A/N:

This is a pile of information about what you're getting yourself into. If you'd prefer to skip to the story, scroll down to "Chapter 1 :" after the next Author Note.

-SwT-

Title: Siding with Them

Description:

Thrown off a cliff and captured by the tribe's greatest (human) enemy; how could things get any worse? A moment of sacrifice (and a dash of magic) leads poor Hiccup on an adventure of trust and fear that will leave him forever (physically) changed. HTTYD1 AU. T-rated. Transformation.

-SwT-

Reading instructions:

The use of the separator "-SwT-" indicates a POV switch or significant jump in time. When reading, expect to be suddenly somewhere else reading someone else's view when that separator appears.

Rating justification:

This story is rated T for overuse of "Hel," "Damn" and "Damnit," and passing descriptions of injuries. Er… graphic descriptions. Dang, I didn't leave much to the imagin… ahem. Descriptions of injuries. There will be blood and probably tears too.

Writing schedule:

I don't have a writing schedule. I also have a very strange life. To avoid long pauses in updates in the middle of events (the kind that infuriate me about other stories) I'm writing entire arcs before publishing. Yep, whole arcs. Like all of HTTYD1's events. Done and ready to post.

Alternate Universe primer:

I've never read the books. I don't plan on reading the books. All locations and persons should be assumed to be movie!verse, unless stated otherwise by the characters themselves in needed exposition.

As for the distances between islands, they're roughly half what the RTTE map describes. It's nearly impossible to time a damn story around day-and-a-half flight times on dragon-back. HTTYD 1 definitely ignored canon flight times and so do I.

As for how else this universe is alternate: Magic. Damn magic. There is a long and complicated history and set of rules behind its existence and use, that I spent months sorting out before even beginning to write.

-SwT-

Disclaimers:

I don't own How To Train Your Dragon, in part or in whole. I release any claim of ownership of any character, place, or series of events featured herein. This work is released for Free Public Enjoyment as a Non-Comedic Parody and is not intended to compete with, pirate, or otherwise infringe upon the property of Dreamworks Animation or Cressida Cowell.

The only portion of this story of which I wish to retain ownership is the system of magic used by those characters of which I have no ownership.

As this work is Parody of another work, I make no claims or limitations on any further derivative works, beyond what limitations are set by the original owners of characters and events herein (Dreamworks Animation and Cressida Cowell).

In short: It's FanFiction. I'm releasing it for free. I'm not trying to steal anyone's livelihoods. Please don't sue me, and please don't steal that incredibly weird and complex magic system thing.

-SwT-

A/N:

Welcome to this thing I've been hinting to people I know IRL for a year now. It's finally here! I think I've spent over a whole year on it at this point, including spending all summer 2015 developing the backstory and AU world. I don't think I've ever even thought about doing anything so massive. But wow, it's here.

Good luck. Have fun!

-SwT-

Chapter 1 : Probably can't get any worse

-SwT-

Oh man, where do I even star- Date! The date goes first.

15th of August, Year of Odin's Reign 1009

Oh man, where do I even start on today? Okay, probably with the worst bit. Or do I start with the normally bad bits and work my way up? Ah forget it, let's do the worst bit.

I was working on the bola launcher, again - During shop hours, again. Logson came in to get his mace repaired by Gobber and - whaddya know, coincidence of all possible coincidences - I touched the launcher the wrong way and it went off. The bola went shooting off into his face, still folded because I haven't finished that spinning mechanism. (Making tiny parts is hard! Really hard! Putting them together is no issue but Gods you have to be a master smith to make them!)

Okay, the bola didn't fly into Logson's face… exactly. It flew into his mace, knocking that into his face. Either way, dad gave me the classic disappointed scowl and told me to head home for the day. They're heading up to see Gothi and… Gods, it's all such a mess. Why do I always mess up like this? And in the worst ways! The thing couldn't have gone off when Logson wasn't standing there, no. Just had to be right when he walked in and held up his mace!

Why am I like this? Why couldn't I be one of them? The Vikingly Vikings?

