Chapter One: Perhaps Destiny
The sun was still high above Berk when Hiccup knew there would be a raid that evening.
There was no warmth that came with the supple spring light. The longer, snowless days encouraged Vikings of all ages outdoors, but they did so with chins nuzzled against the furs covering their chest. A crisp breeze swept from the ocean and flowed between the small but sturdy houses, pushing back against men and women carting their supplies about.
Hiccup watched the village members go about their activities from the top of the Great Hall stairs. He could see almost every house and stall of the main square; the towering trebuchet towers and the dribble of storehouses which followed the ramps down towards the docks. And between it all, the Vikings of Berk worked, laughed, talked and walked.
For all their lumbering and gracelessness, there was a strange, unspoken coordination. The way that they conversed and functioned around themselves reminded Hiccup of an ant colony. Vikings carrying logs from the forest joked between themselves; stopped to look at the wares on sale at a stall; hollered encouragement at wrestling children. The fisherman brought baskets of fish and eel from the docks, already knowing which families would prefer specific catches. Clangs of steel against steel rang out from the arena, followed by cheers and chants of onlookers.
It was a way of life. Their way of life – not his.
"Off with tha fairies again, Hiccup?"
Hiccup flinched, his broom bouncing in his grip. He turned to the doors of the Hall to look at his once-mentor.
"Gobber," Hiccup nodded, a wisp of a smile forming.
The burly blacksmith looked past the teenager, and out to Berk. "Ain't nothing betta than broth and drink on a chilly day like this" Gobber said, adjusting his pants after what must have been an immense meal. The man let out a yawn in the face of the sun and stretched his arms out. Hiccup rolled his eyes as mead spilt from his tankard-hand appendage and onto the stone steps.
"Oh yes!" Hiccup said, "thank you so much, for a minute I thought I had run out of work for the day"
"Eh?" Gobber looked past his belly, at the small puddle. "Ah. Well, yer arms could use the extra use, now couldn't they?" He gave Hiccup a teasing nudge.
Hiccup snorted. "Nonsense, just look at these tree trunks" the teenager gave his arms a flex, and now it was Gobber's turn to roll his eyes.
"Ye'd best finish up and grab some soup inside before they run out" Gobber gulped down the last of his drink and started hobbling down the stairs. "Would'a had another few bowels but I've got work much t'do in the forge"
Hiccup bit his lip, wanting to ask, but also not.
"How's Gustav?"
Gobber stopped on the step he was on, and Hiccup swore he heard the man sigh. He had lasted a long time without asking the question. "He's a good lad. Gettin' better at grinding but still needs more strength for tha hammer and forge"
After a pause, Hiccup forced a smile. "I'm glad he's shaping up to be an apprentice"
The blacksmith simply nodded and kept on walking.
Hiccup cleaned the mead from the steps with several sweeps of his broom. Casting a quick look at the sun, he guessed he had finished the steps in several hours. An average day. Hiccup looked back to the doors of the Great Hall, hearing the chatter of other Vikings as they ate and took time away from their daily activities.
The teenager's eyes hardened, and he turned back to march down the stairs.
o-o-o
The undisturbed walk towards the docks had dissolved much of the stiffness in Hiccup's shoulders. Sure, people scowled at him from a distance and made pathetic efforts to look like they were not gossiping about him. If they stayed out of his face, he was content.
The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the wooden boats and walkways, shimmering against the wind like a lavish indigo fabric. There was something beautiful about the simplicity of the view, Hiccup thought. He could look out to sea and see none of Berk. Staring out at the blue, he could envision himself on a boat or on another island, or anywhere that was not here.
Hiccup shook his head. No distractions.
The teenager continued walking down the docks by the water. Unremarkable wooden buildings lined the paths to the water – pressed against the steep rock faces. The destruction of dragon raids meant that much of Berk's storage was kept far from the village centre. It was an admittedly smart idea – even if it risked exposure to the sea's wrath. Hiccup passed two separate storehouses, and at the third, pushed open a large door and walked inside. Cutting through the dust, the sun shone on barrels, buckets and baskets stacked high. Hiccup did not care enough to check what was in them. At the back of the room – in the dimmest corner – a small bed and a set of folded clothes lay. His bed. The teenager grabbed up a fishing pole from under his bed, before dumping the broom in their place. Without so much as a second look, Hiccup took his tools, grabbed a nearby basket and left.
