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knight-hiccup · 3 months ago

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𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader ₉

This is Chapter 9 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 5.7k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader description not described besides clothing true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time.

CHAPTER 9

The rhythmic thunder of mighty drums reverberated through Berk, a sound so deep and resonant it seemed to summon the spirits of Viking warriors long past. It was a cadence fit for legends, each beat pulsing through the frost-kissed air, stirring the blood of every soul gathered for the final challenge.

The village, draped in the first melting snows of winter, shimmered with an unusual festive fervor, its rugged edges softened by a rare swell of anticipation. Torches flared against the gathering daybreak, their flames licking the cold, casting a golden glow over the arena where half of Berk had crammed to witness the slaying of a dragon in the pit.

The space couldn't hold the entire island, but those who fit pressed shoulder to shoulder, loud and bulky as ever with their breaths fogging in the chill, eyes alight with the promise of glory by none other than their chiefs' son.

High above the throng, Stoick the Vast emerged from the shadowed stands, flanked by the village elders, their fur-lined cloaks billowing as they took their seats. Behind them hung tapestries of past chiefs, woven with threads of crimson and gold, each one a silent testament to their own triumphs over dragons in this very pit—faded faces staring down, unyielding and stern.

The drums swelled as Stoick rose, a towering figure against the flickering light, and then—abruptly—they fell silent, the cheers of the crowd snuffing out like a candle in the wind. He strode to the cage's edge, his boots thudding against the wooden platform, his face carved from stone until a proud smile cracked its surface, warm and unrestrained.

"Well!" he boomed, his voice rolling over the arena like a wave, "I can show my face in public again!"

Laughter erupted from the stands, a raucous burst that shook the chains lining the pit, and Stoick's own chuckle joined it, deep and hearty. He waved a hand to quiet them, the mirth fading into an eager hush.

"If someone had told me that in a few short weeks Hiccup would go from being—well. . .Hiccup—to placing first in dragon training, I'd have tied him to a mast and shipped him off for fear he'd gone mad!"

The crowd roared again, a tidal wave of amusement, and Stoick grinned, jabbing a finger toward them. "And you know it!"

He paused, letting the noise settle, his expression softening as he continued. "But here we are. . .and no one is more surprised—or prouder—than I am."

Below, in the shadowed tunnel leading to the arena, Hiccup stood apart, his gaze fixed on the packed dirt on the stone at his feet. The weight of his father's words pressed against him, mingling with the tumult of his own mind—Toothless hidden in the cove, the dragon he couldn't kill from the beginning, and now this Nightmare he had to face, and above all, you.

His eyes darted through the crowd from his vantage point, searching for your familiar figure among the sea of fur and leather, but you were nowhere to be found. His brows knit together, a pang of heartbreak slicing through him, sharp and cold.

He'd failed you—pushed you away with words he couldn't unsay—and now, on the eve of his greatest test, your absence was a wound that pulsed with every beat of those drums. His thoughts flickered back to your solo Gronckle trial weeks ago, a day he'd missed, too caught up in his own world to be there when you'd needed him. The guilt had never left, and now it festered anew as the feeling struck him hard.

Stoick's voice carried on in the background, a distant rumble. "Today, my boy becomes a Viking." Hiccup clutched the Viking helmet tighter against his chest, the metal biting into his skin, leaving a faint, red imprint. He exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that clouded in the damp air, wishing you were here.

A soft shuffle of footsteps broke his reverie, and Astrid appeared at his side, her blond hair catching the torchlight as she leaned against the tunnel wall—for a moment his heart had skipped thinking it was you.

"I couldn't spot her anywhere," she said, her voice low with concern. "No one's seen her—not even Gobber," she had said, meaning you.

Hiccup nodded, a sad, mechanical motion, his eyes lifting to scan the stands one last time. Astrid sighed, tracing a finger along the rough stone beside her.

"She'll show up," she offered, though her tone wavered with doubt. He nodded again, mute, his throat tight.

"Be careful with that dragon," she added, her gaze flicking to the arena beyond.

"It's not the dragon I'm worried about. . ." Hiccup murmured, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the crowd.

Astrid tilted her head, studying him. "What are you going to do?"

He bit his lower lip, brows furrowing as his mind churned—Toothless, his father, the trial, and you, always you. He had to end this, had to try, for the dragons and for the friendship he'd let slip through his fingers. If you were out there, he'd find a way to make it right, to offer the apology you deserved.

"Put an end to this," he said at last, resolve hardening in his chest. "I have to try." The words carried a dual weight—to stop the cycle of Viking and dragon bloodshed, and to salvage what he could with you.

He turned to face Astrid, his green eyes locking onto hers with a seriousness she hadn't seen before, a gravity that made her straighten. "Astrid, if something goes wrong, just make sure they don't find Toothless."

His plea hung heavy, his gaze imploring, and in his heart, he ached to say it to you too—to beg you both to protect the dragon he'd bound his fate to.

She nodded, firm and steady. "I will. Just promise it won't go wrong. . ."

Hiccup's lips pressed into a thin line, a faint shake of his head his only reply. "I can't make any promises. After all, I can't keep the ones I've already made."

His voice lowered, the weight of you—unspoken, unknown to Astrid—lacing the words with a sorrow she couldn't place. Before she could press further, Gobber rounded the corner, his wooden leg clunking against the stone.

"It's time Hiccup, knock 'em dead," he says, jerking his head toward the arena.

Astrid gave Hiccup a final, searching look before following Gobber out, the gate clanging shut behind them with a hollow ring. Alone now, Hiccup held his helmet before him, its horns glinting dully in the light. He exhaled slowly, the breath trembling as it left him, and slid the helmet onto his head, the cold metal settling against his scalp like a crown he wasn't sure he'd earned.

The roar of the crowd hit him as he stepped into the pit, a wall of sound that crashed over him—boisterous cheers, chants of his name, the clanging of fists and boots against the iron bars. It was louder than he'd ever heard it, a cacophony that throbbed in his skull, threatening to split it open.

He felt smaller than ever, dwarfed by the towering stands, like a boy lost in the great forest once more—eyes boring into him from every angle, waiting, watching, preying—anticipating his every stumble.

His breath came shallow, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill, the world slowing around him as if time itself thickened. The whispers of old failures crept in—weak, embarrassment, failure—their voices hissing through the din, clawing at the edges of his resolve.

He shut his eyes, boots scuffing as he moved forward on instinct, drawn to the weapon stand like a moth to flame. His breath hitched, nerves spiking, a tremor running through his hands—then your voice broke through the haze, soft and clear in the back of his mind.

"I'm proud of you," you'd said once, followed by the echo of your laughter, bright and unshakable.

His eyes snapped open, his pulse syncing with the drums' of Valors' mighty rhythm, a fire igniting in his chest. He was ready.

He seized a shield first, its weight grounding him, then a knife, its blade catching the sunlight with a wicked gleam.

"I'm ready," he declared, his voice steady now, gaze fixed on the iron doors that caged the beast beyond. He nodded sharply, the signal given, and the gates groaned open.

The Monstrous Nightmare exploded forth, wreathed in flame, a snarling inferno of scales and fury. It surged into the arena, circling high, spitting torrents of fire that sent the crowd scrambling with shouts of awe and fear.

The beast's eyes scanned the chains, seeking a flaw, a weakness—until it stilled, its blazing gaze locking onto Hiccup. He stood there, shield raised, knife in hand, the air between them crackling with challenge, the drums fading into a distant heartbeat as the trial began.

The cliff stretched out beneath you, a jagged lip of stone perched high above Berk's harbor, where the sea churned in restless waves that glittered under a rare, defiant sun. Yesterday's snow had melted into a slick sheen of wet grass and mud, the ground glistening as if the island itself wept for what was to come.

You sat atop a weathered plank of wood, a makeshift barrier against the damp that seeped through the earth, your fingers idly turning a dagger in your hand—its blade catching the sunlight in fleeting, silver flashes. The air carried a faint warmth, a cruel tease against the cold that had settled into your bones, not from the weather but from the hollow ache within.

Beyond the cliff's edge, the harbor sprawled, its waters a restless expanse of deep blue, crashing against the rocks below with a rhythm that mirrored the tumult in your chest. The wind tugged at your hair, sharp with the scent of salt and wet wood, and from afar, the thunderous applause of the arena rolled up the hillside, a faint roar dancing on the breeze.

Your stomach twisted with every pulse of that sound, each cheer a needle threading through your thoughts—Hiccup, alone in the pit, facing the Monstrous Nightmare. How was he holding up? Could he weave his way through this trial without bloodshed, or would it spiral into chaos, into Hel itself? Would he emerge whole, or broken?

The questions gnawed at you, relentless as a pack of wolves tearing at a carcass, and yet your eyes remained dry, the tears you'd shed at dawn now hardened into faint, salty streaks that stung your cheeks.

You traced a thumb along the dagger's dull chipped edge—your gaze distant, lost in the waves that crashed far below. This was the first time you'd ever missed something vital in Hiccup's life, a trial that could redefine him, and the absence clawed at you, a guilt so fierce it left your chest raw.

But you couldn't go. Wouldn't. The cliff—your shared refuge with Hiccup, where you'd once laughed over half-formed dreams and watched the aurora paint the sky—held you fast, its solitude a shield against the arena's clamor and the words from yesterday that echoed in the recesses of your mind, sharp and unyielding, a blade he'd swung without mercy.

They festered there, entwined with the cruel jabs made by those who had sat with him—their voices a chorus that had convinced you he didn't need you now. He'd clawed his way into Berk's favor, surrounded by the cheers he'd once prayed to Odin for, the acknowledgment he'd craved since he was a boy tripping over his own feet.

Those people had planted their poison deep, and you'd let it take root, believing he'd be fine in that pit, that he'd thrive without you trailing behind. Your fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt, the leather grip creaking under your grip, and a bitter taste coated your tongue as you stared out at the sunlit sea, its beauty a mockery of the maelstrom stirring within.

The applause swelled again, a distant thunder that rumbled through the cliffs, and your heart lurched, a pang of longing cutting through the numbness. You pictured him—his lanky frame dwarfed by the arena's iron walls, his auburn hair catching the sun, his green eyes flickering with that mix of fear and resolve you knew so well.

Was he scanning the stands for you, even now, as you'd once done for him? The thought tightened your throat, but you pressed it down, your jaw clenching as you flipped the dagger again, its weight a cold comfort in your palm. The sun climbed higher, its rays spilling over the harbor in a golden flood, warming your skin and creating a glow unknown to you.

You'd always been there—through every stumble, every wild idea of his, every quiet moment when he'd needed you most—and now, the space you'd left felt like a betrayal, a wound you'd inflicted on yourself as much as him. Yet his words held you here, a chain forged of hurt and doubt, binding you to this cliff as the arena's roar faded into the wind, leaving you alone with the waves and the ghosts of what you've lost.

Your thoughts continued to churn like the tide until a distant roar of the arena had faded to a dull hum, a sound you tried to ignore—until a sudden, jarring bang shattered the stillness, echoing from the pit like the crack of a felled tree.

It jolted you upright, the dagger slipping from your fingers to thud into the damp earth and over the cliff, your breath catching as a piercing screech—the Monstrous Nightmare's guttural cry—tore through the air. The crowd's cheers twisted into a cacophony of panic, a discordant wave that rolled up the hillside and slammed into you, raw and unfiltered.

