HtTYD: I'm Not One of Them // a Fanfic

I’ve been posting this How to Train Your Dragon fic over at dA and also at a HtTYD forum, but TDIT mentioned maybe I should post it here too, since there are quite a few members who loved the film as much as I did.

This shouldn’t get any longer than eight parts, hopefully. (Though knowing me, I can go overboard with my writing sometimes. ) As of yesterday, it’s only four parts long, but I’ll post them one at a time.

Questions, comments, critiques? I’d love to hear them.

This is set before the film, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have any spoilers in it. If you have never seen this movie, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: go see it. It’s a beautiful film, with so much heart considering it’s a Dreamworks movie.

Enough of my rambling! Here’s Part One.

All fell completely silent in the small Norse village called Berk while snow steadily fell upon the frozen ground, as if the gods had commenced the silence themselves. Not one voice whispered a single word, not one foot crept out unto the freshly fallen snow, not even one curious face poked out of their warm homes as all waited in anxious silence to hear some news. From everything they had heard, things weren’t turning out as well as they had hoped and prayed.

Small families crouched in front of their warm fires, praying to the gods for protection over the chief’s wife, Eira. Her cries and gasps could be heard echoing throughout the village hours before, but had since fallen to complete silence. No one dared to ask what was happening - they believed that her fate was left up to the gods, and it would be unholy to inquire of their reasons for allowing her to fall so ill. All they could do was plead mercy on her and on her distraught husband, Stoick the Vast: chief of their tribe.

Pacing back and forth in front of their home was all he could do; the nurses at his wife’s side refused to let him in. Every so often he could hear one of them speaking softly to Eira, encouraging her to stay calm, but not once did he ever hear his wife’s tender voice break the stillness of the quiet night. With a deep sigh, he lifted his teary eyes up to the glistening heavens, slowly shaking his head.

“Oh, Frigg, protect my dear Eira,” he whispered. “I beg of you, please bless this childbirth.”

Not long after he had offered up the simple prayer, the silence was shattered by a shrill, mournful wail. Yet amidst the cries of his newborn child, Stoick never once heard his precious wife utter a sound. He turned around and burst into the house to find Eira laid in front of the fire, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by nurses. Her normally sturdy frame had become so thin and fragile, and her once-ruddy face so pale and hollowed. He hardly recognized her as he stepped inside. He walked closer and glanced over to see a nurse wrapping a small bundle together in her arms. She immediately turned around to face him, giving a small smile.

“You have a son, Stoick,” she softly announced, tiptoeing nearer to him. He could hardly pay attention to the tiny face buried under the blankets, and his gaze turned back to Eira. He placed a hand on his son’s head and gulped down a sob.

“How is she?” he asked the nurse who was still holding his baby boy. She glanced away and didn’t reply. “Will she pull through?”

No one answered his question. All seemed hesitant to reply. His breath came harder the longer they remained silent, and he finally abandoned his infant son to kneel by Eira’s side. He placed his hand atop her head, which was still drenched in sweat but unnaturally cool to the touch. With his other hand, he took her limp left hand and rubbed her delicate fingers.

“Eira?” he choked. His voice came out weak and frail, like a frightened child’s. “Wake up, dearest, and see our son. A son, Eira! Frigg has blessed us with a firstborn son, with hair so rich and thick, and your perfect little nose and lips.”

Eira made no reply. Stoick gripped her hand harder and held back tears the best he could. A nurse who had been attending her placed a hand on his shoulder, slowly shaking her head as she did so.

“She’s… gone, sir,” she managed to say. “She passed moments after the birth was over.”

For several painful moments, all he could do was stare at the lifeless body of his wife, his mind and body gripped with shock and frozen with disbelief. Of all the battles he had fought, of all the wounds or blows he had ever received, he couldn’t recall a single one that took his breath away like this. It was as though Thor himself had thrown a war hammer into his stomach. Dazed, he pushed himself to his feet, finding that his eyes never wavered from Eira’s body. A soft and pitiful whimper was the only thing that diverted his attention, and he turned back around to see that nurse still clutching the baby close to her chest. He timidly walked forward, doing his best to steady his shaky legs, and held out his arms for the baby.