So anyway. That's what I'm dealing with. At the moment, of course, I'm not at home. Why would I be? It's just waiting for dad to get home and give me another disappointed scowl. Might as well skip that and compress the entire night's dosage into one morning sigh. It isn't like being out here is an issue. Today probably can't get any worse.

I'm out on the sea cliffs, watching the sunset and wishing that for just once I could be someone else. Anything else. Seriously, I'd take being a dragon right now. At least, I'd be as strong as dad wants me to be, then. Woo, hey dad, no more talking fishbone! Now I can breathe fire! Like that'll ever happen.

Speaking of the sunset, it is kinda pretty. I'm going to see about trying to do the water shading rig-

-SwT-

"S- Snotlout!" Hiccup stammered, slamming his journal shut on his pencil and shoving both into a vest pocket. "Wh- what are you doing out here?"

"Y'know Hiccup, I really can't believe I'm related to you most of the time," Snotlout said, offhandedly. "I mean, look at me. Look at my dad. Look at your dad. You're nothing like us. Why is that?"

Snotlout was Hiccup's cousin; he was theoretically a rival for the chieftainship of the tribe. Their fathers, Stoick the Vast and Spitelout Jorgenson for Hiccup and Snotlout respectively, were brothers.

Stoick was the chief of the Berkian tribe, the Hairy Hooligans, but Spitelout never took that bitterly. Rather, the less powerful brother put all his power into making his family line show up that of Stoick's - including by training his son to aggressively assert his greatness at every opportunity.

Hiccup shrugged nervously. "I dunno, maybe it was a joke Thor played on me? Perhaps Odin just decided that someday I'd do something so great, he needed to throw obstacles in my way?"

"Yeah, keep thinking that," Snotlout sneered, shoving Hiccup back. "We both know which of us is better around here. It's m-"

Hiccup stumbled backward, tripping over his feet. He fell hard on his rear, reaching backward to halt his fall before his head hit the ground. His right hand caught grass. His left swung through air. "Wha-"

Hiccup's torso swung out over the cliff, dragging his legs along for the ride. The grass tore out of the ground in his hand, leaving him with nothing to hold on to. As he slipped over, he thought he saw his cousin's eyes light up with genuine fear for his safety.

Then he was falling. Hiccup was too stunned that he was actually going over the edge to shout or scream. Oh, Thor. Is this me, dead, already? he thought, I'm not even grown up yet!

Snotlout's voice recovered some of its gusto as he shouted over the edge, "Y- yeah! Maybe a swim will teach you to-"

Hiccup lost Snotlout's words as he hit the water, smashing several paces down in under a second. At least it isn't ice. I'd be dead already. The cold began clawing at him almost immediately, soaking through his clothes and stinging his skin. Then there's that.

He spun underwater, clawing his way toward the surface a good fifteen paces away. His lungs started burning, begging for more air. He breached the surface, taking a deep breath before sinking under again. Sinking? No! Why-

He curled up, grabbing at his boots and pulling them off. He could get new boots. He couldn't get new lungs if he filled these ones with water. He kicked, breaking the surface again for another gasping breath.

Still too heavy. he thought as he sank again. He shrugged out of his vest, then caught it with one hand. Might need this, and my journal-

Air, please. his lungs prompted. He kicked again, taking another breath.

His head slipped under once more. Damn. Maybe if I lose my shirt? He pulled one arm out, handing the vest to that hand. Awkwardly, he freed his other arm and ducked out of the shirt. It sank into the depths as he ascended to the surface again.

Yes! he crowed, mentally, as he successfully tread water.

He looked up the cliff, his brain swapping to a more analytical mindset now that he was more than mere seconds from drowning.

The cliffs: not an option. The surf was rolling up and down the rock face. If he tried to grab on, he'd tear his hands open (and, probably, the rest of himself) trying to grasp it. Have to swim elsewhere. But where? If he went south, he could make it to the harbor in an hour's swim around the southern tip of Berk. A shiver shook his body. Don't have that long.