Your heart lurched, hammering against your ribs with a force that drowned out your surroundings. You were on your feet before you realized it, the plank tipping behind you as instinct seized control. The arena—so far across the rugged sprawl of Berk—beckoned like a beacon through the haze of your fear, and your legs moved of their own accord, propelling you down the cliff's uneven path—faster than you'd ever gone.

Wet grass slicked beneath your boots, and halfway down, the ground betrayed you—your foot skidded, sending you sprawling into the mud with a dull splash. Pain flared in your palms as you caught yourself, the cold, thick muck seeping through your tunic, but you scarcely felt it.

You scrambled up, breath ragged, mud streaking your hands and knees, when a sound sliced through the chaos—a familiar, keening wail, sharp and unmistakable—Toothless. The Night Fury's cry ignited a fresh surge of dread, your eyes snapping toward the arena just as a blast of violet plasma erupted, punching a jagged hole through the pit's iron chains. Smoke billowed upward, thick and acrid, as Toothless soared in like a blur, his black wings cutting the air like a blade.

You froze, rooted to the hillside, your pulse thundering in your skull, eyes wide as the scene before you unfolded in a haze of fire and fury. The arena loomed ahead, its stone walls trembling under the weight of the chaos all around, and you stumbled forward, drawn irresistibly toward it. The crowd surged around the pit's perimeter, a tide of shouting, shoving bodies, their panic a living thing that pulsed through the air. You pushed through them, elbows jabbing, your breath hitching as you fought to reach the blasted breach Toothless had carved. Mud clung to your boots, slowing each step, but you pressed on, the sting of ash in your eyes blurring the world into smears of gray.

At the hole's edge, you stopped dead, heart in your throat, squinting through the choking veil of smoke that roiled within. Your gaze darted frantically, as you leaned in whilst grabbing the bars chain careful not to fall, careful not to burn your hands—searching the haze for Hiccup—his lanky frame, his auburn hair, anything to anchor you in the madness.

A gust from the dragon's wings swept through, parting the smoke like a curtain torn asunder, and there he was—Hiccup, crouched low, shield raised, his face taut with fear. Toothless stood before him, scales gleaming like polished obsidian, his snarls reverberating as he squared off against the Monstrous Nightmare.

The larger dragon thrashed, its fiery hide crackling, claws raking stone as it lunged, but Toothless met it with a ferocity that shook the arena's bones—teeth bared, wings flared, a dominance of protection for his boy that made the other dragon growl in disbelief.

The crowd gasped, some scrambling back, others leaning forward, their shouts a jagged chorus of awe and terror. Your chest tightened, relief warring with dread as you watched Toothless drive the Nightmare back, its flames sputtering under the Night Fury's relentless assault. At last, with a final, resentful screech, the Monstrous Nightmare retreated, crawling into its cage, the iron gate slamming against the stone with a clang that echoed like a death knell.

But the reprieve shattered in an instant. Vikings leapt into the pit, their war cries rising as they descended upon Toothless—axes glinting, ropes swinging, a swarm of fury turned on the dragon who'd dared to defy them as he fought back fiercely. You lunged forward, desperation clawing at your throat while you pulled on their furs.

"Stop!" you shouted, your voice raw and cracking, but it was swallowed by the din.

A burly shoulder slammed into you, knocking you to the ground, your palms scraping the stone as you hit.

You pushed up, shouting again, "Leave him alone!" But the crowd surged past, heedless, their boots trampling the just inches from your hands.

Through the chaos, you saw Stoick plunge into the fray, his massive frame cutting through the melee, his face a mask of rage as he wrestled with the Night Fury. Toothless reared, jaws wide, a blast of plasma igniting the air—aimed straight for Stoick's head.

Hiccup's voice broke through, a desperate, piercing "No!" that halted the dragon mid-strike, the flame fizzling into a harmless sputter. The Vikings seized their chance, one by one pinning the dragon to the ground before ropes snapped tight around Toothless' wings, chains clanking as they forced a neck brace onto him soon after, his struggles muffled by the iron grip that dragged him out of sight.

You sank to your hands and knees, the stone cold and unyielding beneath you, tears spilling hot and unchecked down your face. Sobs racked your frame, each one a jagged shard of grief—for Toothless, for Hiccup, for the world falling apart right in front of this boy.

Vikings streamed past, their muttered curses and shaking heads a blur—disgust aimed at the dragon, at Hiccup, at you sprawled on the ground, at the whole unraveling—disappointing—mess this all turned out to be. You staggered to your feet, swaying as the crowd buffeted you, their bodies a relentless current pushing you back.

You fought against it, weaving through the press of fur and leather, your eyes locked on Hiccup—still in the pit, his helmet askew, his face pale with shock. But before you could ever reach him, Stoick's hand clamped onto his arm, rough and unyielding, dragging him toward the tunnel with a force that brooked no resistance.

Hiccup stumbled the entire time, his gaze darting wildly—searching for Toothless, for you—but the crowd swallowed them, their figures shrinking into the throng as they moved toward the Great Hall.

You stood there, breath heaving trying to catch your breath but for a moment, the arena's dust settling around you like ash from before. The sun blazed overhead, its light harsh and unforgiving, glinting off the broken chains and the scorch marks left by dragon fire.

Your legs trembled, but you forced them into motion, following the tide of Vikings at a distance, their murmurs a low growl in your ears—traitor, fool, dragon-lover. The words stung, but they couldn't drown out the panic driving you forward. When the crowd thinned near the village's heart, you broke into a run, boots pounding the muddy path, your tunic flapping as the wind whipped past.

The Great Hall's towering doors loomed before you as you finally made your way up, their carved snarls glaring down as if to judge your every faltering step. The sun blazed overhead, its light spilling across the muddy yard in harsh, golden streaks, just perfect enough to give light from the outside within as the doors stood ajar, voices spilling out—Stoick's booming timbre, Hiccup's strained replies—and you pressed a hand to the rough-hewn frame, peering into the shadowed interior.

Inside, the hall was a cauldron of tension. Vikings clustered in knots far into the dark corners typically near the kitchen to prepare the feast coming, their faces hard with anger and confusion, while Stoick towered at the center, his fist bawled up—white—with fury as his voice boomed.

You retreated down the weathered steps again, each one a quiet thud beneath your boots, pulling back into the shadows behind a pillar before either of them could spot you. The air thrummed with tension even outside the empty yard, Stoick's voice splintering everywhere.

You didn't need to be closer to catch their sting; they carried on the wind, sharp and heavy with accusation, a father's wrath unleashed in a way that made your stomach twist. Then, silence—a beat of stillness so profound it felt like the world held its breath—before Stoick staggered out, his broad frame filling the doorway.

His face, usually a mask of iron resolve, crumpled briefly, washed pale with guilt as the weight of what he'd done settled into his bones. He didn't see you, didn't glance your way as he stormed down the steps, his cloak snapping behind him like a tattered banner, his fury driving him toward the harbor's docks with a purpose you couldn't fathom.

You lingered there, rooted to the spot behind the pillar—frozen to see Hiccup—the damp moss on the stone freezing under your gentle touch as you opted to wait. The villages' murmurs faded into a low drone, the the small crowd dispersing from within, their voices a muted echo as they left the Great Hall angrily. Minutes crawled by, each second a slow drip of dread pooling in your chest. You had stood straight, about to go in until the doors creaked open again.

Hiccup emerged, his lanky figure hunched, one arm shielding his face as silent tears streaked down his cheeks. The sight hit you like a blow—his shoulders trembling, his steps unsteady as he walked past and down the stone stairs—The boy who'd faced a dragon now broken by something far worse. Something in you snapped, a switch flipping deep within, shoving down the hurt, the words he'd flung at you, the venom that had kept you away. None of it mattered now—not when he looked like this, lost and unraveling under Berks' cruel glare.

He hadn't made it far, barely crossing the yard beyond the hall's shadow, when you moved. Your boots skipped steps and pounded the earth, a frantic rhythm that drowned out the harbor's distant crash, and you caught his arm, yanking him around with a force that surprised even you.

He stumbled, caught off guard, his arm dropping as he wiped at his red eyes with a sleeve already damp with grief. Then he saw you—really saw you—and froze, blinking through the blur of tears as if you might dissolve like a mirage. You didn't hesitate, didn't give him time to doubt any further as you let out a shaky breath leaning in.

Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, a fierce, unyielding embrace that refused to let go this time. His breath hitched, a shudder running through him, and for a moment, his hands hovered, uncertain—until the tears broke free again, hot and unchecked, and he buried his face in your shoulder, his arms finally closing around you in a desperate, clinging hold.

You stood there, locked together in the yard's muddy sprawl, the world shrinking to the space between you. His quiet sobs shook his frame, muffled against your tunic, a flood of years' worth of pent-up pain spilling out in ragged gasps all at once.

You tightened your grip, fingers threading through his hair, patting gently as you whispered, "It's going to be alright."

The words felt fragile, a threadbare promise against the wreckage of the day, but you said them anyway, willing them to hold. Your own tears came then, silent and steady, tracing new warm paths down your face as you clung to him, the salt mingling with the dirt streaked across your cheeks.

His hands fisted in the back of your tunic, wrinkling the fabric in tight, desperate bunches, but you didn't care—couldn't care—not when he was breaking like this, and you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart entirely.

Hiccup couldn't speak, couldn't find the words through the waves of his tears. They'd been dammed up too long—years of failure, of being less, of chasing his fathers' footsteps he'd never catch up to, and so much more—until now, with Toothless torn from him and you standing here, these emotions that taunted him finally broke free.

He'd thought he'd lost you—your love and friendship, that his sharp words in the forge had severed the tether between you for good. And now, with Toothless chained and gone, dragged off to gods-knew-where by his own tribe, he'd felt truly adrift—until your arms found him, grounding him in a way he hadn't realized he'd needed until it was almost too late.

His breath hitched again, a sob catching in his throat as he pressed his forehead harder into your shoulder, the damp of his tears soaking through to your skin. You held him steady, your hand resting against his hair, the familiar scent of him—leather, pine, smoke, and something faintly metallic—mingling with the mud and salt in the air.

The yard stretched empty around you, the sun climbing to its peak, its light glinting off the wet grass in a shimmer that felt too bright for the moment—but as if finally smiling at you two after a sad week of forecast between you both. The harbor's waves rumbled along with shouts in the distance, a steady counterpoint to the uneven rhythm of your breathing.

But here, in this fragile pocket of time, it was just you and him—locked in a quiet, weeping embrace, the weight of the day—of the past two months really—pressing down and yet somehow lifting, if only for a breath. He'd thought he'd lost everything—But your arms around him, was like a blanket of comfort, shifting the ground beneath him.

He'd been so utterly wrong—about you, about needing space—and the realization sank deep, a quiet ache beneath the relief. You were here, despite it all, and as his tears stained your clothes, he knew he'd fight to mend this, to reclaim what he'd nearly thrown away.

Time stretched thin, the minutes blurring into a quiet eternity where neither of you moved to break the hold. You stood there for as long as he needed, locked in Hiccup's trembling embrace, until his tears had finally slowed, the sobs that had wracked his frame tapering into shallow, uneven breaths, but his arms remained tight around you, like his life depended on it, like he would break if he let go again.

