Disclaimer: Dream Works and Cressida Cowell own the How to Train Your Dragon franchise.

I've been wanting to write this story out for a while, I hope you all enjoy.

Please tell me what you think.

Chapter 1: A Chief's Madness

The blizzard overhead reminded me exactly of how felt cold, but full of wrath.

"Ya' can still back out ya' know," advised the blonde haired man, his words slurred. He didn't so much as hold an axe in his hand as much his hand was an axe.

I shook my head, wordlessly defying his small kindness. "Gobber, I have to do this," I said, with as much forced calm I could muster. I knew my best friend had my best intentions at heart, but that didn't mean they were what was best for Berk or for the only other thing in my life that held any meaning.

"No, ya' don't," the blacksmith insisted.

I raised my head and turned towards towards the boarding plank. The storm that raged above made it impossible to see anything except for the pier next to my ship, but I knew there were bound to be a dozen other piers and longships if I tried to find them. "All I have to do is just walk down that and then I'll be committed," I said evenly; now was not the time for me to just…break down, especially not in front of my own crew and my best friend. Though, given the month I've been having, I'm really sure I was nearing my wit's end.

To prove my point, I was about to step off, but Gobber's hand over my shoulders made me look back on last time before leaving. "Stoick," Gobber said to my solemnly. We both knew I was about to walk barefoot into a lion's den and that wasn't exactly exactly an experience either of us liked doing a second time. "If you need me, I'll be here."

I nodded, glad to at least have my friend's support. Hopefully, I didn't need it.

And then, I left my ship, alone, not even bothering to take any guards along with me, because that was part of the agreement.

I trekked through freezing wind and pouring hail, just barely able to see the path laid out for me. I shambled on, just barely able to see the faint light glowing off in the distance and the dark and burned out husks of a long dead village. Perhaps if things had gone differently the past few weeks, I would not have even bothered to bring myself to this accursed place. The weather alone acted like it didn't want me to show up and I knew the worst was up ahead! I was going to be set to my breaking point, and I knew it. Oh, how I wished I could decline.

For what felt like an eternity of being weathered by the forces that toppled mountains, I found myself standing in front of a white frosted door. Unlike any other building in the village, this building was new and functional, not dead and burned out. Light shone through the cracks in the door and I could hear loud conversation from inside the building. This was the place.

I feared going inside, perhaps more than anything else I could ever get frightened of. Shivers that nothing to do with frigid Winter went down my spine and I knew if I stepped inside, things would end up badly for me.

I steeled myself and swallowed every emotion that had been in my heart ever since…. ever since that night. I was not going to show weakness, not here. I would die before that happened.

I burst through to door, just to make an impression on those inside. Dozens men and women all seated in rather ornate chairs all turned to look at me, the young upstart of a Chief that I was, with cold disdain and frowns of indifference. My heart burned with fury and resolve and I met their steely gazes with my own. I then slammed the door behind me shut and then wordlessly sat in the available chair that was furthest away from the door.

"Chief Stoick the Vast," one of the men hissed. "Chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe."

I didn't recognize him, but I at least made sure to look at him in the eye and nod. "Yes," I confirmed. "I'm here and willing to partake in this… conversation." I might have been willing to sit in a den of vipers, but that didn't mean I was going to like it. I was going to make it clear, that while I was able to cooperate, I was not someone to be trifled with.

"I suppose it's better than the Bog Burglars," said the man, then he diverted his attention elsewhere. "Alright," he barked, "please continue."

Another Chief I didn't recognize nodded his head and spoke. "Now, as I was saying, the viciousness and success of dragon attacks has been increasing in the past few years, signifying an-" I tuned the man out, since I wasn't interested in hearing a simple mission briefing. Instead, I was more interested in the inherent danger around me. I looked at all of the men and women that sat all over the room, knowing full well that the only thing keeping all of us from being at each other's throats was a simple agreement to join in this discussion. Other though appeared to be in worse shape than I did, almost scared to death and willing to break the whole house apart of it meant survival.

