A/N: I know I know, another story. I cannot help it, my inspiration is running rampant and this idea has been stuck in my head ever since I saw HTTYD2 and heard Valka's story of her "death". I think someone even pronounced the concept on tumblr. Anywho, began to write to see how things would go and now this story is getting ridiculously longer with every new chapter I write. So I thought, hey, why not submit and see what you guys think?

In general, the idea is simple: what would have happened if instead of just Valka, Cloudjumper had taken Hiccup too and alas, he grew up with dragons instead of Vikings? It's a twist of events, but do not fret! Toothless is still there, Hiccstrid is still there, a lot of elements from HTTYD 1&2 are still there, to be honest. Just, modified, changed, and I added some of my own flavour. So, I'll stop rambling now, enjoy.

Awaken

Swathing flickers of vicious flames curled around the gnarled remains of what was once a peaceful and merry village. Every now and then merciless dragons came to steal off of them what they could; provisions, resources, lives.

This deathly day demanded a sacrifice so grand that it burnt Stoick's heart, tore at his good will and allowed for an earth-cracking roar to leave his chapped lips. His fists smashed against the sooty wooden wall next to him, shaking the ground even more.

Cackling and heat intoxicated the air, mixed with the clamours of frightened and courageous Vikings, all fighting for dear life.

The image of those four wings; batting with perfect synchronisation through the dusty air, creating distance between himself and his beloved isle of Berk. His wife, grasping desperately onto the claws that were wrapped around her. Then one hand was raised, reaching out as she called for Stoick, beautiful emerald eyes full of terror and angst.

Her other arm was tightly curled around a bundle of cloth and tender flesh. The bundle cried, ear-piercing wails dying the air in a sorrowful tune.

They had taken his wife.

The beast had taken his wife.

And his son right along.

Twenty years later...

The fires raged with disgruntling contempt, licking and gnawing at the frail, wooden constructions that were dotted around Berk.

Well, to be precise, Berk was only ever wood and metal, and much more of the former than the latter. Which meant that barely anything was not on fire.

The horrendous screech of bone-breaking roars and growls filled the smoke-ridden air, causing the young Viking warrior to fiercely clamp her ears shut.

"We need Water from the docks! The wells are nearly empty!" A Viking cried, most likely Edvin the fisher.

She gripped her axe more viciously, feeling the heavy weight of its length as it nearly reached to her boots. Right now, she was more than glad for the modifications she had requested from Gobber that morning. In the name of Odin, she needed them.

With a mighty cry, she hurled it into the air, striking what seemed to have been a Hideous Zippleback with the flat end. The right head smacked against the left, causing it to lose its aerodynamic balance and begin a crash-landing towards the ground.

Eager warriors were already awaiting it, tying it up with ropes, shouting and calling with glee.

A wicked smirk marred her facial features. She never missed her target; long years of continuous, nerve-wrecking training had ensured that. She was not the best of her year and generation for no reason.

Not even the obnoxious, loud-mouthed Jorgenson boy could keep up with her stealthy agility and extreme battle skills.

"Fishlegs, to the docks!" She roared with authority as the chubby nineteen year old passed her by, frightfully wielding a sword and shield.

He nodded several times, waddling over towards the wooden platform that led down to the vast, churning oceans. At least, he hobbled and jolted over what was left of it, avoiding the angrily hissing fires that raged around every corner.

Astrid jogged on, professionally making her way through fighting and working Vikings, knocking the hilt of her beloved weapon against the skull of a Gronckle, then cracking the ribcage of an overly abominable Deadly Nadder that was about to snatch up some astray sheep.

'Serves you right for trying to steal our goods!' she ground her teeth at the thought, continuing with the menacing battle.

As she waged onwards, her golden braid flipping around wildly, her eyes strayed towards the star-streaked sky.

Next to the endless curls of grey smoke which obscured any clear vision of the usually beautiful horizon, she was able to observe the one or other reptilian monster descend as it assaulted the people of her village.

But she was awaiting one particular guest.

Her ears were perked, carefully tuned to the high-pitched scream that would shudder through the air, inducing incredulous amounts of fear and anxiety into the hearts of a many Viking man and woman.

Yet it did not come.

Since five or six years, Astrid concluded with a delicate hint of disappointment.

