A slightly updated version. I have deliberately tried to make this different from other transformation fics, so expect it to go off rails. Let me know what you think.

Darkness. Darkness and pain. She tried moving, she tried breathing, but to no avail. She was trapped inside her head, utterly powerless. All she could feel was burning, an intense fire that seemed to consume her very thoughts. She could feel her mind slipping away - memories, dreams, emotions – all lost forever.

Something was growing within her, filling the vacuum in her head that had been left behind. A warm sense of reassurance, of purpose, of love. There was no explaining where it had come from or why, but she clung to the inner warmth that the feelings provided. Air filled her lungs, her eyes slid open, and for a beautiful second, it all just seemed to make sense.

The air was clean and still when she awoke. She was lying on her front legs splayed out in all directions, as if she had been frozen mid-stretch. She could hear everything, from the rustling of the leaves to the clashing of metal. The scents were vivid, and she gasped as her brain was assaulted with information. She could smell herself and the other, being of the same species their scents had always been similar. There were other dragons too, as well as salt, and smoke, and blood. Lots of blood. There were the humans as well, their scent was very powerful. One had been nearby very recently.

Despite the distance, her keen senses gave her a good idea of how the battle was unfolding beyond the treeline. From the mixture of Viking roars and dragon screams, it sounded like the bipedal beasts were winning. Her eyes blinked open, pupils wide in the dim light. Her mate was standing over her, concern written across his features.

"Come", he spoke with a deep, commanding tone that could not be argued with. It radiated power and authority, reminding her of Stoi… Wait, who?

She pushed herself up on shaking feet. As much as she tried, she couldn't walk properly, with a pounding headache and gentle swaying. The male leant up against her side, steadying her. She could feel his warmth, the energy radiating from his scales. They stayed that way for a minute, enjoying the sense of comfort and security that it brought them both.

"We haven't much time, my mate, and you were hurt in your fall"

"Yes… I fell…" stuttered the Night Fury, surprised at her voice. "My wings, they are weak…"

She took this opportunity to look around, clouds had rolled in overhead, blocking out the moon and darkening the clearing, but it did not matter. She saw her long, sleek body, and found herself staring at it as if for the first time. She was marvellous, the dark scales blending perfectly with the night, covering and protecting the rippling muscle underneath. She could feel the power within her, flowing through her veins.

Blinking again, she spread her wings tentatively, two black sails that could carry her safely through the sky on the wildest of nights. They felt stiff, sore and heavy, like she had been sleeping on her back all day.

She noticed the male staring at her, his jaw slightly ajar. His eyes ran up and down her body several times, as if to check that she was really there. He watched as she flicked her tail, fanning out her rearmost fins. She couldn't help but smile at the way he gawped at her every movement, as if in a trance. It was not surprising really, it was his duty to defend his mate, and she had just taken a nasty fall.

As she moved, fabric rags slipped off her neck and onto the ground in front of her. A skirt, with iron spikes carefully sewn in at regular intervals. She frowned at the ripped clothing, such a waste, it had been a gift from her father after all, along with her uncle's axe…

She felt suddenly sick.

"We should leave, NOW!" Her slit eyes were scanning the forest. The scent of the human was back again, even more powerful this time. She couldn't say why, but felt convinced that this was a terrible, evil, wrong place to be.

"I agree"

She leapt after the male, the muscles in her back burning as she laboured to gain altitude. Despite a lifetime of experience, it was unusually difficult to stay level and not worry about falling. 'It must be because of my fall' she reasoned. As the wind whipped around her, she felt refreshed, as if she had just awoken from a long nightmare. They could both feel an instinctive pull, a sudden and desperate need to fly back to the nest with the others. She could be safe there, hunt and raise her young in peace. Vikings would never reach her there.

At that thought, they pulled out above the Viking nest. The raid was coming to an end, and by the looks of it, it had not been a success. There were bodies everywhere, perhaps a full third of their flight had been killed or trapped by the monsters. Her only conciliation was that they had killed at least as many Vikings.

The dragons all took flight together as they felt the collective pull, breaking off their individual battles to help haul the kill back to the Mother. The Mother. She would be happy with this season's harvest at least, especially before winter came upon them, when the flock would be forced to spend hours breaking through the tough ice to get at the fish beneath.

She started to turn back and follow her mate, but a single Viking caught her eye. It was a female, dressed in a similar spiked shirt to the one from the clearing. It was standing on the top of the cliff, she was screaming the same phrase over and over.

"..ASTRID… ASTRID…ASTRID…"

*Snap*

Suddenly, she fell.

"Did anybody see that?"

The boy shouted triumphantly to the empty fields. Of course no one had. No one was ever watching Hiccup when it actually mattered. It was at that point that he realised that the bola thrower he designed apparently had an unfortunate habit of destroying itself. The same tight sinews that had hurled the bola across the sky had shattered the wooden frame. It was just Hiccup's luck that the only time it had ever worked successfully, his bola-thrower was reduced to firewood.

But for a second, none of it mattered. He had actually hit it! The one dragon that no one had ever even seen. Admittedly, he hadn't really seen it either, but that was a minor detail.