This was not a Thing, not the way I knew them. There were no festivities, no celebration, only the feeling of foreboding that loomed over our heads. This gathering was a secret, known only to the Chieftains and their most trusted and loyal men and it wouldn't happened if the situation were truly that dire. Many Chiefs lost their lives to dragons, ships were being attacked left and right, the patterns of their travels leaving them vulnerable to marauding flocks. Dozens of Viking Chiefs were all pitching plans and ideas together, all of them coming to the same conclusion, if we Vikings were to survive, we had to eliminate the threat before it was too late; destroy the dragon nests and save our villages...

I don't know long I sat there, on edge, but my silent contemplation ended the moment someone else decided to pull off the same stunt I did.

A man dressed in a cloak of black dragon scales shambled into the room. "If you desire to save your homes, then swear your allegiance and fealty to me." His ragged appearance almost made him look like a vagrant but his words made him sound like a man man. Who was this man?

"And who might you be to make such an audacious claim?" said one man.

"Yeah!" agreed another. "Why should we swear ourselves to you?"

"My name is… Drago Bludvist," the strange man said, almost seeming unsure of it. Yet he stepped forward with renewed fire in his eyes. "I alone possess the power to defeat the dragon hordes, make me your King and I will as my first action rid ourselves of their threat."

I found myself raising my eyes at that. Now, I was certainly interested, enough to pay attention more than just in passing. Other people also paid attention to the strange madman. Whoever he was, he certainly asked for and offered quite a lot. But the real question was, could he live up to that? I stood up, feeling certain I did not want to submit my authority to some random vagrant. "You certainly talk big," I said in his direction, circling the man. "but we don't even know who you are. Who even invited you? You're certainly not the Chief of any Tribe I recognized.

Drago did the same, his arms unmoving, but his eyes looking back and forth all through the room. He might have earned a little bit of attention with his big claims and his flashy entrance, but my words knocked him down several pegs. Still the strange man, narrowed his eyes and looked into mine. "My Tribe and everyone I know is dead!" he spat. "The Chief is no more and I alone remain!"

"So, why should we listen to you, how do we know that you could protect us when you couldn't protect your own Tribe!" I shouted. That should have been the nail in the metaphoric coffin, sinking a mad man's fever dream and paving the way for more serious talk.

But it wasn't. Drago didn't back down. Instead, he went closer to me and shouted in front in of my face. "Because since then, I have acquired a great power, a gift from the gods!" Drago announced, his hand raised in the air, his words becoming not a defense a rally cry."We have long been trampled under the under the scaled feet of dragons for too long!How many of our loved ones must be lost burned to death? How many more lives must be spent just trying to survive? Make me your King and I will free us from their tyranny!"

Murmurs broke out among the crowd, all of them wondering if perhaps this man was a little more than what he appeared to be. Certainly, a dragonscale cloak wasn't common, but that spoke little of one's own skill. Still, my lips quavered a little, unsure of myself if I really should be standing up to a man who was truly blessed by the gods. On the other hand, I still had too much on the line to back down now. No weaknesses, no hesitation "Prove it," I demanded of the man.

Drago smirked a little and then turned to the door. It had since been closed and slammed shut by someone else since the man barged in. "Bring him in!" he barked.

And then suddenly the door flung open again. This time instead of a single person stepping through, there were two large men dragging another poor soul locked in heavy chains, a slave most likely given how disheveled he was. That wasn't exactly uncommon in the Barbaric Archipelago.

"Hey, only chiefs are allowed in this building!" declared one of the Chiefs. He and half the room all drew their weapons and stood to approach the trespassers.

But then I did an act that a part of me knew I was going to regret. I raised my hand and told the other Chief's to stop. "If he's so interested in breaking the rules and sanctity of this meeting, then he must have something worthwhile to show us!" I met the mad man's eyes with steel in my heart and gaze, since my hands lacked it. "If he doesn't, I'll run him through myself!"

