REVIEWS:

Whiskerface: The first signs appear in this chapter, then some more in chapter six, flashes in chapters seven through eleven, there's a hint that ends in a cliffhanger in chapter twelve, and it finally gets explained in chapter thirteen. Then Valka'll come along and add some stuff in the sequel, so it's up to you whether that's soon enough for you.

Tim2060: Sorry, but I'd run out of material if I posted both at once. I'm super busy with algebra at the moment—sohcatoa and unit circles and the Laws of Sine and Cosine—but I'll finish that course by next week, take the test the week after, and then it's spring break. Don't know how much writing I'll get done before I start the precalc summer course in April, but I've still got plenty for now.

A choice I don't understand

Stupid.

I'd been up since before dawn, checked pretty much every tangled part of Berk the Night Fury could have crashed on, and all I had were dozens of crossed out locations! I raised my eyes from the rough map in my notebook, praying to the gods, and sighed as yet another potential landing sight was rendered useless. Suddenly wild with rage, I scribbled viciously across the page, and slammed the book shut on my pencil. The dumb thing had probably fallen into the sea!

"Oh, the gods hate me," I moaned to the tall pine trees as I approached a steep downwards slope. "Some people lose their knife, or their mug. No, not me. I managed to lose an entire dragon!" I kicked a rock, and winced. One-nil to the rock.

There was a branch in my way, and I slapped it hard, imagining that it was my life. It felt pretty good, until 'Life' swung back and hit me in the head. I was probably the only Viking who'd ever lost a fight to two inanimate objects in one day! I glared up at the tree the stupid branch was attached to, and paused, anger draining away as quickly as it had come. The entire tree was split in half, like there'd been a freak storm recently. Sap dripped around the jagged splinters of stringy wood and half of the tree was leaning at a precarious angle away from me. But the surrounding trees were undamaged, and the split was fresh. Something must have crashed into the tree incredibly fast—my Night Fury. What else could it be? I winced, imagining hitting something so solid so fast, and shook myself. It was a dragon, it deserved to suffer.

A deep groove filled with uneven rocks and snapped roots cut through the ground nearby, exposing the rich brown soil, and I slid into it, past some scrape marks near the bottom of the tree. Maybe from claws…? I'd have to be careful if it was still alive. The groove was curved, sloping down before heading up again, and I crawled on the ground, hiding behind the top edge. Despite my brave words, my heart pounded in my chest, trying to warn me. What would happen next? Would I find the Night Fury? Was it still alive? The dirt blocked my view until I was practically on top of the edge, barely raising myself high enough for my eyes to clear the damp soil.

Black!

I shot back down again, my heart rate doubling. Until now I hadn't really believed I'd shot down a Night Fury. Yes, I'd seen it go down, but I didn't actually think that I would find it here. This was the real thing, an actual Night Fury, unless I was freaking out over a black rock. I'd already done that twice so far. Barely breathing, I peeked over the edge.

Definitely a black dragon, and my bola weights and ropes wrapped around it like a loving snake. It suddenly occurred to me that it might be a good idea to have a weapon, so I pulled my knife from my belt. It seemed comically small in comparison to the dragon, but I still panicked when I almost dropped it.

Creeping down, I tried to keep rocks between me and the Night Fury until there weren't any more to hide behind. A massive—and I mean massive—black wing was half open, suspended awkwardly above its body. Easily twenty feet long, black as the night sky, and attached to a strongly muscled shoulder. It was incredible.

The rest of the dragon seemed small in comparison, barely bigger than a Nadder, and I ran my eyes over it for a moment. Those large wings would make a good target, and if they got damaged the dragon wouldn't be able to fly away. It didn't have any horns, just flaps of skin around its head that looked soft and flexible. I peeked closer, taking a few hesitant steps. It wasn't moving. An overwhelming sense of sadness welled in my heart, and I mentally slapped myself. It. Was. A. Dragon! What would this mean for me? No more staring longingly out the window as everyone else defended their homes. People might actually talk to me. Maybe Dad would even put me in Dragon Training!

"Oh, wow. I—I did it. This fixes everything," I yelled to the sky. "Yes!"

Starting to feel confident, I rested my foot on the dragon like people did when they took out a Monstrous Nightmare. "I have brought down this mighty beast!"

