Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the slightly changed plotline.

There isn't a lot of dialog in this chapter; this one is meant to brush up a little on Hiccup's past and his relationship with his father.

"Either we finish them, or they finish us." Stoick said, slamming his knife into the map in front of him; the blade went straight through an illustration of a dragon on the corner of it.

Gobber held back a snort at Stoick's words, shuffling the cup of mead he was using as a false hand at the moment, playing with his iron tooth with his real one. He wasn't sure if Stoick's words were true or not; the dragons only raided once a week, it seemed. It gave them plenty of time to load up their food storage, a place the dragons sniffed out but never reached due to the battles that occurred every Raid.

But, whatever. He's Chief; he can spout out whatever bull he wants.

"It's the only way we'll get rid of them. If we break the Nest, they'll leave. They'll find a new home! One more search before the ice sets."

"But, Chief," a voice in the back called out, "Those ships never come back."

And he had a point, Gobber thought, they never even got close to finding the Nest, but they did manage to find dragons. Said dragons always razed those ships to the bottom of the ocean.

"We're Vikings! It's an occupational hazard. Now who's with me?"

Occupational hazard... Gobber actually did snort that time; he'd have to let Hiccup in on that one at some point.

The Vikings shuffled their feet, wrung their hands, and kept their eyes away from Stoick's. Gobber rolled his eyes; bunch of sissies...

"Alright," Cnut said, "Whoever stays will look after Astrid."

All the hands in the room raised, their voices shouting their enthusiasm. Gobber glanced around in surprise. Maybe this is the reason Hiccup's seems a bit protective of the girl's enthusiasm to help out; no one seemed to be very appreciative, despite the fact that the girl treated their wounded and healed their sick.

Ah... at least she had Hiccup on her side. Somewhat.

"Thought so," Cnut smirked.

As the Vikings in the war meeting dispersed, Stoick, as well as Thora and Cnut, made their way over to him. Gobber reattached his iron tooth, taking a sip of his mead. "I'll pack my undies then," He said, standing from his bench.

"No," Stoick said, "I need you to train some recruits."

"Oh, perfect," Gobber said, his voice enthusiastic, "And while I'm busy, Hiccup can cover the forge. Molten steel, razor sharp blades, lots of time to himself. What could go wrong?"

Really, nothing was going to happen; the boy was an even better smithy than Gobber would like to admit. But, leaving him alone in the forge would give him plenty of time to work on those inventions of his, and Stoick wouldn't want that.

Stoick didn't like the boy inventing anything; it was too much like Val.

Stoick, as predicted, sighed heavily, "What am I going to do with him, Gobber?"

"I don't see much you need to do, Stoick," Thora said, leaning against the large table, "The boy's a master with an axe and a genius in the forge."

And ain't that the truth, Gobber thought. But, he knew Stoick wouldn't have it; the man seemed to never notice Hiccup's skills, fighting or otherwise. Gobber couldn't really blame the man too much; he was too blinded by the boy's similarities to his mother.

Then again, it also made Gobber want to throttle his friend.

Hiccup really was a male copy of Val. He had his mother's hair, though he had a tint of red from Stoick. He had his mother's skin, her slight build, and, though he had his father's eye color, the gleam in them was purely Val's.

He talked like her, too. Gobber remembers when Val was still around, she was always coming up with crazy schemes and saying the oddest of things. It was one of the traits that made Stoick fall in love with her, Gobber was sure, and he remembers that Stoick once found those traits in Hiccup endearing.

But then Val disappeared, and Stoick couldn't even look his son in the eyes anymore.

"You could put him in training with the rest of the kids," Cnut suggested, "That's what we're doing with Astrid."

Gobber glanced at him in surprise; Cnut was as protective of a father as they come, and letting his daughter, a girl who couldn't even work with a shield, into training didn't seem like something he would do. He glanced at Thora, knowing that she was most likely the one behind the decision.

"Astrid?" Stoick asked, his tone incredulous.

"Yes, Astrid," Thora smiled pleasantly, but Gobber, along with the two other men, backed up slightly; it was easy to hear the dangerous undertone in her voice. That woman frightened him beyond belief, and he was sure she frightened over half the village as well.

