Death's excecution, my nation's leaders gathered to end the Dragons D'Alcala. They agreed that all forcibly taken territory was to be returned or force would be used against them and that all members of the Dragons D'Alcala would swear to peace and put down all arms against my home. But they also added four specific provisions to the treaty:
Provision One: That all territory acquired outside the national borders be forfeited as part of an exchange that no member of the violent and rebel organization, "Dragons D'Alcala," be forced to pay any criminal fine or serve any criminal sentence.
Provision Two: That all members of the violent and rebel organization, "Dragons D'Alcala," serve as laborers, servants, or direct employees of the Government or to repay their crimes and injustices preformed. The duration of this servitude shall be in direct correlation to the duration of their servitude as a member of the "Dragons D'Alcala," the missions, tasks, and battles said member has preformed. The duration of servitude shall be then equated to a specific monetary amount and each hour of service shall equate to 0.4875 percent of the national minimum wage.
Provision Three: Such members of the "Dragons D'Alcala" are denied the privilege of citizenship and the rights and privileges associated with citizenship until their servitude has been repaid in twice the amount that they are indebted.
Provision Four: Failure to accept the treaty or abandonment of servitude shall place the member of the "Dragon D'Alcala" into the hands of the War Crimes Prosecution Board and undergo a criminal tribunal for all war crimes.
There's nothing wrong with that? Right?
Our little village, Berk, sent the second largest amount of troops per family to fight in the Great War and we were the first to send females into the military. We sent the most family members and we lost the most families. Under the Government's new treaty, we would receive a former Dragon D'Alcala for every three and a quarter people in our town; which was about a Dragon D'Alcala for every solider we sent.
It seemed fair at the time.
The groaning of a blue bus lurched up the road and gave itself a few more heaves until it gave way next to a general store. The cool morning air tried to extinguish the heated metal of the bus but made little progress. Pale light passed through the dirty glass doors and, with reluctance, these doors opened with as much noise as possible.
A young man left the mobile tuna can with a duffel bag in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He walked over to an aged wooden bench that lay next to the general store door and gave his belongings the seat, refusing to sit down any longer.
He ran a pale hand through his mop of brown hair, grimacing as he felt the oils of last night sticking on him. He rubbed his hand on a leg of the khaki pants and looked deeply at the strands that made the fabric. Layering atop one, sliding underneath the other, it deeply fascinated him and gave him something to think about. The origins, the people, the delivery, the salespeople; it all made him think about something other than the memories of war.
A sputtering jettisoned him out of the "Origins of Pants" and brought his attention to the bus that was slowly climbing down the hill and back to the city.
The scent of saltwater drifted into his nostrils calling him northward. It was like the call of a long lost friend, the song of a childhood hymn, or the playground of an ancient park. It brought back so many memories, untainted by the present and ignorant of the future.
The man waited and, after a short debate about leaving his things on the bench unguarded, decided to go inside the general store for a substitute breakfast.
He pushed past the wooden door and heard the jingling of a bell above him. The store was quaint and lined with shelves of essential goods such as soap, cornmeal, and lamp oil. He walked briskly looking for something edible and settled for a pack of bread and dried pork. He approached for the counter and placed his food on the table waiting for someone to pay. He would never steal, he never did during the war, and there was no reason to break that record.
An old man walked over vigorously to the man and eyed the two things that sat on the table. He said some numbers aloud and rubbed his chin as he thought about the numbers. The man focused on finding some coins in his pocket and when he found a set of coins he heard, "fifteen cents" and gave the elder shopkeeper a dime and nickel and then took the two items and attempted to dash out. But he was stopped as the aged man called out to say he left something and he approached him and was handed a small bottle of milk. He tried to say that he didn't pay for it but the shopkeeper told him that it was the least he could do to thank him for his service.
The young man smiled and left with all three things in his arms and was relieved to see that his luggage was still sitting on the bench. So he ate in silence feeling better that he was home victorious and alive. It was a great day.
It was an hour of waiting but the man was not anxious. The cool air, the thin beams of light trickling down, the bird calls, and the birds getting chased away by larger non-singing birds; it was all very soothing.