You still didn't pull away, didn't flinch under the weight of his grip; instead, your fingers continued their gentle rhythm, threading through his auburn hair, tracing soothing paths against his scalp. The strands were damp with sweat and debris, tangled from the chaos of the arena, but you cared not—the motion steadied him—his breathing softened, his shoulders easing your touch alone could unravel the knots of grief coiled within him.

You could feel the tremor in his fingers, the faint shudder of his chest against yours, and it stirred a deep, aching tenderness in you—an understanding forged through years of shared stumbles and silent loyalties. The air hung heavy with the scent of Berk, the faint tang of smoke still clinging to him from the pit, and you breathed it in relieved, grounding yourself in the reality of him here, alive, in your arms—to you that is all that mattered.

At last, the tension in his grip eased, and you both drew back, a slow unraveling that left a hollow ache where his warmth had been. No words passed between you; none were needed. You'd seen each other cry before—over scraped knees as children, over failures whispered in the dark over again, over losses too big to name—and this was no different, yet infinitely more raw. Your eyes met his, tear-streaked faces mirroring one another—cheeks flushed, red-rimmed eyes swollen from the flood, noses damp and glistening in the sunlight.

But beneath the mess, there was something unspoken, a quiet language etched in the lines of your expressions. His gaze carried an, "I'm sorry," so deep it seemed to tremble in the green of his irises, a plea for forgiveness he didn't know how to voice. Yours answered in kind, soft and unguarded, a mirror of regret for the distance you'd let grow, for the cliff you'd retreated to when he'd needed you most. In that shared look, a certainty settled—bruised and battered as you were, it really was going to be alright.

You glanced down, your eyes catching on his hand—pale, calloused, still trembling faintly with anxiety from the mess he'd weathered. Without a word, you reached for it, your fingers sliding into his, interlacing with a quiet firmness that felt like a vow. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm a familiar map you'd traced a thousand times, and you gave a gentle tug, pulling him with you into a slow, deliberate walk.

He followed, his steps hesitant at first, lingering close as if testing the ground beneath him, afraid you might slip away again. But you leaned in, your shoulder and arm brushing his, the fabric of your tunics catching faintly as you pressed closer—a reassurance woven into the contact, a promise that you weren't going anywhere.

His hand tightened around yours, a squeeze that echoed your own, and you felt the warmth of it seep into you, a lifeline threading through the cold that had gripped you both. The walk was unhurried, each step a soft crunch against the wet earth, the mud sucking at your boots as you moved away from the hall's shadow.

The sun beat down, glinting off the damp grass in tiny, fleeting sparks, painting the world in a light that felt almost tender after the day's brutality. Hiccup stayed near, his arm brushing yours with every stride, his breath still hitching faintly as he adjusted to the quiet between you.

You could sense the weight he carried—Toothless torn from him, his father's words a fresh scar, the village's judgment a looming specter—and it mirrored your own: the sting of his outburst, the teen's barbs, the guilt of your absence in the arena. Yet here, in the slow rhythm of your steps, those burdens felt lighter, shared in the silence that wrapped around you like a worn cloak.

You passed the edge of the yard, the harbor unfolding below in a sprawl of sparkling blue and silver, its waves whispering secrets against the docks where Stoick and the others began loading boats for whatever reason you'd both find out later. The wind stirred, cool and sharp, tugging at your hair and drying the last traces of tears from your faces.

Hiccup's head dipped slightly, his free hand brushing at his eyes as if to erase the evidence of his breaking, but you squeezed his hand again, a silent tether that said he didn't need to hide—not from you. He glanced over, a flicker of something soft crossing his face—gratitude, relief, a shadow of the boy who'd once rambled under tables to chase your fears away—and you returned it with a small, steady nod.

The village loomed ahead, its thatched roofs and smoke trails a faint promise of little peace if only for a moment, but neither of you rushed toward it. This walk, this quiet, was enough—a mending stitched not with words but with presence, with the simple act of holding on.

Hiccup's thoughts, glimpsed through that omniscient veil again without wanting to, where a tangled weave of loss and dawning loss bloomed. He'd stood in the hall, flayed by Stoick's fury, certain he'd lost everything. The tears had come unbidden—without control, a flood he couldn't stem, and he'd braced for a solitude he'd brought upon himself.

But then you were there—Of course you were there. . .His heart of berk—Your arms a lifeline he hadn't dared hope for, your touch a balm to wounds he couldn't fathom on his own. As your fingers laced with his, he felt the ground shift beneath him again—not steady yet, but closer to it than he'd been in days. And it made his heart flutter to life again.

He'd been wrong, so wrong, and the ache of that realization pulsed with every step, tempered only by the warmth of your hand in his. Toothless. . .was gone, his father's trust shattered into pieces, but you—You were here. . .Thank Odin, Hiccup sighed—And that was a thread he'd cling to, a chance to rebuild what he'd nearly broken beyond repair.

The path went on, winding ever closer toward the forge your shoulders stayed pressed together—so close—a quiet defiance against what was waiting, and the silence between you deepened—not empty, but full, heavy with the weight of tears shed and promises remade.

This is Chapter 9 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Gifs/edits, dividers + template credit to #uservampyr my co-writer + beta reader ♡

Lovely tag list ~ @kikikittykis | @icantcryicantstopcrying | @teeesthings | @ph4nt0m19

#chapter 9 of maelstrom #hiccup haddock #httyd hiccup #hiccup and toothless #hiccup how to train your dragon #hiccup x reader #hiccup fanfic #httyd fanfic #httyd x reader #toothless #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccup haddock x reader #dragons #race to the edge #maelstrom #rtte

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callofdudes · 1 year ago

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Call of Duty's How to Train Your Dragon pt1.

A/n: Is this finally being created after @itsscromp finally got my brain worms wiggling again? Yes. Is this also a get better fic? Yes. Is it an entire script for a move? Also yes.

Yes, it's also just shy of 20K words so... This half of the post is only about 12K. If you like httyd/cod crossovers you've come to the right place. But if you want to give it a chance and have a shit ton of free time. I'd also be honored.

Hiccup: Y/n. Astrid: Ghost. Fishlegs: Gaz. Ruff/Tuff: Soap. Snotlout: Graves.

I will reblog with the second half of the fic. Cred for the divider used goes to @straywords

This is Berk. It's twelve days north of Hopeless, and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death.

It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery.

My village. In a word, sturdy. And it's been here for seven generations, but, every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets.

The only problems are the pests. Even if they carry away all our food… You see, most places have mice or mosquitoes. We have…

Y/n opens the door of the large house structure, watching Vikings go running by, a monstrous nightmare stalking across the ground, talons digging into the stone. It turned it's gaze on the door, letting out a stream of fire from its gut.

Y/n quickly slams the door shut as fire flicked up between the cracks and fades into dark smoke.

-dragons. Most people would leave. Not us. We're Vikings. We have, stubbornness issues.

Y/n rushed outside, smoke billowing into the clouds from the fire torching into the wooden buildings.

My name's Y/n. Great name, I know. But, it's not the worst. Parents believe a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanor wouldn't do that.

Y/n falls back against the ground with an earth quaking tremor as another dragon flies into the area. Several Vikings greeting them. You. This is you. Flabby skin tight arms wrapped around thin layers of barely noticeable muscle.

Clothes seeming too big and too small, hands as soft as a newborn despite the experience in the forge. The only place you ever seem to be helpful no doubt.

What a life a Viking like you lives. You're bloody useless! Even a newborn baby could wield an axe better than you could.

You rush up one of the paths along the hills of Berk, multiple Vikings looking at your sorry figure and asking why you were out during a dragon attack. You only ever caused trouble. When you weren't being useless you were being an expensive clumsy step.

“What are you doing here!?” One Viking says before you rush past.

“What are you doin’ out??” Another.

“Get back inside!!”

You're grabbed up swiftly by the collar of your shirt, your stubby feet dangling above the ground. A dragon's fiery breath drawing a line in the road, barely were you saved from its wrath.

“Y/n?! What are they doing out again-?!” He looked at you, baffled. “What are you doing out?! Get inside!”

That's Stoick the Vast. Chief of the tribe. They say that when he was a baby, he popped a dragon's head clean off of its shoulders.

You watch as the large burly man grabs a cart along the road, swinging it and throwing it violently at a deadly Nadder in the sky. The dragon struggled and went down as it burst into splinters.

Do I believe it? Yes, I do.

While the others rush to the scene to take the dragons on, you cower and rush into the smithing shop nestled near the middle of the town road. The only place not burnt down by now.

Immediately putting on an apron and stumbling about.

“Oh, nice of you to join the party, I thought you'd been carried off!”

You turned briefly to another large man, his appendages having some work done, what with missing both an arm and a leg. Always wondered what kept him alive… it clearly wasn't his limbs.

“What, who me? Nah, come on! I'm waaaay too muscular for their taste. They wouldn't know what to do with all…” Your lack of any muscle is incredibly. Being born into the generation you were, how you managed to stay the same length and width of a stick was quite the sight. “...this.”

You moved a rather large weapon and opened the smithing window, a Viking immediately grabbing a weapon from the desk before you could take them back to the smelter.

He hums. “Well, they need toothpicks, don't they?”

You roll your eyes a tad and sigh.

The meat-head with attitude and interchangeable hands is Gobber. I've been his apprentice ever since I was little. Well... littler.

You look out the smithing window as Stoick tackles another dragon. A dragon landing on another roof and blowing fire into the scorching wood. It crumbling beneath its talons.

See? Old village, lots and lots of new houses.

“FIRE!!” A Viking shouted, followed by four teen rushing out with buckets of water.

Oh, and that's Gaz, Graves, Soap, and... Ghost. Oh, their job is so much cooler.

You watch the group walk from a fiery explosion as Vikings pass by, led by the snappiest rackater of them all.

Ghost may have been a hard head who bullied your entire existence in a subtle way that made you feel like you were the problem, but that didn't matter.

Graves was a real hard ass. Always following said lead teen around like he was gonna get a chance for even a morcel. Considering no respecting person in the village would take that…

There was Soap. They say he had a twin, but, had. Considering no one knows what happened or where said twin ended up. Easiest to say Odin didn't want them to live the hardships.

Or they got eaten by a dragon.

Gaz, well, no one really knew what his problem was. He was a tad odd, but damn smart, and somehow more popular than you, skellington.

You lean out the smithing window, a hooked hand pulling you back in. “Oh come on! Please, let me out! I need to make my mark!”

“Oh you've made marks all right, in all the wrong places!”

“Please, two minutes. I'll kill a dragon. My life will get infinitely better. I might even get noticed!”

“You can't lift a hammer, you can't swing an axe, you can't even throw one of these!” Gobber lifts a bola to express his exasperation, only for it to be pulled from his hook and thrown at a dragon, taking it down.

“Okay, fine, but this will throw it for me!” You smiled excitedly rushing back into the shop, showing off your cool canon mechanism.

“See, now this right here is what I'm talking about!” Gobber sighed, exasperated. Watching you fiddle with your contraption.

“Mild calibration issue-” You fiddled with some levers and the string on the draw.

