Two.

Hiccup was woken by the familiar noises of screams, explosions and the roars of dragons. He scrambled up and dragged his boots and fur vest on, then raced down the stairs. His father had gone to lead the defences while Hiccup also had a job to do. He snatched the door open-to see a large Monstrous Nightmare launch a huge ball of flame at the door. He slammed it shut just in time but he felt the impact and shivered. Then he dashed out, snatching up the buckets and tossing the cold water on the flames. His father insisted on rudimentary fire precautions for all homes and Hiccup always obeyed his orders and had the buckets full each evening. Sure the house was safe, he scooted down the hill.

He was met by the usual scenes of chaos: Vikings fighting dragons, dragons raiding stores, houses being burnt. He ducked under two fighters and sprinted down between the houses. And the villagers were as pleased as usual to see him.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Get back inside!"

He ducked and ran harder. It was dangerous to be out but part of his job at the forge was to help Gobber in the shop during raids. His father was always out leading the defence if the village and Hiccup had always wanted to do his part. He rounded a corner and narrowly missed a huge stream of fire. He started and a strong hand wrenched him up by the collar. He winced as Stoick looked around angrily.

"What are you...? What is he doing outside?" he growled, glancing around. No one answered but the Chief didn't expect an answer. He released the boy. "Get inside!" he snarled at his son and Hiccup ran on as he heard his father get a report from Sven on the attack. Hiccup dodged by the fire beacons as they were raised into the dragon-infested Sky and dashed into the open door of the forge. Gobber looked up from a twisted sword, which he was pounding with his hammer prosthetic hand.

"Nice of you to show up," the blacksmith said sarcastically. "I thought you'd been carried away!" Hiccup shucked off his vest and dragged on his leather apron then have a smile. After a day when no one seemed to want him at all, it was a relief to be with Gobber, who seemed to have forgotten his earlier anger at the boy.

"Who, me? Nah-they couldn't handle all...this..." he replied and demonstrated his scrawny and totally unimpressive physique. Gobber glanced up as the boy struggled to manhandle a war-hammer into the rack.

"Well, they need toothpicks, don't they?" he shot back and the boy smiled. Runt, toothpick and fishbone were the most common insults thrown at him and while Hiccup knew he was small for his fourteen years and scrawny, the constant repetition still hurt. Though not as much as being called Useless...

"Always happy to help," he muttered and had to put his entire body weight into pumping the bellows and getting the fire hotter. He threw the hatch open and a dozen Vikings immediately thrust their weapons in for attention. With a sigh, he gathered them in his arms and began sorting them. Gobber stared at the boy: he could tell when Hiccup was unhappy and the boy was really troubled.

The blacksmith was Stoick's best friend and had helped the Chief raise his son after the boy's mother had been taken as a baby. He knew Hiccup and recognised the boy was different to the average Viking and trying to make the boy into a perfect Viking son was never going to work. Gobber knew that his friend was so focussed on making his boy a proper Viking that he forgot the boy had any feelings. A diet of criticism, shouting and humiliation certainly hadn't turned Hiccup into Snotlout-thank the gods-and it was unlikely to suddenly take effect. Gobber made a mental note to have another word with his angry and embittered friend about his son.

Hiccup was leaning out the hatch, staring. Gobber peered over his shoulder and saw the fire crew-the other teens-at work. He knew that Hiccup was needed in the forge but he could understand the boy's heartfelt desire to join them. He had very little positive interaction with his peers and had begged to join them in the fire crew but the entire village council had vetoed the suggestion, already envisaging the utter destruction of the village.

The boy was staring with a slightly goofy expression, his gaze locked on the lithe shape of Astrid and Gobber smiled. He knew the lad had a massive crush on her-his inability to string a coherent sentence together in her presence was a giveaway-but she was as dismissive of him as the rest. With a regretful sigh, he hauled the boy away from the window.

"Get back inside!" he snapped. Hiccup looked up plaintively, his big green eyes pleading.

"Oh please, let me out!" he begged. "I need to make my mark!"

"You've made plenty of marks...all in the wrong places!" Gobber pointed out, jabbing him in the chest with his prosthetic hand-now a pair of tongs. Hiccup wasn't giving up.

"I just need to get out...and slay a dragon. My life will get infinitely better," he added and the plea was much clearer. It couldn't get much worse. "I may even get a date," he murmured gently. Gobber glared at him. He was exasperated. No one would want Hiccup!