Astrid was lucky, Gobber thought, because no one messed with her; they were much too frightened by her ninety pound mother.

"She needs to learn how to defend herself," Thora continued, "It's not always going to be close calls, Stoick. There's going to be a time when we're not going to be able to get to her to help her, and I want to make sure she can take care of herself when that day comes."

"Of course," Stoick cleared his throat, still a bit nervous by the glint in Thora's eyes, "But Hiccup-"

"Will be fine," Gobber interrupted, "Like Thora said, the boy's handy with an axe. Even made it himself."

Gobber remembers a time before that axe came about; Hiccup had been just like Astrid. The boy was small and weak, and he could barely lift a toy sword, let alone a real one. He was clumsy and he had no skills to speak of, and he always caused more harm than good when he tried to help, but Hiccup had been happy with the way things were; he had a warmth in his eyes, and Gobber had been so positive it would never leave them.

But it did.

He didn't know what happened; he probably never would, as every time he asked Hiccup about it, the boy would shut him out. One day, Hiccup had just disappeared in the middle of the afternoon; he didn't return until the next day. Stoick had been sick with worry, though the man would never admit it, and his worry had caused him to keep Hiccup in the house for the rest of the week.

Stoick might not have noticed it, but Gobber did; that warmth in the boy's eyes was gone, and the lad began to shut everyone out. When his punishment was up, he immediately ran into the forge and began working; he didn't stop until that axe was made, and it wasn't finished until it looked absolutely perfect in the boy's eyes. The child could barely lift it at the time, and he had to drag it around. He kept disappearing into the woods, and each time he would return with just a bit more skill and strength.

After a while, the boy could throw and swing the axe like a veteran warrior, and it amazed those who knew him and knew of him; those who had been so used to the clumsy, yet cheerful boy that had no physical strength to speak of.

But Stoick never noticed, and Gobber quickly became frustrated with the man.

Hiccup's similarities to Val had continued to blind Stoick to his boy's skills, and Hiccup became just a little colder each day. The boy began picking up on his father's temper, and, this time, he actually had the skills to back it up.

All of Hiccup's old bullies learned the hard way not to pick a fight with the 'new and improved' Hiccup; the boy began retaliating to all the insults and the snide looks, something he used to ignore, and Gobber became positive that the boy was trying to win over his father's respect and affections and that his frustration had simply reached its breaking point.

The only time Gobber remembered wanting to clap his friend across the face so much had been when they went out searching for Hamish's treasure and ended up having to huddle together in the mountains just to stay warm.

"I can't do that," Stoick muttered, "He'd be killed before you let the first dragon out into the ring."

Gobber held back snort; Stoick was still looking at Hiccup as if he were still that weak boy who let others walk all over him. "No, actually that's the situation Astrid'll be in," Gobber said flippantly, and he ignored the looks Cnut and Thora sent his way. "He'll be fine. You don't know he'd be killed." If anything, the boy would most likely be at the top of the class; maybe Stoick would finally notice the boy if that happened.

"I do know that."

"No, actually, you don't know that."

"Actually, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do!"

"No, you don't!"

Thora and Cnut exchanged a quick glance, amused by their childish argument. Unsurprisingly, these arguments happened quite often.

"You know what he's like," Stoick snapped, "From the time he could crawl, he's been... different. He doesn't listen, he has the attention span of a sparrow, he talks about flying of all things... I take him fishing, and he goes hunting for... for trolls!"

The boy was a big dreamer, Gobber thought. Hiccup had told him about flying, even showed him the designs for a strange suit, though Hiccup said it needed a lot more work before it was actually ready. The boy wanted to fly, wanted to see the world from a dragon's eyes; said that the beasts probably see some pretty amazing things, and Gobber had to agree with him on that one. Hiccup wanted to touch the clouds, soar through the sky, and see what the world outside of Berk was like.

It was a big dream, but Gobber knew the boy would make it happen one way or another.

"Trolls exist," Gobber defended him, "They steal yer socks!" His tone darkened a bit, "But only the left ones... what's with that?"

Stoick gazed at a tapestry depicted a Viking cutting off the head of a struggling dragon, "When I was a boy..."

