Dimmadreki Chapter 1

A/N
Hiccup thinks his life is hard... but then a witch's spell forces him to flee the village or die. Now he doesn't even know what he can eat. His only possible helper refuses to believe his story, and her plans for him are unspeakable. He realizes he still has a lot to learn about a hard life. Dragon!Hiccup xOC. Rated T for adult themes; the language is all K.

This story was written in response to a challenge from Aegis Dragon. This is NOT a "Lightning and Death Itself" story, although it borrows a few concepts from the LightningVerse, simply because I can't think of a better way to handle those concepts than the way I already imagined them for that story. It has a very different tone from that story as well. I hope you like it.

o

Alvin the Treacherous was not in the habit of asking other people for favors. When he wanted something, he took it; it kept his life simple. But every rule has an exception, and there was one exception to Alvin's rule. "Will you do something for me, Mother?"

Excellinor thought about that as she stirred the broth that was heating in a black kettle over the fire. She wasn't as young as she used to be, and her son's requests were requiring more and more exertion from her. Somehow she'd thought that, once she'd arranged for him to become chief of the Outcasts, he'd be able to take care of his own problems from that day forward. Goodness knows, she'd tried to be a good mother to him! Goodness knows, she'd taught him right from wrong, and why "wrong" was usually the better choice. Would he ever be able to stand on his own two feet? What problem had he encountered now, that he couldn't solve without her special skills? "What is it that you want?"

"I want you to cause some confusion in Berk so I can take over. This is something only you can do."

"As usual," she sighed, and stirred the broth some more. "Did you remember my birthday? Did you remember me on Mother's Day? Was I the first person you greeted on Snoggletog? Will you even visit with me for an evening and enjoy my cooking? No, no, no, and no! But the moment you run into any kind of trouble, or need some special help, it's 'Oh, Mother, you're the best!' Did I raise you to be such an ungrateful, spiteful son?"

He hung his head. "Fine. I'll pick you some flowers the next time I'm on the mainland."

For just a moment, her heart melted, but the moment couldn't last. "Confusion in Berk? That's kind of a broad request."

"I want you to make the chief's son disappear," Alvin clarified. "Stoick the Vast has only one child. If that boy vanishes and no one can find him, the chief will try everything to get him back. That kind of distraction will weaken Berk, and will be the perfect time for us to launch our big raid."

"Not from what I've heard," she countered. "According to my sources of information, the son of Stoick is a scrawny, bumbling incompetent who thinks too much and breaks everything he touches. 'Hiccup the Useless,' they call him. If I make him disappear, his replacement would be the chief's nephew, Snotlout. That one is strong, brave, good with his weapons, and a total knucklehead. He's the ultimate Viking. Removing Hiccup would make Berk stronger, not weaker."

"That might be true," Alvin nodded, "but he's still the chief's only son, and the chief is bound to panic if the boy vanishes. I'd really like you to do this for me, Mother." He took a deep breath and reluctantly added, "Please."

She sighed. He might tower over her, but she could still remember him as a little boy, running around on the beach barefoot, pulping snails and crabs with his hammer. He would always be her son. "Fine, I'll do it," she sighed. "Do you want the direct approach, or can I do it artistically this time?"

"Do it any way you like, as long as he's gone without a trace," Alvin scowled.

"Good," she smiled. Her smile would frighten anyone but Alvin. "Bring me something that belongs to him, something he's worn or handled recently. I'll also need a bit of coal from the forge, and a live moth or butterfly in a jar. As soon as I have those things, arrange for a ship and crew to take me to Berk at night. It may take a few nights before I get the right circumstances. The son of Stoick is going to exit the scene in epic fashion!" She cackled in anticipation, then sobered. "Now that that's settled, can you stay and have supper with me?"

"I'm afraid not, Mother. The boys are having an ale-drinking contest in the Mead Hall tonight, and my reputation is on the line. Maybe some other night." The huge Outcast stood, pulled the leather curtain away from her doorway, and left.

Excellinor sat in silence, stirring her broth. My son, the ingrate, she thought bitterly. He treats me like I'm some kind of witch. Well, I am a witch, but he still doesn't treat me right. At least I'll be able to have a little fun with this assignment.

o

For three nights, her ship waited off the coast of Berk while she watched for the right circumstances to arise. If she did it in the daytime, she'd be caught for sure, and there was a chance that the Vikings of Berk would figure out what she'd done, which would make the whole exercise worthless. It had to be done at night, so she and her actions wouldn't be seen. That meant she needed the chief's son to be out of his house at night, and there was only one situation that could make that happen. Casting this spell could take a year off her life; she wasn't going to do a halfway job of it. She waited. Patience was one of her specialties.