"How? You can't lift an axe. You can't swing a sword. You can't even use these..." Gobber lifted a heavy set of stone bolas which a villager grabbed and used to bring down a Gronckle. Hiccup backed away, gesturing to a device he had been working on in the back room.

"No-but this will throw them for me!" he said quickly, his eyes serious. The boy couldn't help inventing machines to fight dragons. He patted the cover and the thing instantly launched a bola and flattened a Viking queuing at the hatch. Hiccup winced and mentally noted that he would have to go and apologise to Bjorn later.

"You see?" Gobber snapped.

"Minor calibration issues," Hiccup offered quickly but Gobber advanced on him and he backed away. Gobber was one of the few people he didn't fear would hit him but Gobber was huge, intimidating and probably crazy and he could still devise some annoying punishments that would wipe out what little spare time Hiccup had for his inventing. The blacksmith scanned the skinny shape in front of him.

"If you ever want to get out there, you need to stop all of ...this..." He indicated brusquely. Hiccup frowned.

"You just gestured to all of me," he complained, his tone slightly hurt. Gobber nodded.

"That's right-stop being all of you!" he encouraged the boy. Hiccup stiffened.

"Ohhh-you, sir, are playing a dangerous game-keeping this much raw Viking-ness contained..." he replied spiritedly. "There will be CONSEQUENCES!" Gobber looked unimpressed, though he was glad the boy was still willing to stand up for himself.

"I'll take my chances," he said swiftly and spun as they heard and explosion. Since the disastrous raid where Stoick had been severely injured, his brother Spitelout-Snotlout's father-had been Stoick's physical avatar. Stoick had offered to stand down as Chief but the village to a Viking had demanded he stay on. Though physical prowess was important, they recognised his skills in leadership, his wisdom and justice and his diplomacy. Spitelout was almost as strong as Stoick but vacuous verging on stupid, a man whose only plan was to hit something and then, if that didn't work, to hit it harder. So Stoick sent Spitelout to lead the fighting in the lower defences while he directed the overall defence, often from the plaza but usually from the Great Hall.

"Is that...?" Hiccup asked, peering around the blacksmith. The whine sounded through the air and a catapult exploded in a welter of purple fire.

"NIGHT FURY!" Hiccup leaned further forward as the shout echoed round the besieged village.

"The dragon that no one has seen. This thing never steals food and never misses. No one has ever brought down a Night Fury. That's why I'm gonna be the first," he murmured. He had noted the sleek black shape always zoomed through the explosion as it veered away and he had memorised the sleek shape, with wide bat-like wings. Another explosion sounded and another catapult went down. Gobber made his decision.

"They need me out there!" he announced, switching his prosthetic for an axe. He fixed Hiccup in a stern blue glare. "Stay. Here. Now." Hiccup stared back as Gibber hobbled outside on his leg leg and threw himself into the fray with a roar. But the boy's gaze swung back to his machine. Another explosion made up his mind and he threw his leather apron off. Maybe he could make his father proud at last.

He closed his ears to the cries of the villagers ordering him to get back inside and pushed the Mangler-as he had dubbed his bola-launcher-into position on an outcrop in the upper village. Then he snapped it open and narrowed his eyes, focussing on the remaining catapult in the lower defences. He could hear the Night Fury coming round for another pass and lined up the weapon.

"Give me something to shoot at," he murmured. Not that he expected the gods to help: why would they want to involve themselves in the shipwreck that was his life? But the catapult exploded and he fired at the black shape that zoomed through the explosion. The recoil tossed him onto his back but he scrambled up to see if he hit anything. And then he heard it: a shriek of pain and saw something silhouetted against the stars, arching down the impact into Raven Point forest.

He leapt in the air. "Oh, I hit it! I hit it! Did anyone see that?" he shouted and spun-to spy the menacing head of a Monstrous Nightmare rounding a house. He backed away. "Except you," he sighed and ran for his life.

Stoick was shouting orders to the Vikings who had trapped a trio of Nadders that had been after the sheep. He bore the species special animosity, since it was another trio of Nadders-or maybe it was the same trio?-that had almost killed him as he rescued his disobedient boy. Mentally, he had stopped calling Hiccup his son after that day. He roared another order and then he heard it-the desperate scream that had him coiled in a mixture of worry and fury. The boy was out AGAIN! He scanned the skyline and saw the skinny shape racing down, pursued by a Monstrous Nightmare!

