I do not own or claim any rights to "How to Train Your Dragon"

Jarin and the Riders of Berk
Chapter 6 - Into Light

Pain. That is all he knew for so long that he could not remember anything else. Those wicked two-legged things with their metal claws and leather strips to hit him with.

Hunger. He did not know how much time passed between meals, if they could even be called such. It was just enough to keep him alive, anchored in this world of torment he had found himself in. He wondered why the Creator-of-all was doing this to him. He had believed all his life, from hatchling to full-grown dragon, and had done his best to do right. But now, he wondered if he had been just a fool.

Thirst. He never liked the water, except to drink it to keep his throat and tongue moist, so he could lick himself to coat his scales with his saliva which would burst into flame when he needed an offensive defense, to keep threats away. His scales were fireproof, so he had nothing to fear. But his tormentors feared fire. So they denied him water, other than just enough to keep him alive.

Vulnerability. He had used the limited water to continue coating his scales with flammable saliva. And he would unexpectedly burst into flame when the despised ones came to torment him. They would not break his spirit. But they broke him. They came in with metal rippers and claws and began ripping his scales off, exposing sensitive flesh underneath. He understood why. Now if he tried to burst into flame, he would be vulnerable to his own fire. So he finally surrendered to inevitability.

The problem was that now that he had surrendered, and accepted that this was all that was left to him, he no longer put up the fight. He was too weak and too tired. He dared not summon the flames. So he just lay there day in and day out as they tortured him. Taking it. Hating it. Sinking deeper and deeper into a dark place within his mind. Where the voice of the Great Liar could be heard, filling him with impotent rage and a sense of self worthlessness and hopelessness. He began to loathe himself more than he loathed these vile two-legs and their tools of pain.

So it was that he became boring to his tormentors. They stopped coming to torture him. But they also stopped coming to feed and water him. He was left chained in the darkness to rot. But then one day, a new dragon was brought in, defiant and full of life and determination. He could not raise his head, or open his mouth to speak warnings to the newcomer. But he could see him. It was like looking at himself as he was what seemed a very long time ago. You'll become just like me, in the end, he thought. He was loaded onto a large cart and removed from the darkness of the cave and into the blinding light of the day. Light he never thought to see again, and now with eyes that had known only darkness for so long, he loathed it for its brightness.

The leader of the despised ones stood before him, his mouth twisted in the closest approximation of a smile that something evil could come to. "You were fun while you lasted, devil. Now the sea will have its way with you. You dreamed of freedom, yes? Well now... be free!" They rolled the cart to the edge of a cliff and dumped him over the side...

He fell, his body scraping rock outcroppings, gashing his exposed flesh and raking against existing wounds that had become infected. It hurt so badly. But not as badly as the seawater as he slammed into it full-force, breaking open wounds, the salt water burning like fire. the cold of it biting him like angry teeth. He had lived many years, soaring on the heights. He had loved his life once. Now he was doomed to the depths and all he could think of was pain. His tortured body had reached its limit, and began to shut down. and Darkness took him.

O O O

Dim images assailed his withdrawn mind. A small island drifting closer. two dragons, a Darkwing and a Spinetail, frolicking in shallow water. A male and female two-leg holding hands and looking at him with shock. Two fellow Flamescales flying above and to the side of him, each with a two-leg on its back. Swarms of Two-legs doing things to his wounds which hurt and then felt soothingly cool. Something being shoved down his throat and the sense of hunger easing off. The voice of a two-leg speaking softly, calmy and even kindly to him, even calling him "friend." The Darkwing looking sympathetically at him.

No. This was a nightmare. He would wake any minute to find himself in that awful cave, surrounded by the dispised ones and their tools of pain again. There would never be peace. There couldn't be. All two legs knew was hatred and how to make others suffer.

