From Slave to Berkian
A slave. That's all I've been since my tribe was attacked, my parents and sister taken from me at thirteen years old. My captor, Drago Bludvist, kept them alive, and told me that if I helped him build a dragon army, I would someday be reunited with them. My parents told me – begged me – to refuse, said that he would just kill us all anyway, whereas my little sister, who was five years younger than I, just cried, her face completely free of hope. I didn't listen to any of their pleas. I took him up on his offer. Risked my life to get them back. I never liked dragons anyway. Let them get captured and taken into Drago's army. I didn't care. I just wanted my family back.
For twelve years, all I did was risk getting killed by the fire-breathing beasts. I never got the chance to be trained in that field before Drago's invasion, other than a few tips and pieces of advice from my father. Did Drago or any of his men train me before sending me out? No! I had to train myself, the only things I had being a few weapons and traps, and the little advice my father gave me. Soon enough, though, I began to get better, until it got to the point that I started to command the other recruits – or should I say captives? When Drago discovered my talent, he gave me the "honor" of being captain of the crew. I was seventeen by then. By the time I was twenty, I actually took pride in my place as a trapper. It made me proud to see myself standing over hopeless Nadders, Gronkles, Zipplebacks, any dragon that was around tied in the bolas I used to throw, then as technology grew, fired out of some sort of cannon. Trapping such beasts didn't just give me a high level of self-esteem, however. Oh no. It also gave me hope – and made said emotion grow with every captured dragon – of seeing my parents and sister again.
However, something bothered me when I turned twenty-one. The fact that I hadn't even seen a Night Fury – let alone caught one – irked me. To truly impress my master, I knew I had to catch such a dragon. He never gave me a direct command to do so, but the way he looked at an everyday dragon told me I needed to up my game. Every day I started to look for the black beasts – or, beast, as I would one day discover the last of its kind – but found none; only the average dragons. Of course, the search for the Night Furies didn't allow me to stop myself from capturing every dragon I saw – save the Terrors; they're practically useless when it comes to an army – but I vowed to myself that the first glimpse I caught of the monsters, I would attack, and I wouldn't stop until it at least one of them was caught, or even if I died. Through all that time trying to save my family, I had practically forgotten how to care for myself.
It wasn't until after I turned twenty-five that my feelings changed. Within the cycle of one day, I went from vengeful, to having mixed feelings about dragons, to deciding dragons were really kind creatures after having my live saved by one, to feeling respect for the man I knew I could trust, to sympathetic for said man's loss, to finally feeling free… except that I knew I failed in saving my family. Something about Drago told me that he had killed them long ago, only telling me I could save them so I would work for him. Nevertheless, I let myself relish the feeling of no one really telling me what to do. The man that became chief after his father's departure even gave me a choice to either stay on Berk with my newfound friends, or he would tell the chief of any other island I wished to call home to let me in. Not only that, but he gave me his father's dragon! I knew he was grieving, having the loss so recently, and was touched that he would trust me, the man who had tried to capture him, his girlfriend – fiancé? – And both their dragons that same day, with his family member's dragon. After the repairs were made to Berk was when he made the offer. I accepted to stay, feeling slightly obligated, and honestly a little worried that other islands would not be as kind as everyone here on Berk. Besides, I loved the sound of Berkian. After all that time trapping dragons, I got to repay them for being kind by riding one.
About a year after proudly calling myself a Berkian – the only thing not being proud of being the girl that constantly hit on me – a ship was spotted on the horizon. The confused looks around the village alarmed me. No one had been expecting visitors. Ready for the worst, I stayed close to my dragon, prepared to mount him and attack at any moment. When the ship got close enough, my chief's girlfriend – actually, finally I could call her his fiancé – took out a spyglass with tense shoulders. When her shoulders lowered, mine involuntarily followed suit – I let myself think there was no threat. Sure enough, the young woman explained that it was just a few old friends, being transported by the kind man trader Johan. I was told to get refreshments for them, since they would be undoubtedly tired from their trip, and I did so. When I got back, the "old friends" were already being greeted by the chief and his lady. He was shaking the older ones while she was hugging the younger one. When the greetings were over, the visitors turned to me. I nearly dropped the cooked fish and water.
"Ma?! Pa?! HEATHER?!" I couldn't believe it. My family was alive!