The Prince of Dragons
Summary: What if at a young age Hiccup was taken away from Berk and raised by dragons. How would this affect his future? How would this affect his family, what would happen if Hiccup returned to Berk years later?
Some of you may or may not remember this shoddy piece of craftsmanship. I deleted because I was ashamed of it. Here it is though, from the bowels of the internet. I fished out it friends, after someone messaged me, asking for it. I asked them why and told me it was a great work of fanfiction. So, I brought it back…I'll be uploading a chapter a day. Once I get the editing done…and to that one person…thank you.
The Prince of Dragons
Chapter 1: The Raid
Long ago, in a time long forgotten, there were said to be dragons. In the far cold regions of the north, there were Vikings who fought these magnificent creatures. There were preposterously huge sea dragons that ruled the cold deep blue sea. Small dragons the size of beetles hunted insects and other small creatures that roamed in the fields. Vicious sky dragons that ruled the great heights above and hunted in well-organized packs. Now imagine for a moment that you are a small child barely a year-old named Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. I know it's a longish name, but please try to remember it. But anyway, imagine you lived on a tiny island in the middle of the Barbaric Archipelago under the name Berk. That is where our story begins.
In the middle of the Barbaric Archipelago, there is a tiny island named Berk. Home to the tribe known as the Hairy Hooligans, led by Chief Stoic the Vast, Oh Hear His Name and Tremble Ugg, Ugh. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third was Chief Stoic the Vast's only son and the rightful heir to the Tribe of Hairy Hooligans. Stoic the Vast was with his lovely wife Valka, they sat on the porch of their home overlooking the small Viking Village. They were a happy couple to say the least. Stoic the Vast was rather on the large side and pretty much what you'd expect from a Viking Chief. Loud, charismatic, strong and not the exactly the sharpest tool in the workshop, but not even close to blunt. He had a red beard that looked almost as if it had just been attacked by a violent bird of prey. His eyes were kinda overshadowed by his massive tangled mess of a beard, but they were deep blue pools that could pierce a hole right into your soul. Valka on the other hand was a little on the small side for a Viking Valkyrie. Valka was different to say the least, the runt of her generation. It took her four years to pass Hooligan Initiation, and even then, she only barely passed. Her appearance shared many similarities to her son, with short brown hair and pure emerald green eyes, she was average. Their son though was even more average looking, Hiccup was wrapped in a warm cloth, in the comforting hands of his mother.
They were just sitting there enjoying the nice evening sunset, as Dagr the God of days rule was coming to an end. It was a beautiful sight, that sunset, a magnificent orange and red mix that only got more beautiful as the sun descended. Valka looked down lovingly at her brown-haired baby boy, and his little green eyes. Hiccup wore small wool clothes that were dirt brown and not very interesting. To be honest Hiccup was odd for a Viking child, with a face that was entirely unmemorable. He was incredibly small for even a Viking Baby, he was just so oddly small, but that didn't matter to the Hooligan couple. Hiccup was asleep now, he was almost dead to the world in a way, if it wasn't for his small inward breathes, you could hardly tell he was alive.
"I love it when he sleeps, it's like watching an image of Thor the Thunderer."
Valka said with happiness in here heavenly voice. As far as the she was concerned, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third was perfect in every way. From his emerald green eyes to his small frail body, that little Hooligan Baby meant the world to her. Stoic smiled and then retorted back.
"Yes, Yes...I just wish he wasn't so much on the small side." Stoic replied.
"You're terrible!" Valka said with a smile. She knew Stoic thought that Hiccup was just as perfect as could be. The Viking Chief shrugged his massive shoulders.
"Hey, I'm only saying."
"Apologize to him."
"I'm sorry Hiccup."