The Chiefs though they didn't put down their weapons at least didn't charge through to slay the me and the others. I don't know what convinced them to heed the words of a man as young as I was, but at the very least, I had their attention, if not their respect.

Drago grinned at me, pleased with himself, like a man who was about to make himself a King. "Oh, I don't think you'll be disappointed!" he declared and turned to the man in chains. "Release him!" he declared.

The warriors that escorted the chained man undid drew out a key and undid the chains, dropping them uselessly onto the floor. Yet, the man did not even bother running away. He fell onto the floor, his head bowed as if submitting. There was no begging, no looking Drago in the eye to plead for mercy. I would have thought there would have been some resistance, but this man, well, he wasn't even putting up a fight.

Drago simply stepped forward, as if this was an act he had done a thousand times before. He knelt at the unchained man and placed his right hand upon his forehead. "Remember, this is the last thing I ask of you," he reminded the man, as if there was some long standing agreement between them.

And then the unbound slave began fell face first into the floor, his arms and limbs shaking as though he was going through some sort of seizure. Drago got up and stepped away, completely unconcerned for the man's well being even when the other Chiefs all looked at him concerned. "Shouldn't we help him?" questioned one of the newer Chiefs.

Drago shook his head, looking at his great work. "This is only a small part of my power," he claimed, as if he should be proud of such a baleful and hideous act. The mad mad man certainly had power, but I don't think anyone in that room except him believed it came from any of the gods we worshipped.

The slave, the man…. could hardly be called a man any more in my eyes. Skin was starting to turn into… something that was not skin and limbs began growing claws and become more paw like. All the while, the man, no, the beast grew.

The creature gave a blood curdling roar as it tried to stand on limbs that were misshapen, but becoming more and more suited for whatever dragon it was turning into.

this time I didn't stop the other Chiefs from making their defiance known, no I joined them, drawing my sword.

Drago backed away. "You don't understand!" he shouted at us but we were not in the mood for talking anymore.

I swung my sword at the man hitting his left arm, only to bounce off harmlessly against the metal plating of whatever armor encased it. "We're not going to serve the likes of you!" I declared. This… monstrosity was not something I was going to put up with. Vikings were not dragons, Vikings don't even like dragons. We were both in separate worlds, made wholly incompatible and I was not the only one who shared that sentiment.

Drago guards armed themselves and readied their offense, though their leader instead gestured them to stand back. "No, if they will not listen to reason, let them burn!" he barked.

Then, the roof fell open, a flaming maw descended right at me, blasting the entire building with a burning blaze. Several of the Chiefs were caught completely off guard and roasted and I would have joined them if I was a little older and slower, but I ended up getting several dozen pounds of broken roof shingles and broken wood land squarely on my back, pinning me.

A dragon in armor burst forth while the Drago and his men fled the scene and landed beside me, his axe like helmet threatening to cut me down like an executioner's blade. The other dragon, since he was clearly no longer man, approached the other survivors, his form practically indistinguishable from the beast that he had become.

With no help from anyone else in the room, I realized just how dire my situation had become. It was in that moment, I knew I was going to go to Valhalla, to die a warrior's death. I held my sword up and ready to meet my end with one last defiant stand.

But it then turned out I didn't have an appointment in Odin's Hall tonight. Gobber and a small detachment of hooligan warriors burst through the door, their weapons shining even through the black smoke of the building. Other warriors from other Tribes had all readied themselves and were next to enter the burning building.

"Gobber!" I shouted, getting my best friend's attention. Oh, how many times has he saved me skin in the nick of time?

But then he said something that was very out of character for him to say. "Dad!" he shouted, his voice might higher pitched than a brawl man like him should be capable of.

I blinked. Wait, wasn't he supposed to call me "Stoick" and then slice at the dragon that threatened to chop my head off? In fact, why did I even know that?