He could already see his life getting infinitely better. Everyone would be in awe of him now, no more bullying, no more the 'Worst Viking Berk has ever seen'. His father would finally be pround. Hel, maybe even Astrid would notice him for once. The possibilities were endless, and he had done it all himself

He practically skipped back to the village, oblivious to the chaos and destruction around him. The first light of dawn was obscured by a blanket of thick smoke. Most of the villagers were trying to put out the fires, or dragging away the bodies of the dragons. The Viking corpses were already gone, but the smell was not.

He was looking for his father, and soon found him, kneeling down with Vara and Angarr, her husband. Vara was crying, something was deeply wrong, Vara never cried. Hiccup stopped, noticing for the first time how badly the village had suffered. Perhaps a full third of the buildings were completely gone, and well over half had been damaged. The village would recover eventually, but even for Berk it was a high price to pay for a single night's raiding. He knelt down, rubbing the soot from his eyes. As his hand came away black, he felt suddenly sick. Hiccup realised just how close he had come to being killed, running around in the open like an idiot.

He picked himself up and carried on, determined to bring his father the good news. It would be welcome amidst the misery that had seemingly gripped the Island. He was about to approach the man, but seeing the state of Vara, he thought better of it. He leaned on the charred walls of Bucket's house, trying to hear what his father was saying.

"I see. Well, it is all we can expect from the soulless animals. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

Seeing his son, Stoick the Vast stood up to reveal his, well… vastness. Hiccup was used to his father towering over him, just as he was used to trying to impress him. This time, he hoped that it would work. His father walked right up to him, wearing look of mild annoyance over tired eyes.

"Hey Dad, you are not going to believe this, but whilst everyone was over here, I was out by the fields, not that I was running or anything, actually the opposite, I was trying to shoot at a dragon with the bola machine which I made to give me extra range because…"

"HICCUP" Stoick shouted, cutting the rant short. "If you have something to say, say it. I don't have much time, and I've just heard that the night fury carried Astrid off to its nest. The family is heartbroken, and I need to organise the funerals for a dozen more warriors before sundown, so for Odin's sake SPIT IT OUT"

The outburst had a physical impact on Hiccup, he rocked back into the weakened wall, causing it, and the rest of the house, to collapse.

Everything Hiccup was about to say died in his mouth. His father looked at him with utter contempt, no doubt wishing it had been him who had been carried off, and not Astrid. Wait, Astrid was gone?

"I'm… I didn't… I… sorry" Hiccup turned and ran back to the house, he didn't want anyone to see the tears that were already staining his shirt.

The funeral was a sad affair. The only possession they had to represent Astrid was her uncle's axe. It took pride of place in the middle of the small boat that had been set adrift. It, along with many others floated out to sea, the current carrying the flotilla towards horizon. The light was dying, as the brief pink hue of evening became the familiar black of night. Hiccup tried his best to stay stoic throughout the ceremony, but as the archers prepared to set the boats aflame, he had to choke back tears.

He found himself glancing at the Hofferson family. There was a small but noticeable space between them and the other mourners. Nobody wanted to spark Angarr's legendary temper, especially at a time like this. Vara was no longer crying, but her eyes were an angry red and shone with moisture. She was trying to comfort her two small boys, who were staring out to sea aimlessly. They had yet to fully realise that their sister was never coming back.

Angarr drew an arrow from his quiver. It had been wrapped in rags and soaked in oil especially for the funeral. With a solemn order from Stoick, he took three paces forward and lit the arrow from a waiting fire. He drew his bow to its full length, eyeing a nearby flag to take account of the wind. At a word from the chief, hundreds of arrows were loosed with a soft thwack, enough to ensure that every boat was set ablaze.

A cascade of flickering candles flew into the night sky, mingling with the stars before they plunged downwards. As they struck the ships, they burst into flames. Angarr waited a second longer before he shot the arrow. His was the last to take flight, and Hiccup watched as it sailed through the air. The man had already turned and was walking back to the village when it finally landed, setting alight what was left of his daughter.

As he strode back, Hiccup caught his eye. He would always remember the look that Angarr gave him; a mix of blind anger, utter disgust and terrible sadness. His daughter had meant the world to him, and there wasn't even a body to dedicate to the gods. As the rest of the procession started to filter back, Hiccup stood still, and soon found himself alone. He forced himself to look out across the ocean once more, and watch as the fires became pinpricks of light in the distance.

'She's gone' he thought. 'No wait, let's not try and sugar-coat this, she's dead. Dead. Nobody will ever see her again.' The boats were disappearing over the horizon now. It was unbelievable that she was gone. She was one of the best fighters in the village, and she hadn't even gone through dragon training yet. He blinked back fresh tears. Hiccup was slightly older than Astrid, it could just as easily have been him. The gods were cruel, it would have been much simpler for everyone if it was. Astrid had been the best of her generation. She had always seemed totally invincible to Hiccup, and unapproachable. He had never told her how he felt, and now she was dead.

'And there I was, selfishly trying to brag about shooting down the Night fury…' Hiccup suddenly perked up. His keen mind began to make connections.

'But if the night fury carried off Astrid…'

Shooting down a Night Fury was heroic, but bringing somebody back from the dead. Now that was the stuff of legend.

How was that?