A red truck, worn by time and dirt, pulled up to the general store and the young man grabbed his things and piled it into the back of the truck. He then pulled the passenger door and took a seat unenthusiastically.
"How you been?" A gruff voice navigated out of the driver's wild red beard.
"Okay," the young man shrugged, "It feels good to be home."
"I'm glad you're back Hiccup."
"Me too Dad," he said looking aimlessly out the window. Although it was not his real name, it was a nickname for all the hiccups he had just before a gas bomb exploded nearby. Out of the seven gas bombings that he was part of he had seven cases of hiccups before. Everyone thanked God for his gift of hiccupping and word got around about this kid who could predict gas bombs like a medium. He was moved around and although he never had hiccups while on duty after that, there was a surprising lack of gas attacks after that.
The name was his badge of honor to some but to him the name was a badge of participation. He never killed anyone according to his memory at least. He sat in an ugly trench with mud sliding down the "walls" and onto the floors with a gun slung on his back. Every day he hoped that he would be moved into the Trailblazer Battalion which was a fancy name for about five hundred to more than a thousand troops moving along the roads to hunt down the enemy.
It was a glamorous job because it was hero's work. Chasing an invisible deviant who planned on destroying the vital something-or-other and claiming all the glory as he would pin the criminal into a corner and capture him. Those were stories of heroes!
But to Hiccup's disappointment, he was moved to the Army Engineering Corps and spent much of his time building bridges, roads, and re-digging trenches. The one time he saw action was the time he and the rest of the jeep he was in was hit by a landmine. At least he came out alive.
He mindlessly rubbed at his the part of his leg where the prosthetic leg began.
At least he was home and he came back with honors.
Hiccup looked out the window to see a sign with the words, "Welcome to Berk." He smiled at the flowers that grew vibrantly underneath the metal sign. These flowers seemed so out of place, so foreign, so alien. One day they would cover unknown green hills in their beautiful purples, yellows, and reds. But not yet, as they have not been freed.
After an hour, the road became less bumpy and the silence thickened between the son and the father. They could have talked about the war but it was too fresh in their minds. They could have talked about the victory day but it was too worn out. They could have talked about the town but they both knew what it was like. It was a self sustained silence.
After about fifteen minutes through town, they approached a big cabin nestled above the town of Berk. The walls absorbed the light and shone as an eggshell white while fair sized windows separated the monotony of color.
"Son," a gruff voice pulled Hiccup from his observation. "I need to speak to Gobber in town. You remember where the garage is?"
"Yeah," he huffed as he took his luggage from the truck bed, "I remember."
"I'll be home soon. I stocked the pantry and make yourself at home okay?"
"Bye Dad." Hiccup then parted with his father and walked into the household.
He climbed the set of stairs that were directly in front of the main doorway and walked through the hallways until he found a door at the end of a corridor. He turned the doorknob with trepidation, as if the memories of the past would flood him if he was not careful, and entered the room. He laid down his suitcase near the closet door and threw his duffel bag next to his extremely dusty bookcase. He took off his fedora and laid it on a copy of The Red Badge of Courage that sat proudly on the desk. He sat down on his bed and laid down to say to himself.
"I'm home."
A clean white cargo truck rolled up to City Hall in Berk and trailing behind it a tiny motorcade of jeeps lined with troops. But behind the unusual parade was a sleek black car that looked like it cost more than the entire motorcade and troops combined. When all of the cars stopped in front of City Hall, a frail tall man stepped out of the sleek luxury car and dusted off his suit. More men stepped out of the car with briefcases and files in hand and they all approached the civic building with speed.
The leader of this legal pack had no time to waste, so he walked past security and the Mayor's aide and placed himself right inside the room. Behind closed doors there was a hushed conversation.
But inside the white truck there too was a hushed conversation. Strange crooning and calls were quietly made to one another in the darkness of the cargo hold. It was a mixture of low notes and high notes all rolled together by the legato song and punctuated by clicks and growls. The armor plates that made up the cargo hold shed no daylight so these sounds were all made in the darkness, in dread, in fear.
Then the metal doors that kept the cargo closed were opened and a flood of white light over came the people inside. Their eyes adjusted quickly, they have been taught how to at birth, and they collectively paled.