"Oh, here we go," Gobber muttered. He's heard this story thousands of time; Stoick tells it every time Hiccup ignores one of his orders.

"My father told me to bang my head against a rock, and I did it. I thought he was crazy, but I didn't question him!"

"Ah, so you're upset Hiccup ignored a lunatic request like that?" Thora muttered, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. Stoick shot her a look, but he continued, and Gobber discreetly nodded to her in answering behind Stoick's back.

"And you know what happened?"

"You gotta headache?" Cnut lifted a brow; surely Stoick wouldn't expect one as smart as Hiccup to follow along with this request. Then again, this was Stoick.

"The rock split in two," Stoick ignored him, "It taught me what a Viking can do, Gobber! He can crush mountains, level forests, tame seas!"

"I doubt humans could do such things," Thora mumbled; only the gods could do things such as that. To believe a human could have such power is a little ludicrous.

Stoick looked back at Gobber, "I was only a boy and, yet, I knew who I was and what I had to become." His tone turned to one of disappointment, "Hiccup is not that boy."

Gobber, once again, wanted to thrash his friend.

Hiccup didn't know who he was; he never told him such a thing, but Gobber could see it in the boy's eyes. He was still trying to discover himself, discover what he's to become; Stoick expected his son to be this all powerful Viking that would one day take over the chiefdom, but Hiccup and his big dreams didn't deserve to be tied down in such a way. He deserved to fly and search the world before he took his father's place.

"You can't stop him, Stoick," Cnut said, and Gobber couldn't agree with him more, "Just like we can't stop Astrid." That was true. The girl was a bit competitive; had to be the best despite her lack of skill. "We can only prepare them. That's why we're putting her in Dragon Training; so she can defend herself should the day we can no longer protect her comes. It's all we can do. Hiccup's going to get out there again." He sure will; the boy was pretty good at sneaking around. "Astrid's going to get out there again." That she will; the girl was a bit hard-headed. "Hel, she's probably put there right now..."

Hiccup was probably out there right now, too, now that Gobber thinks about it.

"Oh, the gods hate me," Astrid moaned, running a hand through her hair, avoiding her kransen so as to not jar it. She hiked through the forest, looking left and right, frowning, "Some people lose their knife or their mug. Not me. No, I lose an entire dragon!" [1]

In her irritation, she swiped at a low hanging branch, which promptly swung back and slapped her right in the face. She yelped, clutching at her cheek. Gods, she really did have bad luck, didn't she. She glared at the offending branch before her eyes widened, seeing why it was hanging so low in the first place.

The tree it was attached to looked as if it had been snapped in two; so had quite a few other trees. The row of broken trees formed a path that went straight down, and then slanted up, and disappeared right over a hill.

It was a crash sight, and she had a pretty good idea of what caused it.

She walked over to the hill, which was so steep that she almost had to use her hands to pull herself up. She raised her head over the hill, and then ducked down with a gasp, her heart pounding triple time.

A large, light blue, spiked dragon was entangled in bolas, its wings tied down to its body.

Astrid cautiously peered over the hill again before pulling out a small dagger strapped to her skull belt, hidden from view between her plaited skirt and her fabric skirt; Hiccup had made it for her when it became obvious she wouldn't be able to lift anything else.

She walked in front of the dragon, examining it.

The Deadly Nadder was different than the ones she was used to. Usually, they were dark blues, and greens, and purples, with their bright yellow spikes standing out. This one was the color of the day sky, with pinks and purples and yellows and oranges swirling around and dotting its body. Its underbelly was lighter than the rest of it as well, a shade of white-ish yellow, or maybe a light beige, and its spikes were an outstanding shade of yellow.

It was beautiful. The most beautiful she's ever seen.

Astrid let out a startled yelp when the dragon released a groan, shifting awkwardly. It was still alive. Astrid hesitantly held up her dagger, tiptoeing forward, much less sure of herself than when she shot it down. She gulped when she looked at its face.

Its yellow, slit-pupil eyes were open, staring up at her with emotion, something she had been taught that dragons never had.

