By the Light of Dawn. how to train your dragon

The thick scent of smoke hung heavy in the air, a lingering reminder of the previous night's raid. Berk had weathered yet another attack, substantially more charred and beaten but still standing, despite the brutal dragon onslaught it had faced just hours prior.

Vikings picked their way through the destruction, taking stock of the extent of the damage and the casualties that the attack had wrought.

One Berkian, the local blacksmith, inspected his forge with critical eyes. It seemed to have made it through the chaos relatively unscathed, but he knew better than to assume. Circling the workshop slowly, he took note of a few scuffs and scratches. Uncertain of whether or not they'd been there before, he made a mental note to see what he could do for repairs later.

Behind his shop lay a winding path, leading into the woods. Normally, he paid it little mind, but today the walkway drew his attention.

Small, burnt chunks of timber littered the ground. Fighting back a yawn, he bent down and began to collect them, tucking the fragments into the crook of his arm for safekeeping. The village was in no position to waste resources – either he'd find a way to repurpose the wood, or someone else would.

He slowly continued down the path, stooping to retrieve each piece. Idly he wondered what they'd belonged to, before the destruction. He really hoped they hadn't been part of a house.

Once he reached the treeline he paused, squinting to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him again. Nestled between the trunk appeared to lay a large, dark shape.

A downed dragon, perhaps?

The man tensed, lowering himself towards the ground with as much grace as he could muster. He set down the pile of wood as quietly as he could manage, wincing as a few pieces knocked together.

Creating any sound was risky, but approaching a wild dragon without a weapon was even more so. If the beast was still alive, he needed to be ready to fight at a moment's notice, so he brandished his hook before him as he walked.

Creeping closer, he was able to make out the shape in better detail. The shine of scales quickly confirmed his initial suspicion – it was a downed dragon. However, once he got a proper look at the beast, his jaw dropped open in surprise.

"Odin's beard," breathed Gobber, eyes stretched wide in disbelief. "Is tha' what I think it is?"

Night Fury.

The most feared, elusive dragon in the entire archipelago. Though no one could confirm exactly what the legendary beast looked like, the blacksmith had little doubt of what he was faced with now. This dragon was dark and sleek, covered with pitch black scales. Large, batlike wings stretched out around it, blanketing the forest floor in shadow.

There was a large cut on the dragon's forehead, located just above the eye. Judging by the amount of debris littered around it, Gobber suspected the beast had been struck unconscious by sheer force.

For a moment, he toyed with the idea of returning to town for reinforcements. It would be safer to have backup, especially when dealing with a creature this terrifying. Yet he knew that leaving now would be too risky. The dragon could wake up when he was away, easily making an escape before he'd returned.

He didn't want to be the fool responsible for letting a Night Fury go free. Thor, they'd write odes at his expense for such an error in judgment.

Gobber patted down his pockets, relieved to find a single bola still strapped to his side. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it would help. With it, he could at least secure the beast's wings so that it couldn't fly away.

After assuring himself that the dragon was fully unconscious, he set to work binding the wings to its side. It wasn't easy, as the dragon's impressive wingspan required a great deal of strength to fold against its back. Once he was satisfied the bola would hold, he removed his own belt, crafting a makeshift muzzle that he tightened around the dragon's jaws.

Now to get it to the ring…

He sighed, realizing that at this point he needed to recruit help. There was no way he could single-handedly drag an unconscious dragon of this size all the way to the arena. So he started towards town, throwing worried glances over his shoulder every few paces to reassure himself that the Night Fury hadn't moved.

Hiccup awoke in darkness, attention immediately drawn to the pounding pain at his temple. He brought a hand up, fingers brushing against a cut above his eyebrow. It stung to the touch and his fingers came away damp.

That can't be good.

He pressed his fingers harder against the wound, trying to apply a steady pressure as he took stock of his surroundings.

He was lying on the ground, staring up at a stone ceiling. It was smooth – too smooth to be a natural cave. No doubt the work of a viking craftsman.

Heart rate skyrocketing, Hiccup clumsily pushed himself to his feet. The walls around him were all made of the same polished, cleanly cut stone. All except one – a large, metal wall that loomed over him.

He walked over to it, inspecting the shiny surface more closely. It was dinged up with an assortment of scratches and scorch marks, as if someone or something had been fighting to break it down.

Oh gods.

There was only one place he could think of that would have such a door: Berk's dragon training arena.

He was in the arena. The knowledge left him breathless, and he found he no longer had the strength to stand. Dropping to his knees, he leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the cage door.

Of all the nightmare situations he'd considered over the years, this was by far the one that had scared him most.