A group of armed troops all pointed their rifles at the people and yelled, "Get out!" They did not want to die here like pathetic animals; if they would die they would die in broad daylight where they would be seen as people not ghosts. So they exited the cargo hold of the truck and followed their orders, unwillingly.
They were separated and put into tiny groups of two or three. Some were afraid as they were singled out but they were all afraid.
More soldiers came handing out duffel bags, envelopes, and packets of paper. They all knew what the packet was: their new life. The life they have been assigned by some unknown person behind a typewriter and rubber stamp. They all knew what was in the envelope: keys to their "houses," identification cards, and other worthless yet meaningful papers. And they all knew what was in the duffel bags: the few things they were allowed to keep and their cheap replacements and replicas.
Tomorrow they would have to find work, tomorrow they would have to find a way to survive, and tomorrow they would have to endure the suffering that so many others are now subjected to every day.
But today they must find their houses, today they must find a way to unite, today they must sleep.
Because the past could be so cruel.
The sounds of footsteps awoke Hiccup from his sleep and so he followed the sound downstairs. To much of his surprise, Gobber the mechanic and his father were sitting at a table talking about some business or cars or at least something that he was not slightly interested in.
"O Hiccup!" Gobber stood up from his chair and gave him a, 'Allo there! How ya been?"
"I'm fine, thanks." He finished his precarious climb down the staircase. "Are you staying for dinner?"
"Oh, no no I couldn't," Gobber replied. "I have some work tonight. I wanna get it done 'fore 'morrow."
"What's tomorrow?" Hiccup asked suspiciously.
"Well 'idn't you 'ear?" Hiccup only shook his head in confusion. "Well you know 'bout the treaty? A bunch 'o dragons are bein' sent 'cause of 'he treaty."
He remembered reading about the treaty on the bus ride home. Drawn up right after the enemy surrendered. It made for some nice light reading and then he put it down to read I, Claudius which was much better in his own opinion.
"I'm not so sure 'bout these Dragons just walkin' in and workin' wherever they can." Gobber leaned in to whisper to the two. "They might even be spies. Stoic you knew of a few spies right?"
"The Dragons D'Alacala are broken apart and there's no strong head figure. There's no subterfuge goin' on. And even if there was," he took a sip from his glass of water, "The military would put it down."
"Well ya never know Stoic." He gave a cautionary warning and then gave his salutations before leaving.
The rest of the night was fairly uneventful. There was little to do for the rest of the day, since it was four in the afternoon, so he stayed inside and unpacked his things. Stoic and Hiccup interacted very little because there was little to say between them. It was a growing silence that has taken refuge in the home for the past twenty years or so. After Hiccup was born his mother died shortly afterwards. When she was laid to rest, there was a dissonance between the father and the son. No holy spirit that brought them together. It was a reluctant father and a reluctant son with no ghost to unite them together.
They had dinner in stillness and slept in isolation.
Hiccup looked out his bedroom window and spoke softly, "Welcome home." He opened the window and caressed the flowers that knew the pain of so many displaced and ushered into an alien world. "Welcome home."
A single rooster gave its morning call awakening some poor farmer who owned the blasted thing. The cry echoed from the farm, through the streets, and somehow resonated through Hiccup's window. He yawned and acknowledged the rooster's call by pulling himself out of the bed, attaching the prosthetic leg, and downstairs.
He had a bit of difficulty walking down the stairs with his prosthetic but he made it down alive.
Surprisingly Stoic was already dressed and cooked breakfast. But the real surprise was that the breakfast was hot and not burnt, plentiful, and smelled not of death.
"Son, you need to eat quick and get dressed."
"Wuff? Whaiff?" Hiccup mumbled out as he chewed on a plate of miraculous pancakes.
"We're goin' to town hall." His face darkened, "They're sending out the Dragons."
Hiccup swallowed hard at what was just said.
"Get dressed now an' I'll save you something for the road. I need to get my revolver."
Hiccup nodded and moved swiftly up the staircase to his room. He unpacked his suitcase for something that he could wear so he took a green shirt, threw a light brown jacket over that, and slowly worked both legs through a pair of jeans.
He looked for Stoic around the house and eventually saw that he was approaching his truck that was parked outside. Hiccup grabbed a plate of toast and eggs and moved swiftly to his father.