Hiccup scrambled and almost fell, narrowly missing being incinerated. He knew he needed to get the village, to the fighters and wondered what his dad would say. He guessed his father would be absolutely mad. The Nightmare missed him again and he dashed behind one of the huge posts suspending the fire beacons. He was so skinny that his slight frame could completely hide behind the tree trunk post. And then he flinched as the dragon poured all its flame at him. He could feel the heat as it rushed by but the post held-just-though it was groaning and creaking ominously. His breaths scorching his throat and heart galloping with fear, he glanced to his right...as the dragon snaked its long neck round to his left. The jaws opened to end the boy...

...and the Stoick's hammer crashed into the muzzle and knocked the beast back half a dozen yards. Limping, the Chief lurched at it, his hammer raised. The dragon narrowed its eyes and then spat it a gout of flame at the man. But all it managed was small burp: it was empty. Stoick gave a nasty smile.

"You're all out!" he shouted and slammed the dragon with his hammer again. The dragon backed away. They all knew of the flame-haired warrior, his ferocious fists and his implacable will. The dragons believed he had been killed but he was alive and the Nightmare didn't fancy its chances: it backed away and flew off at speed. Stoick gave a grim grin: it was his first action since the attack and it had invigorated him, reminding him just of how much he enjoyed killing dragons.

Then a sickening crack sounded behind him as the tortured post of the beacon finally gave way, dumping the enormous fire basket in the ground. The Chief watched as the basket rolled down the hill, crushing houses, setting more fires and freeing the Nadders, which immediately made off with the sheep. In fact, all the dragons were leaving, laden with loot. So he concentrated on the skinny shape, wincing and flinching at every crunch and crack as the fire basket continued its destruction of the lower village. Hiccup looked up, his shoulders tense: he knew he was in desperate trouble.

"Sorry...Dad," he said. Stoick scowled at him as the villagers silently glared at the boy. Hiccup stared at the ground meekly for a minute but knew he had to explain. "Okay-but I hit a Night Fury!" he added

There were mutters of disbelief and annoyance that Useless had not only destroyed half the village and let the dragons get away with half the food but that he was lying in a ridiculous attempt to excuse his irresponsible actions. Stoick grabbed him by the arm and hauled him bodily up towards the plaza. His rage seemed to improve his usually uneven gait.

"It's not like the last time!" Hiccup protested quickly. "I really actually hit it this time! You guys were busy and I had a really clear shot. It came down over Raven Point and if we get a search party..."

"ENOUGH!" Stoick roared, lurching to a halt. The boy flinched and stared up at the Chief. His father was mad beyond anything he had seen and he felt his pulse fluttering in his chest. Memories of Stoick's cruel verbal dismantling of his son raced through his memory. "Enough!" the Chief repeated. Hiccup squared his shoulders, preparing himself for another dressing down. "Every time you come outside, you cause disaster!" Hiccup swallowed anxiously. "Can't you see that? Winter is coming and I have whole village to feed!"

Hiccup glanced round at the assembled villagers. Not one of them looked starving: all of them would make three of him. "Between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don't you think?" he said in a low voice. Stoick's scowl deepened and he knew his feeble quip had been ill-judged.

"Go back to the house and STAY THERE!" he snapped. He turned to Gobber. "See that he gets and stays there!" The blacksmith came up behind the boy, cuffed him on the back of the head and pushed him up the hill. The villagers were still muttering and the Chief could sense an ugly mood. Spitelout marched up to him.

"Is that it?" he asked, his voice angry. He had been very vocal over the last few months-both in private and in council-about punishing Hiccup. His demands had been more determined since the boy had ceased being Stoick's heir and the Chief knew his brother had a point. To all intents and purposes now, Hiccup was expendable. and though Stoick was angry and disappointed by the boy, he didn't want him dead. He just wanted him...better.

"I know your view," he said heavily. Stoick had never beaten his son and hardly ever struck the boy but Spitelout was free with his hands and his belt. His son had been beaten whenever he failed to live up to Spitelout's high expectations and the man pointed to his son as proof positive that his regime worked. Stoick knew that no amount of beating would turn his scrawny fishbone son into a paragon of Viking virtue. But it may curb his disobedience. He waved his hand. "So be it!" Spitelout gave again smile and stomped off up the hill after the boy and Gobber.

