How To Hide Your Spirit

Summary: Vikings have been fighting dragons for centuries, using their Spirit that they develop on their 16th birthday. Most alter into a Common, like ogres or trolls; others form into the more rare species, Gems, like hellhounds and phoenixes. But Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, son of the greatest hellhound, has a little dilemma; he transforms into a dragon.

This is Berk. It's twelve days North of hopeless, and a few degrees South of freezing to death. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery. My village. In a word: sturdy. It's been here for seven generations, but every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. The only problems are the pests. Know, most places have mice, or mosquitoes, but we have... dragons.

Most people would leave, but we... we are special. Not in the 'unstable mentality' sort of way (although, if you asked me, I'd say we're in for that too), but in the 'only-stuff-you-read-about-in-books' sort of way. Think of it this way: you're human. Human heart, human brain, human spirit. Us Berk Vikings have got the two former 'human' details, but it's the spirit that makes all the difference.

We have various spirits (called, what do you know, Spirit). On our 16th birthday, they appear and we are society-separated into four different categories:

Unwanteds: Some unfortunate ones are the Unwanteds. Their spirits are useless to us, and they take form in domestic were cats and others of that kind.

Commons: Most are Commons, like ogres and trolls. Those guys make up the front line of fighters against the dragons.

Specials: Then we've got the Specials. They're not as common, and you can find them to be in the form of creatures like centaurs and golems.

Gems: The Gems are the extremely rare creatures that take form in species such as hellhounds and phoenixes. You would only find them about one in twenty, and when you live in a village with two hundred people, that leaves only ten people. One of them would include our chief; he's the Viking world's greatest hellhound.

My name's Hiccup. Great name, I know. But it's not the worst. Parents believe a hideous name will frighten off Unwanted Spirits... I'm not sure if that's how it works. But, who cares about what I think, right? As you would understand, we have been fighting dragons for a very long time using our Spirits. But we're okay now. Like I said, I'm Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III and this is how we came to peace with dragons.

And trust me when I say it was not a coincidence that it all started on my 16th birthday.

==)::::::

Despite being a dreamer to a un-Vikingly point, when I pictured my "Transformation Day", I never pictured Dad doing much. Perhaps patting me on the back and words along the line of "make me proud" as if I had any say over what happened. I did, however, expect something, not just Gobber, my dad's two limbed, best friend and a handy Org Spirit, rummaging around my room to grab supplies for the big "Transformation".

But, with or without any expectations I had, that was what I got.

Speaking of Gobber in my room, he was muttering about how strangely cleanly it was.

"Uh, hi Gobber. Where's Dad?" I asked.

Gobber threw an arm-better-described-as-a-hook into the air.

"Had chiefly duties to do."

"Uh huh," I replied. Bet it was more important than oh, I don't know, seeing his son off on the biggest day of his life.

Gobber, having observed my less than amused expression, spoke up, a little less passively this time.

"I'm sure 'e'll be back when u've had your Transformation."

"Yeah. Sure," I rolled my eyes, to make point that the idea was nothing more than a joke to me.

Gobber sighed and rubbed his face, going back to... wait, what was he doing?

"Hey, Gobber? As much as I'd like to watch you go over every nook and cranny of my room in the smack-dab middle of night, what are you doing with my stuff?" I asked.

Gobber didn't even turn from his work, "Need some extra clothes fer ye."

I rolled my eyes. I knew that. Every Transformation made broke your clothes (or you fell out of them in which, as the entire village and I would bet, shrank you out of them).

"You have my clothes. In your arms. I see them. What are you doing with the rest of my stuff?"

Gobber turned to me and rubbed his (normal and safe) hand on his neck.

"Just trying to stall some time 'till sunrise."

I raised an eyebrow at this, "Why, you like cutting it close?"

Gobber cringed, and then I heard it. The roar of a dragon. Dragons.

I groaned.

"You're kidding me! Oh, the gods hate me. A dragon raid. On my Transformation Day." I closed my eyes and banged the back of my head on the headboard of my bed.

Gobber sighed then chippered up, "Ah, C'mon. How 'bout we just pretend it's a normal deh at the forge?"

I sighed and pushed off my sheets. I didn't really care, but maybe... maybe I could kill a dragon! The thought got me going. Gobber barely got out a "hey!" before I sprinted from the house.

The pathway to the village were broken lines of Vikings, some Transformed, others supporting in ways their other forms could not provide. I kept running through yells of "hey!" until I found out Dad was, unfortunately not part of the Transformed people.

He pulled me up by the back of my shirt and hauled me into the air.

"What is he doing here? Where's Gobber?" He bellowed.

Gobber, being a surprisingly fast man for a person with only one leg, came in on cue and pulled me out of Dad's grip.

"I'll take that."

As Gobber walked off, I complained, "What? So I'm a 'that', now?"

Gobber finally dropped me when we had gotten to the forge.

"What Ah said we were ta go ta the forge, I didn' say for ya to run off like a chicken with their head cut off."

I huffed. Out of the few things I took pride in, it was that I was always able to get away. "Chicken with their head cut off" didn't exactly give me the little dignity I deserved. When Gobber went off to start the fire for some spur-of-the-moment melding, I took a look out the window. I wasn't ever taken seriously, from my bony bodily frame to my knack for... trouble. But I was going to get taken seriously some day. Mainly, by killing a dragon.