He spun in the water, looking north. The sea caves, under Raven Point! The beaches were sandy, smooth, and - most importantly - not more than a half hour's swim away. I might make it!

He began swimming, kicking hard. He slipped back into his vest as he moved, unwilling to leave it but also needing full use of his arms. If he had a chance of not freezing to death, he had to move.

He swam north for what felt like forever. He didn't want to stop because his limbs were already tiring. Can't stop. Might not start again.

He noticed with a hint of panic as his fingers stopped responding to the impact with the water on each stroke. Too cold. Have to keep moving!

He finally spluttered to a stop when he forgot to take a breath above the water. The inrushing salty liquid immediately reminded him what a bad idea that was. The water tasted of something else too, though. Sand!

He threw himself forward, not even bothering to wipe his eyes and figure out where he was. The prickling sensation of small grains against his body's numbness began to grow until his arm's progress was impeded by something. Jubilant mentally and exhausted physically, Hiccup dragged himself from the water and onto the beach.

"Dear Thor… Alvin! You need to see this!"

Alvin? Hiccup's groggy brain questioned. Isn't that the leader of the Outcasts?

The Outcasts were, to put it in mild terms, Berk's sworn enemies. The tribe was made up of outcasts from a number of different Viking groups across the Archipelago, but its leader had been exiled from Berk itself. Alvin the Treacherous had never forgiven the Berkian tribe, sometimes even taking the Outcasts on ill-fated attempts to raid Berk.

Why am I hallucinating someone talking about him, of all people? Hiccup wondered. He lay on the beach, too tired to get up and engage the strange hallucinations, especially that of the beached boat not fifteen paces in front of his nose.

A white-haired, wrinkled, old face appeared not a pace from the top of his vision. Its owner leaned heavily on a cane as he bent down to get a closer look at the scrawny, woozy young Viking. "Why, Savage! It's Stoick's boy! How- What did you do to get 'im down here?"

I know that face… Hiccup thought, struggling through his exhaustion. It was Mildew, the hermit that lived on the edge of town, growing cabbages and questioning everything the village ever did. Why can't I hallucinate pleasant things when I'm dying?

"Hiccup? Here? Grab the li'le embarrassment 'fore he can warn his father!" a voice roared out of the cave.

"Careful sir, you don't want to break the egg!" the first voice advised back, still out of Hiccup's view.

"The egg hardly matters if they know we're here!" Alvin bellowed, his voice growing clearer as he approached, "Where is that runt?!"

"Here, Alvin," Mildew said, his cane leaving Hiccup's view, "On the shore."

"Wha- Oh Thor. He looks frozen 'alf to death! What did you two imbeciles do?"

"I- it wasn't me sir!" the first voice stammered. "I just saw him swimming up to the shore, then he collapsed like this!"

Hiccup's eyes slipped closed, despite his mind's protestations. He was just so tired.

"Maybe if you take 'im, Stoick will be too confused to defend himself when the Whispering Death hatches!" Mildew suggested.

Hiccup's hearing grew dimmer as consciousness slipped away. "Find out why he ended up down here," Alvin growled. "Use it ta distract the village. We're taking him. Savage, load him aboard Girtha and push off! We'll leave the egg where it is."

Hiccup felt hands grasping him, felt the cold grains of the ground give way to freezing air. He didn't feel himself get set down.

-SwT-

Hiccup shot awake, sitting up quickly. Alvin! The Outcasts! A Whispering Death egg?! And what does Seabreath Ingerman's old gala ship have to do- His frozen, cramped muscles screamed in protest, splitting his sides and forcing him to collapse back to the wooden deck. He gasped for breath, shivering as feeling returned to his body.

Wooden deck?!

His eyes, which had opened when he awoke, finally focused on his environment. He was tucked into the bow of a small ship, just behind the figurehead. It was a very small ship, hardly larger than three rowboats stuck together. Further aft, one hulking black-bearded figure sneered at him while another, slimmer, clean shaven one moved between a tiller and two lines tied to the small ship's sail.

"So, the little 'iccup finally wakes. Almost thought you'd died. Would've made deciding what to do with you easier."