Stoic said with a smile, as he softly gripped one of Hiccup's tiny fingers. Meanwhile, near Hooligan Harbor two Vikings patrolled from a watch tower. They sat on the observation deck, Bucket and Mulch, they were pretty much like most Vikings. Big, with muscles upon muscles but not a whole lot happening in the brain department. The two were watching the distant shores through spy glasses, watching for any sides of enemy ships or worse dragon attacks. Bucket and Mulch weren't exactly the sharpest arrows in the quiver. Especially Bucket who had been struck numerous times on the head by lightning throughout his life, it had a certain effect on his intellect...but it did make him an outstanding artist.
"Mulch why are we here again?"
"(Sighs) For Thor's sake Bucket, we're on patrol, watching for dragons or enemy ships. How many times have I told you that?"
"Umm…let me think."
"It was a question that didn't need answering."
Bucket continued to look through his view finder, as the large husky man then said.
"Is that an enemy ship?"
Mulch looked through his view finder and sighed again.
"That would be an island…"
"No that's another island."
"No, that's a Roman Fleet."
"Oh…okay then…is that?"
"Nope that's a-
The two Hooligans hesitated for a moment and then looked back at a rather large Roman invasion force. With flags that read in Latin, the 8th Legion. Without warning, a large catapult fired a boulder at Hooligan Harbor. It slammed into the harbor crushing boats and part of the very gigantic dock itself. Bucket and Mulch rang the warning bell, which involved Mulch slamming a large metal object against Buckets head. The Hooligans quickly armed themselves with axes, swords, shields and other various metal weapons. Some of the Vikings manned the Catapults others made a defensive line at the harbor entrance to the village. All the while the Roman's began docking at the shores of Berk. At the heart of the defensive line was Stoic the Vast. The barbarian chieftain stepped forward with his brother Spitelout Jorgenson and his best friend Gobber the Belch at his side. Spitelout was a little bit thinner than his brother and had a face that may have reminded you of a bull. His hair was pitch black and his eyes as dark as two coals. Gobber on the other hand was a short man about the size of Stoic. He had no hair except for a twisted yellow mustache. The Blacksmith was also missing a left arm and a right leg. Also he may have had slack jaw but nobody really knew. The large beefy chief wielded an ax in one hand and a flash point sword in the other. Stoic turned to Gobber.
"What have we got?"
"Romans, a whole legion by the looks of it." Gobber answered.
"What do they want?"
Stoic the Vast asked, before he turned to his brother. Spitelout answered.
"Who knows, they just attacked us out of the blue!"
"Well, then there's only one thing to do." Stoic said sternly.
All the Hairy Hooligans smiled happily at each other. There Chief turned to his tribe.
"Let's give these Romans a warm welcome!"
The Vikings cheered, blood-lust in their eyes as they cracked there knuckles together and readied there weapons. All Vikings loved a good fight. The Hooligans waited for the inevitable, as Roman Soldiers began to charge up the docks. There was something odd about them, they were all frost bitten and had layers of ice wrapped over them. The Roman Soldiers dashed forward with little strategy. No formation, this was odd for the well-organized Roman war machine. But none of the Hooligans seemed to really care, they were angry at this sudden invasion. Rightfully so, in the traditional Hooligan manner, none of them asked any questions. The Romans with their cold icy weapons slashed at the Vikings. But for every slash the Romans made, the Vikings would only respond by bashing the Roman's heads in. Jorgenson ran into battle fiercely knocking out ten Romans at a time with his bare hands. Gobber was parrying dozens of sword blows at a time which was remarking seeing how he had a peg leg. But then the blacksmith Hooligan would swiftly slice at ten of the Romans. Every other member of the Hooligan Tribe also did a formidable job, especially the chief who was like watching a living weapon in battle. He twirled an ax around him with one hand and parried dozens of Roman blows with the other. This style of fighting was known as the 'Fighting Against Superior Numbers Maneuver' a skill that could only be performed by the most skilled of Viking warriors. More frost bitten Roman's ran in, but it was still not enough to take down the Hooligan Tribe. The attacking Romans eventually began to die down and bark bitter retreats in Latin. The Hooligans cheered and jeered at the departing Romans.
"Don't come back you toga wearing Jupiter Worshipers!"