Now holding his son in his arms for the first time, he noticed that the boy’s flushed cheeks were graced with tiny blemishes - freckles, as they were often called. His little round nose was so perfectly like his mother’s, and his ears the image of his father’s. He ran his fingers through the baby’s thick head of hair; so soft to the touch and chestnut-colored from birth. His little boy pushed his arms out from underneath the blankets, and with one hand he reached up to grab one of his father’s fingers.

Stoick would have been astounded and amazed at the sight of his perfect only son, but one thing kept him from deeming the child perfect: he was tiny, thin-framed and sickly; nothing like the other children born to Viking parents, who, from birth, were brawny and broad-shouldered, as he himself was from the moment of his own birth. And he, the chief of the tribe and the most experienced fighter and dragon slayer, was cursed with a son that in no way resembled his Viking ancestors.

Tears finally crept from his eyes as he studied his baby boy. “Odin, why have you cursed me with this… this, tadpole of a son?”

The room remained quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time until one of the nurses finally cleared her throat and spoke up.

“Eira told us she wanted him named Torer, for the blessing of his future as a warrior,” she said, but as she spoke the name, Stoick closed his eyes and took in a deep, painful breath.

“He is no warrior of Thor,” he bitterly whispered. He held the boy up, and his tiny frame was silhouetted by the back light of the fire. With another shake of the head, Stoick heaved a sigh. “This sickly child will never be one of us.”

As he spoke, he heard the door creak open behind him, and the familiar pad, thunk, pad, thunk of his childhood friend Gobber echoed through the mostly empty house. Almost ashamed of his child, he held him close and obscured him from view as his good friend stepped closer to get a look at the baby.

“Aye, there’s hope still for the boy,” Gobber noted, pointing to the squirming infant. “He could very well grow up to be a dragon slayer like you, Stoick. You just gotta feed 'em well and be patient. Who knows? Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

Stoick set his jaw. “I refuse to name him something he will never grow into.” Gobber stroked his chin and thought.

“Well, you know, some parents give their children names enough to scare off trolls or smaller dragons, sometimes even evil spirits,” he pointed out. “Why just last month, that good man Haakon and his wife named their son Snotlout in hopes that he won’t be carried off by a troll while he is still a wee boy.” Stoick raised his eyebrows, and Gobber held up his palms. “It’s been known to happen!”

For a long time, Stoick narrowed his eyes at the baby in his arms, only listening to him gurgle and whimper every so often. He held him up once more to study him, then shook his head again and growled. He nudged Gobber out of the way with his shoulder and walked towards the door, then pushed it open and stood in front of his home overlooking the village. Immediately, people began to stream out of their own homes, holding candles in their hands, and gathered at the bottom of the hill to get their first look at the chief’s son.

“Odin has blessed me with a son,” he announced, and at the words the village erupted in cheers. Gobber came to stand at Stoick’s side again and took him by the shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to tell them about dear Eira?” he whispered. “And they’ll be wondering what you’ve named your child, too. That is, if you’ve given him a name at all.”

“I can’t tell them about Eira… yet,” Stoick replied with another sigh. “And as for the name… I’ll be keeping that between me and you for now.”

Once the village had seen the new child, Stoick and Gobber walked back into the house and watched in silence as the nurses wrapped up Eira’s body and discreetly brought her away to be prepared for burial. Stoick hardly had the chance to mourn before his son would cry or squeal, and it only made him more upset to be reminded that his wife, once a warrior and dragon killer herself, was taken from this life; and he had been left with one child - and not even a strong, healthy one, at that.

“So you did name him, then?” Gobber wondered, once again breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Hopin’ it’s a nice one, like Ran or Inghart. You know, those names have been known to carry a lot of luck-”

“His name… is Hiccup,” Stoick firmly said, staring hard at the boy, whose eyes opened slightly at the sound of his father’s deep voice. They gleamed a brilliant emerald green in the firelight, for however short of a time they were opened. Gobber’s eyebrows shot up, and he had to stifle a laugh.