She nervously shifted the dagger so that it was facing downwards, holding it in both hands. "I'm gonna kill you, dragon," She whispered, "I'm a Viking."

Suddenly, she felt angry with herself; if she kept shaking and stuttering, she'd never live up to Viking standards.

"I'm a Viking!" She yelled, taking her anger out on the beast, and lifted her dagger over her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

Slowly, she opened them, catching the dragon's eye.

It was still staring.

Suddenly, she felt... ashamed. Like she did this great wrong that needed to be atoned. But, it was just a dragon; dragons don't... they can't feel.

But, then why did it look so scared?

The dragon's eyes never left hers, and she hung her head, letting her hands fall, squeezing the dagger tighter. "I did this," She whispered, keeping her eyes on the dragon's. She backed up a few steps before looking behind her at the forest, and, before she fully caught up with what she was doing, she was on her knees, slicing the ropes of the bolas.

The moment the ropes fell slack, the Nadder leaped up, using its foot to pin her to the ground, its yellow eyes glaring down at her. The eyes that were once fearful were now filled with rage, and the roles were reversed, with her looking up at it in fear. Astrid felt her heart beating in a way that made her fear it would jump up to her throat and straight out of her mouth.

It bared its teeth, growling furiously, and it reared its head back, spreading its winged forelimbs. Astrid braced herself and squeezed her eyes shut, practically hyperventilating, preparing for the worst.

Suddenly, the weight of its foot left her chest, and she opened her eyes in confusion. The Nadder was running off, flapping its wings awkwardly. It let out a frustrated squawk as it crashed haphazardly through the forest before it finally disappeared from view.

Astrid's breaths began to calm slightly as the adrenaline wore off, and she slumped back against the rock she had been previously pinned to. She shakily grabbed at her dagger, missing a few times in her frightened state, before standing.

The moment finally caught up with her, and she took two steps back toward the village before fainting dead away.

Hiccup sighed in frustration, using his axe to brush aside branches and bushes as he trekked through the forest. Astrid really did have bad luck, didn't she? After all, he wouldn't have noticed her running off into the woods had he not just happen to glance toward his open window for a brief moment, seeing her run past.

He had decided to look for her; Odin knows what kind of crap she'd get herself into out here.

Hearing a rustle, he looked to the left, only seeing a couple of Terrible Terrors scurry across the ground and into a tree. He watched them for a moment, hearing that odd rattle noise they made and seeing them flick their tongues over their eyes in a manner eerily similar to a gecko before they disappeared higher up the tree. He licked his lips a little before looking around again.

There were wild dragons everywhere, not just at the Nest; he learned that just a few days after claiming the forest as his own. He was usually the only one to go in here, and it gave him plenty of time to himself.

Plenty of time to watch the dragons.

He glanced down, catching sight of a Mood Dragon curled up under a bush. Mood Dragons were considered to be as beautiful as Nadders; they get their name from changing colors depending on the mood they're in, and they're not particularly vicious unless angered. [2]

This one was currently a deep blue, which means it's pretty calm at the moment.

Its head was resting on its folded arms, but he could see its eyes looking up at him cautiously. Hiccup looked at it for a moment, tilting his head slightly, and the dragon copied his movement, its scales fading into a lighter blue; it was curious now.

One of its ear-plates flicked, and Hiccup snorted a little at the sight. It lifted its head to better look at him, and he gave a small wave before continuing on.

He liked to watch the dragons; watching the wild dragons walk around the forest has almost become a hobby for him now. His interest in them was one of the reasons he preferred to stay in the forge rather than join the Raids.

He couldn't help it, really. He's a curious person, and it was only natural for him to want to learn things about the beings he knew nothing about. Dragons, he sees, are powerful, amazing creatures, and he wants to learn everything there is to know about them. He observes them, from the forge during the Raids, from the woods he's walking through now, and sometimes he even heads to the cliff side to watch the water dragons swim under the ocean.

He heard a call, and he looked up, his face slackening in awe. Far above him, a bit difficult to see through the trees, a four-winged dragon glided through the sky.

