Seven

He arrived at the cove later in the afternoon, having make his slow and painful way through the forest. He had heard Astrid practising and he had almost gone to speak to her, but he knew the score: she couldn't even be seen to talk to him. He was a pariah, almost a Outcast. He paused and rested a hand on the cool rock of the cove and winced. Unbidden, memories flooded through his mind, sights and sounds overwhelming the quiet pine-filled afternoon.

"Help! HELP!"

The small shape, cornered. The hiss of the attackers, the snikt sound as their spines flicked up, ready to impale their prey.

No one else nearby. Olaf Hofferson glanced down, his face horrified but too far away to be of use. But he was the only one within range, the only one who could make a difference.

The cold weight of the unfinished sword in his sweating hands, the trembling of fear making his muscles weak and his throat dry.

The scream that erupted from his throat as he ran forward, swinging wildly. The shrieking cries as they scattered and let him race through. His small hand finding a smaller one. Scared grey eyes looking up at him in miraculous relief. His own voice, suddenly steady as he raised the too-heavy sword against the regrouping Nadders.

"RUN!" And he had charged them. allowing his young companion to race to safety. The tail, slashing by, cutting his arm. The crowding of huge, scaly bodies as they cornered him. The sword falling. His scream of fear as they prepared to kill him.

The roar of the Chief, his huge presence filling the world. The screams of dragons, crunch of blows, shattering cries of pain, zipping sounds of spines flying.

So much blood. The thud of the huge body falling. The receding shrieks of the monsters.

"DAD! DAD! Please…I'm so sorry…"

Men surrounding him, dragging him away.

"What happened?"

"Useless was out again. The Chief had to save him-and got taken down by Nadders!"

Fighting, fighting to get back to the still body. The blood still pooling under the bulky shape, the beard stained with it.

"DAD!"

"You did this, you little bastard! You killed him!"

"DAD!"

"And you have to pay!"

"Please…no…I…I…"

The fists, pounding him with no mercy. Bones cracking, flesh tearing, pain, pain everywhere. His vision hazing red. His breath suddenly almost impossible. The floor cradling his broken shape. Fists, boots still coming, the hits now sounding softer as they pounded into broken, bloody flesh. Lights fading.

Dad…I'm sorry…I couldn't let him die…

"STOP!"

Gobber! Gods, someone still cared?

No one cared. It would be better if they let him go.

"Ye canna kill him, Spitelout! He's the Heir! If Stoick…we can't lose them both in one day!"

A final punch, almost crushing the last shreds of consciousness from him. Then no more. Pain, pain, pain…but no blissful oblivion. He had to keep living, though he could feel the trickle of Nadder venom in his system. He had to endure the shame.

"Dad…" Was this his voice, that broken, scratchy whisper? He almost couldn't breathe but he lifted his blood-smeared vision to see his father borne away. "Dad…" He stretched out a hand, certainly broken, the hot pain familiar but almost overwhelming.

"Help…."

But for him, no one came…

He blinked, his face wet with tears. The one time he had done something his father should have been proud of, he almost cost them both their lives. His father at the spines of the Nadders-and Hiccup at the fists of his own Uncle and cousin. His long fingers unconsciously slid across his cheek, where the bone had been broken and then caressed the ribs they had snapped. He was trembling at the memory. The had already hated him then: now, it was unbearable. His disinheritance had been the final straw, removing the last protection his birth afforded him. Since his recovery and realisation of his permanent disability, his father had encouraged his continual punishment as well. There was nothing left for him in Berk really: he knew that after today, Snotlout would find a way to finish what he started. His cousin would rape him and when he became Chief, Hiccup would be his bitch. He could just about endure physical and emotional abuse but sexual abuse as well? Death was suddenly looking more appetising as a prospect.

He cuffed the tears from his face. Yeah, his life was a big fat slice of Hel and absolutely no one cared about him. He had hoped…hoped that Astrid would admit that she didn't hate him and would actually offer him friendship. But that was stupid and he almost laughed at himself: who would want to befriend Useless? Who would risk being shunned just to offer the lonely, beaten boy a molecule of kindness and hope?