“Don't you- no- Y/n. If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop all... this.” He gestured vaguely to you, looking you up and down.

“But you just pointed to all of me?”

“Yes, exactly! Stop being you.” Gobber smiled, thinking you were getting it. Poking you in the chest.

“Oooh…”

“Ooooh, yes.”

“You sir, are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much, raw... Viking-ness... contained? THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.” You pointed your finger up, brow turning down angrily.

Gobber looked bored at you. “I'll take my chances. Sword. Sharpen. Now.” He dumped the sword into your frail hands, leaving you to your devices.

One day, I'll get out there. Because, killing a dragon, is everything around here.

You can look out the smithing window while you put the sword on the grindstone, sparks flying from the blade as you contemplate your options of execution.

A Nadder head is sure to get you at least noticed. Gronckles are tough. Taking down one of those would definitely get you the spot light. A Zippleback? Exotic. Two heads, twice the status.

And then, there's the Monstrous Nightmare. Only the best Vikings go after those. They have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.

You watched from the window as one crawled up the wall of the tower and onto a catapult, lighting itself up and scaring off the Viking manning the device.

Stoick slamming his hammer into its face to ward it off from the top of the tower.

But the ultimate prize is the dragon no one has ever seen. We call it the-

There's a high pitched whistle across the sky. Vikings retreating desperately as they call out.

“NIGHT FURY! GET DOWN!” The Vikings rush to get down. From nowhere a catapult is torn apart with a plasma blast.

This thing never steals food, never shows itself, and... never misses. No one has ever killed a Night Fury. That's why you're going to be the first.

“Man the fort, Y/n. They need me out there!” He attaches an ax piece to his hand, rushing to the door.

“Stay. Put. There. You know what I mean.” Gobber runs off, leaving you in the shop. You tore off your apron and ran back to your catapult set up. Steering it out the doors and running up the hill along the catapults.

Vikings yelling at you to get back and go inside. You can't be trusted outside when the island is in chaos. They can't trust you not to make chaos.

“Y/n!” One yelled.

“I know! I'll be right back!” You led your catapult on wheels up the old path, Stoick pinning down a group of Nadders.

The others fought while you reached the edge of the cliff. Looking out at the darkness, a surprisingly peaceful corner of the island away from the chaos feet away.

You opened the catapult and set it up, the small aiming needle and the leader strap that held in the bola aiming around. You looked at the night sky, out at all the stars.

“Come on… Give me something to shoot at, give me something to shoot at.”

You watched the sky. Hearing the low cry of the dragon. Seeing the dark figure blacking out the stars, the only possible way you could see the creature that blended so easily into the night.

Attempting to track the shadow with the scope of your catapult.

You heard the dragon make its move, dive bombing from the sky and shooting a plasma blast into a nearby fire, knocking the tower down. As it cleared the explosion you clenched your eyes shut and pulled the trigger.

The catapult blasted you back on your butt, hearing the cry as the creature went down.

You hit it. For once in your miniscule life you hit it!! A dragon!! A night fury!!

“I hit it!! Yes! Did anybody see that??” You turned around, a monstrous nightmare creeping up on you, its narrowed face making it look like a devilish thing.

“Except… for you.”

It growled at you and you screamed, attracting the attention of Stoick. He sighed in exasperation, pulling away from the tied down Nadder heads. “DO NOT let them escape!” He commanded some others as he rushed to your aid.

You ran and stumbled from the dragon that stalked after you, firing at you. Hiding behind a pillar as your heart pounded in your chest.

You just killed a dragon and now you're dead. You're a goner. Oh you should have stayed inside.

It blasted a fiery blaze against the pillar, and you briefly squeezed your eyes shut. Slowly forcing one open and inching around the corner.

The dragon growled as its head turned, coming around from behind you. Before it could fire, Stoick slammed his fist into its face, getting the attention onto him.

It belched out the last of its flame, looking weakly down at the splatter and up at Stoick.

“You're all out of juice.” He clenched his fists and punched the monstrous nightmare, bullying it until it retreated desperately back into the night.

You tensed up, feeling the burning hot metal of the pillar crunch and crumble. The wooden pole leaning and the flaming bowl of coals on top spilled as it toppled. Falling to the side and crashing into a fire gust of ashes into a small pool of water.

Vikings gathered around you as you timidly looked up at Stoick.

Oh, and there's one other thing you should know…

A woman cried and gasped, the coals flickering and landing across the ground and the dirt. Your shoulders tensing and rising with each noise. Slowly turning to Stoick who did not look happy.

“Sorry… dad..”

You and the others all watched as the dragons flew by, the sound of the sheep they'd captured from the island sounding off as they left.

Slowly pursing your lips you turned to your father. “Ok but I hit a night fury-”

Stoick grabbed you by the back of your collar, dragging you off effortlessly.

“Ah! It's not like the last few times, dad! I really actually hit it.”

“You guys weren't around. I was alone when I hit it. I had a clear shot.”

Gobber watched regretfully as you were dragged. “It fell just off Ravens point I say let's get a search party out there-”

“Stop!” Stoick interrupted you, making you purse your lips again silently as he now stood you in front of him. “Just stop.”

“Every time you get out, trouble follows. Can't you see I have bigger problems?? Winter is almost here, and I have an entire village to feed.”

An awkward pause before you speak. “Well between you and me the village could use a little less of that? No?”

A Viking behind you silently disagrees as he rubs his round stomach. No, no, the village can stay well fed. They like it.

“This is not a joke! Y/n!” Stoick sighs. “Why can't you just follow the simplest of orders??”

You bounce on your feet. “I-I can't stop myself. I see a dragon and I have to just kill it.” You twist your hands, looking up at him.

Yeah, right. Like you could ever kill a dragon.

“It's who I am, dad.” You say, sighing. You're full of crap.

Stoick rubs his face. “Ey… you are many things y/n, but a dragon killer? Is not one of them… get back to the house.”

He looks up at Gobber, motioning him. “Make sure they get there.”

Gobber comes over and gently hits your head.

“I have their mess to clean up…” Stoick walks past as Gobber leads you sulking home.

To make things worse you passed the other teens, Soap snickering with Gaz. “Quite the performance.” Gaz commented.

“Wow, I've never seen someone mess up that badly.” Graves leaned in your face. “That helped.”

You sulked by, noticing Ghost admiring his axe in the background, leaned up against the stone ledge.

“Thank you, thank you. I was trying.”

As you pass Gober grips Graves helmet and shoves him back, making him choke. “Ow-!”

You two walk back to the house, your annoyance stewing. “I really did hit one.”

“Sure you did.”

“He never listens.”

“It runs in the family.” Gobber replied.

“And when he does it's always with this disappointed scowl, like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich.”

You turn just before the door, making a mock impression of your father, raising your eyebrows in anger. “Excuse me, barmaid! I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring.”

You raise your arms in annoyance, doing wild gestures. “I ordered an extra large boy with beefy arms. Extra guts and glory on the side. This here, this is a talking fishbone!”

“Now, you're thinking about this all wrong. It's not so much what you look like, it's what's inside that he can't stand.” Gobber offers you a smile, to which your expression drops.

You sigh flatly. “Thank you for summing that up.”

“Look, I'm trying to tell you to stop trying to be what you're not.” Gobber says as you open the door to the house.

“I just.. wanna be one of you guys..” You say, closing the door behind you.

Gobber sighs sadly, starting to leave, giving you space.

All the space you needed to sneak out of the back of the house. Immediately rushing down the back of the hill the house was set on…

“Either we finish them, or they'll finish us! It's the only way we'll be rid of them! If we find the nest and destroy it, the dragons will leave. They'll find another home! One more search. Before the ice sets in.”

Stoick looks around the Meade hall, slamming his knife into a map on the table, seeing all the hesitation.

“Those ships never come back!” One Viking calls out from the end of the long table.

“We're Vikings, it's an occupational hazard. Now who's coming with me?”

“Today's not good for me. I've gotta do my axe returns.” One mumbles.

Stoick leans back from the table. “Alright. Those who stay behind can look after y/n.”

Immediately every hand at the table went up. And Stoick nodded. “That’s more like it.”

Gobber sat at the table, finishing off a tankard of drink. “Alright, I'll pack my undies.”

Stoick came over to him, sitting next to him at the table. “No, I need you to stay here and train some new recruits.”

Gobber mulls over his cup, before replying sarcastically. “Oh, perfect. And while I'm busy, Y/n can cover the stall. Molten steel, razor sharp blades, lots of time to themself... what could possibly go wrong?”

Stoick sighed, slouching slightly. “What am I going to do with them, Gobber?”

“Put them in training like the others.”

“No, I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

They look at each other, Stoick leaning his arm on the table. “They'd be killed before you let the first dragon out of its cage!”

“You don't know that.” Gobber goes back to his drink.

“I do, actually.”

“No, you don't.” Gobber points a finger at him.

“Listen, you know what their like.” He got up from the table. “From the time they could crawl, they've been… different.”

He walked around the table by the fire against the wall.

“They don't listen,” Gobber chokes on his drink as he listens. “They have the attention span of a sparrow.” Stoick goes on.

Gobber looks into his drink for his missing tooth which he previously choked on.

Stoick is still on. “I take them fishing and they go hunting for- for trolls!”

“Trolls are real!” Gobber points his drink arm at Stoick. “They steal your socks. But only the left ones… what's with that??”

Stoick sighs. “When I was a boy.”

“Oh here we go.”

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

Stoick turns. “You know what happened??”

“You got a headache.”

“That rock split in two. It taught me what a Viking could do, Gobber. He could- He could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas!” He gestures loud. “Even as a boy, I knew what I was, what I had to become.”

Stoick goes and sits at the table again, slouching. “Y/n is not that kid.”

“You can't stop them, Stoick. You can only prepare them. Look, I know it seems hopeless.” Gobber gestures his drink arm.

“But the truth is you won't always be around to protect them. Their going to get out there again. Their probably out there now.”

And he was right. Out the forest at Ravens point, he exasperatedly crossed another X in your book. You'd been searching everywhere for this damn dragon, eventually giving up.

“Oh the gods hate me…” you snapped the book shut. “Some people lose their knife or their mug, not me.”

You scuff your feet. “I manage to lose an entire dragon.” You walk down the path, angrily slapping a tree branch that comes right back at you.

Turning your attention to the part of the part that is disturbed. A large dirt train plowed through the land.

You frown, following it up to a small hill. As you climb it, your eyes land sight of the dragon. You gasp, your heart racing as you immediately duck down.

Your eyes go wide as you hide behind the mound, panting. What do you do?? What do you do??

You sat up, immediately searching for your knife. Grabbing it out shakily and holding it like your life depended on it.

You slid down the hill, hiding behind a large rock before poking out. Seeing the dragon tied up and caught in the net you'd flung it into.

You disastrous human. How could you? How could you do this?

You smiled though, shocked, in pure shock. “Oh wow, this- this fixes everything!” You walked over, putting your foot on its shoulder. “I have brought down this mighty beast-”

The dragon bellows in pain, shrugging its shoulder to push you off, making you jump and scramble back.

You shake and pant as you hold your knife out in front of you, walking closer. You can see the dragon's blue green eyes on you, staring at you.