It was a Stormcutter; these dragons were never seen during the Raids, but people have seen them before, otherwise they wouldn't be in the Dragon Manual. Hiccup thought they were pretty amazing, with their many fins making them look intimidating and large, and their four wings that appeared as an 'X' during flight. He watched it as it flew off, letting out another call before it disappeared from his sight. [3]

He stared for a moment, his face a bit blank. While he thought Stormcutters were amazing dragons, he wasn't sure what to feel about them personally. He couldn't blame the entire species, he knew that, but it was a Stormcutter that took off with his mother that night.

He sighed through his nose at the thought, clenching his jaw. He wished she were still here; he knew she would be the one to beat some sense into his father, make him see Hiccup for who he was.

Hiccup pursed his lips; he can understand him and Stoick drifting apart a little bit after her disappearance, but what he didn't understand was his father's complete ignorance of his presence.

He thought it was because of his name. It was Viking tradition to name the runt of the litter Hiccup, and he had been born small; too small for a Viking's taste. He remembers that he used to get sick a lot; his body was too small and too weak to fight off the illnesses for him. He remembers he used to be physically weak, even weaker than Astrid; he couldn't lift a hammer or swing an axe or throw a bola (he still can't throw a bola, actually), and he even had trouble with the toy weapons his father had Gobber make for him.

Nobody wanted the hiccups. And, really, why would they? They were these sharp, painful, involuntary intakes of air that made it hard to breath and they wouldn't stop until your chest ached unbearably. He supposes he should be thankful; the Hairy Hooligans were one of the few tribes that didn't practice any violent traditions involving the Hiccups. There were plenty of superstitious tribes out there that were so fearful that Hiccups were a sign of bad luck that they would send the children out to sea in a basket and let nature do the rest. And he knew the Berserkers practiced much bloodier traditions involving the Hiccups, even under Oswald the Agreeable. Hiccup shuddered; the way that man looked at him sometimes... some of his glances were even worse than the ones his lunatic kid sent his way.

It was a bit cruel for Hiccup's taste; sending the children out to sea wouldn't give them a proper funeral, and they would be trapped in Niflheim rather than ascend to Valhalla.

But, his mother loved him, and he remembers that his father did, too. His father used to be indulging and he would listen to Hiccup's ideas rather than scold him and tell him to hush up.

But then his mother was gone, and their relationship crumbled.

He understands his father shutting down a little after his mother's disappearance, but that didn't excuse all the one-sided conversations, all the disappointed stares, or the ignorance of his own son.

He used to be okay with it; he used to not mind all the one-sided conversations because his father was at least talking to him. He didn't mind the day his father got so frustrated with his clumsiness that he passed him off to Gobber at the forge because he was learning how to do something other than break stuff. He used to just let people walk all over him, bully him, glare at him; he used to just ignore it and play it off with one of his sarcastic remarks.

But then things changed.

He supposes he should thank Snotlout; if it hadn't been for his cousin's words that day then he wouldn't have the fighting skills he does now.

He had been with the other kids his age, Astrid included, and he remembers that he had tripped and fell down. Snotlout had laughed at him, and then he said something that still made Hiccup's blood boil whenever he thought about it.

'Hiccup the Useless', that little urchin had called him.

Useless.

Hiccup sucked in a sharp breath through his nose at the thought, shaking his head a little as he continued through the forest. He knew he didn't have a lot of fighting skills, but he was good at the forge and he came up with working ideas; he wasn't useless.

He remembers freezing at the comment for a moment before he took off into the woods that afternoon. He didn't stop to think; just wanted to get away from the ridicule. But, when he did find a spot to settle in, he did think about it.

He couldn't lift a shield properly, he could barely lift a hammer to work the metal in the forge, he constantly dropped his toy weapons, he couldn't keep up with the other kids, he even used his left hand. [4]

He was useless.

He remembers snapping at the thought, and his bottled up frustration and anger got the best of him. When he snapped, he had thrown rocks and sticks, kicked at trees and dirt, scaring off every wild dragon and animal within the vicinity. During his little episode, he had slipped down a small dirt hill, slicing open his hand in the process, leaving a nice scar on the palm. The pain is what snapped him out of it, and he calmed a little, realizing that it was already dark out. But, instead of heading home, he had stewed in the forest for the rest of the night, thinking about how to become useful instead of useless, and he didn't return until the next morning.