Since being expelled from Gobber's smithy, Hiccup had fallen in love with fishing. Every catch was a reminder to himself that he did not need these Vikings to survive. Every moment he sat by the sea was a moment of careful thought and quiet reflection. Hiccup let himself get lost in his thoughts; only turning away from his detailed sketches and elaborate plans when a nibble tugged on the rod.
"Here we go," Hiccup breathed, leaning back and pulling against the strongest catch of his afternoon. The hefty cod which he eventually hoisted from the water was exactly what he was looking for – much larger than the others he had caught in the hours before. With a rare, victorious grin, Hiccup grabbed his prize by the gills, unhooked the fish and went to place it –
The cod jerked in his hands, and searing pain tore through Hiccup's right arm. The fish's spines hardly scraped him, but it was enough to rip a shriek from his throat and sap the strength from his legs. The pain was tender and seeped into his bones and up his shoulder.
The gnashing ache faded to a throb within seconds, and burning fury washed over.
Hiccup threw the fish to the floor and slammed his foot down. The skull of the creature exploded under his heel with a wet crack! Hiccup took several deep breaths, settling his rage before lifting the cod by its limp tail and unceremoniously tossing it in the basket of fish. Blood and all sorts of sickly fluids dripped from the crushed head and onto the wooden dock.
Hiccup looked down at his arm – uncaring of the mess he had made. Pink and red scar tissue covered every inch of skin from his elbow to his knuckles – raw and revolting in appearance. Deep cracks webbed around the wrinkles of his hand and wrist, weeping pus and blood. No matter how much time passed, or how little he used the arm, it never fully healed. A constant reminder of the past.
Hiccup fucking hated it.
Hiccup bent down and dipped his right arm in the seawater, hissing as the brittle cold shot up his limb. The salt soothed him and kept the wound from infection – one of the few benefits of living by the docks. Hiccup returned his now-filled basket to the storehouse, swapped the rod for an old, splintered woodcutting axe and made his way back to the village. If he were to enjoy his catches, he would need firewood to cook them.
Hiccup gripped the axe in his hands, sighing. He hated how quickly his mood could swing by aggravating his wrist. His fingers and palm were unscathed – so he could hold things reasonably – but Hiccup doubted the rest would ever be pain-free. Stares from Vikings fell back on him as he climbed the stairs and ramps of the docks. A dry smile pulled on Hiccups lips, remembering how it felt to care what people thought of him. Shame and embarrassment were powerful forces, but too much of it, as he quickly learned, can lead to immunity.
The teenager thought about the sensation that overcame him earlier in the day, as Vikings nearby made great efforts to ignore him. The day was too good for a raid to not happen. Too much work had been done, and the houses almost looked-worn in appearance. It had been at least two weeks since the dragons went about their business and undid the work of so many Vikings here, while the favour was returned and their seemingly endless numbers were thinned.
Ahead of Hiccup, past a row of houses and stalls, the Village Square hustled with activity. In a dozen hours or less, the chatter of Vikings could very well be replaced by the deafening roar of dragons, met with savage war cries. It was the song of the endless cycle – an ouroboros of brainless and starved creatures versus arrogant and stupid Vikings that could only end in death, if at all.
Hiccup would have no part in such absurdity.
"Gah!"
A cold, wet lump slammed into the side of his head and he stumbled, his foot catching on an uneven rock and tripping him over. His hands throbbed in pain from catching himself, but Hiccup knew it was better than landing on his scarred wrist. Laughter rang in Hiccup's ears, and a foul smell assaulted his nose.
"I told you it would work, dimwit"
"No, mutton-head, he tripped himself"
"Well I'd like to see you do any better"
Hiccup groaned to his feet and stared down his attackers, shaking his head free of whatever hit him. His jaw clenched at the sight of four teenage Vikings – a sight not surprising nor welcome.
Tuffnut waved at Hiccup, brandishing a crude sling. Behind Tuffnut, his sister and Hiccup's own cousin howled with laughter. "Head-shot, ooh-rah!" Tuffnut cheered as if he had won some grand competition. Hiccup could hear snickers from onlooking Vikings, and his knuckles turned white gripping the axe.
"How impressive, you hit an unprotected target from ten yards away" Hiccup sneered, "Go bother someone else, maybe they will put up with your shit"
The twins and Snotlout laughed harder like he had made some clever referen –
Hiccup wiped his face and looked at his hand. Ah. Of course, he had pelted yak shit. How funny. Hiccup stared back at the teens, his face pinking in embarrassment and anger. Standing between the twins and Snotlout, Astrid stared back at him. The blonde shield-maiden had not so much as giggled, but as Hiccup flushed a small, vindictive smirk appeared on her face.
