AN: Hi everybody, welcome to Bonded! A couple of things to note about this story here. First, this thing is a beast. I've got much of it already planned out, and it will be LONG. It is an AU, and it is my spin on exploring the connection between human and dragon in a more mystical sense. Second, there will be violence in this story (probably nothing super gory, but injuries WILL occur), along with a little adult language, and almost certainly character deaths. I'm not one for writing sexually explicit scenes, though, so nothing of that nature will be occurring. Anyways, thanks for joining me, and I hope you enjoy!

Back then we didn't have categories for the Bondings. Firebrand explained it, as best as he could, but dragons have little care for things such as scholarship. To be fair they share that trait with most Vikings…

-HHH

Two of the rarest dragons on Midgard stood on a hill overlooking a small Viking village, nearly invisible in the night. Their kind was feared above all others, yet none had actually seen one and lived to tell the tale. Or so the stories went. Like all stories, though, there was a grain of truth. None currently lived who had seen a Night Fury. Hopefully, the coming years would change that.

One of the dragons was truly massive for his breed, old beyond telling, yet still powerful and deadly. His body was well muscled, though not overly so; Night Furies took pride in their speed, not their bulk. His many scars told stories of days and battles long past. Although they were quite close to a dangerous Viking village, his posture was confident and unconcerned. He could not have been more different than his companion. This dragon was tiny, not even a yearling. He had yet to cut teeth, much less see battle, and his skin was unmarred by time or injury. This was the hatchling of the older, and he huddled against his sire, sharing none of the confidence the other exuded.

Their hilltop was near a house which stood apart from all the others; it was larger, and more ornamented as well. This marked, the older dragon recalled vaguely, that those who lived there were alphas of their kind. Coming from within were the smells and sounds of a human female in distress. Her strange keening cries were unfamiliar to the hatchling and he shrank back in fear.

"Go now? Go?" The hatchling pleaded. His father sighed. It was impossible to explain to the child that they had to be here. He was still not Bonded, and had nothing beyond the very limited language skills that normal dragons possessed: a strange mix of telepathic communication and body language. The old dragon started to shake his head, but stopped. Still holding on to those old human habits, "Firebrand"? After all these years? He sighed but turned his attention back to his terrified hatchling.

"Not go. Waiting." He said back. The younger did not object, but shrank in closer to his sire, ear plates flat to shut out the sounds.

In truth, while he did not show it outwardly, inwardly the older dragon felt like a nervous wreck. It is too early… nearly two moons too early. This child HAS to live, for all our sakes… It had been over three hundred years since a birth Bonding had occurred. They had been rare even before, but now with the Sisters… Night Furies, along with the other higher breeds had been hunted nearly to extinction. For all he knew, he and his hatchling were the last of a once proud kind. But this wasn't just about the Night Furies. The endless avarice of the Sisters was slowly killing every species of dragon, as well as systematically wiping out humans.

The last chance for both dragon and humankind rested on this one child born on a tiny island, in the middle of the vast northern ocean.

Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk, Terror of the Archipelago, and Slayer of Dragons, was, to put it lightly, a nervous wreck. Gobber the Belch, Berk's smith and Stoick's closest friend and confidante watched him pace back and forth. On what seemed like the hundredth time past the fireplace he had had enough.

"STOICK!" The man in question paused mid step. "Will ye stop tha'? Ye're makin me nervous, and I don' think there's a thing to be worryin' about!" The Chief at least had the presence of mind to look sheepish. Gobber softened. "She's stronger than ye're givin' her credit for, Stoick. Everything'll be fine." Stoick seemed about to object, but Gobber continued, "Now sit down before I take my club upside yer thick head!" The red bearded man stood his ground for a moment, an argument on his lips, but then seemed to deflate, and sank into the nearest chair, exhausted.

"I'm sorry, Gobber. I just… It's two months before her time. We've been trying for so long, and... " He paused, not wanting to voice his fears. Gobber waited, not breaking eye contact. Stoick sighed in resignation. "What the child doesn't make it? Thor, what if she doesn't make it?" Saying it out loud made the fear more real somehow. And it made him, the one who was supposed to always be in control, who had to be unshakable, tremble. Gobber moved from his seat and limped over to his friend, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"She's strong, Stoick. After all she's put up with you all these years," Stoick managed a shaky smile at that. "And the child has both of yer blood in 'is veins. Knowing how boar-headed you two are, 'e probably got sick o' waitin and decided to bust out early!" Stoick looked up at him, a more genuine grin playing across his features. Gobber was often direct and earthy, but he was a good friend, and knew how to improve Stoick's mood. A trait for which the bedraggled Chief was immensely grateful at the moment.

"Thank you, Gobber. You've always been a great help to me."

"Eh, someone's got to take care o' ye when ye're not bein' stoic, Stoick," Gobber grinned, thumping the Chief across the back.

The two friends waited in silence for the tell tail cries of a newborn. The quiet was nervous, but companionable. Stoick no longer sought to wear a hole through the floor, although his leg bounced up and down anxiously. Now, the Chief of Berk was certainly not an ignorant man, and was fully aware that the process of childbirth could be quite long, but to him the minutes seemed to stretch into eternity. Finally, after what seemed like hours of waiting, the pained strains coming from his wife stopped, and the mewl of an infant filled the house instead. Stoick burst from his chair, and ran up the stairs, barging into the birthing room. He slammed the door open, nearly knocking over Gothi, who had been reaching for the door, presumably in order to come down and fetch the expectant father. She shot him a glare, which passed unnoticed as Stoick had eyes only for the most beautiful sight he had ever seen in his entire life: His wife holding their newborn child, who was now asleep in her arms. She was sweaty and pale, but alive and smiling at him, pure joy written on her features.

"Stoick, you have a son," she whispered, panting slightly. Stoick crossed the room in two strides and knelt by the bed, gently embracing her.

"We have a son, Val," he corrected his wife, leaning in and kissing her head. "What should we name him?" he asked, staring in wonderment at the baby.

"Well…" she paused, considering. "What about Hiccup? After all this premature birth was a bit of a hiccup," they both chuckled weakly at that, but Valka continued. "And there hasn't been a Hiccup in your family for years. What would he be? The fourth?" she asked.

"The third," Stoick corrected. Then looked down at the child- his child- again. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third."

Alrighty everyone that's the end of the very first chapter! I know it's a tad short, but this seemed like a good place to break it up. Things pick up rather quickly from here. Hopefully everything is sort of making sense so far. I'm leaving things vague on purpose for the moment, so don't worry too much. Please feel free to leave any comments or critiques you might have, as I'm in no way an experienced writer, and it would help immensely to hear from you!