His father had been upset, not letting him leave the house for at least a week. But, it was okay because it gave him plenty of time to work out his plans. He had designed his axe during his punishment and when it was up, he immediately began working on it in the forge. He could barely lift the axe back then, having to drag it across the floor. He would go into the woods to practice; he trained until he could lift the axe, and then he trained until he could use the axe. His hands were always bloody from his constant training, and now they were covered in scars and calluses, but it was worth it because now he was better with his axe than most of the warriors in the village.

People started to notice, too. The little hiccup finally had some skills; suddenly, he was no longer 'Hiccup the Useless,' he was 'Hiccup, Hope and Heir of the Hairy Hooligans.' It did nothing but make him angry. He sharpened and forged their weapons, made sure they were protected during their battles, but that deserved no appreciation? The only thing about him that could be appreciated were his skills with an axe?

He began giving the villagers the cold shoulder; the only people he talked to were his cousin, the twins, Fishlegs, Astrid, and Gobber. They were his friends long before he obtained his skills, so they were the ones he stayed with. He began picking up on Stoick's temper, retaliating to all the snide comments, the glares, and the laughter.

They quickly learned that he was no longer the useless boy that would take the bull they spout out about him. They began to respect his ability to retaliate too much to keep saying negative things to him; the only ones who were still brave enough to mess with him were his cousin and the twins. Snotlout kept up because it was a part of the cousins' daily routine, though Hiccup did smack him around a few times. The twins were constantly at it because they loved the mean jokes, and they actually had fun getting thwacked a few times.

And yet, his father never noticed his improvements.

Maybe it was because his mother wasn't here; maybe Valka's disappearance had caused his father too much grief. He didn't know; he just wanted some kind of attention from his only remaining family.

He constantly trained and worked at the forge, doing everything he could to earn his father's attention, but nothing seemed to work. Stoick still saw him as the tiny little hiccup that couldn't stand up for himself.

It got so frustrating. Recently, he's been begging Stoick to allow him into Dragon Training with the others in hopes that succeeding in the class will catch his father's attention. But, Stoick wouldn't have it; said he wouldn't be able to keep up with the others.

That was complete crap; if anything, they'd have a hard time keeping up with him.

Hiccup glanced around, realizing his thoughts had gotten completely off track; he was supposed to be looking for Astrid. So far, he's looked through all his usual spots, but hasn't seen any sign of her, and he was beginning to get a little worried.

He often wondered why he felt the need to protect her, and he began thinking that it may have something to do with his old self. He used to be just like her, wanting to help but being unable to. He used to have bullies and he used to be ignored. He didn't want people to feel useless like he did, so he decided to be a friend to her; luckily for him, Ruffnut seems to have taken on that role as well.

He noticed things about her that he was sure no one else did; like how she was a bit competitive and had to be the best despite her lack of skill, or how she constantly practiced her healing skills in an attempt to be just as good as Gramma Gothi. He noticed how determined she was, and he found her lack of cooking skills a bit funny.

He noticed many things about, and he was a little unsure as to why he constantly noticed her.

Hiccup glanced down for a brief moment, catching sight of something shining. Kneeling down, he picked it up and examined it. It was a… scale. Pure black on one side, and midnight blue on the other. The black side felt soft and leathery, while the blue side felt hard and smooth, and the blue side shined in the little sunlight that peaked through the trees.

Narrowing his eyes in confusion, he glanced around, and his breath hitched, catching sight of what was obviously the owner of the scales.

He slowly stood, staring at it cautiously, moving the hand holding the axe up a bit so he could grab onto it with both hands, tightening his grip.

A little ways in front of him was a black dragon, its eyes closed, its wings folded around it, hanging from a tree branch with its tail like a bat. Hiccup could tell that it was sleeping, but it wasn't snoring, fidgeting, growling, or moving; it was practically dead, the way it slept.

Curiosity getting the better of him (his curiosity was going to get him killed one day, he knew it), he cautiously approached it. He did his best to avoid any noisy grass, twigs, and leaves as he slowly made his way closer to it.

