a/n: A collection of one-shots from Toothless' point of view, based on scenes from canon. This first chapter I wrote in May of 2012, a month after I first saw the movie. I might post a couple more one-shots here, maybe headcanons I have for Toothless and what not. Enjoy the shorts!

Memoirs of a Dragon

First Meeting

He was tired. All night long writhing at the ropes, flaking the earth beneath him, willing the bonds to break. But that fall - he cringed at the thought of it, how the branches tore at him and snapped at his wings and his tail. He tried not to imagine his tailfin lost somewhere in the misty ferns, although the fading pain at the end of his tail told him that it was indeed gone.

He didn't know how long he was sleeping. Suddenly he jerked his leg, blinked his eyes and realized - something, no, someone was there. He was holding a knife; its blade glistened like fire in the dull sunlight.

He watched this person, this child, look at him. He lay still, hoping, praying, in all his helplessness - don't kill me. Something changed in the boy's eyes. Was it fear? Then his eyes set harder, the fear dissolved into conviction. "I'm gonna kill you, dragon," the little voice breathed. "I'm gonna cut your heart out and take it to my father." His hands slithered around the blade, his voice sunk into cruelty.

He knew what the words meant, he could feel their meaning. He tried to make a sound.

"I'm a Viking," the boy said, to himself, then louder, "I'm a Viking!" down towards the helpless shape. No. The boy inhaled, set the blade in both hands, closed his eyes, raised the knife. No. The boy peered down at him, his eyes suddenly opening. Please no. But he looked away again, raised the blade, clenched his teeth, set his jaw. There would be no remorse, no regret.

He lay his head down on the grass. He waited for death. Groaned, breathed, felt his heart quicken, waiting. Sound filled his ears, the hum of panic in a mind that didn't want it all to end. Waiting. Just finish it. Finish it. But it was only silence.

And then he felt it. The ropes - breaking. The knife, cutting them, snapping them away. He opened his eyes, peered back, saw the boy kneeling beside him, freeing him. His legs fell free from the bonds. The pressure lifted. His wings, oh his wings, were alive again. The tension snapped. He leaped up, thrilled and shocked and angry. He turned, caught the boy between his claws, pushed him against the stone, looked at him. Just looked at him. Why? This boy. He looked so afraid. This killer. He had captured him, bound him. So why had he freed him?

He bared his teeth and raised his head, watching the boy beneath him, locked in his grasp. He brought his head down, but he couldn't let the flames out of his throat. Out of his open mouth, he let out a scream, a piercing blast down on the tiny, breathless figure below him. Maybe it was a warning. He opened his wings, fled away into the forest. Or maybe he just couldn't bring himself to kill his savior.