He opened his eyes to dim light. Not the darkness of the cave, but of what seemed like a large open chamber. Two legs were milling about, and there were dragons with them. They were being given fish, and being stroked by two-legs, and they were nuzzling the two-legs in return. What madness is this. His eyes came to rest on a two-leg standing before him, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, but turning to meet his gaze, not with eyes of loathing, but of surprise. "WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!" he shouted in the two-leg's face, though to a two-leg, it would have sounded like an angry roar.

"Oh, Great Odin's ghost!" he heard the two-leg exclaim as he stumbled backwards. "Everyone! Our new friend is awake!"

Everyone, two-leg and dragon alike, dropped what they were doing and approached. The two-legs held their hands up, palms outward, showing that they were not going to hurt him, and the two-leg in front of him approached.

"Hello, friend," it said, its voice calm and soothing. "I am Jarin. I've been watching over you while you've been getting better. I'm here to help you."

He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing. Was this a trick? He looked around. The two-legs just stood there with curious expressions. The dragons with them looked back at him reassuringly. Was he dead? Was this where dragons and good two-legs went when they died?

The two-leg in front of him, who called itself Jarin, spoke again. "Your wounds are healing. Can you feel them?"

That gave him pause. He concentrated on his body, and felt pain still, but it was more of a dull ache, and he felt the itch of healing flesh. He was healing. The two-leg wasn't lying. He was hungry, but not starving. He moved to lick his wounds, and gagged. What was that nasty bitter taste?

The two-leg laughed. Not in an evil way, but mirthfully. "The medicine we put on your wounds tastes very bitter to dragons. You cannot be allowed to lick yourself and accidentally catch yourself on fire. We cannot regrow your scales. I don't want to see you burn yourself."

There was genuine concern in the two-leg's voice. Two-leg speech in and of itself meant nothing. But the speech of the mind was clear. At least THIS two-leg was truly wanting to help him.

"You should listen to him, brother," said a gruff voice coming from his left. He turned his head and saw another Flamescale approaching, with a twisted calw. "I am Brokenclaw, and he is my friend. Change is happening here. these people were once our enemies. They even imprisoned dragons and killed them for sport."

He snarled when he heard this, looking back at the one called Jarin.

"However," continued Brokenclaw. "One of their kind, small in stature but great in wisdom, saw things differently."

"Indeed," said a new voice, not harsh, but authoritative. He turned to regard the Darkwing who was approaching him from the right "I am called Toothless by these two-legs. The one Brokenclaw spoke of shot me out of the sky and originally intended to kill me. But he showed mercy, freeing me. He was truly sorry for his actions, so I spared his life. But my tail was ruined, and I could no longer fly freely. The two-leg... Hiccup is his name... gave me food and a new tail, and with his help, my flight is restored. I cannot fly without him, though. And I do not want to. Ever."

His eyes widened at that. A Darkwing, most lethal of all dragon-kind, wanting to be ridden by a two-leg? If any other dragon would have said so, he would have doubted the sincerity of it. But Darkwings never lie. He looked to Brokenclaw, who nodded. He looked to the one called Jarin, who looked awestruck at the verbal exchange between dragons.

Jarin approached, looking directly into his eyes, no pretenses. He reached out his palm towards him. "I really want to be your friend. I want to make sure you are well and safe. I am so sorry for what you have been through. I know my kind did it. But we are not like those who hurt you. I would die to protect you. My friend..."

Something broke within him, like chains that had endured too much tension breaking at the weakest link. Hope flowed through him. One of his own kind and a Darkwing vouched for these... people. He looked at the outstretched hand. He could take it off with one snap of his jaws. But there was so much trust in the one called Jarin's eyes. He would not betray that trust. Doubt welled up in him. What if this was a trick to some form of slavery. He was broken by torture. Kindness could be just as manipulative... Except that a Darkwing vouched for these people. Hope won out over doubt. He stretched his neck forward and rested his snout against the outstretched palm. And in that gentle touching, joy flooded through him like he had never felt before. this creature told him it would die to protect him, and he knew in his heart that he would die to protect it. He still hated the two-legs who did those things to him. But they were not here. He was among friends. And he was going to survive.