With a low grumble, the Night Fury flicked me off, and I frantically stumbled backwards until my back hit a rock, panting in shock. Not quite as dead as I'd hoped. Suddenly a lot more cautious, I held out my knife in front of me and crept towards it again. Now I could see its sides pressing hard against the ropes with every strained breath, when I'd have sworn it had been motionless before. It was really trapped tightly, and could barely breathe. Shoving me off had been a final act of defiance, not the start of an attack.

I aimed my knife at the spot I thought its heart would be, and involuntarily froze. There was a green eye, so similar to mine, open on the side of its head and plucking at mine. I tried to bring my hands down, and they wouldn't move. I was paralyzed, unable to look away. I'd heard stories, mostly from Trader Johann, that said a dragon's eye could freeze you on the spot with fear, but that wasn't what was happening. It looked… scared. Terrified, even. I stared back into its eye, and cried out as yet another bout of itching started. It was intense but quick this time, and I opened my eyes to see the world was murky white again. What was wrong with me?

There was a low moan, and I could hear the pleading tone in its voice. How many times had I begged Gobber to let me out, begged my father to put me in Dragon Training? How many times had I begged Snotlout to stop hurting me? I looked down at the rest of it, tearing myself away from its hypnotic gaze, and my eyes were drawn to the purple fire in its chest. That was a mistake. The black tendrils were gone, leaving a deep purple ball that flickered and danced like the flames of a friendly cooking fire. It was so alive, and I was about to kill it. I took a deep breath, hoping my vision would go back to normal and I wouldn't have to see the fire die. No such luck.

"I'm going to kill you, dragon," I muttered, trying to recall the excitement I'd had before. "I'm going to cut out your heart and take it to my father. I am a Viking." All the bitterness of fifteen years welled up inside me, and I almost screamed. "I am a VIKING!"

Another low moan, desperate, heartbreaking. No, no no no no! It's a dragon! They don't get scared, they don't plead, they're vicious monsters without conscience or mercy! I raised the knife higher, but couldn't resist one last look at the Night Fury.

It met my gaze for a moment, let its head roll over and closed its eyes. The purple ball of fire shrank, huddling in on itself, and the constant motion slowed to a tiny flicker. It made a noise, but this one was higher, less pleading, like it was telling me to go ahead. It had accepted its fate.

I slumped, letting my hands fall onto my head. I couldn't do it. I couldn't take this creature's life just to improve my social standing. I'd spend the rest of my days as Hiccup the Useless, no good at fighting, weak, worthless, a terrible heir, but at least the Night Fury would be alive to terrorize our village.

"I did this." It was shame, not pride that filled me as I looked at my handiwork. There was nothing left for me. I turned to go, but stopped. The Night Fury was still bound in my bola, and the ropes I'd spent months crafting cut into its skin, restricting its breathing. If I left now, I was just condemning it to a crueller death: dehydration or other predators. My common sense and Hiccup-ness warred with each other, and I knew it wouldn't end well. Well, I was already a traitor, a liar, weak, and unVikingly. Why not add crazy to the list?

"This is a terrible idea," I muttered to myself as I sawed at the ropes with my knife, scanning the trees to see if anyone else was watching. They were twisted from the toughest fibres I'd been able to find, I'd even added some fine metal strands, and it took a while for my knife to cut them. The fear pounding through my veins wasn't helping.

Snick, snick, snick. One, two, thre—

The Night Fury pounced with the speed of a released arrow, knocking me against the rock so hard I saw stars. Its paw went around my neck, choking me, and it loomed over me menacingly. The green eyes were filled with anger, and I suddenly believed every single one of Trader Johann's tall tales. Stupid, stupid! It was all a trick to get me to set it free! And, being the naive, unVikingly idiot I was, I'd fallen for it completely. Now I'd pay the price. A part of me couldn't help wondering if it might be better this way. Gobber would miss me, and Dad might be sad that he'd lost his heir, but no one else would really mind. Plus, Snotlout could always become chief. Now I knew I couldn't kill dragons, there was no hope of anything ever getting better, because killing a dragon was everything on Berk.

It moved its mouth away from me slightly, and its wings came up. It was just a scare tactic, and I knew that, but it definitely worked. Thor, it was so big! Petrified, I watched as it opened its mouth wide open. It was going to blast me with one of its explosive fire blasts. I remembered what those shots had done to catapults, store houses, even the armoury at one point, and shuddered. There wouldn't even be a body left behind, just ashes scattered across the floor.