“Hiccup?” he repeated. “Is that it?”

Stoick nodded in decision. “That’s it. That’s his name.” He placed the baby in a wooden cradle by the fire, covered him in blankets to keep him from getting chilled, and sank into a chair. Gobber followed suit and sat across from him.

“Interesting name, indeed,” he mused. “You can rest assured no trolls will be after him with a name like that.” He paused, watching the fire as it slowly died down. “How do you think the village will take the name? After all, you are the chief of the tribe, and they may be expecting some great name in honor of the warrior gods. Come to think of it, they’re probably expecting a robust little boy instead of…” He waved a hand at the cradle. “…You know. That.”

Stoick angrily glanced over at Gobber, growling again as he did so. Gobber pretended not to notice.

“You can’t be so hard on him, Stoick,” he continued, tapping the cradle with his foot every now and then. “He’s an infant, and only an hour or so old, at that. It’s not like he’s being forced to fight dragons first thing tomorrow morning! He still has lots of time to grow, and if it helps you any, he can come work with me and make weapons until he gets bigger.” He shrugged again and held up a hand. “It all takes time. Just be patient with him.”

Link to Part 1 on dA

little chef

I actually took the time to got through this again, and…I didn’t know Stoick could be so ungrateful! Only looking at what he saw on the outside, and then cursing Odin for the birth of Hiccup (if he’s the village leader, don’t you think he would have more respect for the Viking deities?)

Awesome story. I actually imagined it live-action instead of computer animation.

BTW, do you plan on drawing Eira? I want to know what she looks like?

Haha, thanks for taking my advice, little_chef! Readers, I don’t think her fanfic spoils much if you’ve seen the trailer, but really, you should go see this movie anyway.

Anyway, I’ve commented on this over at dA, but I must reiterate: Your fanfics are always so freakin’ saaad!!! Oh, whyy???

Actually, they are pretty funny at times too. You know, your stories remind me of a fictional radio channel’s tagline (Emotion 98.3) from Grand Theft Auto:

“You’ll laugh through the tears, and cry behind the laughter.”

Which is good! I like crying and laughing at the same time! I really hope you continue this… as well as resurrect Psyche OS X perhaps?

Haha, thanks for reading, guys. This gets a bit more attention on dA, but like TDIT said I guess it really doesn’t hurt to post it here, too.

So I’ll go ahead and post Part 2 to see what happens, even though this doesn’t seem to be picking up much traffic, it might be attracting a few more readers, hopefully.

A pair of bright green eyes poked out from underneath a pile of snow, darting back and forth at the sight of the falling snowflakes that sparkled in the morning light. With a playful gurgle, the small dragon who had been hidden underneath the snow leapt up and threw his paws into the air, then whirled back around and snapped at the air with his teeth. He did this several times, aggressively pursuing the snowflakes that quickly melted upon touching him. Pausing to catch his breath, he watched as one by one, they landed upon his nose and immediately vaporized in his warm breath. Cooing and gurgling again, he sprang into a leap and flapped his wings in an attempt to fly, since he had tried so many times before and never got all that high. Sure enough, he tumbled back down to earth not moments after clearing five feet above the ground. He moaned and rolled back onto his paws, shaking the snow off of his scales for another try. He went down again, and got back up to do it once more. And again he fell. Again he scrambled to his feet and tried again, only to fail that time, too.

Upset with his inability to correctly fly, like his mother, he let out an angry shriek so loud, it made the trees quiver and release some of their snow. Almost upon instinct, a searing spurt of fire burst from his mouth and consumed a few overgrown bushes. He pulled back and panted heavily, narrowing his eyes at the plants as they burned. Snorting, he pawed at the ground and tossed his head, digging his claws into the frozen soil as he did so. When would he ever become the large, stealthy, high-flying dragon the rest of his rare kind were?