Hiccup's mouth opened, releasing a hiss of air that was supposed to form words. His vocal chords weren't interested in cooperating with any form of speech, though.

"Almost considered throwin' you overboard asleep. But, then, 'ere is always the chance you'd drift back to Berk and somehow live. I couldn' have that."

"Y- y- you're Alvin-"

"Alvin the Treacherous! Enemy of Berk! The one and only. Here I thought you'd figured that out by now."

"I- I d-"

"Tha's enough. I'll ask the questions now."

Hiccup shut his mouth, shivering from the cold and a large helping of fear. Alvin the Treacherous was the leader of the Outcasts, Hiccup's mind re-confirmed, and that was very, very bad news for him.

"So, little Hiccup, what was Stoick's embarrassment doing going for an afternoon swim 'round the sea cliffs? I thought you Berkians were smarter than that."

"I- I slipped," he lied. It wasn't like the truth - that his cousin had shoved him off accidentally - mattered.

The Outcast chieftain and his subordinate burst into roaring guffaws, vibrating the ship with their mirth. Hiccup curled up tighter, finding a small inkling of warmth in his reduced volume. When Alvin calmed, he wiped a mirthful tear from his eye. "Thor almighty! And to think you're the offspring of that stubborn oaf Stoick. Hah! So where was he when you… slipped? Pushing you off?"

Hiccup wrapped his hands around his knees, pulling even further into the corner of the deck and the figurehead of the ship, trying to hide from the new round of boisterous laughter from his two black-haired captors. I may not be what my dad wanted, but he wouldn't-

"Ah, what does it matter. If you're that useless to your own father, I can't see what a runt like you would have to offer me."

The boat shifted, the deck sinking a little bit toward the figurehead as Alvin rose and approached. Hiccup barely had time to gasp in shock before he was lifted off the deck by his neck, his legs left dangling over the water. He grabbed at the massive hand with his own, tinier ones, trying desperately to give himself room to breathe.

"Any last words, Hiccup?"

"W- What if I m- make it back?!" Hiccup's head whipped left and right as best it could in Alvin's grip. He couldn't see any land on the horizon, either in front of or behind the boat.

"Make it- Oh Hiccup. We're halfway to Outcast Island! The only place you're going is to the bottom of the sea."

Halfway... that was impossible! Outcast Island was a week away by longboat with favorable winds. If he was unconscious half a week, he should be dead! He halted that line of thought. There were more pressing issues - like not ending up dead - for him to deal with. Think… Think of something! What would a big scary Viking want? "I- I can make weapons!" he choked out.

Hiccup swung precariously in Alvin's grip, still grasping at the larger man's fingers to keep from choking to death. Alvin looked thoughtful. "What kinds of weapons?"

Uhh… lots of dragon-slaying weapons? Sort-of? None of them exactly work… "Dragon fighting weapons!"

"Dragon fighting? You?! You must think me so naive."

"Really! All my designs are in my journal! Please, I- I don't want to die!"

Hiccup's knees buckled as his feet hit the deck, leaving him sprawling into the gunwale. Alvin turned to a pile of three objects on the bench next to where he had been sitting: a dagger, a pencil, and a waterlogged journal.

Hiccup struggled to rise, to get to the journal. "L- let me show you. The most recent one, the bola laun-"

Alvin's kick to the gut sent him sprawling back to the deck, gasping for air. "Please, boy. I'm not fool enough to let you near a book. Who knows what you've got in there!"

He lay gasping on the deck as Alvin pulled the journal open, smearing the soaked pages. Hiccup winced as months of his life were blurred beyond readability.

"I can't read any of these scribbles…" The Outcast chieftain flipped through several more leaves of sticky pages, then shut the book. "Fine! I'll give you one day. But you better make me something able to take dragons right out of the sky!"

Hiccup let out a gasp of relief, his head flopping onto the wood. He squeaked in surprise as a meaty hand wrapped back around his throat, crushing his windpipe.

"I'm not called Alvin the Treacherous for nothin'. If you try to double cross me, I'll make sure you live to regret it, runt."

