Fall of the Dragon Rider

Chapter 1. Glimpses of the Past

"Drago! Where are you son! Its time to go home!"

The deep voice of his father made the boy look up. He had been poking an anthill with a stick for most of the day, watching the ants scramble to repair the damage to their home. The twelve-year-old would never admit it, but he was a bully. He was one of the oldest kids in the small village, and in his age group he was the tallest and the strongest. He often used that to his advantage, when he wanted something he just took it, using brute force, and when he got into fights with the other kids, he always one. But he also had a skill that was far more dangerous than strength. He was smart. He knew hot to plot against enemies, how to set traps that would surely kill them. He considered himself among the smartest in the village, and that made him arrogant, mean and rude. But he loved and respected his parents, and he was never rude to them.

So when he heard the voice of his father calling out to him, he dropped the stick, stood up and wiped the sand of his knees. He squashed some stray ants on his arm and ran back over the grassy hill, towards the edge of the village, where his father was waiting. His father was a big man, strong, the chief of the village. He had wild black hair and a ragged beard, and it was clear that the boy was already starting to look like the man.

"There you are!" the man bellowed, "I was beginning to think you were carried off by a dragon!"

"I can take a dragon," the boy scoffed, "they don't scare me!"

"And they shouldn't," the man said with an approving nod, "dragons are vile creatures. Dumb beasts. They are not to be feared, but hunted and killed. Me and my father, we have cleared this land of dragons. I expect you to keep it that way when you are chief."

"When I am chief," Drago said, "I will kill them and wear their skin as a cloak!"

"That is a very good idea," the man answered, "but after dinner. Or your mom will be very angry. And we both know that she can be scarier than a dragon when she's angry..."

Drago smiled and ran up the steps that led to their house. Like in any other village, the chief's house was build on a hill, so that he could oversee the entire village from his doorstep. The sun was setting already as the man closed the door behind him and his son. The village was quiet, no one was outside. It promised to be a peaceful night.

0-0-0-0-0

A scream broke through the air, followed by a roar. Then flames sprayed the quiet town, flooding the streets with an orange glow. The peaceful night had turned to a nightmare not long after dark, when the dragons had come. Now, the village was on fire, flames leaping from house to house, burning everything in their path. The people were running through the streets, carrying buckets, trying to kill the flames as well as the beasts that spewed them. Several houses had already turned to ashes, some of their inhabitants with them, completely taken by surprise and unable to escape as the halls went up in flames.

Among the chaos between the burning buildings, a young boy had been separated from his father. All his tough talk was now just that, talk. He had been hearing stories of dragons his whole life, but now that they were here, it was different. He had lost all his courage. He was scared, defenseless, and he couldn't find his father. All around him the world had been turned upside down and set ablaze. He was pushed aside by the people trying to save their homes. No one had time for the village bully, even if that bully was just another frightened child.

"Dad!" he screamed, pushing away from a building that was no more than a wall clinging on to hope, "Dad!"

"Get out of my way!" someone snarled and he was pushed down again.

Before he was able to get up again, the building next to him, the weapons storehouse, was hit by a bright fireball that sent splinters flying high into the sky. He screamed and covered his head with his arms, feeling the splinters and molten drops of metal rain down on him. The fire bit into his skin, eating away his clothes until someone dropped a bucket of ice cold water on him. As he looked up, he was hauled to his feet, and a sword was shoved in his hands.

"Fight son!" his father yelled at him, "now is the time to prove your worth!"

He looked at his father, his face streaked with blood and dirt, his black beard even messier than usual. Then he looked at the sword in his hands, and it was like his courage came back to him. He gripped the handle tighter and looked up again. He nodded, setting his jaw, and charged after his father.

He managed to kill a stocky, brown dragon that attacked him from the side, and by then he had lost sight of his father again. He looked around, but the man was nowhere to be seen. He ran through the streets, trying to avoid the dragons as much as he could, but he had a few close calls, where he barely managed to kill the beasts. More and more houses went up in flames, the fire now all over the town. With tears in his eyes he watched his own house go up in flames, the fire hungry burning through the wood. As the roof collapsed, his home as he knew it forever gone, he gripped the sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

With a scream he ran towards the closest dragon and killed it without a problem. He let his anger fuel his actions now, and ran through the streets looking for the next beast to kill. Instead, he found his father, laying motionless in a growing pool of blood. He froze, all his anger leaving him at once, as he stared at his father's dead eyes. The sword slipped from his now limp fingers as he fell to his knees at his father's side.

"Dad..." he whispered, "wake up..."

But he knew that his father would never wake up again. He knew that he was dead. All around him was death. The screams of the villagers were fading, but not because they were winning. The roars of the dragons were still as loud as before, and the fire was still flaming high into the sky. He stood up, shaking, stumbling though the streets. As he walked through the village, seeing the dead bodies on the ground, he felt how the anger returned. These beasts, these monsters, they had destroyed his home! And he would make them pay! He would make good on his promise! He would wear their skin as his cloak, he would avenge his father!

He grabbed a sword from the nearest man he saw and lashed out at the nearest dragon. He didn't kill it, but he severed its left front paw. The beast howled and spread its wings, retreating from the threat. It didn't get very far, and it crashed into a burning house not far away. He ran over, his sword ready, but he never made it to the dragon. Another one came in from behind and grabbed him, its claws closing around his arm. He screamed as he was lifted into the air, and the sword fell from his hand as he clawed at the dragon that held him in an iron grip. But the sharp talons didn't budge, and he had to watch how his home grew smaller and smaller, the light from the flames a bright orange spot in the dark of the night.