"Babysitting these children today, Astrid?" Hiccup asked, imitating her pose with his hands on his hips. "Surprised you have the time, given all the chieftain shadowing you have to do"
Astrid's smile dropped. The dimples he so rarely saw but once worshipped as a child vanished, and her brow hardened to steel. Good.
"I have finished all my work for the day" She answered, meeting his stare. "When you listen to what you're told and work how a Viking should, it's easy to make spare time"
Hiccup huffed. "Well I still have work to do, so call off your minions and leave me be"
Hiccup wiped his face once more and marched past the group. The teenager did his best to not react as Snotlout dipped his shoulder and shoved him on the way past, snickering all the while. He heard footsteps from behind, and he feared another attack.
"Don't bother, lout"
"Useless can't just say that and walk away!"
"He isn't worth it" Astrid reaffirmed.
Astrid's voice was stiff, but Hiccup could still hear the lilt of humour in her tone. She was once indifferent to teasing him, but he knew she now enjoyed it. She did not even try to hide the fact.
The handful of bystanders let Hiccup pass and the teenager furiously scrubbed his face with the fabric of his tunic. His breathing came out in ragged pants, and he gripped his axe so tightly he had forgotten he was holding it. He would not let them get to him. They were no different to the other Vikings who mocked from a distance. Irrelevant. Childish.
The stench of shit watered Hiccup's eyes and a loathsome voice whispered in the back of his mind. She's right. Nearly eighteen years old and nothing to show for it. Hardly even worth talking to.
"Shut up" he growled to himself, storming down the pathways between houses. His eyes were locked on the ground, his feet carrying him like a boat in a freezing, raging storm.
The other teens have been killing dragons for years now, and you can't even handle their words, he thought. Hiccup reached the village edge did not slow as the grass and gravel became shrubs and rocks. As he left the village further and further behind, the shrubs and rocks became trees that blocked the sun, and boulders that Thor himself could not move.
Hiccup tore his tunic from his body – his scrawny frame tensing against the cold's bite. He furiously scrubbed his face with his shirt, until his skin pinked with irritation. No amount of cleaning could remove the stench, however. Or the shame.
The forest around the teenager glowed with afternoon light, and Hiccup came to a halt. The cluster of trees that made this part of the forest was far younger than others and small enough for even the smallest men to cut down and carry. Most of the Vikings of Berk saw such an effortless opportunity as weakness, but Hiccup thought it was just enough wood for him.
Weakness. That's what this is. Don't bullshit yourself about being efficient. You really are what they say you are, Hiccup thought.
Hiccup grit his teeth and turned his back on the juvenile trees. He threw his shirt on the ground and marched towards a towering, fully grown tree with the axe in both hands. Snarling, he planted his feet, reeled his body and swung. The axhead sunk only an inch into the aged wood, so Hiccup jerked the metal edge free and swung again, and again, and again.
Every thump in the wood was aimed at a face. A Viking who had cast Hiccup out with their words and actions. Snotlout. Astrid. Ruffnut. Tuffnut. Stoick.
It was dozens of swings later when the teenager's temper simmered, and his arms burned with exhaustion. Sweat seeped into the cracks of his scarred arm and stung him back to reality. Hiccup tossed the axe aside; gasps of air steaming from his mouth like smoke from a dragon. The tree in front of him now bore a hideous gash, several inches deep and spanning two feet long. At this rate, the tree would still stand come winter.
Hiccup was too tired to get upset over the measly fruits of his rage. Instead, embarrassment and shame uncomfortably churned in his stomach.
Why did they get to him so much, he wondered? Nearly everyone on Berk treated him with the same disdain, yet he could happily tell them where to shove their opinions. But the teenagers? Something about their words, their expressions of loathing and their actions just…
Hiccup shook his head. He had sulked enough for one day. This world would not defend him, or reason with those who were out to get him. All he could do is try to shrug off their blows, and live his own life.
Hiccup picked up his axe and looked back at the smaller trees. He came with a job to do, and he would see it through.
o-o-o
The first thing Hiccup did after opening his eyes was smile. A broad, ear-to-ear grin that one would never see in public.