How had this happened? The last thing he remembered, he'd been watching the raid from the safety of the tree line, trying to catch a glimpse of his father in the battle. It had become a habit of his during the attacks, finding the best vantage point to keep track of the chief. Though it worried him to see his only family facing down such a dangerous threat, he also relished the opportunity it provided for him to see the man again.

Had she gotten to him? He loathed the thought of it, but he couldn't dismiss it too quickly. He'd always been able to resist the call in the past, but never to fully tune it out. Maybe the siren song had finally overpowered his own will, and this gap in his memory was the result.

The tacky feeling under his fingers made him suspect the queen was not the culprit this time. He'd been hit hard by something, or someone. The pounding had not receded, reminding him that he couldn't rule out the possibility of a concussion.

Hiccup only hoped he'd been found after sunrise. Did the village know that what they had captured was more than just a Night Fury?

Astrid was the first to arrive for dragon training, as was her habit. It wasn't a difficult feat, considering her peers tended to arrive at the last minute possible without so much as an excuse. Still, she took pride in being the head of the class and refused to let her record go challenged.

Gobber was already standing by the entrance to the ring, a strange tension to his posture. He looked like a rope pulled too tight, ready to snap if any pressure were to be applied.

Strange, but then again, Gobber had always been a little strange.

"Morning," she called out in greeting, stretching her arms as she walked. The early morning sunlight felt wonderful on her bare arms and she was grateful that there was no wind to take away from the rare warmth.

The blacksmith returned her greeting, though he did not relax at all.

Astrid opened her mouth to ask what was bothering her teacher, snapping it shut when she caught sight of another large figure approaching. Stoick the Vast, chief of Berk, was making his way towards the arena.

It wasn't completely unheard of for the man to observe training, but they usually had some warning so they could prepare. Astrid shifted her weight from foot to foot, wishing she'd run through more warm-up drills that morning. Impressing the chief would go a long way in helping her secure her place amongst the tribe's warrior ranks.

She briefly considered calling out to him, but then she caught sight of his pinched expression. Like Gobber, the man seemed unsettled by something. His brows were drawn tightly together and he walked with a purpose-driven gait that she'd only seen in times of combat.

Her stomach twisted as she wondered what exactly had put two of Berk's strongest in such a mood. There had been a raid two nights ago – had there been a fatality? She hadn't heard anything, but it wasn't uncommon for wounds to fester and warriors to die days later from the resulting infection.

Or, perhaps there was a threat on the horizon that Stoick felt they needed to prepare for? The Outcasts had been remarkably quiet lately. Maybe he'd heard whispers of an upcoming attack?

Past the chief, she could make out the shapes of her peers trailing behind. They each looked puzzled, no doubt sharing her own confusion at Stoick's decision to observe their training day.

"Is it true?" Stoick asked without preamble, voice gruff as he addressed the blacksmith.

"Aye," replied Gobber, face solemn. "Ya can ask Ivan or Mulch if you don' believe me. Those two helped me drag it back 'ere yesterday mornin'."

The chief exhaled loudly, shaking his head. "Once more, my friend, you have outdone yourself."

Gobber's face twisted into a pained smile. "I'm not so sure catchin' a beast like tha' is a good thing. We very well may be riskin' the wrath of the gods."

"Lightning and death itself," murmured Stoick, voice grave.

The phrase was familiar, and Astrid found herself scanning through memories trying to place it. When she did, she couldn't contain her gasp. They couldn't really be implying what she thought they were…could they?

Stoick looked at her with surprise, as if just noticing her presence for the first time. "Gobber was able to capture a Night Fury after the raid," he confirmed, pointing towards the row of cages below. "You will be the first class of Berkians to learn how to fight those devils."

It was huge news, and she could see why the men were so shaken. In the history of Berk, very few could even claim to have seen a Night Fury, much less have dueled it personally. This was an unknown for all of them.

"Oh my gods," she whispered, trying to wrap her mind around the idea.

Stoick grunted his agreement, sharing her wonder at the thought. He then took a moment to nod in greeting to the rest of their class, who had just managed to catch up. The other students all looked equally taken aback, having overheard the news as they approached.

"I'll be here to observe today," announced the chief, "and also to step in if needed. Though you've all proven yourselves to be valiant fighters, we know next to nothing about this dragon. If I tell you to run, I expect you to listen. No one plays hero with the Night Fury, got it?"

A chorus of nods confirmed their agreement.

"Astrid! You've proven yourself th' best fighter–" Gobber said, before dropping his voice to add, "–and listener –" before resuming his usual volume, "of the group, so you shall 'ave the honor of bein' the first to face th' beast. We nee' to find ou' all we can about it. See wha' makes it tick!"