It reared up and came down again, its paw just missing my ribs, and roared in my face. Its purple flame expanded and grew brighter and brighter, writhing angrily. Too bright! my eyes screamed, and I cowered away, trying to cover my face with my arms, but I could see the flame through my sleeves, glowing like a thousand suns.

Then it turned and flew away through the trees, hitting a rock and almost falling into a valley. Still completely blinded by the horrible fire, I clutched at my knife and tried to stand up. The Night Fury roared angrily in the distance, and my head spun. Home… I need to get back home… My head went fuzzy, and the ground sprang up to meet me.

oOoOo

I shivered awake, cold and stiff from falling in a funny position, and saw no sign of the Night Fury anywhere. Stretching my legs out, I stumbled up the slope and through the suddenly hostile forest, emerging about a hundred metres from the village. Should I walk through the village and face everyone's disappointed stares, or should I move back into the forest and take the long way home? As I stood thinking, Snotlout walked past. Please don't see me, I begged as I shrank back into the woods, but the movement caught his eyes.

"Hey, Useless!" I knew better than to ignore him, since he'd just come in and drag me out by the ear and I was still tender from my dad's iron grip. I emerged from the trees, dirt stained, tired, and bedraggled, and reluctantly walked towards my cousin.

"Yes?" I sighed, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Have you been looking for your Night Fury?" he asked mockingly, and I knew that no one would ever believe I'd actually caught one, not now I'd set it free.

"No, I just wanted some time alone." I tried to get around him and go home. He stood solidly in my way with his arms crossed.

"We were all working our butts off, trying to rebuild the houses in time for the next raid, while you went out to pick daisies in the woods," he sneered. "You'll be the first Viking heir to never kill a dragon if you carry on like this."

I couldn't kill a dragon. Even if it was presented to me in a net, I would only cut it free again. "Just let me go home."

Snotlout stroked his chin and pretended to think. "Hmm, I think you should be punished for shirking first." My shoulders slumped. It had been almost a month since the last episode, and I should have expected something like this as soon as Snotlout started talking to me. Who in their right mind would start a conversation with Hiccup the Useless if they didn't have an ulterior motive?

"Snotlout! We need you to work and not waste time! Come and help Fishlegs with this beam!" His face immediately brightened, and he swung around to Astrid.

"I can do that beam on my own, babe. Fishlegs can help the twins!" As he swung around, he whispered over his shoulder at me, "I'll get you later."

I sighed in relief and walked home. It was pitiful, the way Snotlout acted like he owned Astrid, no matter how many times she sent him 'not interested' hints. If a girl punched you, attacked you with her axe, and claimed you made her sick, then it was pretty clear that she didn't like you, in my humble opinion. If he really cared about her, he'd leave her alone.

Every Viking I passed glared at me, and since I'd done more damage than the dragons, I knew I deserved it. That didn't mean it didn't hurt though, especially when I remembered I'd never kill a dragon and never get any respect at all. Maybe if I stopped trying to catch a dragon, and accidentally destroying the village, they would tolerate me for the rest of my probably short life. It was getting dark, so I headed home to my bed, cursing the hill as I forced my tired legs to carry me upwards.

I didn't want to speak to my dad, but for once he was sitting by the fire with his helmet off when I got back. I crept inside, dusty and tired and still trembling with fear. If he'd been wearing his helmet, I could have waited for him to go out and do more 'chiefing', but he only ever removed his helmet when he was planning to stay inside for a long time. I couldn't really blame him, it was pretty late, but I'd hoped that Gobber would have managed to drag him off to the Great Hall for a cup of mead or seven.

I started creeping up the stairs to my attic room. If I was lucky, he would be so absorbed in whatever he was doing that he wouldn't notice me.

"Hiccup."

"Dad." I hoped we could get the conversation over and done with. I should probably tell him I'd changed my mind about killing dragons, I realised with a sinking heart. He'd be relieved that he could concentrate on fighting dragons instead of rescuing me. At least there would be less rebuilding after each raid. "I have to talk to you, Dad."

"I have to speak with you, too, son," he said, rubbing his hands together. That was strange. Normally he'd launch straight into a lecture without saying anything about speaking with me.