His belly drooped in his body from all the fish he had eaten just hours before. The embers from his old cooking fire had left the room snug and oh-so-soothing. The fishing and woodcutting had not been all successful, but it had tired his body to the point of genuine satisfaction.
But the largest reason for his joy was the sounds outside – the war cries of Vikings and bellowing of Dragons locked in combat against each other. He had been right about the incoming Dragon raid.
Hiccup sat up and gave his arms a stretch. He doubted that he would get back to sleep anyway. Since moving into the storeroom, he had never been woken by a raid. Either the fighting was concentrated to somewhere near the docks, or the situation outside was worse than usual. Either way, he did not care.
"Guess the day's gonna start earlier than normal," he said aloud, freeing himself from the warm furs and standing up. He felt well-rested, he reasoned internally, and he had enough leftover fish for an extra meal.
Hiccup stoked his cooking flame back to life so that his corner of the room was lit in a dim orange hue. The teenager spluttered as embers and smoulder bloomed from the extra wood he threw in. Hiccup marched to the door and opened himself a small gap for the smoke to escape.
The roar of fires and winged beasts clapped Hiccup's ears, and he flinched at the noise. No wonder he woke up, he thought. The raid sounded merciless.
Maybe he could see what was going on from the docks? He would still be safe, and no Vikings could claim he was getting in the –
A flash of light pierced the room through the gap in the door, followed by a deep boom!
"Well, fuck that" Hiccup muttered, stepping away from the door. He returned to his cooking fire; moved his bed furs to the floor and sat against the wall.
(("Aw come on, let me out – please!" he moaned, hanging slack in his tunic from Gobber's appendage. "I need to make my mark!"
"Oh, you've made plenty ah marks" Gobber retorted, dropping Hiccup and jabbing his chest "All in the wrong places!"
Hiccup was unaverred. "Please, two minutes. I'll kill a dragon; my life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date."))
Hiccup remembered a time where he would have wanted nothing more than to charge outside into the suicidal blaze of glory in the foolish hope of slaying a dragon. The war between Berk's Vikings and dragons was an endless cycle spanning dozens of generations, hundreds of bloodlines and thousands of deaths; all he ever wanted was to be included and recognised.
Hiccup spat into the fire, and the flames sizzled as if in frustration.
There was no honour to this war. Only stupidity. There was no pride in killing dragons. They were little more than hungry pests which took advantage of a food supply that was practically dangled in front of their nostrils – no different to rats or gulls. The Vikings of Berk had the audacity to stay on their borderline-inhospitable island with defenceless livestock, and then claim that killing animals in search of an easy meal was some noble, status-worthy deed.
Only after losing interest in the opinions of Vikings, did Hiccup come to this realisation. Without care for honour and glory, all Hiccup needed to do was stay out of the way and keep his possessions safe, and no dragon raid would ever affect him.
"You wouldn't leave your fish out by the docks and claim how great you are when you kill a nagging seabird" Hiccup laughed to himself. "How is this any different, oh-so-glorious defenders of Berk?"
Thump!
Hiccup jolted, as did the storeroom he sat in. A great noise shook the walls; not coming from the door, but from high above. Hiccup rose to his feet and stared up at the shallow ceiling.
A downed dragon must have crashed on the upper levels of the docks, Hiccup reasoned. Nothing hits the ground that fast on purpose. Hiccup briefly imagined a morbidly obese Gronkle falling from the heavens, and he let out a snort.
The unmistakable scrape of claws against wood silenced his thoughts.
Hiccup gripped his axe, hardly aware that he had picked it up. It was as if a rodent was freely scuttling around some room on top of him. Only there was no room above him. And this animal sounded a hundred times larger.
What was going on?
The noise faded, and Hiccup released his breath with a great sigh. Perhaps the shot Dragon had damaged its wings and was escaping the hard way.
The sound of claws returned. This time, loud enough to make Hiccup's hair stand on end.
Surely this animal didn't find the ramp which leads to the storerooms.
"There's nothing here, Dragon" Hiccup whispered, his heart rising into his throat. "Go back to the fight with the loud Vikings"
Noise no longer echoed through the wooden structures around him. Scraping and creaks came from outside. Hiccup felt like he had fallen in a frozen lake, and his breath hitched in his chest.
Shit.
The floor faintly trembled with every step that the creature made. Thawing the icy fear from his muscles, Hiccup slowly, carefully hid amongst the barrels and crates which filled the room. Through a sliver of space between boxes, Hiccup could see the door.