“I'm going to kill you, dragon. I'm gonna cut out your heart and take it to my father. I'm a Viking. I am a VIKING!” You hold the knife down, pointed at the beast.

The night fury breathes heavily, clearly scared as it stares at you with a sharp gaze, awaiting its horrific fate.

You raise the knife above your head, steeling yourself for the moment, peeling an eye open to look down at the dragon. It still stared at you, helpless, and scared.

You readjust the knife, taking a deep breath. The dragon moans, laying its head down and closing its eyes. Scared, but knowing it's fate.

And that breaks you. It's the last noise of distress going unheeded to any cruel human that would have found him.

You attempted to shoo the thought and claim its life, but instead.. you couldn't. You groaned, slumping the knife handle to the top of your head.

You slumped, rubbing the side of your face and looking at the knife, then the dragon. No, no you couldn't do this.

“I did this…” You slowly back up, returning to leave, but looking back at those ropes.

You went back, and you started to cut. The dragon’s eyes shot open in an instant, looking over as you sawed the blade through the ropes and pulled it free.

As soon as the last rope that freed its legs was off, it jumped at you, growling in your face as it pushed you to the ground.

Your head hit the edge of the rock as its claw kept your chest pinned. You gasped for air, looking up at the dragon, into its sharp eyes.

The dragon growled down at you as you leaned your face away, your heart pounding. The dragon leaned his arm off your chest, slamming you down and roaring in your face.

It turned and dashed, flying off, taking off lopsided and flying into a tree. It wailed when it hit the ground and then tried to take off again, wailing in pain as it flew into the fog.

You slowly reached for your knife, clutching your heart as your eyes remained blown wide.

You tried to stand, your knees shaking like a deer and weak. You felt wheezy and like you would vomit at any moment. Not making it far before hitting the ground with a thud and falling unconscious.

It was late by the time you came home, walking into the house to see your father, Stoick stoking the fire, waiting for you.

You slowly closed the door, seeing him and attempting to rush by and head upstairs. Going full hands and knees rushed, but it was futile.

“Y/n.”

“Dad, uh…” You swallowed awkwardly, your thoughts immediately rushing back to earlier that day and the shit you'd probably get into if he knew you let a night fury free…

“I uh, have to talk to you, dad…”

Stoick stood, coming over. “I have to talk to you too, y/n.”

Both of you took deep breaths.

“I've decided I don't want-”

“I've decided it's time you learn-”

“To fight dragons. What??”

Stoick clears his throat. “You go first.”

“No, no you go first.” You started to sweat a little, gripping the stairs, feeling your collar getting tight.

“All right.” Stoick sighs, massaging his knuckles. “You get your wish. Dragon training. You start in the morning.”

“Oh, man, I should've gone first!” You panicked a lot, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly, looking away.

“Uh, 'cause I was thinking, you know, we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough… bread-making Vikings, or small home repair Vikings-?”

Stoick leaned over, picking up an axe. “You'll need this.” He hands it to you, making you huff with the weight on your incredibly toothpick durability, q-tip quality arms.

“Gah-” you panicked, looking at him worriedly. “Dad, I don't want to kill dragons.” You protested.

Stoick laughed. “Of course you do.”

“Rephrase… Dad, I can't kill dragons.” you held the axe, your legs weak and your stomach churning sickeningly with the thought of being ignored in this.

“But you will kill dragons.”

Your worry grows, gripping the axe. “No, I'm very extra sure that I won't.”

“It's time Y/n.”

“Can you not hear me!?” You ask desperately and exasperated.

“This is serious, y/n.”

He gestured. “When you carry this axe, you carry all of us with you.” Stoick picks the axe up from your arms and adjusts it.

“Which means you walk like us.” He bunches your shoulders together and fixes your slouch. “You talk like us. You think like us. No more of…. This.” He gestured vaguely to you.

“You just gestured to all of me.” You pouted.

“Deal??” Stoick asked, making your heart sink at once again being completely ignored.

“This conversation is feeling very one-sided.”

“Deal!?” Stoick repeats.

“Deal…”

“Good.” He nods to you, not even touching you. He picked up his sack for the voyage and his Viking hat.

“Train hard. I'll be back. Probably.”

“And I'll be here… maybe.”

“Welcome to dragon training.” Gobber says as you all enter the ring. A large stone pit tug into the groups full of armory and cages with chain domed across the top.

Ghost leads the group of teens into the ring, holding his axe firmly in his hand. He looks around, parts of his slightly long blonde hair hanging in front of his sharp brown eyes.

Such a warm color, such a cold stare. “No turning back.” He said to mostly himself, the others checking out the place.

Oh and there's you in the back. Toothpick.

“I hope I get some serious burns.” Graves says.

“Yeah, I'm hoping for some maulings. Like on my shoulder or my lower back.” Soap commented with a grin.

Ghost spoke up, tilting his head. “Yeah, it's only fun if you get a scar out of it.” He already had a few. From dragon fights? No. But scars nonetheless. He wanted a scar from the dragon's he killed.

Even if he would have to force the mark.

You mumbled sarcastically from the background. “Oh yeah… pain, great.. love it..”

They all look back, simultaneously looking at you with disgust, while Ghost just scrunched his nose. “Oh great, who let you in??” Graves complains.

“Let's get started! The recruit who does best will win the honor of killing his first dragon in front of the entire village.” Gobber said, motioning you all into the middle of the rock pit. Closer to your doom.

“Well, Y/n already killed a Night Fury, so, does that disqualify him or…?” Graves smirked at you antagonistically.

“Can I transfer to the class with the cool Vikings?” Soap added on to the taunt as they walked away without you.

Gobber got closer to you, smiling softly. “Don't worry. You're small and you're weak. That'll make you less of a target! They'll see you as sick or insane and go after the more Viking-like teens instead.”

With that Gobber explained the essence of dragon training. Behind each of the doors is a dragon. The training sessions will focus on an aspect of fighting. The person last standing against the dragon is to be the winner of the round.

Whoever wins in the end?? You get a brag tag for a good chunk of years.

Gobber went on. “Behind these doors are just a few of the many species you will learn to fight! The Deadly Nadder!”

“Speed: eight; Armor: sixteen.” Gaz finally spoke up.

“The Hideous Zippleback!”

“Plus eleven stealth times two.”

“The Monstrous Nightmare!”

“Firepower: fifteen.”

“The Terrible Terror!”

“Attack: eight; Venom: twelve!”

“CAN YOU STOP THAT?! And... the Gronckle!” Gobber snapped, getting to the last door. He hooked his interchangeable arm to the latch.

“Woah, hang on- aren't you going to teach us first??” Graves asked in disbelief.

Gobber shrugged. “I believe in learning on the job.”

He pulled the door open and released the Gronckle. The others tensed up and watched the thing as it flew toward them, eyeing them all like snacks.

It swallowed some of the rocks set out and blasted it's fiery molten liquid at you four.

“Today is about survival. If you get blasted... you're dead! Quick! What's the first thing you're going to need?”

“A doctor!?” You cried worriedly.

“Plus five speed!?” Gaz countered.

Ghost eyed the dragon, then around the ring. “A shield!”

“Shields! Go!” Gobber instructed, Ghost being the first to turn and run for one.

“Your most important piece of equipment is your shield! If you must make a choice between a sword or a shield, take the shield!”

You rushed to grab one, picking it up and heaving up the heavy thing. You attempted to find the arm strap, searching rapidly before Gobber came over.

Exasperation filled as he lifted it up and shoved it gently into your chest.

Graves grabbed a shield with skulls on it, Soap frowning. “Hey!” The only shield left being one with flowers.

“Take that one, that one has flowers.” Graves teased, pouting his lip at Soap.

“But- ah!” Soap was thrown to the ground when the Gronckle’s tail hit him in the side.

“Soap, you're down.” Gobber called.

“What…??”

“Shields are good for another thing. Making lots of noise. Throw the dragon's aim off!”

You, Ghost, Graves, and Gaz all start banging your shields, the Gronckle's eyes crossing and trying to shake the disorientation off.

“All dragons have a limited number of shots. How many does a Gronckle have?” Gobber asks.

You all circle around the dragon, it's eyes trying to focus on anything. You rush back to a corner, hiding back behind one of the armor walls, holding your shield in the crack.

Pussy.

“Uh, five??” Graves replies while he rushes away.

“No, six!” Gaz counters.

“That's correct. Six. One for each of you.”

The Gronckle gets its surroundings back and blasts molten at Gaz’s shield, making him cry with surprise.

“Gaz, you're out!”

Gaz gulps and yells as he runs for safely of the out zone.

Gobber notices you. “Y/n! Get in there!!”

You attempt to move away from your wall only to get a blast thrown at you. Fearing you scuffling back away, Gobber ones over and pushes you into the ring again.

Ghost faced the Gronckle as it came around again, ready to take it down, distributing his weight well.

Graves came right up behind him, rolling his shoulders. “So, anyway I'm moving into my parents' basement. You should come by sometime to work out.”

Ghost rolls his eyes and starts to move, Graves looking surprised. “You look like you work out!”

The Gronckle fires it's shot for Ghost at Graves, hitting his shield. “Graves! You're done!”

Ghost rolled over next to you, both of you the only two left. You looked nervously over at him. He's so cool. Just a tad taller than you. Lanky but you can see he has muscle definition on his arms.

He's just.. ah! A real Viking. That's what your dad wants you to be.

“I uh.. guess it's just you and me now huh?” You ask him nervously.

He glowers before lifting his head. “Nope, just you.” He dashes out of the way, the Gronckle fires.

“Gah!!” You raise your shield to take the blow meant for Ghost. The shield knocks from your hand, barely missing you.

Without shield and one shot left you run back for your shield, the Gronckle hot on your track. The shield rolls away from you across the ground, looking back and you panic seeing the dragon right there.

“One shot left! Y/n!” Gobber calls.

It manages to corner you to the wall. Face right against your chest. Your heart pounds, your limbs feel cold and rigid, and on fire all at once.

It opens its mouth and down its throat the molten glow of its last shot, before a hook pulls it away. It blasts it's shot into the wall and you cover your head, curling up.

Gobber drags the dragon back away.

“And that's six! Go back to bed, ya overgrown sausage!” He shoves it back into the pen and closes the door.

“You'll get another chance, don't you worry.” He says to you as he walks back over, bending down. “Remember: a dragon will always- always- go for the kill.”

He grabs your arm and picks you up. You looked at the wall where the charred remains of the burn flickered down the rock incline…

Leading you back to the site of the crash, your curiosities got to you as you picked up one of the rocks on the bola. Where you'd freed the night fury from.

“So… why didn't you??”

Why hadn't the dragon gone for the kill. You would have stabbed it, you had a weapon for crying out loud! It had every opportunity… and it didn't.

You place the bola down, standing and hopping over a log. Walking the path down to a split between two rock digs. You slipped through the small passage, which opened up.

The tall rock face harbors trees and a small lake. It was nice… peaceful. The tall walls of rock keep it hidden and closed.

“This was stupid.” You say, moments before looking over and seeing a couple of black scales resting down the dirt incline down into the small crop.

The dragon.

You kneel down and pick one up, looking it over before hearing a roar. In an instant you jump back in fear as the Night Fury dives up over the small passage, climbing at the walls.

