𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 - httyd

07| The Night Fury

Everyone would agree that our first dragon training lesson was far from triumphant. The bruises on my wrist were a testament to that. I couldn't see the bruises yet, but I knew they were there. Although dragon training had been less than ideal, I had still learnt quite a bit:

1. Stay as far away from Snotlout as possible in battle, or let him crash into walls and other obstacles so we don't collide.

2. If being targetted by any dragons, waste all shots on a shield so my head isn't blasted clean off by a scorching blaze.

3. Something did happen with Hiccup and the Night Fury.

Technically, the last one wasn't taught in the lesson, but I'd learnt it all the same. I wasn't sure what this entailed because Hiccup and I were still hurrying away from the other Viking teens. My mind still wondered, though.

Perhaps Hiccup had truly mustered up the strength to kill the Night Fury? But then again, that sounded nothing like the Hiccup I knew or at least the Hiccup he let on. It may have flown away, but why was Hiccup so determined to whisk me away to the forest if that was the case?

All these questions swarmed my mind like a buzzing army of ravenous Terrible Terrors, but I still waited for some reasonable answers. Reasonable. You don't often link that word with Hiccup. I watched Hiccup's face closely, noting how tightly he gripped my hand and the slight quirks of his furrowed brows.

Further behind us, Gobber and the other teens loudly chatted. I say 'loudly', but most of the noise was Snotlout boasting about how fantastic Astrid and I had been in the arena (had he forgotten how we both failed?) and how disappointed he was that the Gronckle didn't finish Hiccup off. I'm usually a very peaceful, docile soul, but that didn't stop me from sending freshly sharpened daggers at the rude lout.

Hiccup finally noticed his iron grip on my hand once we had placed some distance between us and everyone else. He snatched his hand away and muttered an apology, his cheeks flushing a brilliant shade of red. I smiled and told him it was fine.

"I did go after it...the Night Fury," Hiccup said quietly, his eyes flicking around us to check if anyone was listening. "And I was so ready to kill it, to finally be a real Viking like everyone else..."

He fell silent and looked to the ground, clenching his fists and allowing his brows to knit together guiltyly. His usually bright emerald-green eyes were reduced to a dull haze. I frowned at him worriedly, unsure if encouraging him to elaborate would leave him more upset than he seemed. His comment unsettled me. It rattled my very core.

'To finally be a real Viking.'

He was a real Viking! By definition, he checked off all the easy marks and often demonstrated his extreme stubbornness, but it was more than that. He was headstrong and, most of all, determined. You can't get more 'Viking' than that!

Expecting such sentiments would brighten Hiccup's expression or have the corners of his mouth twitching up, I opened my mouth to recite them. Unfortunately, Hiccup decided this was the perfect time to elaborate on his vague statement:

"I didn't kill it. I couldn't kill it. I looked at the Night Fury and knew I couldn't kill what I saw. I'm just proving how much of a useless fishbone I am, right? I can barely lift an axe, let alone kill a stupid dragon!"

For a reason not even the great gods residing in Valhalla could explain, a wave of relief washed over me the minute I heard Hiccup's words. Not the terrible lie about him being a fishbone, but rather knowing he hadn't ended another creature's life.

My time to kill a dragon would come. Maybe as an act of defence or a reward for finally making myself useful, but I was far from excited. Knowing Hiccup, I could hardly believe he could live with himself knowing the blood of another creature painted his hands.