He shook his head. No one, of course. And that was why he was here, in the middle of the forest, approaching the most feared dragon in the world with just a shield and a fish . Because if it all went horribly wrong, no one would even miss him. He took a shuddering breath to calm himself and turned back to the cove. He lifted the shield and gripped the salmon carefully by the gills. He peered through the crack and couldn't see the dragon but that was no guarantee: the vision was restricted. So he tossed the salmon through and waited.

Nothing. He peered through cautiously and then advanced, the shield carefully ahead of him. It promptly stuck in the narrow space. He pulled it back but it was well and truly lodged. So he ducked underneath and tried to drag it from the other side but it was totally wedged.

Figures, he thought bitterly. So he shrugged and lifted the salmon, looking around cautiously for the dragon. But there was no sign.

The dragon, though, was watching him from the top of a large boulder, his sleek body crouched and tail flicking like a giant cat. He silently pounced down and Hiccup saw him late, freezing and cringing before gathering his wits and holding up the fish with a shaking hand. The dragon narrowed his eyes, the pupils slit-like, before carefully prowling at him-and then freezing with a growl. Hiccup followed his eyes and saw his belt-knife. The same knife he had threatened to kill the dragon with.

Making a decision that he wanted the dragon to trust him, he lifted the knife to a growl from the dragon and tossed it aside. The low growl continued until he kicked it further away. Then the dragon suddenly sat down, relaxing. His pupils widened and his wide green eyes suddenly looked curious. Hiccup offered him the fish and the dragon inched almost within range, opening a wide, gummy smile. Hiccup frowned.

"Toothless?" he murmured. "I could have sworn you…" Then retractable teeth snapped down and the dragon snatched the fish from Hiccup's hand, almost taking the boy's fingers as well. He watched, wide-eyed as the dragon polished off the large salmon in three hungry bites. He swallowed the fish almost whole, licked his lips and eyed Hiccup calculatingly. The boy suddenly paled. "Oh no…" he murmured as the dragon began to advance on him. He stumbled backwards, tripped over his feet and crawled back until he was pressed against the boulder, terrified.

"No…no! I-I don't have any more!" he begged, his eyes wide and pleading. The dragon inspected the shaking boy and paused. He could hear the racing of the boy's heart, the rapid panting, terrified breaths and smell the fear on him. There was something else… Blood. The boy was hurt. The dragon was very hungry, trapped in the cove where he couldn't fish easily but he didn't eat human flesh. And this boy had come back, bringing food. He had cast his weapon aside. He knew the dragon could pin him down and effortlessly kill him. And yet he had still come. He was intriguing.

He needed to learn more.

Hiccup watched the dragon's eyes roll back in his head and his throat begin to convulse as the dragon suddenly regurgitated half a fish straight into his lap. "Eurgh!" Hiccup exclaimed as the dragon sat back on his back legs and looked down knowingly on the boy. Hiccup stared up then at the half-fish that the dragon kept looking at meaningfully. Hiccup placed down and he frowned in sudden horrible realisation.

"What? Really? Come on!" he protested but the dragon narrowed its eyes slightly. Hiccup felt his stomach lurch. He really wanted to know more about the dragon but to eat something the dragon had just vomited up… He sighed and lifted the slimy offering. Swallowing firmly, he took a small bite of the raw, slimy flesh. And then he paused. He hoped it was enough.

The Night Fury inspected him for a long moment, seeing his intent. Pointedly, the dragon swallowed. Hiccup sagged, defeated. He knew what he had to do and after a couple of attempts, he managed to swallow the mouthful without throwing up. Weakly, he forced a smile onto his battered face. The dragon tilted his head, his eyes focussing hard on the expression, then slowly…amazingly..his lips twisted and moved into a very weird and gummy approximation of a smile.

Hiccup felt his heart suddenly lurch. This was far more amazing than anything he had ever experienced and almost made his horrible life in the village worthwhile. The dragon was copying him, knowing that the boy could read some of his body language. It was trying to communicate with him! he laid the fish down, utterly entranced, then rose slowly and walked towards the smiling dragon. His hand was outstretched and his eyes locked on the dragon. But as he got within touching range, the dragon growled, his teeth snapped down and he whipped away, gliding across the little lake and shaking his head as he landed with a crash. He fired a patch of earth and curled up.