"Dad!" the blonde haired man said dragons and Vikings around me all just… froze, as if unable to actually do anything with confusion pounding me like a hammer.

Okay, now I was getting frightened. "Uh… Gobber?" I questioned.

Suddenly, I became aware that my life wasn't being threatened. I looked at the axe helmeted dragon and his form seemed to waver before turning into nothing but smoke.

I squinted at all of the Vikings and they all burst into vapor as well, leaving me behind with a Gobber that only spoke in confusing terms. Even the room we were in turned out to be nothing but an empty void.

I looked at the sword in my hand became transparent and I suddenly remembered I lost the blade during an expedition that happened… months later.

"Wake up, Dad!" I heard the man bark out.

It was then I knew where we were, where I was. I blinked my eyes and they suddenly felt really heavy as if they were tired. Gobber disappeared replaced by a boy that was so scrawny I almost had a time believing he was my son. "Hiccup…" I said wearily, my voice suddenly feeling so weary. I got up, no longer feeling the wieght of the collapsed roof, but the warmth of well made bedsheets.

My son smiled at me as I stood. "Well, this it only took screaming in your ear for an hour," my boy said. He wasn't tall or large, but he was mine. Maybe there was hoping by the time he turned twenty he'd put on some muscle, but as for right now, I loved my toothpick of a boy.

I returned his jest with one of my own, "Well, I'm surprised you haven't gone and raised the dead with shouting like that!"

"So, that's why you seem more like a Draugr than usual!" declared my son, his grin showing.

Then I felt something wet touch my left hand. I turned to see my son's dragon, Toothless nipping at me hand. "Well, good morning to you too, big guy!" I said scruffing the Night Fury's head.

"We better get to breakfast before it gets too cold!" declared my son, leading the way forward.

Toothless made happy noises and went after his friend.

I waved my hand wearily, a little weak from my morning sickness. "You guys go ahead!" I told them. "I'll be there in a minute!"

Hiccup smiled and both my son and his dragon made their way into the kitchen.

I then slid myself out of my bed, still feeling a little like I actually been in a blizzard.

It's been a while since I thought back to that night, back when I was so desperate to write a terrible wrong, so much so that I almost convinced myself that my own memories of the event were a little… off. I distinctly remember that mad man, that Drago Bludvist warp and twist a slave into a dragon; but no one, not even Gobber, the man who had nearly wrote a book on the story of how a dragon kept chasing him for years over a belt buckle, believed me when I said I saw a man turn into a dragon. Unfortunately, there wasn't anyone else who survived that incident who remembered the whole thing, the rest either burned up or got hit so hard they forgot.

It had almost gone to the point that I myself had almost convinced myself that that that fanciful part of a man turning into a Viking's mortal enemy was but a fever dream. Almost. I took a look out the nearest window and saw a world where dragons and Vikings lived in harmony with one another; that was every bit as implausible and fanciful as a man changing shape as far as I was concerned and I saw that every time I opened my eyes. I burst into a grin, proud of the work made by my son's hands.

Still, why was I even dreaming about an event that happened fourteen years ago that only I remembered? I mean, it's not like I was suddenly reminded of how I nearly died in a burning building or a man shapeshift before my eyes in the past few weeks. Were the gods trying to tell me something? Or perhaps I was just feeling nostalgic.

I shrugged; it probably didn't matter. I had breakfast and that was far more relevant to me than some fever dream. "Alright, boy, so what's for breakfast?" I called out to my son.

This story has nothing to do with my other stories "Becoming the Enemy" or "Changing Allegiance". There are similar themes as well as transformation elements, but that's all. The Theft of Fire is more canon compliant though obviously some things are going to be different, especially in regards to how the second movie went down.

Ever since the second movie, I've been wondering if I could think of an interesting scenario involving what if Drago had the power to transform men at his disposal. This story is the result.