Anyway, Chapter 4...

Hiccup eased the door open as quietly as he could. If his father was up, he didn't really want to talk to him. Hiccup had spent the last few hours unconscious in the middle of the forest with the world's deadliest dragon roaming around at will, and he was convinced that he had just made the biggest mistake of his short life.

He had made poor choices before, but they were normally part of a bigger scheme to try and win the respect of the village, his father, and maybe Astrid. Most of the time he was just a nuisance, an annoying, helpless nuisance but a nuisance nonetheless. This time, however, it was fairly certain that he would be killed, or at the very least exiled, if anyone found out that he had set free the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself.

He had practised trying to explain it to his Dad on the way back from the forest.

"Don't we have enough dragon-slaying Vikings? What about bread-making Vikings, or even good old blacksmithing Vikings…"

He sighed. There was no chance that his father would forgive him. The Night Fury was just too dangerous. It had destroyed too many catapults over the years, and too many families. He thought about the Hofferson's. How lost and distraught they had looked at the funeral. How could he possibly justify freeing the devil that had ripped that household apart. Vara had not slept since her daughter had been carried, off, screaming and very much alive…

He hadn't found Astrid either, and that was probably what was really upsetting him. Not only did he put the village in grave danger, he had also missed a chance to take revenge on the beast that had almost certainly killed his girlfriend-to-be. Yet he just wasn't … able, to kill it.

It was the eyes that he remembered the clearest. They were impossibly big, and yet so precise, so intelligent. It had wanted to kill him - that much was clear. But then, they seemed to soften, the pupils widened in something akin to sorrow. Then it had roared and run off. From what he could remember before he passed out, it had been running really badly. It was probably sick…

"Or injured", he said out loud, remembering who had shot the wretched thing down.

"Hiccup"

Stoick had noticed his son's arrival. He turned to face the boy. Hiccup took a step further into the house. He still couldn't meet his father's eyes. 'Oh well', thought Hiccup. 'Might as well get this over with'.

"Dad, I need to talk to you"

"I need to talk to you too son…" There was an awkward silence. Neither really knew how to talk to the other. It had happened so little over the years, it should have been no surprise that they had communication issues.

"Son, I just wanted you to know, that whatever happens… I'll always… I'll always be …"

"Dad, it's okay, I understand." Hiccup knew that Stoick loved him. He also knew that he had serious issues when it came to displaying that love.

"No Hiccup, it's not." He sat down heavily, and stared into the fire, a deep sigh escaping his throat. Hiccup sat down opposite, just outside Stoick's peripheral vision. Stoick cleared his throat.

"Ever since Astrid… Well. Went the way of your mother…" For a second, pain flashed across his face. Hiccup rarely heard his father speak about Valka. Those conversations always ended in painful memories, which Hiccup could barely remember and Stoick had tried to forget.

"I'm going on another hunt for the nest, and I was just think that it's important you start dragon training." Stoick turned to look at his son. Hiccup was quick to protest.

"Wait, no, Dad, I really don't think that's a good idea. You see, I can't really… I can't kill dragons."

"Hiccup this is serious. You know the raids have been getting worse. There are a shortage of trainees this year, for the good of Berk you need to learn. Look, I've spoken with Gobber and I've been thinking-"

"- You shouldn't be thinking Dad, you know how dangerous it is"

"HICCUP"

Stoick silenced the boy with a single word. He stood up and placed his hands on Hiccup's shoulders. They barely fit. He towered over the small boy, blocking out the light from the fire.

But then he went down on one knee, so they could look each other in the eye. Hiccup could see moisture in his father's eyes. If it had not been the most powerful and heroic chief that Berk had ever seen, he could have sworn that he was on the edge of tears.

"I won't always be there to protect you son. I can't risk the Dragons… I won't be able to…"

He was worried now. This was very unlike his father. Stuttering was what he did.

"Hiccup, you are all I have. I can't lose you as well."

His protests died in his throat as he suddenly realised why they were having this conversation. It all made sense. The death of Astrid, the raids getting worse, talking to Gobber. His father wanted his son to be able to protect himself. He might not have been perfectly suited to it, but dragon training was the best way for Hiccup to learn how not to die instantly when confronted with anything bigger than a terror. Honestly, it was the least that Hiccup could do. He was a walking disaster after all, and he felt acutely guilty after the day's events. Against his better judgement, Hiccup agreed.

"All right Dad, I'll do the stupid training"

Stoick immediately lightened up, his booming laugh actually caused the room to shake. He gave Hiccup a tremendous slap on the back, almost knocking him straight into the wall.

"That's my Boy!"

Hiccup couldn't help but grin. There was something so endearing about seeing his father so happy. It happened so rarely after all. The redhead was rummaging around a chest, and brought out a single bladed battle-axe that was at least at tall as Hiccup. Judging by the smooth dark, well maintained wood, it was probably a lot older than Hiccup as well. Stoick had been planning this day for a long time.