Normally she'd expect a fight from her peers when given such an honor, especially from Snotlout, but no one argued this time. Fear of Night Furies had been ingrained in the vikings of Berk for generations, and while many craved the glory of facing one, shaking off that level of apprehension was no easy task.

Astrid swallowed, retrieving her axe from its holster on her back and picking up one of the shields laying beside the entrance. At Gobber's encouragement, she began making her way into the ring, trying not to flinch when the door clanged shut behind.

"Now remember," said Stoick. "We don't know this dragon's habits, so stay on your guard. Do not assume it will act like a Nadder or Zippleback."

As if she needed reminding.

Astrid rolled her grip on the axe, eyes locking on the cage door that was slowly opening. She could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, and pushed that awareness to the back of her mind. She needed to focus.

Her first impression was that the Night Fury was much smaller than she'd expected, perhaps half the size of Monstrous Nightmare. It edged out the cage slowly, each movement impressively fluid and silent. The creature was entirely jet black, save for a pair of toxic green eyes that were now fixed on her with a strange intensity.

A long black tail swished behind the dragon, stirring up the layer of dirt that coated the ring. The dragon's movements felt almost feline in nature, like a cat stalking a mouse.

And I'm the mouse, she thought, mouth pressing into a thin line.

She tensed her shoulders, preparing for the Night Fury to pounce. Knowing that the dragon's deadly accuracy was a hallmark of the species, she kept her shield tight against her body. She couldn't afford to make a mistake here.

The Night Fury continued to study her, a strange awareness in its eyes. It seemed almost intelligent . She'd come across a few more clever dragons in her training, but none that seemed to see into her soul like this odd, shadowy creature. It was a disconcerting feeling and left her strangely unbalanced.

As if taking note of her discomfort, the dragon turned its attention away from her, tilting its head up. She watched as its eyes passed over each of the observers above. seeming to linger on the chief's large form longer than the rest before continuing down the line of onlookers.

Why hasn't it attacked? Astrid adjusted her stance, the movement sending a stray rock clattering away.

The Night Fury snapped its attention back to her. She felt a tremor run down her back. It had been a long time since she'd been truly afraid, but there was something about this dragon that seemed unnatural to her.

She didn't like that.

Astrid took a step forward, brandishing her axe. The goal was to figure out the dragon's weaknesses, right? To do that, she'd have to get it to strike.

To her surprise, the dragon gracefully evaded her oncoming attack. It made no sound, simply side stepping out of range at the last moment, leaving her careening towards the arena wall. She dug in her heels, skidding to halt as she rounded to face it, feeling her face flush with outrage.

The dragon looked…smug?

It was a ridiculous thought, and yet there it was – a corner of its mouth twisted up in what could only be amusement. Like they were playing a game.

Just how smart was this dragon?

She charged again, throwing in one of her more complex maneuvers. With it, she continued to drive the dragon further and further back, yet she never got close enough to nick it with her blade. The creature seemed to almost anticipate her actions, dodging and weaving in a way not unlike the vikings she trained beside.

She'd seen dragons do all manner of things in her time, but she'd never before seen one on the defensive. They were predators, always on the offensive, especially when faced with an armed foe. So what was so different about this one?

Staring into those bright green eyes, she couldn't help but feel like there was something she was missing. Something tickled at her memory, as if the answer were just out of reach.

She was so focused in her thoughts, she barely registered Gobber slipping into the ring, banging a metal shield against his hook as he drove the disoriented Night Fury back into its cage. It seemed that the technique for disorientation remained universal to all dragons, at least.

"That was–" Her breath caught in her throat.

"Completely mad!" Finished Gobber with a strangled laugh, securing the door firmly. "The beast was playing with you!"

Astrid cast her shield to the side, eyeing the cage door.

"My turn!" Snotlout called, trying to push his way into the ring.

"No," said Stoick, grabbing the back of his nephew's tunic. "After that display, we must be careful how we proceed."

"Agreed," said Gobber, "I don' trust most o' you around tha' thing."

Stoick nodded, examining the vikings before him with a critical eye. "It's far smarter than we expected," he pointed out. "With the way it picked up on Astrid's movements, I'd hesitate to let it learn too many of our fighting styles. The dragon has already faced Astrid and has an idea of how she strikes, perhaps she alone should continue to face the Night Fury."

Astrid felt her throat go dry, but she grunted her agreement. It was an honor to be chosen for the task, and would give her a chance to study the strange dragon again.

"Yes," she rasped, finding her voice. An idea occurred to her and she was quick to voice it before she lost the nerve, " I think I should be the one to mind it, too. If it sees me as a source of food, it may let its guard down around me in the ring."

Stoick hummed, face thoughtful. "You may be onto something. Very well, but be careful."