"Ready?"
"Yeah Dad, just don't drive too fast. I don't want to spill catsup all over me."
The next fifteen minutes were spent in focused silence; Hiccup focused on not spilling any food on his pants and Stoic focused on the road. But the idea of a former member of the Dragons D'Alacala in Berk worried them; and the idea that there was a group of these Dragons was enough to give anyone an ulcer. They were killers, terrorists, guerilla solders that could make booby traps out of household materials, but the worst thing was that they looked like anyone. The only time they wore uniforms was in either massive formations or in military bunkers occupied by the Dragons D'Alacala.
But Hiccup had little time to finish his food because they had already approached the City Hall. It glistened white and the miniature staircase glowed against the dark green uniforms of federal troops who stood around the building at attention.
They both exited the vehicle, but Hiccup was told to stay behind and wait. He saw his father give a man in a well tailored suit a paper and the suit walked inside with the page in hand. It was only moments later when the suit returned with a small squad of soldiers and another man being marched away. The suit shook hands with Stoic and walked back to the truck.
"Son," Stoick whispered, "Stay in the back with the Dragon." He then took out his revolver and handed it to the young man. "Keep an eye on him."
Hiccup wanted to protest against it but he might just risk a former enemy getting away and doing God-knows-what. So he took it and hid it in the waistband of his jeans without any arguments.
The Dragon was loaded up into the back of the truck with the duffle bag assigned by the government and snarled at the men who continued to point their rifles at him. Hiccup took a seat with the past insurgent and with a roar from the dying machine; the now three rode away.
Hiccup looked at the man before him while keeping a light grip on the gun that he holstered. He looked a bit older than he, perhaps two or three years older. His tanned skin shone vehemently in the early morning sunlight. His dark raven hair hung in front of his face to cover his eyes. He stank of sweat, no doubt from his dirty clothes, while the trails of blood combined with the sweat stains. The former Dragon was obviously not a threat. He was too tired to do anything.
Then he looked up at Hiccup and those eyes struck him. Those deep beryl eyes dug deep into his heart, wrapping it in pity as they were filled with hopelessness and self-loathing. It was like a mirror to Hiccup: a sickening living mirror. Then he turned his head away from the young man and refused to look at anything but the scenery pass by. Hiccup thought he saw an ugly tear slide down his face and then the man looked at him with sharpened eyes and furrowed brows.
"Who are you?" Hiccup asked.
"Why don't you tell me?" The man snapped in a harsh bass voice, "You people removed me, destroyed me, ruined me and now there's nothing left. I'm nothing. I'm a piece of clay now: meaningless until someone defiles me, exploits me, uses me, and leaves me for another. A whorish piece of clay…" The ugly tear left his chin and drifted away to be with the flowers that were aliens like him.
"Toothless?" Hiccup gently suggested.
He glared with his blood shot eyes and bore not a single fang at the young soldier. "Like a whorish piece of clay, I am Toothless."
The ride was over.
The aged red truck pulled over to the Haddock house and with a grunt, stopped in the drive way. The two young men waited shortly for Stoic to let down the truck bed door and when he did they got out solemnly.
"Get inside and we'll talk about what you'll be doin'." Stoic directed the Dragon inside and both father and son stayed close behind him.
They rounded a corner into the dining room and the smells of breakfast continued to linger. The windows brought light to the ancient wooden table giving it the glow of some artifact from a world long gone. Stoic took a seat and so did Toothless and Hiccup.
There was a strange vibration from the three people: Toothless was an enemy, Hiccup was a soldier, Stoic was a soldier. But there were more combinations to add to the dissonant trinity at the table: father, son, servant; old, young, young; native, native, foreigner. No matter at what angle, there was always a conflict that bubbled underneath.
Then Toothless caught a stray wisp of the early morning breakfast. His eyes widened, he swallowed hard, and his stomach roared in agony at the scent. He paled slightly and massaged his belly to ease away the hunger pangs.
"Do ya know what ya going to do here?" Stoic asked.
"You tell me." Toothless replied coldly, "I never got a choice in this," he said trying to suppress the groaning of his empty stomach.