The hand remained on his neck a moment longer, then let up as its owner returned to the rower's bench. Hiccup sucked in a breath, shivering from fright more than cold. The darkness retreated from the edges of his vision, and he curled up. Alvin and the other Outcast continued their respective sitting and sailing, ignoring the quivering boy on their deck.

I don't want to die. Please don't let me die, Thor, Odin, or whoever else.

Or make it quick. A lot quicker than this.

-SwT-

18th of August, Year of Odin's Reign 1009 - I think.

So, I'm having a bad- New journal! let me write in some owner information:

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third

Outcast Island, Prison

If found, please return to owner. Thanks.

Right, so, I'm having a bad day. Yes, needing a new journal is a part of it; I'll get to that. So, let's start at the beginning. Not the beginning of the day, most of the day was pretty boring - the beginning of the bad part.

Snotlout shoved me off a cliff. I'm sure you're laughing already: "He's just toughening you up Hiccup!" You're right, he probably meant it in a way for me to grow some spine. (Seriously, though, beating people up to get them to grow character is yakshit.) What's important is what happened next.

I swam north, to the sea caves under Raven Point, and got captured by the Outcasts. Yes, those Outcasts. The Outcast Island rejects-of-other-tribes Outcasts. They were planting a Whispering Death egg under our island! And, to top that off, Mildew (the old man who grows cabbages and complains about everything my dad does) was helping them!

Where am I now? Well, I'm on Outcast Island in a cell with walls covered in what look like claw marks. Dragon claw marks. I don't want to think about how they got there. Isn't my life going great?

Ah... just… wow. Maybe I should've expected this. My previous entry - in my previous journal - had me wishing to be someone else. Looks like one of the Gods was listening. Ha. Very funny, thanks.

Oh, and, tomorrow Alvin wants me to build him some kind of dragon slaying weapon, or he's going to kill me. (Like this starvation isn't doing that anyway…) He won't let me have my previous journal and whatever remains of my designs in there either. He said something along the lines of "I'm not falling for that again." Falling for what? What could I do with my old journal? I don't know what that guy thinks I'm going to do, but I have no clue.

I just can't sleep. I'm worried. Not scared, worried. I should work on trying to remember one of my designs. The bola launcher probably. I mean, I never finished it, but theoretically, it'll work. I hope.

Gods, let this work. Please.

-SwT-

19th of August, Year of Odin's Reign 1009

I've survived the day! Seems today isn't my day to get sent to Valhalla by angry Outcasts. Praise be to the happy things.

So I woke up this morning in the cell...

-SwT-

Hiccup startled awake, his head slamming into the grooves on the rock wall behind him. He winced, rubbing at the newly acquired bump on his head. His journal lay in his lap, detailing a number of complicated mechanical systems - with one thick line cutting down through them all to where his pencil rested, limp in his hand.

He looked around at the one metal-barred and three rock walls which - to a complete lack of surprise from Hiccup - had not moved as he slept. Nobody stood guard outside. He stood, wincing from the disuse of his limbs and soreness from being manhandled the previous day and walked haltingly over to the bars of his cell. He peered up and down the canyon, unable to see more than a dozen paces left and right through the bars.

He took a deep, ragged breath and called out, "Hello?"

From somewhere out of sight, he heard the startled gasp of someone waking up, then clambering to their feet.

Hiccup tried calling out again, "Hi. I'm awake. Do you guys have a morning scheduled, or can I sleep in?"

He heard the guard gasp again, then footsteps retreating further from his cell.

Hiccup leaned heavily on the bars. "Oh, yes, run from the dangerous, caged Hiccup. Roar. So scary." He sighed, then paused to listen.

Echoing from some distance away, Hiccup heard the growling, indistinct voices of Outcasts, then more footsteps as a group came his way. He peered through the bars until he spotted the group coming to get him. It consisted of three Outcasts. One Outcast was unarmed, carrying keys. Hiccup guessed that was the sleepyhead guard that had been startled by his waking. The other two hefted Outcast-made axes menacingly.