His breed was extremely scarce, but the most dangerous and by far the most intelligent. Humans who had previously tried hunting them down before never succeeded - the Night Fury could outwit every human trap, every human ambush, and every human attack with one swift flap of the wing, a whirl of the tail, and a single breath of fire. No human who had ever crossed paths with a Night Fury lived to tell about it.

As he stewed in his anger, the sound of flapping wings above his head grabbed his attention, and quick as a flash, his mother had landed in the clearing beside him. She let out a low grumble and nodded towards the flaming bushes, and the young Night Fury shook his head and snorted, explaining the reason for his anger. His mother interrupted him by gently nuzzling her nose against his neck and growling. She prodded at his tiny wings and gave a higher-pitched gurgle. He locked eyes with her for a moment, then flapped his wings, and she dipped her head. Without lifting his paws off the ground, he flapped his wings as hard as he could, over and over, until his mother seemed satisfied. With a nod of her head, she motioned for him to follow her, and began to lead him to an open meadow covered with a fresh blanket of snow.

She took off into a run, and he kept closely behind and followed her every move. She kept her wings tucked in, close to her body, and he did the same. For several minutes, she led him all over the meadow, back and forth, up and down, until he noticed their paw prints crossing each other. With a burst of speed, she took off straight and never turned to the left or right, and bowing his head, he ran with all his might to keep up. She suddenly extended her wings, and so did he; both keeping the speed at which they ran. She vigorously began to flap them, and as he did the same thing, he found that his feet were slowly parting with the ground. Instinctively, she sprang up from the ground and soared up into the air, and still keeping his head bent low, he flapped harder and harder, then let the momentum of his speed carry him as he mimicked her actions. He continued to flap his wings the hardest he could, and found that he had left the ground and was now quite high up in the air. His mother circled above him and called for him, and he climbed higher to meet her. He couldn’t help but cry out in joy as he left the snowy earth behind and disappeared above the clouds.

His feet dangled uselessly below him, and he tucked them closer to his body, which helped him gain speed. Now abandoning everything, he let out another shrill shriek and pulled in his wings for a sharp dive, and when he had picked up the supersonic speed his kind was known for, he extended his wings and glided at top speed, then shot a stream of fire out in front of him. He could hear his mother calling again, praising him and encouraging him.

He could hardly contain himself. For the first time in his life, he was flying, and truly flying. Reckless and free, soaring through the air hundreds of miles above human sight was what he was born for, and now to finally experience it was unlike what he ever imagined.

Mother and child soared amongst the clouds for hours, playing together in midair and racing each other around the island. When they finally tired, they camped for the night in a small gorge, where they found a pond with some fish as well as a few of their favorite plants growing up along the rocky walls. After a much-needed meal, his mother prepared a warm spot to nest for the night by melting the snow with her fiery breath. She curled into a ball and opened up her broad wings, and her small child bounded over to curl up beside her, quickly falling asleep in her warm embrace.

As her baby slept, she could hear human voices floating through the air several miles away, which told her a human encampment was closeby. For the remainder of the night, she kept alert for any sign of them, and at any slight noise her ears would twitch toward the sound. Sometimes it was enough to make her head jerk up, but for most of the night it remained silent, and she too fell into a peaceful sleep with her baby.

Link to Part 2 on dA

little chef

Like I said, this chapter is really adorable and my favourite so far (even more than Chapter Three) because it is just simple actions and expressions without any dialogue. I’m a fan of pantomime like Chaplin and Keaton, so this kinda writing-style really interests me. I mean, why say when you can just do?

And I like the foreboding end. I hope nothing bad happens to Toothless or his mum, though you probably have something in mind… Oh no, please don’t hurt little Toothless and his mama!

You know, you should make a promo sig with a link or something to attract more traffic. I do that all the time with my videos and artwork (You really are shameless, TDIT).

Thanks for the continued feedback, TDIT… even though you’ve already posted your lengthy replies/reviews/critiques over at dA. I really appreciate it, and continue to hope that others out there are reading this, too.