It didn't stir at all; it was a little creepy, actually, how still it was.

When he was close enough, he hesitantly lifted a hand and touched it. Its scales were soft; they felt a bit like the leather armor some of the Vikings asked for at the forge, feeling exactly the same as the small scale still in his hand, held against the handle of his axe. Upon closer inspection, he could see some small, fleshy looking patches where the scales were missing. His touch didn't stir it, either, and he hesitated for a moment before gently pushing it to one side, wondering if that would rouse the creature.

It didn't. Instead, it just swung from side to side like a giant black pendulum until it slowly settled back into its still position, having not moved a single muscle. Its eyelids didn't even twitch.

Hiccup watched it as it swayed before it settled, his thoughts wandering. He's never heard of a black dragon before, and he had a feeling he knew what this dragon was. It was a bit disconcerting, having the most feared dragon in the archipelago sleeping so peacefully right in front of him.

But, hey, he finally got to see what the Night Fury looked like, something he's been dreaming about since the day he heard of it.

He released a quiet sigh, keeping his eyes on it cautiously as he began to back up. But, by not watching his feet, he ended up stepping on a twig.

There was a quiet snap, and two green eyes shot open. There was a few quick thuds, a ruffle of wings, and a low, rumbling growl. Within a few seconds, two massive claws were pinning down each eagle-spread arm, and there was a mouth full of snarling, ivory teeth hovering above him.

Two acid green cat eyes eyed him dangerously, and Hiccup tightened his grip on his axe. There wasn't much he could do with it; both his arms were pinned down, one hand still hanging onto his axe, but unable to use it.

He sucked in a few panicked breaths, staring the dragon in the eyes. It tilted its head in a manner similar to the Mood Dragon before lowering it a little, its breath ruffling his hair.

Suddenly, though he was unsure why, he felt calmer. He didn't feel scared anymore, just curious as he stared up at the beast. It seemed to notice the change in him, and its slit eyes dilated, but only slightly, still appearing dangerous, but less threatening than before as it closed its lips, hiding its teeth from view.

They held each other's eyes for what felt like hours, never once breaking contact.

It cautiously removed its claws from his arms, but Hiccup knew better than to actually move. They continued staring at one another before it slowly reared its head back, spreading its wings. It suddenly slammed its feet down next to his head, letting out a screeching roar right in his face, the force blowing his hair aside.

And then it twisted around and slithered off, and Hiccup was too rattled to wonder why it didn't just fly away.

And there's Toothless and Stormfly :)

This chapter was meant to give some details on Stoick and Hiccup's relationship; why it's just as damaged as it was in canon despite Hiccup's skills. It was also meant to brush up a little on Hiccup's past; how he obtained those skills despite being so similar to his canon self, so... yeah.

And it looks like I was wrong about my chapter lengths; this one's pretty long, too.

1) A kransen was worn only by unmarried girls, and it was a symbol of their purity. Unmarried girls would wear their hair long and loose, or they might confine their hair with a circlet or kransen, especially on formal occasions. At times they may have worn their hair in braids instead. The headband Astrid wears is formal enough to be considered a kransen.

2) A Mood Dragon is a dragon from the book series. As I mentioned before, I'm getting all my information on the dragons from the httyd wiki, but they only mention a few colors of the Mood Dragon and their meaning, so some of the colors are made up and not official.

3) A Stormcutter is what Valka's dragon Cloudjumper is. Their wings can slick together so they appear as only one set instead of two; they are large with many fins, and they have owl-like mannerisms. The wild Stormcutter was only there in order for Hiccup to be reminded of his mother so there could be a way for me to delve into his past a little.

4) Vikings were very particular in how they fought; the weapons must be held by the right hand, and the shields must be held by the left hand. Those who were dominantly left-handed were considered unusual and bad luck; they called left-handed people Vinstris, which is basically the Old Norse root word for "left", and most referred to the left hand as Loki's hand. It is one of the main reasons that many Vikings used their right hands for their weapons, even if they were dominantly left-handed.

Okay, next is the Dragon Training. Sorry about the lack of dialog in this chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway :)

And sorry about the wait, but I don't normally update on weekends, so...