Stoic smiled under his beard but his smile would soon fade as Valka dashed up to him. She was limping a bit and bleeding at the leg. The Viking woman didn't look angry, she looked down right terrified of something awful that happened.
"Stoic! Stoic!" Valka yelled at the top of her lungs.
Stoic looked at Valka in confusion and shock, he ran up to her as he sheaved his Sword and Double Headed ax. Valka nearly collapsed but Stoic managed to catch her before she hit the ground. He then noticed all the other Romans, at least fifty of them. Ransacking huts and houses, stealing all kinds of things, without even a command by their chief, the Hairy Hooligans rushed into battle as Stoic stood there as Valka then breathed out.
"They got him! They got him!"
"Yes! I tried to protect him Stoic! I really did but- there were-."
Stoic put a fat finger to his wife's lips. The Chief smiled as he grabbed out his double headed axe.
"It's okay Val, you did you're best, wait here. I have some Romans to Bash."
Valka nodded as tears nearly formed in her eyes. She thought the worst, what would happen if they had gotten Hiccup. The Hooligan Chief carefully placed Valka delicately on the ground and dashing over to be all the action was.
"I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU ROMANS! PREPARE TO FACE THE WRATH OF STOIC THE VAST."
Stoic cried out in anger as he began to follow the rest of his tried back into battle. Every single Hooligan fought with remarkable bravery and charisma as they proudly followed there chief. Pulling of a variety of moves and parries, and all while seeming to be having a good time, it had been quiet in Berk for the last few months. No raids, or dragon attacks, this added a bit of much needed excitement to the Hooligans lives. But Stoic didn't have time for fun, he was furious. Stoic the Vast rushed up the hillside battling Roman after Roman soldier. The Romans, like the ones retreating into the boats, were covered in thick layers of ice. This made them stiff and it was hard for them to effectively move around. Eventually after bashing the heads of dozens of frozen Roman Soldiers, Stoic made it to his home. He opened the door in the midst of wrath, to his shock there were no Romans inside. Frantically, Chief Stoic the Vast began to yell for his sons name in vain. He checked every part of the small Viking house until he eventually made to the upper level of the house. He looked on in pure horror to see a Roman General with a knife in his icy heads. Rocking carefully on a wooden chair with a deranged smirk on his face, and in his hands wrapped in a wool blanket was a small Hooligan baby. The Roman General was you're typical Roman only he had hardly any hair, let alone eyebrows or lashes. All of his body hair must have fallen off in some blizzard not too long ago. Also, he was shivering, and his teeth chattered into between sentences. In very terribly articulated Norse he said.
"Ello, there oh, big scary barbarian, yous have a beautiful child."
Stoic took a few steps forward in rage, ready to slice the Roman's head off with a flick of his fat wrists. But then the Roman edged the knife ever so slightly closer to Hiccup's head.
"I wouldn't be's moving if I was yous."
He said with a pale face that had miniature icicles hanging of the sides. Two more Roman soldiers came out from the shadowy sides of the house. Stoic tightened his grip on the weapons he held in his hands.
"We's sorry for this attack,we's really is, but we ran into a how do you say, Blizzard Storm."
The Roman General said still holding the knife dangerously close to young Hiccup's head. As the little baby snoozed on completely unaware of what was happening. Stoic grit his teeth in fury, he stood there annoyed and outraged. The Roman leader went on.
"We're cold and is in needs of food, now you's gives uses, all yous food then we will be ons our way. But if you fail to comply…yours boy wills be taking a nice dirt nap."
The Roman said with a twisted smile, Stoic looked as if he was going to explode. He didn't know what to do; they were Vikings, Hooligans nonetheless. Hooligans didn't surrender, nor did they negotiate with Romans. But then the Roman slashed at Hiccup's chin ever so lightly, so it would leave a permanent scar. Stoic grew fearful like any parent. But the Roman General then went.
"Nos, Nos, Nos, that's nots how's wes be doing this dance."
"If you dare hurt my son again."
"I wouldn'ts dreams of its. Just surrender now, or else."