It’s been way too long since I posted the next installment. I’ve currently got more posted on dA than I have it posted anywhere else, but I’ll continue to update this one just in case it decides to grab anymore readers. :3

–

Golden bands of light streamed through the trees and cast pools of sunshine upon the muddy ground, and birds chased each other through the foliage of the woods, giving off joyful chirps as they played a game of tag. The air was fresh and smelled of newly-blossomed flowers, yet still quite frigid - enough to chill the insides of your nostrils and snatch the breath from your lungs. Snow was still piled in shadowy corners of the woods, where the sun never seemed to shine. Some wondered if it stayed there all summer long.

The sun had just barely crept over the horizon at the wee hour of 5:32 in the morning, and little Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was already up and about, traipsing through the woods alone with nothing but his home-made, hand-bound sketchbook and pencil tucked securely into his belt. He hadn’t bothered to tell his father he was leaving, since he had been in the middle of a deep sleep, and Hiccup was afraid to wake him from such a heavy slumber. It was probably better off that he didn’t know, anyway… if he did, he’d probably go looking for Hiccup and make him go back to the village to play with the other kids, which Hiccup hated. They were all bigger and stronger than he was and pulverized him half the time, which was hardly Hiccup’s idea of “playing”. All could swing an axe high above their heads, though none were younger than the age of three or older than six. Hiccup could barely even lift one of his father’s smaller shields, while most four-year-olds already could. He was far more content to explore the woods on his own, looking for streams to go swimming in or rocks to throw… or sometimes, even dragons.

Most dragons never nested on the island; they usually flew in from some obscure place far off the coast of Berk, and did so only to raid and plunder the village. But Gobber had told Hiccup stories of dragons that had in fact made their homes on the island, and would lie in wait amongst the underbrush of the woods for any unfortunate being that happened to cross its path. He claimed that other dragons nested and hibernated in the rocky caves down by the shore, and if disturbed would probably be fit to set the entire village on fire. Yet others still, he had said, were probably safely nested underground - directly beneath their feet, in fact - cold and almost lifeless, in the deepest sleep you could imagine. It would take an earthquake to cause them to merely twitch or lift an eyelid.

Gobber and his stories, Hiccup thought to himself with a chuckle, leaping across slimy stones that made a path across a small brook. If there were any dragons out here, I’dda found one by now.

His boots - made of deerhide, lined with bear’s fur, and carefully hand-crafted by Gobber - were soggy from the melting snow, as well as the brook he had just skipped across, and his feet began to ache with cold. He stopped and knelt beside a large rock to catch his breath, then sank to his bottom and proceeded to take off his boots. He wiggled his chilled toes until they began to tingle with warmth, then took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air and watched a few little birds fly over his head - sparrows, from the look of it. One of them landed upon a tree branch several feet above his head and chirped contentedly, its little head jerking back and forth and its chest rapidly rising and falling. Hiccup smiled at the sight and pulled out his sketchbook, attempting to draw it while it sat so still on the branch. His left hand reached for the pencil in his belt and moved swiftly across the page until the marks left behind resembled the little bird. He smiled at his drawing. Not bad at all for my first try drawing a sparrow.

No sooner had Hiccup finished sketching, the sparrow darted off to chase its noisy friend. He sat in the cool air and bright morning sunshine a little while longer before pulling his boots back on and venturing further into the woods.

There came a point where everything was so overgrown, not even the biggest, burliest Vikings could cut through the twisting, intertwined mess of tree roots and unruly bushes. Hiccup had finally reached that point - which had been named the Sea of Entanglement, and for good reason - after two hours or so, and though he had been this way many times before, he had never tried to journey down there. He had been tempted to, but the fear of getting caught in the underbrush was enough to keep him away - for a while. This time when he laid eyes on the Sea of Entanglement, he became far more curious than afraid. Maybe dragons were down there, sleeping underneath all of those bushes and large leaves. It would be an excellent place for them to hide, since no one had ever really set foot down there or tried clearing it out.

