Please see the end of chapter for notes.

"—strode into the killing rink with his head held high, axe slung over his back—"

"Wait, I thought he fought with a sword?" Fishlegs interrupted. "A mystical sword that could set itself on fire at his will!"

Old Wrinkly frowned. "Yes, but that's not until later."

"Was he any good with the axe?" Dogsbreath demanded.

"Of course he was, mud-for-brains!" And that was Snotlout. "Hiccup was good at everything! Like, the exact opposite of this Hiccup, who's good at nothing." My cousin shot me a dirty look, which I ignored. "Which is why I'm going to take up his legacy and be the greatest chief Berk's ever seen!"

Old Wrinkly coughed and tried to regain control of the story. "Now, now, kids. Let's see. Where was I?""The Nightmare!"

Fishlegs volunteered, leg jittering up and down in his enthusiasm.

"Ah, yes! Hiccup Haddock strode into the killing rink with his head held high, axe slung over his back. A hush fell over his village. They knew they were about to witness something great; though no one could know exactly what that would be."

Well, my grandfather had recovered his stride. I sighed, and tuned him out again. Toothless was curled into my lap, fast asleep, and it would be better for all of us if he stayed that way. I scratched underneath his chin absently.

Gobber the Belch had been tapped to go out on the last fishing trip of the season, and though he thought it would have been an educational experience to drag us kids along, my dad had vetoed it at the last minute. We needed as much fish as possible, and teaching ten adolescents the proper Viking way to fish was a distraction that could lead to disaster. Which meant we had a substitute teacher, and that was Old Wrinkly.

I couldn't believe I'd actually been excited about Hairy Hooligan History lessons. Most Viking traditions involve a lot of mead swilling, axe swinging, and insult slinging, which had never made sense to me anyway. My marks in Advanced Rudery were dismal, and Frightening Foreigners was even worse. But I was clever, and articulate, and smart. Telling Tales—and what's history but one very long, very detailed tale?—should have been a time for me to shine.

Except the first day we'd started talking about Hiccup the Dragon Master and we hadn't stopped since.

Now, for anyone else, this was not a problem at all. A lot of our culture was based on raising dragons, training dragons, riding dragons, and Hiccup the Dragon Master was the first to do it. He was the greatest Viking Hero to date, the first to tame the skies. He'd brought down fleets, armadas, with his dragon Terror, the last of the Night Furies—the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself, a midnight black dragon the size of a house. Hiccup the Dragon Master had stood six feet tall with shoulders as wide as a tree, a beard as terrible and red as the last drops of lifeblood seeping from a mortal wound, and a voice capable of commanding even the most reluctant of dragons, striking through their resistance like thunder. It was said that, when Hiccup Horrendous Haddock spoke, the winds themselves obeyed.

When I was little, I'd loved the tales of Hiccup the Dragon Master. They were my favorite bedtime stories, because the stories were about me, my past, my family, my name. It wasn't until I turned ten myself that I really understood what that meant, because I am absolutely nothing like my heroic ancestor and namesake, and I was never, ever allowed to forget it. Hiccup the Dragon Master was a far cry from Hiccup the Useless.

I should have seen this coming, really. No, we couldn't talk about, oh, Bork the Bold, who started studying the dragons when we were still at war with them, or Alvin the Redeemed, who had founded the Meathead tribe, or Agar the Scream, who'd been the first Viking to train a Whispering Death—no, of course not. Because that would have been easy for me.

Old Wrinkly slammed his hands together for emphasis and I jumped. Luckily, so did everyone else. Toothless snapped awake and started scratching at my vest, looking for treats. "A burst of fire appeared over the monster's right eye, and Hiccup appeared, as if born from smoke and dragon fire himself!" Oh, they'd already gotten to that part of the story?

"Toothless hungry," he whined. "Fish, want fish. Give Toothless fish!" I scratched at his jaw, avoiding his mouth.

"Hush, I don't have any right now," I whispered back, which Toothless did not approve of. He hissed at me, wordlessly this time, and snapped again at my fingers. This time, I wasn't quite so lucky, and his very sharp gums and very strong jaw caught my thumb. I yelped, trying to dislodge him and only succeeding in drawing attention to myself. Startled by the noise, Old Wrinkly leapt to his feet, his horned helmet clattering to the ground and adding to the din. All the other boys burst out laughing as I tried to shake my stubborn dragon loose. Only Fishlegs scrambled to help me, tugging on Toothless until he let go, then disappeared into the rafters, muttering sulkily about strikes and appreciation under his breath.

"See, what did I tell you?" Snotlout said. A sneer twisted his lips, and Fireworm, his beautiful Monstrous Nightmare, chortled behind him. "He's so Useless he can't even listen to a story properly, let alone train a dragon!"

Shame burned like fire in the back of my throat and the corners of my eyes, and I wondered if that's what it felt like to a dragon who was breathing fire. Probably not. There'd be more power, sitting strong and proud in the stomach and on the shoulders. I stood, pressing my shoulders back and putting my hands on my hips and glaring into the rafters. Toothless finally got that I wasn't in the mood and went quiet, though the other boys hadn't stopped laughing.