With a great heavy sigh and a big hit to the Chiefs pride, Stoic dropped his sword and his ax. The frost bitten Roman smiled as the two guards escorted Stoic out of the house. Their swords to Stoics throat ready to send his guts to the ground. Needless to say, when they moseyed on down to the harbor entrance where all the Hooligans where stationed, they were a sight to behold. The Hooligans were shocked and surprised to see their mighty chief defeated. Many of the Hooligans looked down right infuriated, and where ready to fight and save Stoic within the blink of an eye. Even Stoic could have easily gotten out of that situation and bashed the frozen Romans heads in faster than you could say 'What Just Happened'. But the Hooligan Chief resisted, the life of his son was more important to him then his own. Hiccup meant the world to Stoic, if he died, then a piece of him would die as well. Stoic sideways glanced in rage to see the Leader of the Romans with that fiendishly sharp knife ready to cut his sleeping son into a million pieces. Valka approached Stoic and the Romans.
"Stoic what's happening...?"
She quickly examined the situation and noticed the small scar now present on Hiccup's chin. Valka went wide eyed as anger filled her eyes, she raised her sword, ready to kill the Roman bastard. But Stoic let out a hand and made her calm down. The Shield Maiden understood the situation...that didn't mean she had to like it. Stoic ordered his tribe to back down, they then begrudgingly were forced to hand over half of the food they had locked in storage for winter. This mostly conceived of fish, barrels upon barrels of fish. With bitter angry faces the Vikings handed them to the Frost bitten Roman Soldiers. The Leader looked at Stoic as the two lackeys let him go. The two great leaders watched from the docks of the harbor as the icy Romans loaded the barrels onto their war ships. Stoic was so annoyed and fixated on the lead Roman holding his son captive that he failed to notice the dozens of tiny red barrels being tossed onto Hooligan ships. The Roman smiled coldly as he forced Stoic to focus on him.
"Don'ts feel bads barbarian, me's ess thinks that well this is all over we'll be as far away from this place as possible. Gone's forevers."
"What are you even doing this far North anyway? If you don't mind me asking?"
Stoic said trying to make small talk. The Roman grew bitter, from the chief's comment, from his golden breast plate he pulled out a wanted poster with a sketch of a rather hideous brute of a man on it. Under the drawing it read.
**Wanted: Drago Bludvist**
**Crime(s): Dragon Rustling, Crimes against Rome, General Odor **
The Roman went on as his Frost-Bitten face seemed to lighten up a bit.
"Mr. Bludvist has been attacking and looting our ships. We only's wants him behinds bars. It's nothing personals. We chased him up North and got caught in blizzard, nows wes standing heres."
Stoic wasn't convinced. The Romans always had been a busy lot of organized fellows Hell-bent on taking over the world. As far as Stoic was concerned the only good Roman was a dead Roman. As the last barrel of fish was loaded onto a boat, the rest of the Hairy Hooligan tribe wandered down to the docks. Anger encompassing them, they were all thinking the same thing, 'Good Riddance, Roman Filth'. With a devilish smirk, the cold icy Roman patted Stoic on the back and then handed him the young heir wrapped in a thick cloth. Valka quickly limped up to the scene as the Roman Ships began to swiftly depart. The Chief's Wife grabbed her baby but then quickly realized something. She opened up the cloth to see that Hiccup wasn't there, Valka looked on in Horror as the Roman Leader leaped onto the main Roman Galleon. With a sharp point of her fingers, Valka cried out.
"Stop him! That Limpid Eating Roman Rube! He stole my son!" Valka yelled in a fit of rage.
Valka nearly went ballistic; it took the combined efforts of both Gobber and Spitelout to hold her down. Tears began to stream from her eyes as Chief Stoic quickly shouted.
"Quick! To the Boats!"
But then disaster struck, flaming arrows began to launch from the departing Roman ships. They slammed into the Hooligan war boats, preciously hitting each and every single red barrel. Those red barrel's must have been filled with some kind of explosive powder. Sending the war boats rising into the air in a fiery explosion, a third of the harbor lit up in smoke. The Leader of the Eighth legion then cried out.
