Hello friends! It is so wonderful to see you all again! This story was born of my childhood fascination with Mermaids. I hope to make something original, and not a copy of 'The Little Mermaid.' Hope you enjoy!

The guide is the same, I'll update on tuesdays (US) and if you have any questions feel free to PM or Review!

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Sympathies exist. Presentiments and signs that baffle our mortal comprehension. To dream or to see or to feel or to hear, what seems not to be there. But such things exist, things beyond this earth, things beyond our sacred thoughts of heaven. These are the things that reason defies.

But reason sometimes lies.

Once upon a time, a boy was born under Moorland skies, at sunset. Splashes of red hues painted the sky, while vibrant viridian shone like beacons from his eyes. His tuffs of soft hair were colored with dull reds and browns like the earth, as his pale skin dusted with freckles. He was small, much too small, but still loved by his mother and father. Because of his size, he was dubbed Hiccup.

This is me. Or, rather, was me. I don't look like that anymore. Being thrown off a cliff has the tendency to change a person. Yes, you read that right, I was thrown off a cliff. While my normal clumsiness would have done the job just fine, I got help. Now, some of you may be outraged. "Who would throw a poor little boy off a cliff?"

My dad. My dad would.

Well, not on any normal basis, and to the best of my knowledge, I am the first and only child for him to pitch. I can't really hold it against him though. Mainly, I blame peer pressure. Being a chief has the tendency to do that. But let me start from the beginning.

I kept my bright gaze as I grew, and never stopped seeing the world with a childlike innocence. Everything was new, and good. I never said a word, never needed to, but kept my ears a tuned to every sound. I laughed often, silently, and teared up occasionally when I was upset, the perfect baby by any standards. My curiosity propelled me to walk, my stubby legs carrying me into dangerous places, but my thirst for knowledge was never quelled. I studied and observed, taking in the world around me, but even then, I still learned new things in the confined home I was kept.

I was born to the chief of the clan of the Moors, as I said. A man named Stoick and his wife, Valka. It was odd, out of all the vikings on the island, Stoick was the largest and most feared, and yet, I was the smallest babe to ever be born. With my prolonged speech development and over enthusiasm for everything, the chief and his wife both feared there was something wrong with me. And we all know what vikings did with things that where different.

No, that's not when he pitched me off the cliff! Keep your shirt on!

One night, when I was about three years old, ol' papa bear sat me on his lap and told me of the story of the Red Death. I remember it well. It was the queen of all dragons, the size of a mountain with six eyes and razor sharp teeth. All the dragon ever did was eat, and that's why the dragons had raided the island so often. He then told me that he and the tribe and hunted down the dragon, slaying it to free the other dragons from their bondage.

I sat eager, my bright eyes wide with excitement. To me, at that time, Stoick was a strong, proud warrior. He was unbeatable! As the man's story came to a close, he finished with, "Dragon's are dangerous, and can't be trusted. You must stay away from them."

This confused me. Didn't he just finish saying that he had killed the head dragon? I scrunched my eyebrows together and opened my mouth, uttering my first word.


Stoick was so stunned by the sound that he didn't answer my question. Instead, he picked me up in a hug and ran to find mom.

So, what was life like for a mostly mute, scrawny fishbone in viking society? Imagine a fish swimming upstream in a river full of hairy boulders wearing helmets and occasionally bashing into each other. Now imagine the river is made of fire, and the fish is a guppy. It was great, thanks for asking.

My best friend was a blonde girl, one year younger than me, named Astrid. She possessed a happy facilitation to my morbid curiosity. The girl was a catalyst, always asking questions, making me think. Still, I never spoke a word to her, but silently answered everything she wanted to know.

Astrid was much kinder to me then any other children on the island. There was my impish cousin, Snotlout, who proclaimed he would be the next chief since he was so much bigger than I. Then there was Fishlegs, a strange case, still had a thirst for knowledge…but he didn't learn, he memorized. And he never shut up, which perturbed me to no end. Finally, the twins, Tuffnut and Ruffnut. They never used their brains, and mindlessly did the bidding of Snotlout. The group of us attempted to play together, but never got along. Fights always broke out for one reason or another.