Now Hiccup’s curiosity peaked. If I find dragons down here, I can tell Daddy, and he’ll be proud of me for finding them all by myself. Not altogether a bad thought, if you asked him.

From where he stood, the ground sloped down gently and formed somewhat of a gorge. The roots of the trees growing all around it stuck out of the walls that had been carved from years of water erosion, and bushes tall and wide grew up in between those roots, making the bottom of the Sea virtually invisible. Leaves as big as Hiccup’s entire toddler body blanketed the mossy, damp floor below, adding to the lack of visibility. Nevertheless, he began to make his way down the muddy slope, taking a hold of tree roots to keep himself from slipping. He was tiny enough that he could easily slip underneath the entanglement, and in this cautious way he managed to make his way to the floor of the Sea. It was impossible to tell left from right, north from south in the green, leafy maze, and he was suddenly struck with a thought: He had easily made his way down and in, but how in Odin’s name would he manage to climb up and out if he could hardly tell which direction he was walking in?

Hiccup stood there a while, thinking about that. The more he considered it, the more nervous he became. There was no one closeby to help him if he needed it. He could easily get caught in this mess, and who would get him out of it?

His nervousness quickly dissolved into panic, and he ran as fast as he could in the direction he thought he had come, but when he found himself running into a wall of tree roots, his entire body melted with fear and adrenaline began to surge through his veins. He immediately dashed in another direction, but tripped over a mossy stone and tumbled underneath a large bush, and its branches slashed his skin as he rolled. Scrambling to his feet, he frantically shoved the prickly branches aside and wormed his way out of the bush, bursting into a small clearing, then broke into a fresh run. He hadn’t gotten very far before he felt his left leg catch, and within moments his face dove into the mud. He pushed himself upright and looked down to see his foot had gotten caught in the underbrush, so he tried kicking madly to free it. A sharp pain shot up his leg when he did, and he impulsively cried out at the sudden pain. Twisted ankle. That was just what he needed.

Tears began to sting his wide, frightened eyes, and he clenched his fingers into the mud and started to cry.

“Help, someone, please,” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “HELLLLPPP!!!”

For a good ten minutes he sobbed and cried, hoping with every loud wail that someone would hear him; but no one ever came. He couldn’t free himself from the grassy fingers that tightly kept his ankle clenched in its fist. Finally, his chest and throat hurt from all the yelling, and he stopped crying to wipe his eyes and catch his breath. In the silence, he thought he heard the branches rustling, but dismissed it as wind. He shoved himself into a sitting position and reached town to untangle himself, but every time he would even slightly move his ankle, that searing pain would send a rippling shock up his leg and right through his body. More tears streamed down his face at the pain, and he bit his lip to keep himself from crying.

“Odin, help me,” he whimpered, once again wiping his teary face with his wet, muddy sleeve.

The rustling and shuffling seemed to be growing louder, but Hiccup hadn’t noticed the wind picking up at all. He turned his head toward the sound and watched the bushes for movement. As he silently sat still, he slowly began to recall something Gobber had said about dragons that dwelled in the woods.

“They hide in places where no one can ever find 'em,” he could remember Gobber saying, and even the ominous tone of voice he had used reverberated in his memory. “Masters of stealth, that they are. A human would be lucky to get away if he ever crossed paths with one - or if one crossed paths with him.”

By now Hiccup wasn’t so sure that he did want to find dragons down here. And he was almost certain that rustling in the bushes was far from being just the wind.

His heart began to climb into his throat, and he could hear every single beat of it in his ears.

He began to see two glowing, amber eyes melting into view. Warm air slowly wafted his way, and he could smell the familiar sulfur-and-garlic scent of dragon’s breath floating toward him. More crunching and snapping, and the rustling of leaves.

Hiccup’s eyes were locked upon the steady, unwavering, piercing gaze of what he assumed to be a Monstrous Nightmare. It was probably fully-grown, and its brilliant emerald green scales glittered menacingly in the freckles of sunlight. If it weren’t for those bright yellow eyes, Hiccup would have missed it entirely, for it camoflaged well here in the green, grassy Sea. As it put one paw in front of the other, he could clearly see its long claws, probably about three feet long, digging into the mud. He found its gaze to be somewhat hypnotic, and he had a very hard time looking away. His mind immediately went back to his trapped ankle.