"You'll need this"

Hiccup could barely support his own bodyweight, let alone a decently sized hatchet. His legs shook and nearly buckled under the weight of the weapon. His father pushed past him and opened the door. Shouldering a sack full of weapons, he turned to say goodbye to his only son.

"Goodbye son. Train hard. I'll be back. Probably."

Hiccup half placed, half dropped the axe on the table. He almost went to hug the man, but then thought better of it.

"And I'll be here… maybe"

Hiccup stumbled into the forge, exhausted. His clothes were ripped and his hair was singed. He could have sworn that his eye brows were thicker before that encounter with the Terrible Terror.

Dragon training had been brutal. He had almost died, three times! (Although one of those was Ruffnut's fault, mainly). All had been going well until Gobber revealed his 'Learning on the Job' approach. Hiccup shouldn't have been surprised. He had spent years 'Learning on the Job' in the forge. It was lucky that the only major injury he had was a third degree burn on his shoulder, which had since healed into a scar shaped amusingly like Gobber's brush-hand.

He started to sharpen a broadsword on the whetstone, the sparks briefly lighting up the fairly dim interior of the room. That was, until his mentor stoked up the fire, briefly setting fire to his moustache.

"I'm impressed Hiccup. Your first day of real training and you're not even crippled for life. I could have sworn that Gronckle was gonna at least disfigure you, what with the way you cowered helplessly in the corner for five hours."

"Thank you, for summing that up"

Hiccup knew that Gobber was just teasing him. After all, he had basically been a second father, raising Hiccup when his real Dad was too busy, which was most of the time. Gobber, although he would never admit it in public, was very fond of the boy. Anyway, it was better than talking to any of the other trainees, at least. The twins would just try and find a new, inventive way to kill him, probably using fire. Fishlegs would just talk endlessly about statistics. Snoutlout would probably use him as caber toss and Astrid…

"Well you're movement is sluggish and you're weapons handling is horrific, but apart from that you're doing better than I thought you would."

Gobber began to beat a twisted blade back into shape, not even breaking a sweat. Hiccup strained to lift another basket full of arrow shafts onto their storage shelf. Archery wasn't used much against the dragons. It worked well against invading Viking neighbours, but the Dragon's hides were always too tough and they moved to fast. But if someone could invent a giant bow, and maybe some arrows to match…

"Focus Hiccup! You're iron's almost hot enough."

"Right, on it!"

As he was working the metal, Hiccup couldn't help but think about the Night Fury that he let go. He still couldn't work out exactly why it had let him live. Maybe he was too thin and weak? Too full of bones? That wouldn't make any sense. Dragon's normally ate their prey whole, didn't they? It occurred to Hiccup that he had never actually seen a dragon eat any of the food it hauled in each raid. Sure the captured dragons in the ring normally ate fish, but who's to say that's what they normally ate. It could be a diet of nothing but eels for all he knew.

Maybe the dragon had spared him because it thought, like Gobber had said, that he was sick or insane. Again, it made no sense. It had Hiccup pinned down with a claw around his throat. It would have been easy just to cut, crush, or bite into his fragile little neck. A potential threat would have been removed with essentially zero effort.

Perhaps dragons had some sense of honour, or at least recognised the concept of gratitude. He had, after all, spared the beast when he could easily have cut out its heart.

But then there were the eyes. He could still remember them vividly. They were just so absorbing. He could get lost for hours studying their deep green gaze. They had seemed so familiar, so intelligent, so understanding.

And then there was the way it had run off moaning into the forest, apparently with even less coordination than he had. Everything about it had just seemed wrong. So un-dragon like. It all just seemed so odd. The dragon should have killed him, but for whatever reason, it didn't and he was determined to find out why he was still alive. Hiccup was sure about one thing. He was going to go back and find it.

"Say, Gobber. Has anyone ever tried to, I don't know, study a dragon"

"Many have tried son, but most end up studying the dragon's insides if you know what I mean. Bork the Bold did a pretty comprehensive job in the old 'Book of Dragons'. Have I ever told you his story? He was an ancestor of mine, used to be called 'Bork the very very…'"

"I know Gobber, you've told me this before. More than once. Actually about eight times, but what I really want to know is…"

Hiccup took a deep breath, and tried to explain.

"I was just wondering, if it was at all possible that… I don't know. How much do we really know about dragons? I mean, are they intelligent? Do they understand us? Are they capable of learning new things? There's just so much we don't know about them. I mean, maybe if we tried to understand them better we could-"

"HICCUP". Gobber silenced him with a swish of his hammer. Gobber leaned right up close to Hiccup, so close that he could smell the oil he used on his moustache.

"There is only one thing you need to know about dragons. They always, always… go for the kill."