At last, on the fourth night, her patience was rewarded. A bright blast of flame over the town marked the beginning of a dragon raid. Excellinor turned to Savage, the ship's captain. "Now is my chance. Launch the boat and row me to shore! This might take a while, so wait for me."

He gave the orders, then turned back to her. "If you make me wait too long, I may have to leave without you."

"Oh, yes, by all means, do that!" she nodded with a terrifying grin. "Explain to Alvin why you abandoned his mother on Berk. I'll wait for your replacement to come and get me, and I promise I'll drop a flower on your grave." She climbed over the side of the ship into the launch, and two stout Outcasts pulled the oars to bring her to shore.

Her chosen landing site was a narrow rocky beach to the north of Berk village. It meant she'd have to walk some distance to get close to the town, but if she landed any closer, she'd have to climb some steep cliffs, and she doubted she could still do that at her age. She turned to the oarsmen. "Same orders. Wait for me!" She doused her black clothing liberally with her home-made dragon repellent, made sure she had the material components for the spell she planned to cast, and set out through the woods toward Berk.

It was easy to see what was going on in town; the night-vision torches were lit, and buildings were burning everywhere. All she had to do was find the chief's son, say a few words, make a few gestures, and leave. The first part would be the hard part. She had a good description of her target, and there couldn't be many Vikings who looked like a talking fishbone. It was just a question of where in town he'd go when the dragons attacked, and whether she'd be in the right place at the right time. She'd need luck for that, and half-a-dozen luck charms dangled from chains around her thin neck. She found a shadowed place behind a small storage shed, watched the Vikings running like ants as the dragons disturbed their anthill, and waited.

In about twenty minutes, she saw that her luck charms had worked. A boy who looked like a talking fishbone was running in her general direction, pushing some kind of contraption that looked like a covered wheelbarrow. People were yelling at him to get back inside, but he ignored them. He ran to the edge of the cliffs, unfolded his machine into something that might have been a weapon, and began searching the darkness for something.

He was motionless. Perfect! She began the spell.

o

"Come on, give me something to shoot at! Give me something to shoot at!" Hiccup urged the night sky. He knew the sky wasn't listening, but then, nobody else listened to him, either. That was about to change. This was his big chance! There was definitely a Night Fury in the area, his weapon was armed and ready (except for a few minor calibration issues), and no one else was around to mess things up. Tonight was the night he'd make a name for himself! He'd bring down a Night Fury for the first time ever, his father would be proud of him, Astrid would notice him, and everything would be better. He squinted through the sights of his bola-thrower, waited to hear the scream of a diving Night Fury, and braced himself.

The only scream he heard was his own.

He felt a sudden painful jolt all over him, and he lost consciousness for a moment. When he awoke, something was wrong. It felt like he was crawling with ants that were stretching and compressing his skin all over. He glanced at his hands... and that was when he screamed. His fingers were retracting into his hands, which were turning black, while his fingernails were stretching and hardening into huge sharp claws. He felt his body growing and thickening; his clothing tore and fell away as he outgrew it in a matter of seconds. Hideous black bumps rose all over his skin, and were joined by more and more of them until all of him was covered with the black scales. Something felt like it was growing out of his shoulders, and something else was coming out from someplace lower. He screamed again, but it was not his voice. It was an inhuman bellow.

He wasn't sure how long it took before all the horrible changes stopped; it was probably half a minute or less. He closed his eyes and lay motionless, terrified of what might happen to him next. But, whatever this awful process was, it had apparently ended. He tried to see and feel what had happened to him.

Claws... wings... a tail... scales... sharp pointy teeth... no. No! NO-O-O! Somehow, someone or something had turned him into a dragon!

A detached portion of his brain noticed that he wasn't a type of dragon that he'd ever seen or heard of. The rest of him was consumed in one overpowering thought: what do I do now? This was not the way his night of crowning glory was supposed to work!