Oh gods, please have mercy, and help me get out of here! he silently prayed. If I try freeing myself right now, that big ol’ Nightmare will probably get mad.

Without looking away, he cautiously reached for his ankle and yanked on the tangled grass, trying his best to ignore the pain. With the panic and adrenaling coursing through his body, it seemed as though the pain had momentarily fled. The Nightmare sensed his prey was trying to escape, and it advanced closer. Sweat broke out across Hiccup’s forehead, and his red hair began sticking to his face.

“Nice dragon,” he gently called, but he couldn’t hide the frightened quiver in his voice. “That’s a… good dragon. Please… don’t eat me…”

He turned over to give his right side a break, since he had been leaning on it the entire time, and when he did, something in his left pocket gouged into his side. He dug around in his pocket until he felt his hand clenching the handle of a small dagger he had brought along with him. He gave a frustrated sigh. It had been here all along - he could have freed himself nearly half an hour ago!

Gods, I really don’t like your sense of humor! he angrily thought. He drew the dagger from his pocket and leaned down to start cutting the grass, but the Monstrous Nightmare happened to catch a glimpse of a human weapon, and it began to let out a deep, thundering growl. It bared its teeth and began to approach far more quickly than it had been.

Hiccup hardly had time to think. He didn’t care about sudden movements, or showing your panic, or any of those things Gobber said made dragons attack. He frantically sawed away at the grass and panted heavily as his fear started catching up to him. The growl of the Nightmare was growing into a roar, and he could feel its hot breath running down his back. Next thing he knew, the dragon had pounced on top of him, turning him over onto his back, which twisted his ankle into the most unnatural position and caused something in it to snap. He yelled in pain and closed his teary eyes, and he could feel the Nightmare’s warm saliva dripping onto his tunic.

That’s it, he thought to himself. I’m done for.

“Please,” he began to plead, “please don’t hurt me. Please… don’t hurt me… Oh gods, help me! HELLLPPP!!!”

The Nightmare lifted its head and let out a screaming, mind-numbing roar that caused Hiccup’s insides to rattle. He leaned forward the best he could and slashed at the grass once more - and finally caught it. It cleanly broke free as his little dagger pierced through it, and without a second thought he scrambled to his feet and chanced at escape by darting underneath the Nightmare’s belly. Unfortunately, he could barely run with his left ankle being twisted and now broken, and he fell quite a few times. The Nightmare whirled around to see his breakfast escaping, and he tore off after the toddler.

“SOMEONE, HELP ME!!!” Hiccup continued to yell, pushing tree branches out of the way as he ran and stumbled and limped through the Sea. With him at such a disadvantage, it gave the Nightmare a great advantage, and he swiftly caught up to him within moments.

What was the point of trying to escape, anyway? Hiccup thought with overwhelming dread as the Nightmare cornered him against the dirt wall of the Sea. I escape only to get trapped again!

He didn’t even have the strength to yell for help again and braced himself to be scooped up into the giant dragon’s mouth, but a familiar yell caught his ear before the Nightmare could take his first bite. He lifted his head and saw leaves shaking, and even the dragon’s attention was diverted.

“HICCUUUPPP!!!” came the deep-throated shout, and into the clearing burst Stoick the Vast, yelling and swinging his biggest, most favorite battle axe above his head. “GET OUT OF THERE!!!”

The toddler rolled out from underneath the dragon and hid behind a bush while his father approached the Nightmare. Stoick roared loudly and attacked the dragon with all of his might, and within several minutes the Monstrous Nightmare had not only been gouged in the chest, but had also lost its head and one paw. The bloody, disembodied dragon twitched on the ground for a few seconds after falling over, and Stoick wiped his brow and turned to see his young son’s bright red hair and teary green eyes poking out from behind the bush. Clearly, he was upset with Hiccup for running off - and almost getting killed - but at the sight of his little boy wiping his eyes and limping on his broken ankle, he couldn’t help but sink to his knees and hold out his arms. Hiccup ran as fast as he could into his father’s large, muscular arms and buried his face into Stoick’s broad, sweaty chest.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” he began to sob. “I thought if I could find a dragon all by myself, then you’d finally be happy with me… you know, since I’m not all that much like the other kids.”