A Nadder head is sure to get me at least noticed. Gronckles are tough. Taking down one of those would definitely get me a girlfriend. A Zippleback? Exotic. Two heads, twice the status. Then, there's the Monstrous Nightmare. Only the best Vikings go after those. They have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire. Then there's the infamous and elusive Night Fury, offspring of lightening and death itself. No one has ever killed a Night Fury. That's why I'm going to be the first.

I took a look around for a try to see what the others-who-hated-me were doing. The others—

Boom.

...are the guys in the heart of the "boom". That contained my personal bully and cousin that my dad is so much prouder of, Snotlout. He's a hellhound, like my father and his father. Gem category. Next were the twins, more insane a yak with rabies. Neither of them (go figure) had gone through their Transformation yet, their birthdays being after mine. But, if I had to take a guess, I'd say imps. Unwanted category. No, actually, probably not, but it would certainly fit. Next would be Fishlegs. He was actually descent. A little too... constantly anxious to be truly likeable, but he wasn't bad. His Spirit was a Sasquatch. Common category. Then was...

BAM!

The reason behind the bam. Astrid. She was in half form at the time. Half form would be when one was halfway between Transformation and Original Form. Astrid was a phoenix, legitimately Gem category. Even if she were Common (it was physically impossible for her to be Unwanted) she would be the very reason it was become a Gem.

The "boom" and "bam" would be the effect of attempts to water out one of the fires in the warehouse in front of the forge. They were the fire brigade. And their job was so much cooler. Than mine. Speaking of which.

"Ah, ah, ah. No ya don't. Don't want'cha to get eaten up by the dragons before your Transformation."

I huffed mockingly. "Me? Eaten by dragons. No way! I'm waaay to muscular for their taste. They wouldn't know what to do with all," I gestured to all of myself, "this."

Gobber shrugged and said with his dry sense of humor that I'd adapted (but modified!) from him, "They need toothpicks, don't they?"

I sighed and shook my head.

"But, come on. Just once before I venture off to be by myself for my Transformation?"

"No."

"Gobber..."

Gobber turned to me one more time.

"Listen, if you want to get out there, you gotta stop be'n all of," Gobber took both hands and gestured to be up and down.

Irritation seeped into my voice, "But you just gestured to all of me."

"That's it! Stop being all of you."

I groaned and rubbed my face.

Gobber set down his tools.

"Sun's almost up. Gotta get'cha to the back clearing to have your big day!"

"Providing I don't die of a dragon with some actual common sense," I muttered as I was pushed my way out of the forge.

The journey to my designated Transformation spot determined by the Elder the day before was silent, until Gobber set down my burlap sack of clothes.

"This is where I leave ya, kid," Gobber hesitated before adding, "Good luck. It-it hurts at first."

I snorted. As if, in the last 15 (sooner 16) years of my life, it was forgotten to be said that changing your bodily form hurt. And even if no one had told me, good judgment certainly would have.

With little to do and a smidge too much time to spare, I watched as the dragons flew off into the night. Seeing them from afar gave me a sense of peace for some reason, most likely because I wasn't afraid.

Then the first of the sun's rays peaked from the clouded sky, and with it came a burning feeling that had me hissing. As it started to rise, I had to bit back a scream at the feeling of my skin ripping. It was awful, as if I were a volcano with a closed lid and the sense of feel. My bones came in on cue, cracking and widening, jutting in direction my human form certainly never wore. I wasn't ever one to scream from agony (running from a dragon? Sure! Plenty of times), but I was in tears at this point, my voice crying out in the pain that only seemed to worsen as the sun climbed up the sky.

And then, slowly, my skin cooled over, but I wasn't looking, my eyes were screwed shut, as if waiting for a pain made purely for a cruel jump scare. The cooling process was supposed to be comforting my form. When the ache of my bones, the burn of my blood, and the sting of my skin finally stopped, I opened my eyes slowly. I looked down at the ground in which supported black, leathery paws with dull claws. What?

I listen for running water with hearing that had improved significantly. I bounded over, feeling more graceful than I would expect being... well, being me. When the rush of water got louder, slowed and finally made my way to the creek with a small waterfall.

I peered in, looking at my features, in which scared me out of my sockets.

That. That... was, undeniably a dragon, of which species was undetermined. But I had scales and sharp teeth (not to mention a strange craving for salmon). And, you know, wings. Pretty much dead giveaways of a dragon.

Not. Good. Not. Not. Not, no, never good.

Some people were Unwanteds, like goblins or domestic were cats. No, I suffered a fate much, much worse. I was a dragon, mortal enemy of the Vikings.

Oh how the gods must hate me.

A/N: And... cut.

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AH, AH, AH, AH, AH, AH, AAHHHHHH! Sorry, I'm just super frustrated. I have a lot of trouble with commitment. Over-flowing new story ideas, recent (very depressing) events, and failures on chapters in stories that I've tried to commit to really aren't helping. But, here it is:

I've tried to avoid OOC-ness (although have only been so much as half successful), there will be Toothless, and I've thought up a really complicated concept for this; could you review so that I know I didn't just waste a week of my life?

~ Sam