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face it; his neck didn't swivel the way it should. A Monstrous Nightmare climbed over the edge of the cliffs and stomped his bola-thrower into matchsticks. He desperately tried to get away from it, but he'd never run on four legs before; he tripped over nothing and fell flat, banging his jaw painfully on the ground. The huge red dragon glanced at him curiously for a moment, then turned away. It got its hind leg tangled in the shreds of his clothing; irritated, it kicked the rags off, and they flew over the edge of the cliff. It didn't flame! It didn't bite! It didn't attack at all! Why had it ignored him?

Dragons don't attack dragons, the detached part of his brain said to him. Then it added, But Vikings do.

Vikings. Everyone in his village would think he was a dragon if they saw him. They would kill him without a moment's thought; his own father would be first in line. He couldn't speak, so he couldn't try to convince them he was really Hiccup, or even beg for his life. Had anyone noticed him yet? He looked around in panic, but saw no signs that he was about to be murdered by his friends and relatives. The Vikings were too busy fighting the more brightly-colored dragons.

You need to get out of here before they see you, said the detached part of his brain. That was easier said than done. He didn't even bother trying to fly; if just walking was that difficult, then leaping into the air would be nothing but an invitation for gravity to do its thing at his expense. He got back on his feet and began walking toward the forest, slowly and awkwardly at first, but gaining confidence with each step. He tried running, and quickly tripped over his own feet; he'd stick to walking for now. The noises of the raid grew fainter as he made his way into the woods.

It was strange, how well he could see in the dark. Was the glare of the burning buildings reflecting off the clouds to give more light? No; he couldn't see the fires at all from where he stood. It must be because his eyes had changed along with the rest of him. Dragons attack at night, so you'd expect them to see well at night. The detached part of his brain was taking control of his thinking. Especially you, whatever kind of dragon you are.

That stopped him in his tracks. What kind of dragon was he?

Well, he was black, he had four legs, two wings, and a tail with two broad tail fins. That was something he'd never heard of; he certainly hadn't seen anything like it.

Hadn't seen. He heard the echo of his own voice in his head. "But the ultimate prize is the dragon no one's ever seen. They call it the..."

No, no, please, no, oh gods, not that, NO!

There couldn't be any doubt. He was a Night Fury.

Dat da-dah, I'm dead. The detached part of his brain had joined forces with the sarcastic part. Wonderful. But it was right. His head would be the ultimate prize on the wall in the Mead Hall. If the Vikings found him, they might even fight over the privilege of slaying him. His father would kill him on sight. So would Astrid. So would Gobber. And they would never know what they'd done.

How had this happened? He'd been minding his own business, just trying to kill a dragon, and then, BAM! Instead of shooting down a Night Fury, he'd become one! That must be a new record for epic failures, even for me, he decided. How did I do it?

He found no answers as he made his way deeper into the woods. He tried every line of thought he could think of; none of this made any sense. His confused thoughts served one useful purpose – they kept him from dwelling on his present situation. But he could keep himself distracted only for so long. He reached the place where he couldn't think of anything else, and the realization of what had happened came crashing down on his mind, flattening the detached portion of his brain along with all the rest of it. He was a dragon. He was now his own tribe's worst enemy. He could never go home or see his father again. He had suddenly become a wanted man with a death sentence, except he hadn't done anything wrong, and he wasn't even a man anymore. He wasn't much of a dragon, either – he had no idea how to fly, breathe fire, or do anything else that might help him survive. He was nothing but a helpless target.

And he'd thought his life had been bad yesterday?

He flopped down between two big trees and wept uncontrollably.

o

Excellinor's work was done; her triumph was complete. But she never got to see it or enjoy it. As she'd feared, casting this powerful spell had cost her a year of her life. She had miscalculated her anti-aging potions; she had no way of knowing she was already in her last year. When the Vikings of Berk were cleaning up after the raid the next day, one of them found a strange pile of black robes filled with several pounds of ashy dust and a handful of luck charms. He threw it in the "to be buried" pile with all the other debris. The men who crewed the Outcast ship and the rowing launch waited until after sunrise before they reluctantly returned to Outcast Island without their chief's mother.

They expected Alvin to fly into a homicidal rage. Instead, he shrugged and said, "Oh, well. She lived a long, full life. I hope she finished the job she started." Then he returned to his drinking and gambling, quietly singing something about "Ding dong, the wicked witch is dead."

Hiccup never knew it, but the only person who could have undone his transformation was gone.