Hiccup stepped back from his cage's door. The unarmed guard unlocked the door, then came inside. "Woah, guys, are the axes really necessary? I was freezing to death yesterday," Hiccup quipped.

The unarmed guard grunted and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder with one Viking-sized hand. Hiccup was hauled stumbling out of his cage while the guard shut and locked the door with his free hand. The motley assemblage turned and marched or, in Hiccup's case, stumbled their way down the canyon.

"So, get many visitors?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. The Viking manhandling him grunted. In another few steps, they reached a narrow footpath up one side of the canyon. They might as well have been indoors, for all the slate-gray sky above did to cast light on the rocky plains they entered into. One of the axe-wielding guards broke off and headed toward an assembly of buildings that, judging by the shading of the sky, Hiccup guessed were southwest. Maybe. He and his remaining two handlers went due west, relative to the buildings.

"Y'know, it's kinda homey around here. I could get used to this fireproof gray feel," Hiccup joked. His humor was rewarded with a shove just barely shy of knocking him face-first onto the ground. The rest of the journey he took in silence.

After passing up and over another narrow path, Hiccup, the sleepyhead and the leftover axe-wielding guard approached a small hut of metal bars and stone. Inside, Hiccup could see tools and metal in various stages of refinement and wear.

In front of the hut's door - which looked like a cell door hastily affixed to the metal lattice making up the structure of the hut - stood Alvin and Savage.

"Alvin! Nice place you have here," Hiccup quipped once he thought he was close enough his guards wouldn't try anything that could cause him harm.

"Up and at 'em boy! I've a tribe to run; I can't spend all day babysitting my newest prisoner!" The sleepyhead jerked Hiccup to a stop right in front of Alvin. "Sludgefinger, where's the lad's journal?"

"Th- the what?" the sleepyhead guard stammered.

"Oh for Thor's- Imbeciles!" Alvin grabbed Hiccup by the vest, pulling him forward and savagely going through his inside pockets. It took him only a moment to find the book.

Hiccup stumbled back as Alvin began leafing through the pages. The scrawny Viking nearly bumped into sleepyhead. "What- Why do you have so much against writing?" the scrawny Viking complained.

"Savage! I told you he wasn't going to try anything like that! There's nothing in here but a sappy diary entry and designs for a… Ooh, I like this."

Hiccup stared up in confusion. What were they expecting me to put in the journal?

"A- Alvin, I thought I suggested that he didn't know any-"

"Y' thought wrong!" Alvin snapped.

"Y- yes sir. Of course sir."

Alvin pushed the journal into Hiccup's hands. The boy rolled his eyes as he put the book away. "Could someone at least acknowledge I'm speaking Norse? I feel seriously ignored."

Alvin lifted Hiccup off the ground by his vest, thrusting him through the haphazardly constructed door and into the dark smithy. He stumbled over the threshold, sprawling onto the ground next to the anvil.

"A dragon slaying weapon, Hiccup! Or you're going to wish I threw you overboard!"

Alvin and Savage left, taking sleepyhead with them. The remaining axe-wielding guard took up residence by the door, watching Hiccup's every movement.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say," Hiccup muttered.

-SwT-

(cont.)

So I was in the forge-hut, freezing my fingers and toes off, and I discovered the Outcasts hadn't left the forge lit for me. After some searching, I found some Loki wood and some lighting-flint. (No steel knuckles to go with it, though. Seriously, who has lighting flint without the steel?)

Using my vest as a mask (to keep the Loki wood's fumes out of my lungs) and a hammer as the steel, I managed to light the coals of the forge. (The heat was so welcome. You have no idea.)

Of course, then I realized with Loki wood as the only available wood, the bola launcher design I made back on Berk wouldn't work, pretty much at all. Loki wood is weak, inflexible, and when burned makes pretty toxic fumes (hence my vest-mask earlier.)

So that spawned the last five or so pages of scrawled designs. I'm just glad the mechanism that spun the bola as it was fired was all metal gears: that part took me ages to design back on Berk. I'd probably be dead by now if I had to reinvent it. Everything else I pretty much just made into a mounted crossbow, built around the launcher's barrel.