"What kind of education did ya have?"
He grunted in pain as his stomach twisted itself into tightly formed knots. "I was in school for twelve years. Basics."
"How 'bout-"
Hiccup now interrupted his father. "Dad, can you please get him something to eat?"
Stoic looked at him disbelievingly but decided to do what his son asked, not because he was right but because the Dragon's moaning was starting to irritate him.
There was stillness in the little room. Hiccup expected a "thank you," a glimmer of hope, or at least an acknowledgement of his good will but the Dragon kept his gaze from Hiccup with his head fallen.
A plate of eggs, sausage, and pancakes was laid out in front of him. Stoic set a knife and fork wrapped in a napkin next to the plate of food and brought out three cups of water for everyone.
Toothless's eyes widened at the spread; it was more than he would get from the government in a day. He lanced a piece of the cake, a sausage, and a large bit of the scrambled egg, swirled the "breakfast kebab" in the butter and maple syrup that mingled on the pancake pile, ate it, and repeated the process. He never took the time to contemplate about the food, he just ate it. It was moments before the whole plate was empty and he sighed contently at his meal.
A light smile curled upon his face until he opened his eyes; the smile was crushed by fear.
"Are ya ready to talk?" Stoic asked conversationally.
Toothless replied with a shade of insecurity in his voice, "Yes."
"What can ya do?"
"Labor, hard labor, I'm not good at pushing papers."
"That all?"
"All I can think of right now."
Stoic grumbled and continued, "How much do ya owe to the Gov't?"
"Does it matter?"
"Where is your house?" Hiccup asked.
"I wasn't assigned," Toothless took a deep breath, "I wasn't assigned a house."
"That's fine," Stoic interrupted. "Have you worked on a ranch 'fore?"
"It's been a while since I've milked a cow."
"It's like riding a bike," Hiccup interrupted. "How do you not have a house?"
"I dunno. I guess I have to live with one of the others."
"There are plenty o' houses for you people." Stoic said with a slight venom hiding behind his voice. "Can you farm?"
"Dig a hole, drop a seed, water, wait, harvest. Did I get the basics?" Toothless remarked.
"It's ah lot more complex than that I'm afraid."
"Toothless, how far is the housing complex?" Hiccup asked quickly.
"It's across town."
"That's about fifty miles from here," Hiccup said mostly to himself. "Can you drive?"
"Never learned."
"I'm sure someone will bring him," Stoic chided his son. "Or you can take the bus. What about shepherding?"
"Dad, the bus doesn't go anywhere near our house or the other side of town."
"Then he'll have to wake up a little early in the morn' and wait a little in the evening."
"It's three miles from the other side of town to the nearest bus stop and five miles from our house to the bus stop."
"He'll get his exercise."
"That's an hour of walking and an hour on a bus!"
"He'll have to wake up very early," Stoic added gravity to each word.
"It's four hours of traveling in a day!" Hiccup's voice started boil over.
"It doesn't matter!" Stoic shocked the two by rising up and bellowing at his son. Everyone, even himself, was shocked at his behavior. Realizing what he had done, he took a deep breath and asked politely, "Go to your room Hiccup, we'll talk later."
Hiccup did as he said, fearfully for he had never seen his father angry at him. Disappointment, many times but never anger. He solemnly walked up to his room, with the caution to not fall because of his prosthetic, and slammed his bedroom door.
The young man fumed at his father but felt a deeper anger. This deep rage was directed at something that he could not touch, not see, not speak to; he was furious at Toothless's conditions.
But why? He was a Dragon! The enemy! The people who he had spent three years sitting in a God forsaken land for! And yet he was enraged?
He would feel sympathy if it was someone from his school days and he would do anything to help that person…But not Toothless. No, he wanted to be angry! But why?
He looked to the flowers that sat outside his window and watched them. Their natural brightness and shape would not exist naturally here in Berk. Sadness crept upon him.
He looked outside the window and saw Toothless and Stoic talking, probably about what he would be doing for…until his debt has been repaid.
Stoic gestured good bye to the man and he walked away, leaving Toothless there to go back to wherever his home was.
Hiccup wanted to sleep now so he buried himself inside his covers. He never took off his jacket; the world was a very cold place today.