Hiccup was almost home, still protesting to an unsympathetic Gobber. He had already run the gauntlet of sneers and taunts from the other teens and he had felt himself cringe. He knew that Snotlout would be after him later and he resolved to get away from the village for a while. Maybe he could combine it with a search of Raven Point. He knew he had taken down the Night Fury but he needed proof to finally win his father's approval.

"I really did hit it!" he protested.

"Yeah, yeah!" Gobber said, not really listening.

"He never listens!" Hiccup continued heavily. It never seemed fair.

"Runs in the family," Gobber commented.

"And when he does, it's with this disappointed expression, like someone skimped the meat in his sandwich," Hiccup said and paused by his home. He adopted a heroic pose, at total odds with his unheroic physique. His accent was a really good approximation of his father's growl. "Barmaid-you've brought the wrong offspring! I ordered an extra-large boy with beefy arms, extra guts and glory on the side. This here- this is a talking fishbone!"

"You're thinking about this all wrong," Gobber told him tactlessly. "It's not what's on the outside, it's what's on the inside he can't stand!" Hiccup felt that like the harshest blow, confirmation-if any were needed-that his father didn't love him. He sagged.

"Thank you for summing that up," he managed sarcastically, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes were feeling suspiciously as if he was in the verge of tears. Gobber caught his tone and tried to be kind.

"Just stop being something you're not!" he said kindly. Hiccup sighed.

"I just wanna be one of your guys," he said softly, turning to his house. Gobber peered over his shoulder.

"Yer uncle wants to speak with you as well, Hiccup," he warned. "Try to keep your mouth under control. Spitelout doesn't have my sense of humour. And try to obey your father once in a while. It would make all our lives so much easier!" And he turned away as the boy dragged himself into the house. He feared his uncle because Spitelout had made no secret of his disdain and scorn for the skinny offspring of their Chief. Hiccup realised who had lobbied to take his birthright-not that he especially wanted to be Chief, but the status had protected him for years from the worst excesses of the bullies. Not any more.

He poked the dying fire and automatically gathered more kindling and logs, feeding the embers and nodding as a golden flame appeared in response to his efforts. His father needed a warm house in view of his injuries and Hiccup determinedly claimed every last stick they were owed to ensure the fire was fed. The abuse and taunts he fielded for his efforts were par for the course but it was for his Dad and he would endure anything for him.

The door slammed open and Spitelout stomped in. Hiccup spun to face him and saw the man's cold blue eyes lit with triumph. Instinctively, he backed away as his uncle pulled the door to. "Your father sent me," he said grimly and Hiccup backed up further. "You have caused too much destruction to escape without penalty." Hiccup's eyes widened and he watched as the man as he stalked to the woodpile and felt round the back, then grasped a long switch, thick as a finger and supple. The boy gaped: he had never known that was there, or he would have burned it for fuel. "Your father got this months ago," Spitelout continued conversationally, bending the rod and smiling. "He was considering this even before your rank disobedience almost cost him his life. Maybe if he had thrashed you before, he would still be whole."

Hiccup stared at him, his numb brain struggling to process the words. His father had actually been planning to beat him? He had decided that hurting him would suddenly make him a proper Viking? And he and Spitelout blamed him for everything that had happened? Sure, that wasn't much of a stretch since Hiccup was usually blamed for everything but that they were planning to... He ran for the door but Spitelout was quicker and grabbed his arm painfully, his thick fingers digging deep into Hiccup's flesh in a ferocious, bruising grip. The boy was dragged back and slammed against the table and Spitelout eagerly hauled the boy's tunic up over his head. His grip switched to snare both of Hiccup's bony wrists and hold his arms straight above his head, using them to bend him helpless over the table. Finally, the man dragged his leggings down to his knees.

"P-please...Uncle...don't..." Hiccup whispered. Spitelout stared at the skinny shape, the white skin unblemished save for an occasional freckle. Hiccup was breathing fast in fear and actually trembling.

"You pathetic coward!" Spitelout sneered. "You should be ashamed! Take your punishment like a Viking!" Hiccup gave a muffled sob.

"My-my father wouldn't..." he whimpered.