"You won'ts bes leavings anytime soons! Don'ts follow us! Or wes killings you're son! It's funnies, you thought you won this battle! But wes dids instead! Isn't Fate Artistic!"
The Roman Shouted from his boat as he waved a hardy goodbye. Stoic was outraged by this sneaky treachery. He began to take off bits of his armor. Gobber the Belch grabbed onto one of his shoulders.
"What do ya think you're doing?!"
"I'm going after those ships! I'll swim if I have to, anyway I can, I'm going to get my son back!"
Spitelout interrupted as Stoics brother desperately tried to hold onto a now weeping Valka.
"Brother, you know that's suicide, those waters are treacherous, besides you'll never catch up to him."
The whole tribe looked onto Stoic sympathetically. They gave him looks of sorrow and even some of them took off their helmets as a sigh of respect to their great chief. Gobber looked him in the eyes.
"Stoic…face it, he's gone, I'm sorry."
Stoic looked out to the Roman Ships that seemed to be at least a mile away now. Without any Viking Ships to get into, the Hooligan Tribe was stuck there on Berk. Unable to help out there young heir. To make matters worse half of their food supply was stolen and it was the middle of winter. Over all it had been a bad day for the Hairy Hooligan Tribe. Stoic looked off into the distance and turned back silently, as the Hooligans bowed their heads in respect. They had suffered a great loss.
THE MIDDLE OF THE OCEAN
Night descended onto the world as Nott, the god of the night, went onto rule the darkness. After a few hours of sailing, the Romans were a vast distance away from Berk. They were in the calm desolate seas of the south. The Roman's looked up north, relishing in their victory over the Hooligan Tribe as their fleet and their war ships began to sail back to their familiar shores. They cheered and sang their Latin chants praising the Roman Gods for their victory. Many of the starving soldiers began to dine on mackerel and salmon over small fire contained on the ship. While that was happening, the Leader of the 8th legion sat in his war tent, his advisers surrounding him. He was debating what to do with the captured Hooligan Heir, the Leader of the Roman's looked down at the young infant in his hands. Still sleeping softly dreaming pleasant dreams, unaware of his current situation. A Roman centurion stepped forward, in his native tongue he said.
"I say we toss him into the ocean, be done with him. He's outlived his usefulness. "
Another centurion stepped forward.
"I say we take the little barbarian back to Rome. Teach him of our ways, who knows, he might be worth something in battle someday."
The other roman shot back.
"This skinny Viking, look at him, he has arms like spaghetti. It would be a miracle if he could hold an ax in the future."
The Leader sighed, while he looked back down at the small sleeping infant. Not really caring for the boy's fate himself he got and began to walk over to the deck of the Roman Long Boat.
"Your right, he does look rather on the small side. We should probably just drown him."
The Roman Leader was only a few feet away from the deck of the boat when something odd happened. Something big and massive hit the boat, sending vibrations through the haul of the ship. Some of the Roman's tripped and stumbled a bit. Instantly they were put on edge. Then another massive thump hit the long boat. This time it was louder, and it practically shocked the foundations of the galleon. The Leader set down the Hooligan Baby on one of the fish barrels and drew his double headed ax. With a great thunderous yell, he ordered the Roman's to man their battle stations. Everyone Roman Legionnaire grabbed their swords and their shields, they looked over the edge of their boats to see large shadowy objects. These shadows dwarfed some of the larger fleet boats. All of the 8th legion swallowed hard as the thumps on the ships became ever so common. 'Thump, Thump, Thump'. But the Romans were so busy looking at the sea below that they didn't notice the large swarm of dragons above.
