|Prologue|

It was a normal night for Berk, with its vast skies filled with twinkling stars, the cold ocean still restless with its thrashing waves. And in the village, up in the chief's house, it was a special night.

The well-known, fearless leader Stoick the Vast was standing at his wives bedside, looking down at the little bundle of joy that was clinging onto his mother's long, braided hair with small fisted hands. The baby was sound asleep, but he seemed to be smiling softly. Valka, the mother, grinned back down at the child, gripping Stoick's large hand.

But this moment of serene peace was interrupted as the elder, Gothi walked in with a saddened face. She looked at the two happy parents with depressed eyes, as she gripped her staff and stepped forward.

"Stoick…your son is sick and weak. He was born to early, it seems. He won't make it" The elder announced, scared about how the two would react. Valka's grip just tightened on the child, her hand slipping from Stoicks and pulling the small child closer. Stoick looked away from his only child, looking at Gothi in disbelief.

"No…can't he get better?" Stoick persisted, glancing at his child. Gothi heaved a sigh and shook her head.

"He's not strong enough" She simply stated, now not able to look at the parents pain stricken faces. Now staring at the floor, she turned towards the door. A strong and firm hand locked on her frail shoulder though, stopping her in her tracks. Turning, she saw Stoick sternly looking down at her, eyes the ever slightest bit glassy with strong emotion.

"Well then what do we do with him if he's just going to die?" He said almost darkly, gesturing at Valka whose cheeks were already tear streaked. She also looked over at the elder, desperate for maybe some type of reassurance. She hugged the runt of hers tightly, scared to let go of the child.

Gothi gulped, but kept her stature. "Treasure your last moments Stoick. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do. He is at the gods mercy now."

Stoick glared, but turned away from her as a tear slid down his cheek, leaking into his grand red beard, wetting the strands of bright scarlet. "Go." Was all he said before he slammed the door in Gothi's face.

-O-o-O-

It was heartbreaking. Stoick having to walk through the whole village with a small basket at sunrise. A small basket with the small body of his once child in it. His head hung in sadness, he simply walked down to shore, down the twisting boardwalks. He ignored all the questions, and all the emphasized looks he received.

Gripping the basket tightly, he leaned down, setting the small little basket in the upturned, white sand. Gothi was right. His son was now at the gods mercy.

Although the poor child had died mere hours after Gothi had warned them of his fate. Right in his mothers arms, and they only ever got to see his eyes once. They were just like his moms, a friendly looking forest green with splotches of light brown around the pupil. Stoick knew he would never forget those sweet, innocent eyes that peered up at him before they closed again, only to stay closed.

They never got to see him grow up. Hear him talk. That was the only moment in Stoicks life when he had actually cried. And tears still threatened to spill from his eyes as he pushed the small basket to sea, hoping his child would be spared by Odin's wrath. Perhaps one day they will all meet again…wherever you go when you pass.

And so the little basket flowed and bumped over waves, towards the sunset, as Stoick watched. Valka wasn't able to bear it, so she stayed home. Shaking his head, Stoick turned and made his way back home, glancing over his shoulder all too often at the ocean.

-o-O-o-

The basket bobbed and rolled, being caught in a strong current that lead into a large river heading back to Berk. Apparently fate had a different choice for this little runt of a boy, whose fingers and lips were slowly turning blue from the cold.

The basket washed up on a muddy shore, the top ripped apart by sharp rocks. Now any animal could easily get into it…

…any dragon to…

Because at that moment, an old sick and dying Night Fury was lumbering towards the river for a morning drink. His bright blue eyes duller, his once pitch black scales now greying around the edges steadily. He was now too old and creaky to fly, so he decided to stay on this beautiful island for his last days.

Although he was old, he was also wise, being alive for countless centuries. He knew he was going to die, and he was fine with that. He was getting tired of his life by now. But as he leaned down to get a drink of icy cold water, his nose caught a scent on the wind. Curious, the old dragon walked up the bank, avoiding the mud.

The scent was human, but it didn't hold the arrogance and fearlessness always followed by the stench. The only thing the old Night Fury smelled on the wind was innocence and sadness. Now intrigued, he crawled slowly over a large rock, looking down.

Before him was a torn and ripped basket, just a regular fishing basket. But as he tipped it over, a small bundle of blankets rolled gently out. His wise eyes softened, seeing the small human hatchling. But it was dead.

Crooning, he nudged it, just to make sure. But, no. No movements. The elder dragon felt pity for the child, sensing a once great outcome for the small being. He did have a future, but Hel had grasped him before he could live it. Not fair, he thought. This child would of done great things.

The Night Fury settled beside the small child, looking down at it. Hacking a cough, he knew he may pass away as well soon. Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind. But he had to think about this one, for it could easily screw up.

What was his idea?

Dulled blue eyes looked down once again at the child, and the grey dragon wrapped his body around the child. His body was no longer to warm though, his fire dying out. Closing his eyes, and deciding, he touched his nose to the child's limp chest, and with his last dying breaths…

…He muttered one last word into the air, over the roaring of the rushing river.

"Live"

-O-o-O-

Cries rang through the forest, loud and strong sounding. No longer the weak whimpering of a runt, it now sounded like a strong offspring. Very few heard the cries, beside the annoyed animals that kept walking. The wolves were too scared to prey on the crying baby, because of the large silvery grey body that encircled the child.

They didn't know though, that that body was just a carcass.

Oh the angst.

But how is it? Should I continue? Don't worry, I'll still work on my other fanfic, but I just wanted to post this, as I mentioned in Forbidden Friendship.

And by the way…if any of you were wondering, that baby was Hiccup, who will grow up. Time skip next chapter ;) you'll get to see all the awesomeness he is (that made no sense…)

I will be updating randomly, expect an update this week or next week though. Thanks for taking your time to read this :D