The first blow fell with a crack and a shocked scream from the boy as it cut across his shoulders. He struggled wildly but he was helpless. Spitelout hit lower the second time and lower again the third. Trapped by his tunic, held helpless and unable to see what was going on, Hiccup could only bite his lip and try not to scream as his uncle expertly continued the beating.

Stoick made his slow way back up to the Great Hall when he heard the first scream. He paused. He had become programmed to listen for that sound, to respond and protect the boy. He had promised his wife he would always protect Hiccup. But he knew he had done this, turning his son to the mercies of his brother who had been itching to thrash the boy for years. And he knew, beyond all doubt, that Spitelout would not exercise the restraint he used on his own son. Then he shook his head. Maybe this would finally teach the boy a lesson in obedience.

Further down the slope, Snotlout was failing to hide his grin at the screams echoing down the village. The villagers who heard were nodding gravely in approval at the punishment and the heir felt a warm surge of satisfaction at the sounds of his predecessor suffering. Hiccup should have been thrashed years ago and Snotlout was already planning how he could exploit the boy's wounds for his beating tomorrow. He knew how hard his Dad could beat a son and it sounded like Hiccup was getting the full treatment. In fact...in fact, Snotlout couldn't recall ever having a beating this bad.

He looked up and saw the twins at his side. Tuffnut frowned. "Is that...Useless?" Snotlout nodded with a nasty grin.

"Yeah, my Dad's giving him a real thrashing. If he can walk away from this one, I'll be mildly surprised," he added. The twins gave approving whoops.

"Like to see that!" Ruffnut leered.

"I'm sure we can help him..." Tuffnut added. Astrid scowled, wincing as the screams continued, though definitely more desperate now.

"You should be ashamed," she announced. "That boy is bullied by all of you, he clearly isn't loved-or even liked-by his own father and he is despised by the village. Whatever he's suffering, it's more than he deserves." And she stalked away to go training in the forest. At least there, she could try to forget the desperate, pitiful cries. Fishlegs gave an embarrassed look and headed back to his home. Snotlout stared back up the hill.

"Just wait until I get my hands on you, Useless!" he promised.

Spitelout gave another savage blow and then stopped. His arm was aching, he was covered with sweat and he was panting as if he had fought an entire raid. He gave one last swat across the boy's backside then unclasped his hand to let the boy slide to the floor. He had lost count but he guessed it was about six dozen stripes-double the most he had ever given his son. Hiccup was covered in scarlet welts, from his shoulders, all down his back, across his buttocks and his upper legs. Many were bleeding and the boy gave a faint moan, struggling to wrestle his tunic down and stare blearily up at his Uncle. His entire body was shivering with pain and his eyes were wet, his cheeks streaked with tears. His green eyes were terrified.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he muttered in a hoarse voice.

"Stop sobbing! A Viking doesn't cry like a baby! Try to take your punishments like a man!" Spitelout snarled and kicked the boy. Hiccup cried out plaintively.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he repeated brokenly. Spitelout stowed the switch and glared down at the boy.

"Now you know what will happen when you disobey your Chief," he snarled. "You mess up again and I'll be back, boy. Understand?" Hiccup nodded wildly, burying his head in his arms as the door slammed behind his uncle. As soon as he was sure the man was gone, he collapsed into a mess of sobbing. His entire body was hurting, his back and backside excruciating. Even sobbing hurt his welts and it took a long time before he could compose himself enough to slid his leggings up and cautiously pulled his tunic down, hissing as the fabric settled in his scored hide.

He swiped his face with his sleeve, slowly raising his head. It wasn't just the thrashing-though that was far the worst punishment he had ever endured-but the fact that his Dad had authorised and ordered it. He hadn't even bothered to say anything to his son: he had just sent his brother to execute the punishment. He wasn't even worth telling he was going to be beaten. He swallowed and swiped away a couple more tears. His Dad was never going to accept him.

With a huge amount of effort, he levered himself up to his knees. He wasn't going to stay in the house: he needed to get away and think. Somehow, he had to prove himself, to be accepted. If not, he feared what Snotlout would do when he was Chief. He reached up to the table and hauled his screaming body to a pair of very wobbly legs. He had to support himself as he staggered to his vest and snatched up his journal. He stared resolutely at the back door: he had a dragon to find.