I used some metal with a number of bends in it (sorta like a spring, but with bends rather than coils) to replace the boughs making the tensile force. I was barely, with all of my strength, able to pull it back to load it, so the Outcasts (or any other Viking) should have no trouble.

Also had to scrap my little wheelbarrow cart. Too much work to make that out of metal. I replaced it with just a flat-ish base of two crossed metal bars, leading up into a multi-bearinged omnidirectional mount thing I came up with for mounted crossbows, back before I realized none of the other Vikings cared for mounted weapons smaller than a yak.

Wait, why am I describing this all again? You could just flip back a page to see the design. Go on, the text I'm writing will wait.

Done? Great. Glad you cared enough to look.

Before Alvin would even let me out of the forge-hut/cage I had to fire it a couple times, to prove I didn't put traps in it or something. (Really?) He was pleased with my work, mostly because the metal replacements for the wood boughs I would've used on Berk gave it a draw strength that could throw bolas farther and faster than most (all? Pretty sure I beat literally any human thrower with this) Vikings could. (Besting Vikings at something is the only way to get any respect from them…)

So Alvin was happy (not that you couldn't tell from this entry's existence) and he even deigned to give me food before throwing me in the cell. That was nice. It was some kind of cod-slop, though. I don't think I'll ever like cod again. I'm not even sure they cooked it.

Right, so, I mentioned besting a Viking is the only way to get respect? I have this idea for getting out of here, or, at least, earning some more freedom. Today, when working on the tiny components for the spin-the-bola bit of the launcher, I made some lockpi-

Hold on, I think I hear something outside.

The sky is flickering and there's roaring. I think- It has to be a dragon raid. I guess I should be thankful for my canyon prison now; there is no chance of those things coming down here. It would be too much work for them.

I hope.

I'm going to try to sleep.

-SwT-

Alvin pushed through the crowd of Vikings gathered around the arena's metal netting, toward his prize. His face hurt like he'd been struck by a dragon's claw, but by Thor, it was going to be worth it. There was only one dragon he could've hit with that launcher, the only dragon never to be downed by Viking hands before: A Night F-

"What the Hel is this?" he roared, tearing the tattered remains of a tiny wing off of a chain limply hanging over a hole in the metal net. "Where's the dragon? What's this hole for? You didn't let it get away, did you all? What are you all staring… at…"

The first rays of sunlight - streaming in from the horizon under the cover of the clouds near-perpetually coating Outcast Island - illuminated the sleek black dragon lying unconscious on the far side of the arena. As Alvin watched, he saw its chest rise and fall, despite the bola pinning its four legs and two large wings.

"By Thor, it's alive! Patch this hole! Savage, we're going to go down there and-"

"B- But sir!" Savage stammered.

"But what?" Alvin asked, rounding on him.

"Well, sir, a Monstrous Nightmare can set itself on fire! I'm not really sure I want to find out first-hand what a Night Fury can do in close quarters…"

Alvin considered this. Nobody had ever seen a Night Fury and lived to tell the tale. Maybe there was a reason for that. "Fine. You lot, patch this hole. I'm going to have a talk with a particular Hiccup about his latest… hiccup." His hand went to stroke his beard, once again finding the missing space.

The Outcasts in the crowd grumbled but set to work getting some metal from the village to the southwest.

-SwT-

(cont.)

The dragon raid is over. I think the silence woke me up.

I suppose I should be thankful, gives me an early start on whatever I'm building (or rebuilding, or repairing) for Alv-

Someone's com-

-SwT-

"Hiccup!"

Hiccup shut his new journal on his pencil, stuffing both into his vest. Just as he scrambled to his feet, the Outcast chief came into view, flanked by a nervous looking Savage.

"Al- Alvin! Hi, Alvin. Hi Alvin. Wha-what are you doing here at this time of the morning? It is morning, right?" Hiccup stammered, embarrassed at how easily his fear shone through his attempted nonchalance. The Outcast chief turned to face Hiccup and the scrawny Viking sucked in his breath. The right side of the chief's beard had been shorn off - quite painfully, it appeared.