The pack was filled to the brim with Deadly Nadder's and Gronckle's. Even a few Zippleback's and Monstrous Nightmares were in the large flock. All starring hungrily at the barrels upon barrels of fish. There was enough fish there to feed them and a certain large Alpha Dragon for at least a week. The Romans were far too enchanted by the twisted thumping to notice the dragons. Then without warning a Monstrous Nightmare fired balls of burning flames at one of the long boats. The Roman's screamed in terror as Dragons began to swarm over the Roman Ships. It was a horrific sight of slaughter. The Roman's didn't even stand a chance. They were worn out from the fighting with the Hooligan Tribe. Also, the Roman's like many people from the South didn't have any experience in fighting dragons. Many thought the creatures didn't even exist. The Roman's tried to push the dragons back with little effect. The dragons were just to strong. For the dragons it was like an all you can kill shmorgishborg, as they mowed down several of Rome's finest soldiers with a simple flick of their extra extendable claws. They ripped apart white sails that hung above the Roman's heads. Then for good measure set fire to the very same sails until they were dark ash. The Roman soldiers with their weak swords and flimsy shields tried to parry the constant sword cutting pain of the dragon's talons, fangs and fiery breathe. But this quickly proved useless.
The Leader of the 8th legion watched in absolute terror as his entire legion was massacred. Some died from injuries or severe burns. Others were eaten alive or thrown overboard and they drowned. But then came one of the final finishing blows to the 8th legion. A dragon faster than a bolt of Thor's mighty lighting came flying in at preposterously high speeds. It came in like a blur and with one fire blast that was more comparable to a mini-supernova came in and practically vaporized one of the boats next to the lead boat. The sea shock violently around the remaining Roman Ships as that same blurry dragon took down boat after boat, after boat. Other dragons made sure to collect the barrels filled with fish before that blur of a dragon took them down. Shakily the Commanding Legionnaire watched the battle unfold now cowering behind a large barrel of fish as dragons began to descend and take whatever food remained. But then the blur of a dragon did a remarkable thing. It descends onto the boat, the lead legionnaire peered over the barrel to catch glimpse at the unknown dragon. Which shocked him greatly; it was a Night Fury, known in these parts as the Unholy Offspring of Lighting and Death itself. It's skin a dark blue and it's body vicious looking...built for combat. What then followed sent every hair on the legionnaire upright.
A Deadly Nadder swooped by and took the Lead Roman's hiding spot. Leaving the Lead Roman there, starring the Night Fury dead in the eyes, in those ancient green reptilian slits, the eyes of a killer. With a gulp the Legionnaire attempted to grab his sword, but this was a foolish mistake. The Night Fury pounced on the Legionnaire and gazed right into the lead Roman's eyes. Within a few seconds, the Night Fury lost interest; the terrified sweating man was simply not worth his time. The Night Fury simply took its large paws off the Roman and began to turn away. The Legionnaire stood up, then the Night Fury swatted the Roman off the galleon with a flick of his tail. The leader landed hard into the soggy cold water. Then through the cold water, and his chattering teeth, the Lead Roman began to laugh crazily. Slowly at first but then that chuckle turned into an all-out maddening laugh, he thought he had escaped the cruel clutches of death. But Fate was not that kind to the Roman, he had spit into the face of the great typhoon one to many times. The Roman then looked around him to see a large dark green sea dragon circling him. This dragon was of course a Scauldron, the Lead Roman tried frantically to swim away, but then the Scauldron snapped the Roman by his legs and dragged the legionnaire down to the depths below. Causing the Roman to curse under the water as he desperately tried to get air. But his luck had run out and he died under the treacherous sea. Funnyâ€¦the man, who thought he outsmarted the Hooligans and escaped the narrow clutches of death, dies in the end. Now isn't fate just artistic?