It's claws dig in, scrambling frantically and attempting to flap its wings and get over the edge of the rock.

You watched as it wailed and gave up, falling back and gliding awkwardly over the pond and landing on its side across on the other side.

Pant, scared but fascinated. Watched the dragon moan in sadness and pain. You hop down from the ledge, scrambling onto another rock stool and watch the night fury as it moves about.

It tries several more times to fly. Flapping its wings and hopping up but never managing to pull itself over the ledge. Crying angrily as it lands.

Your eyes widen, pulling out your sketchbook. No Night Fury had ever been recorded, you had to do this. Wow wow.

You quickly sketched up a drawing of the dragon, watching it snarl angrily.

“Why don't you just.. fly away??”

The dragon snarls and shoots a plasma blast at the ground.

Looking at the dragon you notice it only has one tail fin, while your drawing has two. You rub away the charcoal with your sleeve, your curiosities only growing.

The dragon tries to fly, swerving along the rock and slamming down onto the ground. It whines in pain, it's nose near the water's edge. Noticing some fish. It perks up in hope, diving its head into the water, but the fish are fast enough to escape its attempts.

It whines, still hungry.

In a moment of weakness, you feel bad for the creature. Why was this happening, why was it stuck here?? Your pencil rolled from between your fingers.

Your eyes widened but before you could grab it it fell down the steep rock. Bouncing on the rocks and attracting the Night Fury’s attention.

You froze, and it froze. Both of you are looking at each other. It glares at you, growling low. But it looks.. curious in a way.

When you finally make your way to the Meade hall it's late. You'd spent all your time watching the night fury and becoming so fascinated that you didn't care to come back. Until now.

Walking in and seeing the other teens gathered around Gobber. Talking over strategies and what happened in the ring.

“Now, how did Ghost go wrong today??”

“I mistimed my somersault dive. It was sloppy. It threw off my reverse tumble.” Ghost said with some sarcasm as he poked at his food.

“Yeah, we noticed.” Soap mumbles.

“No no, you were great. That was so… “Ghost.”” Graves said, once again attempting to land an unflattering attempt.

“He's right, you have to be tough on yourselves.” Gobber notices you walk in soaked, coming to the table. “Where did Y/n go wrong?”

“Uh, they showed up??” Soap said.

“Their didn't get eaten??” Graves said.

“Their never where they should be.” Ghost said, watching you with a nasty look as you scoot yourself over to the next table, knowing you weren't welcome around them.

Gobber walked over to you. “Thank you, Ghost.” He smacks Soap and Graves in the head. “You need to live and breathe this stuff. The dragon manual.” He holds up a book.

Leather bound with a dragon symbol burned into the front, tied with string to keep old pages together.

He cleared a part of the table and put the book down. “Everything we know about every dragon we know of.”

Thunder crackled overhead, Gobber sighed, knowing lightning to come. “No attacks tonight. Study up for tomorrow.”

“Wait, you mean, read??” Graves frowned, crossing his arms.

“Well maybe it would do you some good.” Gaz spoke up.

“Shut your mouth, I don't need to read nothing! Why read words when you can just kill the stuff the words tell you about??”

“Oh! I've read it like, seven times. There's this water dragon that sprays boiling water at your face. And- And there's this other one that buries itself for like a week-”

“Yeah, that sounds great. So there's a chance I was going to read it…” Soap starts.

“But not now.” Graves says, causing Soap to glare at him a little.

Even if they all were irritable brats at the age of sixteen, they all had some kind of friendship with each other. Some kind… more than they had with you. Because you're a loser.

Your eyes drift back over to Ghost who hadn't said a word about the book while the others bicker. Dragging his knuckles along the side of his tankard.

You could see the scars that started just before his wrist guards hid them away. Occasional Knicks and scratches along his arms and biceps.

Must have been from falls or accidents because he'd not properly fought a dragon or a hunter…

The others move from the table to go back home. You get up, going to the book by where Ghost sat. “So I guess we’ll… share??”

“Read it.” He pushed the book, getting up and walking off.

“Oh, uh, all mine, then. Wow. So, ok, I'll see you…” You looked up as the door shut. They were already gone…

The hall was dark with only you in it. You sat down at the table with a candle and opened the book.

Dragon classifications. Strike Class, Fear Class, Mystery Class.

You started to read. Reading through the book, the endings of each of the entries being extremely deadly: kill on sight.

Each page. Extremely deadly: kill on sight.

You continued to flip the pages. “Burns its victims, buries its victims, chokes its victims, turns its victims inside-out.”

“Extremely dangerous, extremely dangerous, kill on sight, kill on sight, kill on sight…”

Through every page of every class. Until you got to the end.

You flipped the last page. At the top it said Night Fury. The page being otherwise almost completely empty.

“Night Fury: Speed, unknown. Size, unknown. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Never engage this dragon.”

You hesitated on the last part. “Your only chance: Hide and pray it does not find you.”

You pulled out your sketchbook, dropping the sketch of the Night Fury on the page. You had found a Night Fury. It had let you close. It .. hadn't killed you.

You stood the next day in the training ring, in the middle of a training session. Holding your shield and axe, you shifted from one foot to the other. Surrounded by a maze of tall builds all put together for the Deadly Nadder to find and kill you.

“You know, I just happened to notice the book had nothing on Night Furies. Is there another book? Or a sequel? Maybe a little Night Fury pamphlet?”

The Deadly Nadder jumps atop one of the lofts, firing at you, taking off the head of your axe. “Gah!”

“Focus y/n! You're not even trying!” Gobber scolds.

“Today is all about ATTACK! Nadders are quick and light on their feet! Your job is to be quicker and lighter!” Gobber continues.

Gaz gasped, running away as the Nadder searches him out. Throwing spikes from its tail at him, sinking into the wall above his head and his shield. “Ah!! I'm really starting to question your teaching methods!!”

Gobber, undeterred, continues. “Look for it's Blindspot. Every dragon has one. Find it, hide in it, and strike.”

You rush by as Soap turns a corner, coming face to snout with the Nadder. He gasps, holding in a breath as it moves its head, attempting to stay in the Blindspot.

“Steamin’ hell… this thing stinks.” He wheezes. “Do you ever bathe??” He gags, trying to cover his mouth.

The Nadder turns its head, growling and spitting fire at him. “Ah!”

“Blind spot? Yes. Deaf spot? Not so much.” Gobber grins, leaning his face against his palm as he watched from above the chain net.

Seeing Ghost running through the intricate maze, you hanging on his tail like a mouse finding safety with the cat.

You pause, looking up at Gobber. “Hey, so how would one sneak up on a Night Fury?”

“No one's ever seen one and loved to tell the tale.” He snaps his fingers. “Now get in there!!”

“Y/n.” Ghost whispers your name. You turn to see Ghost kneeled down by one of the platforms, Graves behind him, nodding to you to be quiet. You skip over, hiding against the wall.

Ghost pokes his head out, seeing the Nadder coming around. He hides again, taking a deep breath and preparing himself before rolling forward on his shield.

He pushes off, hiding behind the next wall, Graves following and doing the same. When you attempt it, the shield does not follow your small body through the roll, trapping you against the ground.

The Nadder sees you, and runs. “Gah!” You scramble up and run. The Nadder roars and flies up on top of the walls, jumping down in front of Ghost.

He readied himself but Graves pushed him aside. “Watch out babe, I'll take care of this.”

“Hey!” Ghost growls at him, seething at him as he throws his weapon, completely missing.

The Nadder growls, Ghost glaring at him. “The sun was in my eyes, Ghost.” The Nadder roars, Ghost making a run for it away from that meat head.

“What do you want me to do?? Block out the sun? I could do that, but I don't have time!” He dodges the attack, running after Ghost as the Nadder makes chase.

Graves continues rambling, looking back and making a swift turn down another aisle. Ghost looks back, gasping and crying as the Nadder is seconds away from him. He dashes around the corner and turns, slamming into the wall.

The Nadder follows, roaring at him as Ghost scrambles and runs, the walls starting to knock over from the collision.

You were still rambling to Gobber like an idiot. “Like so they take the daytime off?? Like a cat. Has anyone ever seen one, napping??”

Gobber looks up from his bored expression as Graves run by.

“Y/n!”

The walls of the maze collapse, the Nadder snapping at Ghost’s heels as he jumps up across one of the falling walls. He jumps to another wall, and you're right in his landing path.

“Y/n!!” He yells, and jumps. You scramble back, falling on the ground as he lands with a thud on top of you.

“Ooh,” Soap teases.

Ghost glares at you, shoving your face away and attempting to stand, his axe lodged in your shield.

“Hey, why- let me… why don't you…?” He shoves your chest down, standing up, his knee between your legs causing you to gasp in pain.

He does not care. Grabbing his axe angrily trying to pry it away. The Nadder turns back, readying its shot for you and Ghost.

Ghost sees it and grows more panicked, grabbing his axe, his foot landing on your cheek. “Ow! Ow! Ow!!”

He attempts to pull his axe away as the Nadder comes closer.

He finally pries it from your arm and swings his axe at the Nadder’s face, your shield splintering.

The Nadder cries in pain and turns, walking off. Ghost pants, looking off in panic as he grips his axe.

“Well done, Ghost.” Gobber commends.

Ghost doesn't respond, the interaction having a grip on his core. Before his fear replaced with anger and he turned to you, curled up in the fetal position.

“Is this some kind of a joke to you!? Our parents' war is about to become ours!” He points his axe at you. “Figure out which side you're on.”

Back to trying again with the Night Fury. You head down to the cove, bringing a new shield. Propping it between two rocks and tossing a fish into the open. You slide under it, crawling on your hands and knees.

Once on the other side you attempt to pry the shield out but it's stuck. You sigh, heading over to the fish and picking it up by under the fin.

You look around, slowly walking into the open. Feeling slightly panicky, but you've had decent luck with this dragon so far. What with it not eating you the first time.

Perhaps it was wise enough to know you weren't worth it. You'd be more of a chew toy than a hefty meal.

You walk along the pond, looking around for the night fury, aware it had eyes on you minutes earlier. It peers out from a rock as it watches you pass. It's eyes focus on you, tail swishing.

Finally it comes down from the rock, and you see it from your peripheral. You gasp, gripping the fish tight as the dragon comes down and around, sniffing the snack in your hand, growling at you.

You hold the fish out. Would it take it?? It cranes its body sideways like a cat, tilting its head and sniffing the treat.

It's pupils softening before growling and jumping back. Your hand retreats with the fish, gasping softly.

You pull your sweater open, your knife tucked into your clothes. When you reach for it, the dragon snarls.

You gasp, feeling your heartbeat picking up again, slowly removing the knife and dropping it.

The dragon's ears go down, growling away, and you kick the knife away into the pond.

Afterwhich, the dragon relaxes, pupils softening again. It sits, ear flicking. It continues to hold its body arched like a cat as it comes over when you extend the fish again.

“Ah, Toothless.” You say, seeing his gummy mouth and lack of teeth. “I could have sworn you had-” His teeth suddenly snap out and he snatches the fish from your hands.

Your eyes widen as he scarfs down the snack. “-Teeth…”

He enjoys his snack before looking back at you, lowering his head and coming over.