"All right, lads, I think that's enough History for today," Old Wrinkly called, and they instantly dissolved into protests, whining for him to continue, he was at the best part… I fixed my eyes on Toothless without flinching. Twelve was too old to play pretend, but I tried to imagine what the Dragon Master would do anyway. Pathetic, but it hardened my eyes enough that I didn't feel like crying anymore. Old Wrinkly was firm with the class, and insisted that I walk him back to his house—"My old bones could use the help."

Everyone cleared out pretty quickly after that, Snotlout still sniggering and sneering, but it still took my half an hour, the promise of three oysters, and the threat of leaving him behind in the cold, empty, lonely hall before Toothless ventured back down to perch on my helmet again. I followed my grandfather out of the hall in silence. He'd try to encourage me and mention his soothsaying again, I knew it. At the moment, I didn't want to be encouraged as much as I wanted to sulk.

"Chin up, boy." Ha, knew it. "Why, Hiccup the Second had a slow start, too—"

"Yeah," I interrupted, "for ten years, before he trained twin Monstrous Nightmares during his dragon training. At the same time."

"Well, I still say you're going to be the greatest hero Berk's ever seen," he said. Stubborn old goat. "It's in your blood, it's in your name, and it's in the signs. I soothsayed it myself. And your… Toothless Daydream…" Toothless trilled wordlessly, preening, then swooped down and nipped at my ear when I had nothing to say. "He's unique if nothing else."

I sighed. My grandfather had never given up on me, but he was wrong. I'd be the worst failure Berk would ever see, for the exact same three reasons he gave. "Thanks," I said anyway. "I'll see you tomorrow. The last few boats are due in, right?"

"No." The reply was meant to be ominous. "They've hit a storm, and it's going to take another week." I rolled my eyes, and turned towards my own house. Old Wrinkly's predictions never came true, but he persisted anyway. Maybe there was something to learn from that, but right now I just wanted to get home, get warm, and ignore everything for a bit. Maybe expand on How to Speak Dragonese, and start repairing some of the damage.

My work of the night before was for nothing, though, as Toothless got it into his scaly little head to steal my notebook and I wasted the entire morning chasing him around most of the island. Lessons had been called off for the day in anticipation of the fleet's arrival, but it was still a pain. I'd hoped to have that morning to myself, not traipsing across the entirety of Berk after the most problematic, disobedient dragon I had ever seen. By the time I managed to bribe the menace back to ground level and reclaim my now-gummed work, the ships had not only returned to port but had also been unloaded.

A crowd had gathered in the center square of the town, sending Toothless into an excited and interested frenzy on my shoulder. "What that, what's that, what's that?" His claws dug into my skin, and even though I really just wanted to put my notebook away where it would be safe from terrorizing little dragons, I also knew I wouldn't get a moment's peace until his curiosity was satisfied. And, if I was entirely honest, I wanted to know what was going on, too. I headed towards the town square.

Everyone's size prevented me from seeing what was going on, but Fishlegs was lingering on the edge of the crowd, rocking onto tiptoe. Better to be in the same boat together, and Fishlegs tended to stick close to the village unless Gobber was dragging us out on one of his training exercises. I approached him. "Hey, Fishlegs."

He returned the greeting enthusiastically, grin so wide that his glasses were threatening to slide down the tip of his nose. He was smaller than I was, even, and had the worse luck of being asthmatic and allergic to reptiles. We'd bonded over a shared interest in dragons beyond yelling at them, our shared adventures, and the shared honor of being the communal punching bags of our peers. He, too, was named after a great Viking hero he had nothing in common with, though ever since we discovered he was a berserker like Fishlegs the Wise, he'd felt a lot better about it.

"You're just in time," Fishlegs said. "You'll never guess what the fishing boats found!"

"What is it?"

"A dragon!"

I really didn't want to be interested, but I was anyway. "What? Really? How?"

"It's in the ice, too much to see easily, but Dogsbreath heard from Snotlout who overheard your dad—they think it's a Night Fury!"

A chill ran down my spine. A Night Fury? An untamed, wild Night Fury, frozen in ice, and they were standing around talking in the middle of the village square? That thing was not going to be pleased when they got it out of the ice—and there was no way they would listen to me when I said it was a bad idea. Because we were Vikings, and it was a dragon, and therefore we were going to train it. But still… The Dragon Master's Terror had been the last Night Fury. This one must have been trapped in the ice for centuries, quite possibly longer than the seven generations between us. I'd give Endeavor itself to be able to talk to it. Would it even be capable of speech, like any of our dragons? Or was that something that had developed since the Dragon Master's time?

While I was thinking, Toothless had redoubled his efforts to see over the people around us, and was bouncing up and down on my helmet. "What's a Night Fury? I want to see! Can I see? Can I eat one? Are they tasty?" I snatched at him, but he launched himself off my helmet and went soaring over the crowd until I lost sight of him. Great.