THE LAIR OF THE RED DEATH
The Night Fury looked down from above at the raw destruction his pack had caused. The Roman Fleet was gone, the eighth legion destroyed. It was beautiful in a way. Twisted but beautiful, something about the burning flesh and wood in the middle of the ocean, there's just something about it that makes that scene beautiful. The Night Fury flew ahead of the pack of various dragons. He didn't carry anything, why should he? He's the heavy hitter of the pack, the one to come in to deal the final blow. But the various other dragons behind him carried exactly one hundred barrels of fish through the air. Some carried Yaks or Sheep and other animals of that nature. But the pack was really lucky to have hit a Roman Ship tonight. Within about an hour of flying, the dragons eventually made it to a large dark mountainous island. This island was hidden in layers of grey fog. The various breeds of dragon flew into the mountain side until they reached a narrowed out cave entrance. They flew inside, and then strangely enough, the dragons dumped at least half of the fish into a large pit. Several hundred fish, yak, and sheep were all poured down into a large pit with an orange to tinge to it. All of the Dragons perched up around walls gathering around the volcanic pit. A Deadly Nadder then flew in it only dropped off a small dead chicken, it looked tired and beaten. Almost as if the dragon had just come out of massive battle. The Deadly Nadder just hovered there for a second. A low growl could be heard at the bottom the pit. It was an enraged growl that would have given your worst nightmares, nightmares. Then a large Alpha Dragon with six bugs like eyes showed its ugly head. It then swallowed the Deadly Nadder whole, with no remorse. The Alpha Dragon then disappeared down into the cavern. The Night Fury looked on in disgust, but then quickly perched itself on a flat rock. Some of the other dragons landed on the same flat rock. All of them snarling and growling in Dragonese, The Language of the Dragons. As they conversed, some of the dragons dumped one of the barrels of fish onto the cold dark cavern floors. A Nadder looked down at the large orange hole were the Red Death once was. The Nadder shrieked.
"I hate the Master."
"What else is new?" The Night Fury asked as it began to mindlessly chew on a few fish.
"No, I really hate the Master."
Shrieked the annoyed Deadly Nadder as it looked down the hole. Alpha Dragons had this way about them that allowed them to control other dragons in a pack formation. Alpha's were like the Queen bee in a beehive. Most them were lazy killers who sat in solitary locations waiting for their next meal. Some were violent beasts who went out and waged pack wars with each other. Most of them were cruel and some of them weren't but most dragons weren't lucky enough to find a humble Alpha Dragon. The Nadder then spoke again.
"That was one of my brothers, we grew up in the Caliban Caves together, and then he just ended up dying like that despicable cannibal." The Deadly Nadder said again. A twin headed Zippleback interrupted.
"Just be glad it wasn't one of us."
"Yeah, one of us."
The Zippleback twin heads said with a cackle. The Night Fury began to pick at some of the mackerel. A lazy couple of acme covered Gronckle's joined the conversation.
"Look on the bright side; at least we get to dine on some nice Mackerel."
"Yeah, just don't pig out like last time."
The Nadder began to indulge itself in some of the fish, practically the salmon. It eyed the Gronckle's as they nearly choked on all the fish they tried to eat at once.
"You Gronckle's, the only thing you care about is your next meal. Look at yourselves; you're so fat and out of shape, it's a miracle you can even lift yourselves off the ground."
The Gronckle's got angry and began to charge up their mouths for a lava blast. The Nadder quickly noticed this and readied the spines on its tail. The Zippleback egged the three dragons on.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
The Night Fury shot out a plasma blast that lit up the cavern floor. All reptilian eyes turned in fear to the Night Fury.
"Quiet, I'm trying to eat."
The Night Fury said angrily at his fellow dragons. All the dragons calmed down quickly and began to feast on the fish. Then something odd happened. Something began to rustle around inside the pile of fish. Every dragon practically sighed.
"Oh, great, another Terror got into the pile."
One of the Gronckle's said annoyed. The Night Fury flicked away some of the fish until oddly enough for the dragons only a small baby human remained. A few of the dragons starred hungrily at the infant.
"Oh, it's not a Terror; it's something much more terrible."
"Pesky little human."
"Kill it now."
The dragons said with malicious smiles in their fangs. The young Viking infant began to cry and scream for his mother. The Night Fury looked at the infant child and couldn't help but feel sorrow for the boy. With a swat of his tail, the other dragons stopped dead in their tracks.