Stoick pulled him away and gripped his shoulders. “Hiccup, you could have gotten yourself killed out here! You never told me you had left, and I got worried when I saw you weren’t home or somewhere in the village. What if I had thought all this time you were down at the forge with Gobber, and never went out looking for you? You would have been that Nightmare’s breakfast!”

Hiccup peered past his father’s large, muscular body and saw again the remains of the dragon that nearly ate him.

Stoick paused, trying to retain his composure. “I know you meant well, but maybe you should wait until you’re a bit older before you go on these kinds of adventures,” he continued. His voice was sounding more and more stern.

“But Daddy,” Hiccup pitifully interrupted, “the other kids are allowed to go looking for dragons. And… and they make their parents so proud when they find 'em. I almost got killed, but I still found a Monstrous Nightmare, all by myself - aren’t you proud of me?”

Stoick was unsure of how to reply. He stared at Hiccup for a long time, watching as the boy slowly let go of a sad, awkward smile. Hiccup shuffled his feet, feeling uncomfortable in his father’s steady gaze. He couldn’t seem to read the expression on his solemn face. Finally, with a long sigh, Stoick stood to his feet and picked Hiccup off of the ground.

“We’re going back to the village,” he quietly announced. Hiccup buried his face into Stoick’s neck as they began to climb out of the Sea. “Gobber’ll set that ankle straight. But you promise me nothing like this will ever happen again.”

Hiccup bit his lip and found some more hot tears had slipped down his face. There was something about that tone of voice his father would always use with him that tore him to pieces every single time. He gulped hard on a sob. “Y-yes, Daddy. I… I promise.”

Link to Part 3 on dA

little chef

Wow this is a wonderful piece here, I’m so sad I’m just reading it now. Great work! Little Hiccup really tugs and your heart strings he wants to please his dad so much.

You should perhaps consider entering this in the Awards. There’s now a section for “Non-Pixar fanfiction” according to TDIT. I think you’d win it!

Thank you very much! I’m actually quite surprised at the amount of attention this as received over at deviantART and even FF.net. I’m not sure if you found them already, but there are actually three more chapters after this that I haven’t posted up here on PixarPlanet. The full story can be found both in my dA folder named ‘I’m Not One of Them’, or on FF.net by the same name.

I always found the theme of a child trying to please his father emotionally appealing, especially when the father is cold-hearted or emotionally hurt in some way and prevents the child from really getting through to him. Since this is one of my better pieces (though I’m more proud of my one-shots), I probably will edit it into my ‘For Your Consideration’ post.

Again, thank you so much! I dearly appreciate feedback whenever I get it!

Speaking of updating this, why don’t I just go ahead and post the links to the next chapters, so you can read it from here without going all over the internet to find them.

Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six

Enjoy!

little chef

Well I read these chapters and I’m impressed! I particulary liked it that Gobber was mad at the kids for being mean to Hiccup in chapter 5. In fact it fits Viking viewpoints in general for him to be unhappy even culturally speaking even disregarding the idea of caring Hiccup generally. A lot of people have painted Vikings as nothing more than merciless and tough (well, they were generally painted like this by the people they invaded so it’s understandable). But while generally merciless in battle, generally they also took care of people who say were injured as well as the infirm of their own people, or at least that’s what I read in my book on Norse mythology in the introduction if I remember correctly.

They also had a deep respect for trees due to their beliefs not to mention of course their boats, which were particulary fast for those days because of their craftmanship and which are a partial reason as to why they were so successful in spreading to many countries on top of their ability to fight. Unrelated maybe but just thought I’d mention it.