How to Train Your Dragon and all characters associated do not belong to Travis Church.
Epilogue
A radio off in the distance is turned on and words begin to pour out.
"I turn on my flashlight and in the beam I thought I saw my brother and I run over and tackle him, but it wasn't. This person, this person was one of the dragons that we received a few months ago. I looked at him and I was so mad. This wasn't my brother, this was one of them, and this dragon might've killed my brother!"
The woman on the radio seethes and her breaths become ragged.
"I hit him in the head with my flashlight and I punched him and hit him and I just started cursing him. He stole from him and he was probably the one who was eating all those meals I left out every night! He stole from a dead man! And that's when it hit me."
She slowly begins to calm down.
"My brother was dead. I started to cry and I just fell to my knees bawling, and in front of this dragon!"
The radio dial is changed to a different station.
"And then I realized something," a female voice spoke. "These people, they only make ten cents a day and those who can are the lucky ones. But the vast majority makes less than that. A hundred ten dollars, ten cents a day, that equals one thousand, one hundred twenty; that's simple arithmetic right there. But it's heartbreaking arithmetic. These people sacrificed one thousand, one hundred twenty days worth of work and put it into tables and benches. One thousand, one hundred days of back breaking labor that starts before the sun and ends after the sun has set. One thousand, one hundred days of living with mediocrity and working in pitiful conditions. One thousand, one hundred days of abuse, of taunting, of fear to just go to work."
The radio dial is changed again to another network.
"And it got real bad that one day," a man said
"So one day I told the kid that I needed to get some new sheet music from my office," a different man began. "I leave him for a sec, and I hear all this yelling. I come running back and I see this guy yellin' at him tell him to drag his 'drake ass outta here because we don't serve drake trash like him.'"
And the radio system was adjusted to the second channel.
"One day I fell down and bruised my arm while at the school and when I went home my husband threw a fit. He asked if those Dragons hurt me or touched me."
The sound of shuddering hisses through the speakers.
"I told him that I just fell down while working. It was nothing! He didn't listen, he didn't care, he couldn't. He just wanted to burn something, something of theirs. The next day, I came back to the school and everyone was just crowded around the school but there was no school. It was burned down. I didn't know what I could do, I didn't know what the kids could do, I didn't know what the parents could do."
The dial was moved to the third station.
"I told him that we can serve whoever we want," a man went.
"I told him that we don't serve trash like him," a different man said.
"And I gave the guy a nice hook to his face and threw him out," a third man said triumphantly.
"We didn't pay attention to the rantin' goin' outside after that," the second man stated.
"So I went back to the kid and he was crying," the first man told to the radio. "And it wasn't the baby crying when the blanket is missing. It was the silent crying that you have when you're at a funeral. He hung his head like a flag and the tears just fell in big drops. He didn't make a single sound. It was like summer rain in the Tropics."
The same man continued, "For the rest of the day he didn't even wanna touch a guitar. He didn't speak, didn't look at me, didn't even look like he was even with us. He just cried. And then I just hugged him and cried with him."
The channel is changed to the first station.
"I wiped away some of my tears and I thought for a moment that I saw my brother in that dragon's face. He looked a lot like him, except for those eyes and that hair of course."
The dial is spun again.
"I told them that I'd be back and I'll keep on teaching them, school or no school. But that man who just looked at the table came up to me and asked, 'how can you teach without a table, a chair, or a school?' And I said, 'a schoolroom is just a room with the word school in it. You don't need a schoolroom to have a teacher. You need a teacher to learn. You have a teacher and I'm not leaving.' I told them I'd be back the next day and there'd still be class. But I went back home and kicked my husband out, told him if I ever saw him again I'll report him, and I called up a divorce lawyer."
The little knob is rotated gently.
"He was so scared, so afraid, so fragile; it was like looking at a child and ever since I've been leaving meals by our tree I've been protecting him. I felt a sense of pride, that I was protecting someone if only to redeem the fact that I couldn't have protected my brother. It was like a second chance for me."
Then the radio is changed.
"When he played, he glowed and even smiled. He was a different person when he touched a guitar because— because when you play music you're not an aristocrat or a Dragon; no, when you play music you're a musician. He was a Dragon but that doesn't change anything. He didn't look like a Dragon to me from day one. He looked like a musician."
The channel is moved to another station.
"I never left because I love teaching and these kids love me teaching and their parents love their kids."
The stations are changed again.
"He can choose whatever goddamn guitar he wants because he can. He's got the talent, the skill, the want to have it. And you know what? He deserves it, after the hell he's been livin'."
The radio is adjusted to one last network.
"My brother said that there are no enemies in peace, there are only victims. Leaving food for that dragon, it's what he would have done because he would have seen a person in need."
The sound of the radio clicks off and the speech ends. A kind warm breeze picks up over the land creating waves among the amber grains.
A young man takes in a deep sigh at all of the information. So much change, so much done, and although a bit too late in his own opinion, future generations would think back and appreciate what has finally happened.
But he could not help but smile at what he was part of. A little cabin in the countryside, a little chunk of land he called home, and a little life that he sacrificed for.
"Hiccup!" A tanned man carrying two cups of lemonade waltzes over to him.
He takes one of the glasses and says, "Thanks Toothless."
He smiles and asks, "Hey Hiccup? Thanks. For everything."
"No! I should be thanking you! I mean look at all of this!" Hiccup waves manically to the land. "You got me out and brought me here. I owe you one, for life."
"No," Toothless sets down his glass. "You gave me something to get the land, the house, the farm, everything I own. You gave me hope for freedom. I owe you for that. But this," he gestured to the Earth, "This means nothing without you here knowing that I am free because of you."
A light pause, "Thank you Toothless. I love you man."
"Just don't marry me," he threw a light punch to Hiccup.
"No, course not. I mean, I love you like a brother."
"Well then brother," he raises his glass, "To us."
They clink their glasses together and laugh.
They both sat observing this land, this land of the free and home of the brave. The land that they call home.
AN: Well everyone, that's all for the main plot! The last thing for you all to read are the radio conversations. Those lines were originally part of an interview series that I created just for this piece. So at some point I'll submit it for your viewing pleasures!
I want to first thank A Frumious Bandersnatch and Spyden for being my betas so early on. These two have infinite amounts of wisdom and a keen eye for detail that I seem to lack nowadays. Without their help, this piece would be a lot clunkier and uglier. I also want to thank the HTTYD Big Bang Community for giving me this oppertunity to work as a whole with other authors and artists. I want to also thank MWA220, TolkienNerd4832, ShootMe002, Victoria62015, Loti-miko, and Muffled Chimes for leaving awesome reviews!
And to the artist who unfortuntately picked out this piece of crazy to draw/paint/underwater-basketweave: I thank you for your hard work and hopefully one day I'll find it.
Travis Church