"I don't want to fight dragons." He'd said something at the same time as me, and we spoke in unison again. "What?"

"You go first," he prompted, but I wanted to put the moment off as long as possible. One more moment of not being a complete failure was worth the world to me.

"No, you go first." I climbed down the stairs and stood in front of him, feeling even smaller than normal.

"Alright, you get your wish." What wish? When had I ever told Dad that I wished for something? Other than what I'd been pleading for since the other teens joined the fire brigade—Oh no. "Dragon Training." Great, my lifelong dream came true a few hours after I changed my mind. "You start in the morning." In the morning?! That was barely a few hours away!

"Oh, man, I should've gone first! Uh, 'cause I was thinking, you know, we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough…" I searched my mind for a suitable job I could do instead, something not too physical, and nothing to do with dragons, but was still useful to the village. "Bread-making Vikings, or small home repair Vikings—?" Not my best ideas, but my ideas tended to suck at the best of times and it only got worse when I was under pressure.

"You'll need this."

A massive axe almost cut my hands off as Dad dropped it into my outstretched arms. I sagged under the weight of the heavy metal weapon, screwed up my courage, and said it. "I don't want to fight dragons."

He chuckled. He must have thought I was joking. "Come on. Yes, you do." He started walking away, signalling the end of the conversation.

How on Midgard was I going to get my point through his thick skull? Aware that everything I'd said or done during the past ten years was working against me, I tried again. "Rephrase: Dad, I can't kill dragons."

"But you will kill dragons." He obviously thought I was referring to my physical lack of abilities. How could I tell Dad, the great 'Stoick the Vast', that I mentally could not force myself to kill a dragon? The axe wobbled in my arms, and I hastily corrected my grip. A hole in the floor would only make him less likely to listen to me.

"No, I'm really very extra sure that I won't." He turned back and looked down at me as I struggled with the axe. His voice took on the tone of a Chief trying to convince a stubborn villager that hitting a neighbour on the head wouldn't bring back their favourite sword.

"It's time, Hiccup." Yesterday, those words would have made me wild with joy, but now they filled me with dread.

"Can you not hear me?"

"This is serious, son!" I knew it was, that was why I was doing my best to talk him out of it! Not that I was doing any good at all. He lifted the axe out of my arms as easily as I lifted my small smithing hammer. "When you carry this axe, you carry all of us with you" No wonder it was so heavy. He handed it back to me, and I bent almost double under the weight, letting the heavy head rest against the floor. "Which means you walk like us." He grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me to stand upright. "You talk like us." He squared my shoulders for me."You think like us. No more of all…" he gestured randomly, searching for words to describe my Hiccup-ness. "This."

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. Wasn't there a more descriptive word than 'this'? First Gobber, and now my own father! "You just gestured to all of me."

I'd forgotten that he wasn't Gobber, and my sarcastic comments would only make things worse.

"Deal?" What deal? He'd just demanded a list of impossible things from me, and I had no idea what he was going to do in return!

"This conversation is feeling very one-sided," I complained, and he brushed me off.

"Deal?" The warning in his voice told me that it would be a bad idea to push any further.

I dropped the axe on the floor, and sagged in defeat. This was a lost cause. "Deal."

He pulled a basket onto his back, and reached for his helmet. Perfect. I could have waited for him to leave after all. "Good. Train hard. I'll be back." He headed for the door, and added as an afterthought, "Probably."

"And I'll be here." I remembered Dragon Training, and despair coiled in my chest. "Maybe?"

He left the house, and the temporary door swung shut on its temporary hinges, creaking loudly. Another thing on my to-do list. Sighing, I turned back to the stairs. My stomach growled at me, but I'd missed supper time at the Great Hall, and it would only be full of drunk Vikings. Besides, I really didn't feel like seeing people at the moment. I forced my tired legs to carry me up the stairs, and collapsed on my bed. It had been almost a full twenty four hours since I last slept, if you didn't count fainting—which I didn't—and I was exhausted. Exhausted enough to fall asleep despite the various cuts and bruises scattered across my body. Exhausted enough to fall asleep despite the freezing air that crept under my thin sleeping furs. Exhausted enough to fall asleep despite the hard wooden surface beneath me.

Suggestions? Votes? Thoughts? Random drunk texts? Growing Flame or a oneshot?