"That contraption of yours needs a bit of work!" Alvin bellowed, "Look wha' it did to my beautiful beard!"

Hiccup fidgeted where he stood, unsure of what to do with any part of his body and wanting to be anywhere but in that cell. He tried to stammer out coherent words in reply, "Wha- How? What part of the-?"

He was interrupted by low laughter, which quickly evolved into roaring guffaws coming from the Outcast chief. After almost a minute of this, the chief calmed down enough to speak, "See Savage? Wha' did I tell ya'? Boy didn't have a clue he'd built it too short." He gave his second-in-command a clap on the back, which sent the slightly-smaller Outcast stumbling.

If Hiccup hadn't been petrified with fear, he would've slapped himself. He'd built the metal bola launcher to his height, just like the one back on Berk. Even the Outcast chief, Alvin - who was slightly hunched over for a Viking of his tribe and strength - was half Hiccup's height taller. Any full-size Viking trying to use the launcher would have to hunch over to aim it, and that would put their facial hair dangerously close to getting caught in the rope that propelled the projectile!

"Still, sir, a lapse in judgment like this shouldn't go unpunished?" Savage questioned of his superior.

Alvin rubbed what remained of his beard thoughtfully while Hiccup stopped breathing. "Yes, I suppose it shouldn't. And I have just the solution!"

If it were possible, Hiccup would've become even more stock still. As it was, he continued mimicking a statue as Alvin entered his cell and grabbed him by the shoulders, then let himself be led out by the Viking many times his strength.

The entourage turned right, leaving behind the relative safety of Hiccup's cell. It wasn't long before their progress was blocked by a large iron door built into a rock wall that blocked the canyon. Just next to the door, a pathway led up and away. The door was solid metal, excluding a viewport partway up at about Alvin's eye level.

"Wha- Where-" Hiccup wasn't sure which question to ask first. "What are you going to do with me?"

Alvin gave a low chuckle, one that scared Hiccup much more than any of his threats in the last few days. "Other than the little facial hair issue," he said, "your lil' device worked perfectly." He switched topics, seemingly at random. "Tell me, boy, what's the one dragon no-one's ever seen? The one that never steals food, never shows itself, and never misses?"

Hiccup knew that wording: he'd written it into his previous journal - still in Alvin's possession - only a day or two before Snotlout had pushed him off that cliff. He also knew exactly the dragon Alvin was talking about. "A Night Fury," he breathed, putting two and two together.

"Now you're gettin' it boy! So, why would I bring a little, expendable," Alvin emphasized the word and Hiccup paled, "runt like you to an iron door that just so happens to lead to our dragon fightin' arena?"

Hiccup could assume what Alvin was getting at. Well, he thought so. On the other side of that door was probably the Night Fury, ready to tear up any nearby humans. However, there was one part of Alvin's statement that didn't make sense…

"W-wait, I'm expendable?" Hiccup stammered.

"Sure you've got that mechanical genius, but your journal here shows most of your designs are more trouble than they're worth. Since you managed to almost create an accident-free device, I think that's probably the best I'm gonna get from ya'. So, instead of any more blacksmithin', I'll just have you do simple and incredibly dangerous tasks like this one."

Alvin's explanation left Hiccup stunned. They were thanking him with a death sentence!

"Righ'! Tha's enough chit-chat. I think it's time for you to take care of our dragon-sized problem…" As Alvin trailed off, he handed Hiccup a tiny dagger - his hunting dagger. It had been in his vest on the ship; he hadn't even thought about it since ending up on Outcast Island.

His hand closed around the dagger's handle and before he could blink he was shoved through the door, which slammed closed behind him. He heard metal-on-metal grating and looked back to find Alvin and Savage looking through the viewport. Alvin said something; Hiccup didn't catch most of it, but he was pretty sure it ended with, "...eat a boy."

He swallowed air, Adam's apple bobbing. Thor, please don't kill me yet. I just want to go home!

-SwT-