“Ah, ah.. uh, I don't have any more.” You stammer, backing up and tripping over your heel back against a rock.

Toothless gurgled, looking at you before starting to regurgitate his food. You tense up, cringing a little when he spits up part of the fish in your lap.

“Ugh…”

He sits back, looking at you expectantly. His eyes move from the fish, then to you when you do nothing.

You sigh, hesitantly taking a bite of the food, retching it up, putting a hand over your mouth and forcing yourself to swallow it.

Toothless perks up, you shudder and look up at him, attempting to smile after that…. Delicious cuisine.

You smile awkwardly. Toothless frowns, before attempting to smile back. His lip twitching and showing his gummy smile that he gives you.

Your eyes widen a little. This… was not a kill on sight dragon. This wasn't something you'd slaughter for sport.

He was smiling at you. Why, from all the dragon's you'd ever been taught about, the most deadly was smiling at you. Sharing his food…

You slowly stand, extending your hand, to which Toothless’ smile drops. He growls, and flies off, crying as he spirals against the wind, only able to drift and hit the ground a ways away.

He huffs against the dirty, slowly getting up and shaking himself off. He walks over to a small hill, blasting a controlled amount of heat against the ground, charring it into a nice warm bed.

He looks up at a bird in its nest, chirping and flying away. And then… he sees you. How unsightly. No one wants to see that before bed.

He groans and curls up. Folding in his wings and wrapping his tail around his face to keep him well hidden and secured.

You smile, inching a little closer. You boldly reach out to touch his tail, but Toothless is one step ahead. He lifts his tail, huffing at you.

You quickly stand, wobbling on shaky legs and awkwardly walking away from him. Toothless stares dully, getting up and moving from his spot, somewhere you surely couldn't get him.

Hanging from… a tree. Such an odd dragon.

You let him be. Sitting on a rock a couple feet away. Wasting away the time until the evening rolled around and Toothless slowly came out of his nap.

Moving his tail and looking over at you, drawing in the dirt with a stick.

He gurgled, hopping down and quietly coming over to see what you were doing.

You rested your cheek against your fist, aimlessly drawing a little figure of Toothless in the dirt.

Toothless watches curiously, purring a growl and getting up on his back legs. He waddled away. You look back when you hear the snapping of a tree branch.

Toothless comes back with his own drawing stick, purring and trailing it around in the dirt.

You watch him in shock and surprise as toothless drags the stick around, smiling and clutching it tight in his mouth.

He purrs as he swirls and twists around, finally finishing his creation of spirals and mapping trails between you and him.

You finally stand, looking around at what he's created. All the lines and the paths. You walk out toward one of the lines. When your foot steps on it, Toothless growls.

It shocks you a little, looking over at him and quickly taking your foot off the line. Toothless raises his head, purring at you in response.

You put your foot on the line, and he growls.

Taking it off, Toothless purred.

You did it a couple of times before understanding. It's trust. Toothless is offering trust. You smile softly, stepping over the line, aware of where your feet when as he stepped around and over the lines.

Finally stopping with your back to Toothless. You sink a little, feeling a warm breath fan across the nape of your neck and down your back.

You turn and look up at him. Toothless’ gaze is soft. You pant softly, reaching your hand up. Toothless pulls his head away slightly, growling a little.

You pull your hand back, looking into his eyes. So you turn away. Closing your eyes and extending your hand again.

Toothless’ eyes soften. He looks at your palm, leaning his head forward and hesitating, before gently leaning his nose into your palm, closing his eyes.

You exhale softly in surprise, feeling it. Toothless… trusts you. This was trust.

You looked up at Toothless. His eyes narrow again. He pulled away, wriggling his nose and huffing before dashing off.

The incident didn't leave your mind. Even when you went home, you couldn't face anyone after the thought of Toothless.

Sat atop the watch tower with Gobber and the others, roasting food over the crackling fire while he went on about a tale.

You weren't particularly listening, your gaze focused on your fingers, slowly turning the stick that was jabbed through your fish.

“...And with one twist, he took my hand, and swallowed it whole!” Gobber waved his stick, with a whole chicken on the end of it.

“And I saw the look on his face: I was delicious. He must have passed the word, because it wasn't a month before another one of them took my leg.”

Gaz frowned in concentration, digging into his food. “Isn't it weird to think that your hand was inside a dragon?” He motioned one of the meat legs toward Ghost, who glared and shifted away.

What was that idiots problem. Ghost was close to biting his arm off.

“Like if your mind was still in control of it, you could have killed the dragon from the inside by... crushing his heart, or something.” Gaz continued, Graves staring at him from across the firepit as it grew silent.

“Right…” Graves muttered. “I swear, I'm so angry right now! I'll avenge your beautiful hand and your beautiful foot. I'll chop off the legs of every dragon I fight. With my face!”

“Un-unh. It's the wings and the tails you really want. If it can't fly, it can't get away. A downed dragon is a dead dragon.” Gobber said, snapping a leg off his chicken.

Your eyes slowly widen. Toothless. Toothless was down. That's the first thing you'd listened to all night. Pulled from your stupor of pointless thoughts.

Gobber yawned and got up. “Alright. I'm off to bed. You should be, too. Tomorrow we get to the big boys. Slowly but surely making our way up to the Monstrous Nightmare. But who'll win the honor of killing it?”

“It's gonna be me! It's my destiny, see??” Soap rolled up his sleeve, showing his arm.

“Woah, your mom let you get a tattoo??”

“It's not a tattoo, it's a birthmark.”

“I've known you literally since we were babies, and I've never seen that.” Graves replies.

“Yes, it was. You've just never seen me from the left side until now.”

After hearing what Gobber had said about dragons, your interests turn to the forge. If you're going to get Toothless out of there alive you'd need to help him.

It wouldn't be on his own…

Ghost watched you, cold gaze following as you walked away from the fire and back down the watch tower.

You headed to the forge quickly, pulling out your sketchbook and laying it out on the table. Alright, now for something that could help Toothless. Time to get to work.

You worked long into the night. Heating the forge and putting together a device that you knew would help. You worked until your eyes were heavy and the sunrise poked over the edge of the water.

Finally putting out the flames and grabbing what you could, you headed back to the house. Stumbling inside and slumping into your hard bed for just an ounce of sleep.

After a bit of rest and recuperating you headed out a few hours later, ready to help Toothless. Your plan was foolproof. And you brought along a giant basket of fish just for it.

When you got back to the cove, Toothless was waiting for you. “Hey Toothless, I brought you some fish.” You set down the basket and kicked it over with your foot. “We've got some salmon, some nice Icelandic cod…”

Toothless began to sniff through the fish, nudging through to find the good stuff.

“And a whole smoked eel…” You slowly stepped around the pile when toothless growled. He backed up, snarling at the pile.

You tilted your head and reached in, pulling out the eel. Toothless saw it and expanded his wings in defense, roaring loudly.

“No, no no no! It's ok!” You quickly threw the eel away and placed out your hand to him, your contraption firmly under the other.

He huffed and you wiped your hand on your coat. “Yeah, I don't much like eel either…”

And Toothless went sniffing through the pile of fish again, wolfing down a few without wasting time.

“That's it…” you slowly backed up behind him. “That's it. Just stick with the good stuff.”

You slowly set up the wing you'd made. “And don't you mind me I'll be back here… minding my own business…”

You attempted to wrangle Toothless’ tail. Strapping the belts around it as he dug around the basket. Having to sit on his tail and gently spread open the fabric.

When you finally got it hooked on, you sat back. “Hey, doesn't look half bad.”

Toothless’ head perked up as soon as he felt it. A weight on his other tail. He slowly patted his feet into the ground. He could fly… he could fly.

Toothless spread his wings, and took off. “Woah! Whooaa!!” You gasped, seeing the ground suddenly falling away from you. You leaned down, grabbing and holding onto Toothless’ tail tightly.

“No no no!!” You cried as Toothless darted for the coves edge. You watched wide eyed, your adrenaline pumping.

The tail had closed and was flailing in the wind, Toothless starting to lose air.

Oh fuck oh fuck. You managed to pry one sweaty hand from his tail and pull it open. Toothless caught air and zoomed up into the sky.

“Oh, my…! It's working!!” You cried as Toothless flew away from the island. He twisted in the air, flying back over the cove and back across the pond.

“Yes! Yes! I did it!”

Toothless looked back. What the?? Why is this toothpick still hanging on to me!?

He twisted upside down and flicked his tail, tossing you into the pond and flew away.

Losing control of himself, he shrieked as he slammed back into the ground across the lake. He looked at the folded in tail angrily.

You swam above the water furiously, smiling. “Yeah!” You splashed.

The next day at training you were faced with the Hideous Zippleback. Teamed up with Gaz, your goal was to work together to disarm the two headed dragon of its abilities.

One head spreading flammable gas, the other head lights that gas.

“Razor sharp, serrated teeth that inject venom for pre-digestion. Prefers ambush attack, by crushing its victims-”

You frowned at Gaz, gripping your bucket tight. “Would you please stop that!?”

As more gas filled the arena, Graves and Soap turned back to back, looking around for any sign of the dragon.

“If that dragon shows either of his faces, I'm gonna- there!” Graves spotted something through the gas, both him and Soap frantically throwing their buckets of water.

The gas cleared, and there stood hell itself. A soaking. Wet. Ghost.

Oh.

“Oh it's just Ghost, we thought you were a dragon!” Soap shrinks back, smiling like an awkward idiot.

“Well, clearly,” he snapped coldly. “I am not!”

“Well, your butts big like a dragon.”

Graves hit Soap with his elbow. “Not that there's nothing wrong with a…” Ghost was already marching toward him.

“dragon-esque figure- Ow!”

Ghost punched him hard in the nose, sending him back. He landed on his butt, before he could get up something snatched him into the gas.

Ghost put his arm in front of Soap. “Wait.” He whispered.

There was a cry and Graves ran from the smoke. “Ow! Ow!”

Gaz gulped, you and him still back to back. “Chances of survival are dwindling in the single digits now…”

One of the dragon's heads peered out from the smoke and came toward you two. Sharp yellow eyes trained on Gaz.

“Woah, Woah!” He scrambled back as it cornered him, and he threw his bucket of water onto it.

The dragon rippled a growl, gas billowing from beyond its maw.

“Oh… wrong head.” He smiled awkwardly. It drenched Gaz in gas, Gobber calling out for him, and Gaz made a run for it.

Leaving you the last one with a water bucket. Both of the heads now coming around, the dragon facing you from both sides.

One of the heads created sparks between its teeth.

“Now y/n!” Gobber said.

You raised your water bucket. “Eh.” You threw it up, the water barely hitting the dragon. “Oh come on…”

You. Are completely… and utterly useless… be thankful you have a dragon now or you would not survive let me tell you.

The dragon surrounded you. “Y/n!” Gobber yelled, coming over.

But I admit, what you lack in physical strength you make up in your capacity to learn.

Standing up slowly, the dragon snarled and whipped back. You pulled the eel from your vest, holding it out to them.

“Back! Back!” You snapped, the dragon snarling and backing away from the eel.

“That's right! Back in your cage!” You corralled it back in, slamming the door shut with all the might you had. Which isn't much.

The others watched. Ghost’s signature glare burning into your skin. This was fucking ridiculous.