Sick of my tiresome company, I befriended a terrible terror. Although, being on a island full of vikings didn't bode well with the friendship. When Stoick saw his son feeding a terror, he was enraged. He grabbed me by the collar and lifted me off the ground.

"We don't play with dragons!" He shrieked.

I distinctly remember trembling in my father's grasp as I asked with a shaky voice. "Why?"

He set me down. "Just. Don't." Was his only answer. I really hated that he never answered me. That was the point of asking questions! Oh well, the past is in the past. Moving on!

I was born at a very unfortunate time for the tribe. For whatever reason, the dragon raids had started up all over again, and right at the same time I was born.

Talk about an unfortunate coincidence. As the years progressed, the chief tried to do anything he could to get the dragons to go away. Finally, mom volunteered to go out and see what was happening on Dragon Island.

Tearfully, she collected me and proclaimed, "I must go and find out what is happening."

"Why?" I asked back, hoping for an answer.

She didn't. Instead, she smiled and kissed my forehead, bidding me farewell. "Never stop being curious, Hiccup."

That was the last time I saw my mother.

Still, I didn't let that dampen my perspective on the world. I kept on dreaming that she would come home.

Unfortunately, the dragon problem got worse. Stoick's people were starving, as destruction befell them at every turn.

It was a dark and tumulus night when they came. They banged on the door, hatred echoing through the wood.

"Kill the runt! Sacrifice the boy!" They chanted, forming an angry mob outside of the Haddock house.

Little five-year-old me hid behind my father, clinging to his tunic.

"It's going to be alright." My father reassured.

I was not so sure. I saw the contempt in their eyes. Vikings were stubborn and violent.

My father opened the door and begged with his people. I was his only child. His heir. The only thing left of his wife.

The crowd turned deaf to his pleas.

There were few things I understood from back then. My father was the greatest, strongest, and bravest. He protect me to the end. But I was confused when I was snatched up behind my father's legs and taken over to the cliff face.

As much as I meditate on it, all I arrive at is more questions. Why me? Why did it happen? Why did he allow it?

"I have been wrought with dissension, I will do as you ask of me, making this sacrifice, but know that if this is wrong, you all will feel my wrath." He spoke above the crowd.

No one spoke as he moved forward and held me out over the edge. His large hands clutched onto my ribs, the only thing that kept me from the churring sea below, the last contact I would have with my father.

"Hiccup, what is about to happen will be frightening. But, it is for the best." he tried to dissuade his fear and guilt, but to no avail.

I looked at him with my all seeing green eyes. "Why?" My voice was soft.

Seeing a man with the strength of a mountain cry tears of shame would shake any child's dreams. My father swallowed hard and resolutely held me over the edge. "Be gone, and let Odin have mercy on your soul!" Then he let go.

While that happened so long ago, I can remember it perfectly. It's a moment that haunts me at night where I jolt awake and grab at what used to be my legs. I should have been scared, terrified in fact. I was so small, and the cliff was so high. I should have screamed. But I wasn't and I didn't. The wind whistled in my ears as my heart kissed my brain. I was too astounded by the feeling to be afraid. I was almost flying.

If only in one direction.

I hit the water and instantly, the bones in my legs snapped like twigs. I didn't really feel it, as the shock from falling 200 feet to icy water consumed me. I sank like a rock, the air from my lungs rushing from my lips to rise to the surface without me. My hand reached out, aching from the frigid water.

That night, I could have died. But I didn't. Instead, the water gave me a present. I still don't know why or how. But it knit my bones and changed me. I became something stronger and more fascinating then any of the dragon fighters could have ever imagined.

I have so many questions, and I need answers. And I'm going to get them one way or another.