Chapter Text
It was another raid: vikings were running to his left and right. Flames licked up houses and structures to his sides, and it was all round chaos. He could hear the roars of the dragons; drafts from their powerful wings sending up dust and sparks into the night. Spears and swords in hand; battle was commencing. It was an ideal viking village, and even children were helping the adults fight off the beasts.
He had wanted to help; prove himself to his people, that he could be a viking, but no, his inventions would not be seen as more than a child's toys. When the dragons swooped down on Berk, he had grabbed a spear only to be shoved back and told he was not strong enough "weaklings should go hide while their betters dealt with their foes" as his cousin Snotlout had sneered in his face before pushing him into a house.
Unfortunately, this was not the only day this had happened to him. every single day, as far as he could remember, he had been bullied by his peers; Snotlout and the twins jeering at him, Fishlegs cowering behind while Astrid; 'oh so powerful and prodigious' stood by sharpening her dagger, ignoring everything. Those disappointed side-glances his father subtly tried throwing at him while he pretended he couldn't feel them searing into his back. So far, Gobber was the only one he could remember seeing him as he truly was; not a weakling, not a disappointment, but truly him; Hiccup.
As he ran, flames licked the ground; viking battled left and right, and a sword lay gleaming on the ground. he grabbed it, and charged toward a large shape near the edge of the forest. Unheeding of those calling him back, he skidded to a halt. A flaming ball of fire thrown by another dragon lit up the clearing. He could make out a Deadly Nadder. it was feasting on a dead sheep, sinking it's fangs in and spraying blood everywhere. Before he could truly stop and rethink, he ran at it, and drove the sword home with all the strength he had ever possessed.
It was not that he enjoyed killing. The very fact had him feeling nauseous; but to make his father; the chief of Berk, and their people proud, he would be willing to wield a sword and drive it into a dragon. Even if it was to see their approving glances for once, however pathetic that may sound. He had yearned for everyone's approval, and for his father's love. Now he understood he wouldn't ever get it unless he suddenly grew taller and broader: what his father wished he was. He would never be the ideal son, friends or future chief, so if his flame were to be extinguished, why not go out by doing something useful for once?
Before everything went black, he registered a pain in his chest. He was feeling numb all over...hopefully the Nadder had passed quickly without much pain.