He suddenly looked up to see the boy sitting cross-legged a few yards away. The boy gave a little wave and tried to look unthreatening-which he was, with his skinny, bony little frame. But Toothless wanted to be alone and flicked his tail round with his missing fin, shielding his face. Hiccup scooched closer and reached out his hand to timidly touch the dragon's skin. But as he was an inch away, the dragon flicked his tail aside and glared angrily at the boy. Hiccup snatched his hand back and backed away, realising the dragon didn't want him near. He backed away and went to the far side of the cove, sitting alone on a small rock. The dragon bounded up and hung himself from a large tree root by his powerful tail, rolled up like a giant black leather cigar.

The sun was setting, the sky warming with rosy pink over head. The temperature was starting to drop but Hiccup remained in the cove. His little, aching shape was hunched as he scratched a drawing in the ground. He had nothing to get back for and was worried that if he got back much before the scheduled class debrief-this time on the lower defences-Snotlout would catch him. He didn't dare contemplate what the larger boy would do to him. So sitting alone in the cove, with only the deadliest dragon known for company, he scratched a drawing of the Night Fury. He was an excellent artist and a keen observer, so he captured the dragon's eyes, the distinctive head shape, the little ear-flaps and then he stiffened.

It was behind him, peering down at the unmistakeable image of the Night Fury, skilfully drawn on the ground. Suddenly, it waddled away on its back legs and he heard a ripping noise. The dragon had wrenched a whole sapling out of the ground and was dragging it across the ground around Hiccup in the same way the boy used the stick. A whirling, abstract pattern emerged and the dragon seemed very focussed on its drawing. Hiccup stood and glanced around as the dragon finally finished and looked at him, patiently.

The boy couldn't see what he had drawn and it made no sense-but maybe he was looking from the wrong angle? He lifted his foot and made to walk towards the dragon but it growled. He froze. He made to step again and it growled again. Finally he looked down: he was about to stand on one of the dragon's carefully drawn lines. Looking at the dragon, he lowered his foot again and was rewarded by a growl. So he moved his foot and made to put it down by the line, not on it.

Silence. The dragon approved.

Emboldened, Hiccup began to walk across the drawing, his small booted feet placed with care as he danced slowly around the lines until he finally reached the edge. He still couldn't make out what the dragon had drawn but it suddenly didn't matter as he felt a huff of warm air on his head. He froze, ducked his neck slightly and peered up. The dragon was standing right by him. Looking up, he lifted his hand and the dragon gave a sharp look through narrowed eyes but didn't growl.

And then it struck him. He was looking the dragon directly in the eyes. He knew from his reading that in certain animals like wolves and wildcats, direct eye contact was a challenge, an aggressive gesture. The dragon could kill him any time-and it chose not to. He guessed-hoped, prayed-that it didn't mean him any harm. So he was willing to take a chance, to show he wasn't meaning it any harm either. He averted his eyes, bowed his head in a submissive, passive gesture, then slowly extended his right hand. And then waited.

The dragon peered at him for a moment. The boy wasn't trembling, wasn't smelling of fear: he was calm and assured, his heartbeat a little fast but radiating serenity. So he closed his eyes and pressed his muzzle against the boy's cold hand.

Hiccup's eyes snapped open in shock as he felt the touch. His heart sang with joy. But he ducked his head again, not wanting to spook the dragon. Finally, he lifted his head and gently inspected the dragon's face. The tiny scales in an intricate pattern, the blunt nose, the four little ear-flaps in each side, the amazing warmth in the skin that was at odds with everything he had read about reptiles… He took a shuddering breath. And then the dragon's eyes opened and stared into his own green gaze. The dragon shook his head, pulled away and whisked away across the cove, leaving Hiccup standing mesmerised, his hand tingling from the magical touch.

Had he just touched a Night Fury? Had he communicated with a dragon?

Why did it feel so much better than anything that had happened to him in the last five years?