There was a rumbling huff of air – deep and harsh. Could… could the dragon smell him? Hiccup tore his gaze back to the way he came, and looked at his setup. The basket beside his bed had leftover fish. He looked back at the door – which he had left open.
Shitshitshitshitshit.
It had to be a Zippleback. Hiccup could hear four clawed feet, but it did not sound heavy enough to be a Gronkle, or aggressive enough to be a Nightmare. The thought of sickly green gas filling the room before blowing Hiccup to Hel had the teenager trembling violently. Was this how dragons felt in the arena? Caged and trapped before their death?
Hiccup had not killed a dragon – he had never come close. He detested the vermin and wanted them gone, but had never been stupid enough to risk his life when the odds were so heavily stacked against him. He was not skilled like Astrid; strong like Snotlout, or had a twin to watch his back. And with not a bead of care for Viking honour and respect across the village, what was the point? Nobody could do anything to dwindle their numbers. Such reasoning spilt out from Hiccup's mind as he accepted that he may face one of the beasts, whether he liked it or not.
The pale light which spilt under the door flickered, and the creak of wood stopped.
Hiccup held his breath. Every muscle seized up and smothered his shaking.
The large door groaned open, and the moonlit view of the outside was smothered by a shape of pure, inky darkness. The shadow took a step closer, and Hiccup stared back at a pair of reptilian eyes. Watchful. Predatory. So very green and so very intelligent.
That is no Zippleback.
The dragon looked around the room. It's head, Hiccup numbly noticed, carried all the shape and sleekness of a dagger. Slowly, it stepped further into the light of Hiccup's dim fire, and each glossy scale blazed amber, like molten metal.
Hiccup's body had frozen solid, but his mind had done anything but. Thoughts and observations, all bathed in sheer terror, flooded his mind. Whatever species Hiccup was looking at was fast. Above the creature's small but muscular frame was a pair of enormous, curtain-like wings which cast sharp shadows against the wall. The wings melted into a firm tail, so long that it was still half outside.
The dragon's eyes narrowed into aggressive slits at the sight of the fire. Its growl was guttural like a stone bounced within its throat. Hiccup doubted a creature so perfectly built for the darkness was enjoying the light.
The dragon sniffed deeply, swivelling its head until it faced the Hiccup's basket of fish. The beasts alert posture and hostile expression slackened ever so slightly, and it toppled the basket with a swipe of its front leg – splaying the contents onto the floor.
Hiccup recoiled at the speed of the animal and his back leg bumped against what must have been a cart. The wheels of the cart squeaked and Hiccup's gut did a somersault before threatening to exit through his ass.
The dragon was now staring in his direction.
Oh, gods.
Invisible hooks pulled at the scales on the dragon's face, tightening its expression to one of raw, deadly wrath. Its body turned to face the barrels and boxes Hiccup hid behind, and the teenager could see hundreds of individual muscles writhing underneath the beast's scales. The dragon's maw opened only slightly, and a shrill, ear-grating hiss filled the room.
Hiccup did not move. Hel, he couldn't. Every thought that scurried inside his head was crushed by raw, primal instinct. Still. Do not move. Not a breath nor blink. He was not an observant, thoughtful onlooker. He was prey – and the predator was here.
An explosion rocked the storage hut, and orange light flickered from the open door. The dragon ceased it's hiss and whipped its head towards the outside world. The dragon looked back to Hiccup's direction and let out a final snarl. It ate the fish at its feet with three large mouthfuls and turned to leave.
Hiccup held his breath, but his body sagged in sheer relief. The ring of his own heartbeat receded, as did the terrifying idea of facing such a beast with only a woodcutting axe. The dragon cautiously strode out the door, and Hiccup cast a daring glance behind him towards the object which nearly killed him.
It was not a cart.
((Hiccup had to admit that Gobber had a point. He was terrible with just about every kind of weapon – a simple bola included. "Okay, fine. But this will throw it for me"
The scrawny blacksmith apprentice gestured to his newly finished bola launcher. He rested a hand on its casing and like a Terrible Terror, it snapped into life, flinging a bola straight past Gobber and into the face of a Viking.))
(("Where are you going?"
"Come back here!"
"I know, I know" Hiccup called out, pushing through startled Vikings with his bola launcher armed and ready to fire. "Be right back!" he yelled, feeling the eyes of his village on him.