At first, he didn't feel the pain, but the longer the dragon flew, the more it started to hurt. He couldn't see how his arm was twisted in the dragon's tight grasp, because his cheek was pressed against the scaly leg of the beast. The sun was already rising when the dragon finally landed, not letting go of the boy's arm. By that time he was exhausted, lightheaded from pain and blood loss, and too weak to fight. Another dragon landed close by and snapped at the boy, angering the first dragon and it wasn't long before they were fighting, their prey forgotten. Mustering all his strength he was able to crawl away from the fighting beasts. After a while he managed to stand up, his left arm useless at his side. He stumbled blindly, not knowing where he was or where he was going, but he didn't get far. He collapsed again, losing consciousness. He didn't hear the cart coming, and he didn't see how the driver gasped at the sight of him. He didn't feel how he was lifted off the ground and onto the cart, and he didn't feel how he was taken to a small village on a hill. He would know a few weeks later, when he woke up in a bed, his wounds cleaned and bandaged, but his arm gone.

0-0-0-0-0

He was having a bad day. When he had woken up, frost had covered the ship inside and out, and he had discovered he had left one of the small windows open during the night when he stepped onto the iced over floor. He was cold and hungry and felt the overwhelming need to beat someone.

On top of that his arm hurt. It didn't just hurt, but it burned. The severed muscle and frayed nerves felt like they were on fire, and the lightest of touches send a hot pain through his shoulder. That meant he couldn't wear the metal prosthetic he always wore.

And if that wasn't bad enough, one of his dragon hunters had returned empty handed. He hated failures. He hated useless hunters. And now that one had come back without dragons, he had to get out of the room to deal with it, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

So, to be completely honest, it wasn't all the hunter's fault that he endured all the wrath of a bad day.

"You FAILED!" he growled, pointing the sharp end of his bullhook at the trembling hunter, "you let them ESCAPE!"

"You have to listen to me!" the hunter said, "please..."

"I don't have to anything!" he snarled, his scarred face twisting with rage, "you let them escape!"

"They didn't escape!" the hunter practically screamed, "the riders, they came for them!"

At this, he froze. He turned to the man on the deck, his face void of al emotions. It was probably scarier than blind rage.

"Riders?" he asked, his voice too calm to be real.

"Yes!" the man yelled, "we had found two Night Furies..."

"Night Furies?" the man asked, some of his anger shining through again, "you found... Night Furies? And you let them escape!?"

"We didn't know they had riders!" the man whines desperately, "they came for them. We didn't know they would come for them! They took us by surprise, an ambush! They let all the dragons go, and then flew off on the Night Furies!"

"I don't believe you..." he whispered as he leaned down to the terrified man, "you're lying to protect your own skin."

"I swear I'm not lying!" the man said pleadingly, "we had two Night Furies, I swear. But their riders came for them. And the white one..." He stopped abruptly when the point of the bull hook pressed into his throat.

"Did you say... white one?"

He nodded nervously. "Y...yes..." he stuttered, "a white, female Night Fury. I swear we had them, I swear..."

"And you let them ESCAPE!?" the man thundered, "you FOOL! Get him out of my sight!"

He turned away from the man as he was hauled up by a few of his guards, but then turned back.

"Wait..." he said, "his voice suddenly as cold as the air surrounding them, "I'm not done..."

The hunter in front of swallowed hard, the fear clearly in his eyes.

"You will get me those Night Furies..." he said, stepping closer, his whole posture dark and threatening, "and to make sure that you will..."

He gestured to the men holding the hunter. They forced the man down on his knees, his hands twisted behind his back.

"Please... don't..." the man pleading, "Drago..."

"You will bring me those Night Furies," Drago repeated, trading in his bull hook for a branding iron, "and this is to make sure that you will."

He pressed the hot iron on the man's chest. He had to ignore the scream and the smell of burning flesh, pushing back bad memories that he didn't want to think of, and after a few seconds, he pulled away. His soldiers let the hunter go and the man scrambled backwards, staring at his chest in shock.

"Next time," Drago said and he tossed the iron aside, "it will be your head. Bring me those Night Furies, or die. Get him off my ship."

0-0-0-0-0

"Eret! What happened!?"

The moment he had set foot on his ship he had been surrounded by his man, worrying about his wellbeing. He had his hand clutched over the wound on his chest, the pain still hot in his skin.

"We have to find those Night Furies," he said through clenched teeth, "or we're all dead."

"How do we do that?" someone on his right asked.

"I don't know!" he growled, batting a hand away from his chest, "go to where we last saw them and don't touch me!"

He looked around. His crew was staring at him like he had grown wings himself.

"Well!?" he yelled, "the ship isn't going to sail itself! Get on with it!"

The men scrambled to get to their places and to get the ship moving. Eret himself didn't move, he just stayed where he had sat down, staring at the horizon.

"I'll get you," he mumbled, "and I'll make you pay. Mark my words you bastards, mark my words."

Okay, so let me explain a few things. First of all, I think we don't know enough about Drago and how he became the man he is. I do think he's always been somewhat of a bully, like Snotlout, but then things happened that turned him into a massive hater of dragons and a control freak and the creep we know, so I unleashed my imagination, and came up with something.

Second, I have a headcanon that Eret captured Snowflake and Toothless one day, but that Hiccup and Wrenlou were able to free them, with all the dragons on Eret's ship. Eret had to go back to Drago empty handed, and Drago being Drago gave him a nice brand to make sure he would bring the Night Furies next time. Although I haven't written that story yet, I'm sure that one day I will. So, spoilers for a story that isn't written yet!

So there you have it! My take on how people became who they are and what they are! Next chapter will have Hiccup and Wrenlou and all the others in it, I promise!

Love you all!