You clapped your hands together. “So uh… are we done??” They all stared at you wordlessly. “Because I uh.. I got some stuff to do so I'll just… yeah. See you tomorrow!”

You smiled, spending the rest of the day at the forge. Creating some more things you could use in your adventures with Toothless.

Putting together a saddle.

You brought it to Toothless and when he saw it he smiled. Perking up and running away. “Hey!” You laughed, running after him.

Toothless gurgled and fled around the ground as you chased after him.

After getting the saddle on you learned pretty quickly you'd need some way to hold on. After a failed fly test force Toothless to panic and throw you off his back into the water again.

No problem, just a little waist retainer was all that was needed. Hooking it onto the saddle and having another go.

The second time was slightly better. You'd tied a rope around your ankle that would help you pull the tail fin open.

Toothless roared when you tried again, losing control in the air just after getting out of the cove.

“Hold hold ha!!” You cried as Toothless squirmed and fell into a bed of tall dragon nip.

You stumbled, looking around the tall grass and going back to see Toothless rolling around comfortably in the grass. Relaxing fully in total relaxation.

Huh. Odd.

You picked up some of the nip, looking at it curiously. Again, it's best you have a bigger head than bigger biceps.

When faced with a Gronckle for the next training exercise, you ended things quickly. It crashed into Graves and went for you. You held up the dragon nip you had taken and it immediately slowed down.

The Gronckle crashed to the ground and you rubbed the dragon nip against its nose.

The villagers gathered around the top of the pit to watch you in awe, the village elder also noticing how much you'd suddenly improved your dragon prowess in recent days.

After which all the teens were gathered around you. Well, almost all of them.

“Wow, how did you do that??” Soap asked.

“I never would have thought about that-” Gaz piped up.

“I've never even seen a Gronckle do that!” Graves blurted.

Ghost trained behind, watching as you laughed awkwardly. “Oh I uh, I left my axe in the ring.” You turned, bumping into Ghost as you did.

He jumped, pushing you lightly and you went around him. “Sorry, sorry.”

They watched, the others smiling excitement. Ghost glaring down your whole existence.

Spending more time with Toothless, you began to introduce the fondness of scratches and pets. Scratching the patches of scales along his neck and ear fins.

Toothless groaned, leaning up into it, turning his head and closing his eyes. You scratched under his chin and he went limp, falling to the ground with a content exhale.

The next day, back in training.

Ghost yelled, throwing his axe at the deadly Nadder that turned, running back over to you two. It roared loudly, pushing Ghost to the ground, skinning his upper arm.

You readied yourself, quickly dropping the axe as the Nadder ran to you.

Ghost scrambled back up, grabbing his axe. His heart pounded as he lifted it and ran. You noticed him and turned quickly to the Nadder.

You reached up, scratching behind its ear, down to its chin and right… there.

The Nadder dropped, happily out for a nap.

Ghost panted, lowering his axe in disbelief. You smiled at him and shrugged.

This continued on. Spending time with Toothless you learned he was just like a cat.

Using a hammer to shine a light across the ground, you watched with amusement as Toothless chased after it. Hopping and purring to catch it.

Training faced you with the Terrible Terror. Which admittedly you didn't expect it to be as small as it was.

“Meet the Terrible Terror.”

A small door attached to the main door opened, like a cat door. The tiny dragon scuttling out, licking its eyeball, staring at you all.

“Aw, it's like the size of my- ah!!” Soap jumped back as the Terror jumped at him. You all scattered as Soap landed on the ground, the terror chewing on his nose.

“Oh I am hurt, I am very much hurt!”

The Terror perked up, seeing a light moving across the ground. It flicked its tail, smiling and rushing from Soap after the light.

You guided it with the shiny part of your shield back into its small hut, closing the door with your foot.

“Wow, he's better than you ever were.” Soap rubs his nose, looking at Ghost.

After which you spent more time working on a harness and a better string attachment for the tail fin.

When rushed through the woods up ran into Ghost, throwing his axe into different trees, training his aim.

He raised his axe, pausing when he saw you. You two looked at each other, and then you rushed off. You couldn't let him see Toothless.

When Ghost turned to follow after you, you had somehow already disappeared.

Fuck!

You began to work on the positions of your contraption with Toothless. Strapping him to a tree stump so you could write down the number of each foot turn.

Able to move your heel and shift the position of the tailfin through the rope.

“Position one.” You shifted the lever, writing it down on your little piece of paper. “And position two.” He shifts it, Toothless' wings catching air and the rope snapped.

“Gah!” You gasped as you were thrown back to the ground.

Toothless groaned and rolled over, pulling you up by the waist, the waist retainer stuck to the clip of Toothless' saddle.

“Oh brother…”

Forced to drag Toothless back to the village while still tangled together, you snuck past a few guards and led him into the smithing shop.

You looked around for something to pry the hook open, Toothless shoving his nose in a basket. When he flicked it off, it hit one of the weapons on the wall, causing noise.

Ghost who was passing, heading back, begrudgingly home, heard it.

He walked over to the smithing window. “Y/n?? Are you in there??”

Both you and Toothless looked up. You quickly dropped what you were doing and pushed yourself out the smithing window, looking at him.

“Ghost- hi, Ghost. Hi, hi… hi Ghost.” You fumbled with the waist trainer. Toothless sniffing around and pulling you back against the doors.

Toothless looked around, spotting a sheep. The sheep spotted him, immediately rushing away.

“I normally don't care what people do but you're acting weird.”. Ghost points an accusatory finger. “Well, weirder.”

You huffed, stumbling back. The trainer lifted you off your feet. Ghost stared at you as the doors of the smithing window gave in and sucked you back. Ghost immediately rushed over and opened it, seeing the smelter empty.

You and Toothless sneaking away and flying off. That. Was. Way too close…

That day was the day your father arrived back. One of the boats with several holes in it and barely survived. Their search for a nest of dragons once again produced no fruit.

Gobber was there when Stoick arrived back. “Well, I trust you found the nest at least?”

“Not even close.” He growled, walking past with a fixed frown.

“Oh. Excellent.” Gobber said sarcastically, following Stoick.

“I hope you had a little more success than me.”

“Well, if by success, you mean that your parenting troubles are over with, then... yes.” He took a basket of supplies over his shoulder while he walked.

Various different Vikings congratulating Stoick on his kid actually becoming vikinglike. Can you imagine that eh?

“Their gone??” Stoick asked.

“Yeah... most afternoons. But who can blame them? I mean the life of a celebrity's very rough. They can barely walk through the village without being swarmed by his new fans.” Gobber replied.

“Y/n??”

“Who would have thought it eh? He has this… way with the beasts.”

Stoick’s eyes widened. Yes. What he'd been waiting for your entire life!

Off somewhere near the edge of the island, you were busy with Toothless. Having written up your complete cheat sheet, you secured the small paper with all of your positions to Toothless' saddle. Slowly gliding through the air.

“Alright bud we're gonna take this nice and slow” You looked over the sheet. “Here we go, here we go. Position…”

“Three. No… four.” You looked down at the foot pedal and positioned it, the tail fin opening. Toothless looked down at it, wiggling his head and getting used to it.

The gentle glide turned into a slow fly, Toothless guiding with your help through the winds, his wings catching air flawlessly.

Toothless flew you up into the air, passing some clouds. You held on, looking back at the tail fin. “Alright. It's go time, it's go time.”

Toothless roared and dove down toward the sea stacks littering around the island ocean.

“Come on buddy! Come on buddy!” You encourage. You held onto the saddle tightly when Toothless flew down over the water, the waves lapping up to touch his belly as you went by.

You looked up as you passed through two connected sea stacks, watching the birds startle and fly off. “Yes, it worked!”

The tail was holding up so far.

You flew up away from the water, attempting to make a turn and throwing Toothless into a sea stack. He growled and flapped violently. “Sorry!” You winced.

Barely recovering you saw another stack, attempting to pull him up sharply and hitting another. He growled again. “It was my fault.” You cringed.

He hit you with his ear. “Yeah yeah, I'm on it. Position four- uh, three.” You shifted the foot pedal and took off into the sky. Soaring up over the sea stacks and into the fluffy clouds.

“Yeah!! Aw this is nice. The wind in my -” the paper attached to the saddle flew off and into the wind. “Cheat sheet!” You reached back to try and grab it.

“Stop!!”

Toothless flapped his wings, halting as best he could, sending you forward. The hook on the waist belt and the saddle came off.

“No!!” Toothless saw you and panicked, falling back and scrambled. “No!! Oh no!!” You yelled as you fell and spiraled in the sky down toward the sea.

Toothless roared when he saw you falling faster than him. “Oh, gods! Oh, no!!” You cried your lungs out.

“Alright! You gotta kind angle yourself!” You flipped onto your back, trying to help Toothless. “Okay, no, no, no... come back down towards me! Come back down-- YOW!” Toothless’ tail smacked you as you fell.

You flipped onto your front, reaching out to grab the hook on the saddle, just out of reach.

Toothless wailed and cried when you finally grabbed it, managing to pull yourself on. Reattaching and gripping the saddle, angled downward.

The cheat sheet hit you in the face and you grabbed it, putting it between your teeth. You zoomed straight toward a downward plain of trees, trying to pull Toothless back up.

He roared and whined, zooming down at an angle over the trees, his wings catching wind. As you zoomed down to the bottom you pulled the cheat sheet again. With all the wind you couldn't read anything on it.

Looking between the sheet and some sea stacks, you tossed the sheet,grabbing the saddle and readjusting the foot pedal.

Toothless roared and zoomed to the side, making the corner before you could hit the stones.

You zoomed through the various passages, shifting the foot pedal again through the fog. Coming shooting out the other side into the clear open air.

You panted, blood pumping with adrenaline. “Yeah!!” You raised your arms. Toothless smiled and shit a blast into the air, ruining your celebration. “Come on…”

You were pummeled into the fire, pushing your hair back and covering your clothes in specs of dirt and char.

You flew with Toothless some more, your adventure leading you back to a sea stack, there you got some fish and made a small fire.

Toothless laid down, retching up one of his fish heads while you leaned back against him, cooking your own dinner over the fire.

“Uh, no thanks, I'm good.” You refused the fish head.

Some small dragons spotted you and flew over to your little set up. Those tiny Terrible Terrors. Toothless growled, protecting his fish as they came over, snapping at one.

You watched as one of them grabbed the head of the fish Toothless had belched up and shot at another dragon who tried to take it.

Toothless watches unimpressed, when his food started moving. One of the dragon's trying to sneak a fish from his pile. Toothless growled, grabbing the fish in his teeth and pulling it back.

The Terror whined, causing toothless to bellow a low laugh.

The Terror squeaked and stood up, snapping at Toothless.

You looked between the two as it stood up on its back legs and inhaled. Before it could do anything Toothless shot a small blast at it, inflating it and it puffed out smoke, whining.

You chuckled. “Not so fireproof on the inside are ya?” You tossed one of your fish. “Here ya go.” It scuttled over and wolfed it down quickly.

Licking its eyeball and cautiously wandering over to you. It whines, curling up beside you, purring softly.

“Everything we know about you guys… It's wrong.”

Unfortunately it won't let me post this much so to read the rest of it please see the reblog I did for the rest of the post. ❤

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