His heart rate boomed in his ears like the war drums in the great hall. The Night Fury was out tonight. It had been months since the ultimate dragon had contributed to a raid, and longer still since it had done such damage. If there was ever such a prize that Hiccup needed to earn the village's respect, the Night Fury was it.
Hiccup had to get to a vantage point – somewhere overlooking the carnage where he could make a clean shot. The teenager ducked under a flaming wooden post and kept pumping his legs, praying his father would not catch him before he got the chance.
The pathway ahead forked, and a wild smile lit up Hiccup's face. While the right path went downhill and towards the Arena, the left way took him past the more secluded houses and straight to a perfect lookout point. The horizon was pinking with morning sunlight and Hiccup knew the Night Fury would only strike once or twice more, so he had to –
A fireball slammed into the ground beside Hiccup, throwing his launcher on its side. Hiccup followed his contraption and toppled to the ground. The teenager's gut sank as he frantically rolled over and gaped at a Gronkle just yards away – its open jaws filled with thick, cleaver-like teeth and a red glow that meant it had far more fireballs ready.
The glow in the dragon's mouth brightened and Hiccup dived to the side. A fireball slammed into the wall behind Hiccup, and the boy ran for his life on the path leading downhill.))
The bola-launcher was caked in dirt, rust and dust, but was undeniably Hiccup's. After that fateful night, he always assumed that Stoick had destroyed it in rage. The teenager gaped at the contraption he made more than three years ago – abandoned in the storehouse he chose to live in, of all places.
Hiccup whipped his head up and looked through the crack to see the dragon's bat-like tail brush past the door and out into the night.
No thoughts scrambled through his mind. No inner voices stirred inspiration or dismissal. With single, decisive breath of air, Hiccup dropped his axe, gripped his launcher by the handles – thin and brittle – and wheeled it towards the door.
Hiccup felt the launcher in his hands; the weight of a machine he took months to build. He smelt the salt from the ocean and the age of the wooden walls. The moonlight shone in his eyes through the door he quickly approached. And yet nothing felt real. His body carried itself with such freedom that Hiccup wondered the last few minutes were a dream.
Hiccup stepped from the confines of the storehouse and turned. The dragon was still on the docks, clawing at the doors of the nearby buildings – undoubtedly trying to replicate the success it had found with Hiccup's fish. He dumped the bola-launcher on the ground and wrenched the aged wooden casing apart. The metal frame and drawstrings snapped into position, just as smooth as the day he made it.
The dragon looked straight at him, and Hiccup looked back through the metal sights.
Somewhere deep in Hiccup's mind, a muffled voice begged him to flee. To snap out of this strange and stupid stupor and avoid a gruesome death by an unnamed creature. Another voice, clear and collected, whispered in his ear.
The dragon will leave. The sun is rising and its eaten enough fish for you to not be worth the effort.
The monster's wings were flexed – half open, ready to burst forward and cross the distance between it and Hiccup before the teen could blink. But as Hiccup held his ground, the dragon let out a growl, turned to the sea and launched upwards with a single flap of its enormous wings.
Hiccup shuffled himself around, keeping the dragon in the metal sights as it climbed into the starry sky and turned to fly over the island. The teenager grabbed the metal lever and wrenched it back. The bola launcher squeaked and shuddered as he pulled against rust and all sorts of filth that had built up inside. With a soft click, Hiccup moved his hands to the trigger and waited.
"Why?" Hiccup whispered, frowning at what he was doing without so much as a conscious thought. What was the point in this when he had reasoned against it so many times?
Maybe this was revenge for stealing his fish, he wondered. Perhaps this was the opportunity to test his launcher – the last invention he ever made in the forge – against a live target? Was he doing this because this dragon seemed so intelligent, so different from anything he had seen before, and he could not stand the defilement of his expectations?
Hiccup did not know the answer to his question and he doubted he ever will. All he knew was that reputation, glory and war against dragons could get fucked.
The bola launcher screeched into life as Hiccup depressed the trigger; strings, levers and cogs that had gone unused for years burst into life. Hiccup was flung backwards as the machine practically exploded under the force. A spinning, whistling blur shot upwards and was swallowed by the darkness faster than Hiccup could have ever intended.
Eyes wide and reeling from the shock, Hiccup stared up into the night. The dragon had long vanished from sight, and the whistle of the bola faded into an eerie silence.
Hiccup took a deep breath. And another.
A quiet thwack echoed across the dock, followed by a shriek so inhuman – so menacing and threatening – that Hiccup knew exactly what kind of dragon he had hit.