"HICCUP!"

Even better. Fishlegs and I winced in unison. That bellow could belong to no one but Stoick the Vast, chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe, and my father. Of course he'd be up next to the ice, and of course that's exactly where Toothless had ended up. I wriggled my way through the crowd, muttering apologies the whole way, until I could stand in front of my father. I still didn't come up to his waist.

He glowered down at my from above a tangled, bushy red beard, the intimidating sight only slightly diminished by the minuscule dragon perched on his helmet. "For the hundredth time, control your dragon!" I wanted to admit that it was a losing battle and that my dragon listened to no one but himself, but held my tongue. That wasn't something I liked admitting out loud to anyone but Fishlegs. Toothless returned to my shoulder without my having to say a thing. He'd always hated how loud my dad could get, though I could hardly blame him for that.

Stoick huffed, and turned back to the block of ice, speaking quietly with Gobber. Of course, to a Viking, speaking quietly just meant at a loud enough volume to make your ears ring, rather than bleed. I rolled my eyes. If they were attempting to keep the discussion private, they were failing miserably.

"So you're saying you just… found it?"

"Out on that iceberg! Yeah, it was just sitting there! Easy as anything to get it onto the boat. Do you really reckon it's a Night Fury?"

"Looks like the stories, don't it? Bit small, maybe it's a baby."

"But one hasn't been seen in ages!"

I wasn't listening anymore. I had experience tuning out my dad's voice, as he snored like no one else, and I was too busy thinking of something else, anyway. Sitting there, Gobber said. Really? They hadn't had to carve it out or anything? I sidled closer, keeping a close eye on both my dragon, so he wouldn't do something stupid and get us caught, and my father, so he wouldn't notice what I was doing. I examined the ice closely, looking for pick marks, or the uneven surface that would suggest melting the ice with dragon fire. It was smooth and even as a still lake, and I pressed my fingers to it hesitantly.

The ice was about twice as big around as Gobber, and about as tall as my dad. Tiny air bubbles swirled through it, suggesting the ice had formed quickly, if not instantly, and obscuring the dark shape within. I rubbed at the surface with my sleeve, trying to get a better view. It looked like a dragon of some sort, large and black and curled around something, almost… protectively. Huh. The tail was about as long again as its body, and the fins were brought up until it almost touched the snout. And there was something off about it…

My shoulder suddenly felt a lot lighter, and I looked up to see Toothless scrabbling at the ice, only to disappear over the top. Oh, no. "Toothless! Get back here!"

"Nuh-uh, nope, Toothless was promised fish and Toothless didn't get fish and Toothless wants to know what Night Fury is."

I kept my voice down, not wanting to draw attention to the pair of us again. Dragonese wasn't exactly popular, no matter how useful it could be. "It's a type of dragon. Now will you get down?"

"Toothless says… no."

Oh, that lizard was trying my patience. I buried my face in my hands with a groan. Great. This couldn't possibly get any worse.

And then Toothless shot a small spurt of fire at the ice, scratched it once, twice, thrice with his claws… and it shattered.

I flung both arms up to shield my face and stumbled backwards. Toothless squawked indignantly and flew back to my shoulder, complaining about how the ice had shattered and he was convinced he'd hurt his claw, and only oysters could make it better. I ignored him, because for once in my life the entire village had gone absolutely silent. Even my dad had taken a step back, and seemed to be holding his breath. It wasn't hard to see why.

In the middle of the village square, surrounded by shards of ice, was a Night Fury. My dad had been right when he pointed out that it was small, not even the size of Fireworm, and she wasn't yet fully grown. But it's size did nothing to detract from the sense of danger. Jet black and streamlined, the Night Fury was undeniably built for speed and the skies, with a pair of auxiliary fins just at the back of its wings. I couldn't estimate a wingspan because they were tightly wrapped around its body, but I was sure they were large.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. And the Night Fury opened its eyes.

I was wrong, which went to show what I know. Now things can't get any worse.

With clear intelligence, and without a sound, the dragon's green eyes traced the crowd, meeting every incredulous, terrified gaze. I couldn't move for awe. Finally, it came to a decision and warbled, tilting its head down to its chest as if checking for something. A croon this time, that sounded like relief, but still no words. And then, slowly, it unfurled its wings, and the gods proved they loved to play tricks on me because things got exponentially worse.

Clutched protectively in all four legs of the Night Fury was a lanky fishbone of a boy.

So I decided to just add on the rewrite to what's already been posted, rather than take everything down and start from scratch. I'll put up a notice on the first chapter, asking people to skip ahead to the third. If you read through this chapter, I'm sure you've picked up several notes of description and bits of dialogue that are the same. This was done on purpose. The story is going to be the exact same thing it was before, I've just made some adjustments to the narrative style (the most obvious one switching from third person to first person) to make it easier to read. I am entirely certain that this will help me tell the story better than floundering with what I had.

I'm posting another chapter today, as well, to make up for the fact that this is functionally the same chapter as the first post.