"It's a child, not even a child, an infant, why should we kill it?"
"Well what else are we supposed to do with it?"
One of the Gronckle's asked if confusion, dragons and humans did not intermingle. Even when they did, it was kill or be killed, as the dragons would have to gather food for the Master and themselves. The most efficient and obvious way was to raid humans, and outside of brute force and violence, most dragons always thought of humans as dumb brutes. So, none of the dragons really knew what to do with the human, but reluctantly, the twin heads of the Zippleback answered.
"I say we smash it."
"I say we eat it."
"I call the legs."
"I call the hands."
The other head responded. The Night Fury rolled its reptilian eyes.
"No... we raise it."
All the dragons eyed the Night Fury in confused awe; the Nadder spoke the general disapproval.
"Have you gone mad? It's a filthy stinking human, they kill us for sport. And if they don't do that they chain us and then let their children kill us. Why, repeat why, should we let a human into our pack?"
"If that Human was a dragon, would you not raise it like one of your own."
"You're talking about two completely different things Night Fury; one day that human will be a vicious killer. Best get rid of him now before he kills one of us."
Almost as if the young Hiccup heard those words the infant got about and began to crawl it's way over to one of the Gronckle's. Every dragon froze, not exactly sure what to think of the little mushy looking thing. The Hooligan baby then surprising hugged the Gronckle with its tiny frail arms and began to laugh playfully. Appreciating the affection, the Gronckle decided to give the young one a friendly lick. The Night Fury gave a victorious look to the Nadder.
"Yeah, you're right; he looks like a killer to me. Look out Gronckle; he might smoother you to death with his meaty little arms."
"Fine he can stay, but if this thing turns on us, it'll be you who's feed to the Master, not any of us." The Nadder said, still voicing the disapproval.
The Night Fury rolled its large reptilian eyes and began to walk over to the infant Hiccup. With a small nip of his toothless jaws, he lifted the young infant by the cloth wrapped around him and placed him down away from the pile of fish. The Dragons then proceeded to eat there somewhat nice meal. Then for after the meal, many of the dragons drifted to sleep, they either perched up on the walls or the ceiling. That or they lied in gigantic piles around the cavern. The Night Fury found a flat patch to sleep on that night. Hiccup had already drifted off into an deep sleep and laid on the cold cavern floor unaware of anything. Unaware that he was no longer on his cozy little isle. Unaware that he could never see his mother or father again. The Night Fury carefully and quietly grabbed Hiccup again by the back of the shirt collar of the minuscule clothes he wore. Then he laid the Hooligan Viking down on the softest piece of rock he could find then, he curled up in a ball around Hiccup. Afterwards the Night Fury himself fell asleep.
That night in the Hooligan Village of Berk was a sad and depressing one. What should have been a night of celebration and joy turned into possibly one of the worst days in Hooligan history. The heir to the Hairy Hooligans stolen from the tribe, it was enough to break even the toughest men and women. Stoic the Vast had sat in his hut on his tenth glass of mead and still going. Valka had gone up to the master bedroom mostly to cry. The Chief thought it was best to leave her to it. The Hooligan Chief just sat there in the living room drinking. Thinking about all the things he was never going to be able to do with his son. He was never going to be able to go hunting with him, or fishing, dragon hunting, mountain climbing, and worst of all he wouldn't be able to watch his son, his own son. Grow up. That is if he was still...Stoic did not want to think about it. Stoic quickly poured himself another glass of mead, and then drank it. He loved his son, and the look on his face was one of despair, confusion and sadness. Stoic the Vast tried desperately not to think about it, he even said to himself.
"There will be other sons' other heirs."
But then it seemed even the wind was feeling sorry for him. Like a faceless man it entered the Chief's house and whispered in Stoics ears.
"But not like Hiccup, you've lost him, lost him forever and_ _ever and ever_."
Stoic tried his best not to tear up. But his eyes betrayed him, and he began to slowly blurt out tears. What kind of Chief was he? What kind of chief was unable to protect his own son?