Stolen

I was reading book eleven the other day and one of Snotlout's lines really stood out to me: "You took my whole world away from me and it's all just an accident!" That line hit me very powerfully. I thought about it and I realized how much anger Snotlout carried...and for good reason, too. Hiccup tore apart his whole village - and it's like it doesn't even matter to Hiccup.

It doesn't justify Snotlout, no, not at all. Snotlout was very much in the wrong. But he had reason.

I was perfect. You should have seen me back then, when I had everything. I won't deny it or try to pretend my childhood was so tough. I was perfect. I led a perfect life. I had everything I wanted and everything I needed.

I had admiration, I had respect. And one day, my father told me, one day I would become the chief of Berk.

I'm not going to lie; I looked forward to that day.

And then…and then the chief screwed up. Instead of coasting along the way he normally did, he had to go have a child. A boy, to be precise, and not just any boy.

This boy ignited my temper from just one look at him. He was taking my place. Suddenly, he was all anyone in the village could talk about and I wasn't perfect anymore.

I blamed the chief. And then I realized that it wasn't the chief's fault. It was that boy's. He was taking my place, he was replacing me and suddenly I wasn't perfect.

People praised him, not me. There were a few whispers about him, too, but everybody feared his father's temper so much that nobody dared say anything aloud.

But I did. I alone had the courage to voice what everyone was thinking, I alone did it.

But even then, it wasn't enough.

Because this boy – this puny little freak, this disgrace to the noble name – he brought out the worst in me. Every time I looked at him, I felt a flash of white-hot anger that I couldn't explain, an undeniable and insatiable rage. I wanted to hurt this boy. I wanted to punch him, to kick him, to see his pale skin go black and blue because I had made it so.

The rage fueled me, made me put my hands on him in a way I had never even considered putting my hands on anybody before.

He made me feel things that I knew I shouldn't be feeling and it was all his fault. The crazed fury, the inexplicable jealousy, everything I felt was because of him.

He was small. He couldn't defend himself that well. I beat him. Sometimes, I'd only just do small things, hitting him when no one was looking…other times, I continued until he was black and blue, a great crumpled heap of hopelessness, even at five years old. He would take the hits on his back, turning over onto his stomach so I saw his shoulder blades, poking out from under his shirt like the broken wings of a small, flightless bird.

It made me sick to see him that way and sick to see the fear in his eyes, but it also made me satisfied to see it…and that was what really disgusted me.

I would look down at myself sometimes after seeing his fear and I would realize I was a monster. Born from jealousy, fueled by hate, warped by fear…I was truly monstrous, perhaps more so than any dragon.

No wonder nobody wanted me for a chief; how could they when this was how I dealt with my anger? How could anybody want to be around me when they realized I didn't get rid of my fury, I took it out on people, defenseless little five-year-olds?

Every time I saw that fear, I loathed myself, because it was exactly what I was feeling as well. It only made it worse to know we were both afraid of me, afraid of what I could do, how far I could go. No. That wasn't what scared me. What scared me was how far I would go, how much I would allow myself to hurt him before I backed off. What about next time? How badly would I hurt him next time?

These thoughts became such a cruel form of torture to me that I swore to myself that I would never do it again. Each and every time I was finished with him, I felt ugly and hated, not just by the village, but by myself as well. I became determined to be a better person so I wouldn't have to hate myself…

I began feeling optimistic about my chances, telling myself that I could do better…maybe I could even ask Hiccup if he would forgive me…

And then I'd see him again and say goodbye to my restraint. I'd beat him again. I couldn't help it, I couldn't stand it…

I tried to keep my seething anger below, to turn it inward…

I tried so hard to get back what he stole from me by stealing everything I could from him that I guess I forgot somewhere along the way that that's not what life's about.

Second chances are precious. You shouldn't waste them. That's what I did. I wasted my first, my second, my third…I should've run out of chances by now.

Everything he's stolen from me…I've stolen it back a hundred times over. And still, he stands there before me, whispering the words, beautiful words of forgiveness and second chances and things I can't even begin to explain. "I'm asking you one last time if you would like to join the Company of the Dragonmark."