Not that she liked to see her village torn up without much effort nor reason by the world's most dangerous known being; the unholy offspring of Lightning and Death itself. On the contrary; she was somewhat glad that the Night Fury had decided to finally leave her home town alone, searching most likely for other habitations to raid and terrify.

Yet her joy was limited; for the disappointment did not want to leave. No one, not even Borg the Bold, had ever managed to defeat this lethal creature. No one had ever survived an encounter with one, either. Which was the reason that no clear information were noted down in the Book of Dragons. Not even a sketch of the wicked beast.

But Astrid, clenching her fists with determination, wanted to do it. Be the first. Kill a Night Fury.

She would be so highly respected by her people; the chief himself would hand her the name of Fearless Astrid Hofferson, the Night Fury slayer. And who knew, maybe she would even become the next chief. They might bend tradition simply because of her glorious achievement.

However, her wondrous dreaming and plans were thwarted the day the black death stopped visiting Berk altogether. He was the only dragon who raided for fun; without stealing anything at all.

And just as suddenly as he came and destroyed, he left, and never returned.

The whole island of Berk was more than elated when, after the seventeenth Night Fury-less attack, they assumed he was gone for good.

"Maybe he was old and died. Or some other dragon got to him."

"What a joke, that can't be true! Maybe he just got bored of wrecking Berk all the time."

"I'm sure he was frightened of me, the almighty Snotlout Jorgenson!"

The blonde had to gag at the last memory. 'As if.'

But fact was, the brute had left indeed.

She felt nearly insulted; as if the winged reptile was not taking her serious enough as an enemy. Then again; how was he supposed to, if they never faced off? Each and every time the screech of the Night Fury echoed throughout the sky, and the purple flames engulfed the buildings of Berk, she raced with all her might towards where she believed he would be lurking. Yet she always missed her chance. When Astrid lunged her axe, she missed. When she stood at the pier, believing to have recognized a shadow in the moonlight, bolas in hand, she missed. He was incredibly rapid, and departed before he even arrived.

Every failure angered her more and more.

'Why are you not coming anymore!?' she internally roared, whacking a few Terrible Terrors away that dared to assault her, 'Is it true!? Are you bored of this village and have found new folk to pester?'

The humiliation sat deep, but it could not be helped.

Finally, the burning flames were snuffed out by the Vikings as the raiders left; flying off into the morning with whatever stock they had managed to steal. The chief, Stoick the Vast, approached the centre of the town, covered in soot and cuts as well as bruises, but not as heavily as most other warriors around him.

From the corner of her eyes, Astrid recognized a rather sweaty Fishlegs approach, accompanied by the Twins and Snotlout, who spun his war hammer leisurely.

They were all battered and panting heavily.

It had, after all, been the seventh attack that month; they were becoming more and more frequent, which unnerved every villager to quite an extent. Especially the chief, even though he managed to hide his deep worry efficiently, for the sake of his men.

"Well done, people of Berk! Yuh have fought well! I am proud ta call yuh my own. Hoark, how much loss has there been?" He turned his head briefly to the side, where a bulky, limbs-missing Viking stood.

"About twenty sheep 'nd yak, me chief. Lotsa barrels of fish, sadly enough. We will have ta send out new fishing boats to make up for the loss."

Stoick nodded gravely, frowning, "As long as no Viking was lost in battle."

"No chief, no one today."

'But you never know about tomorrow.' Astrid concluded with bitterness.

Her anger and hatred towards the dragons flared up anew, making her heart thump and her fingers itch with lust to kill every last one of their kind. So much loss, just because of those fiends not getting enough.

"Well, we better rebuild as much as we can, and prepare for the next raid. I fear it won' take long for it ta come."

Behind the huge mountain of a chief came his right hand man, waving his hammer-hand in the air, "Yuh know, these attacks are just gettin' worse, Stoick. We should find the nest, and kill 'em once and fer all."

It was surprising to hear something like that from the lips of Gobber the Belch, a man who fought because he had to, not because he wanted to. He was a softy at heart, and just wished that the dragons would leave them the way the Night Fury had.

Seemingly, he had had enough. After over three-hundred years of constant onslaughter, even calm-natured Gobber, who prized himself with his history, had hit his limit.

"I know, we will have a meeting in two hours at the Great Hall! There, we will discuss further plans."

With mostly demotivation ringing amongst his men, the Vikings turned to attend their new task; cleaning up Berk. Well, what was left of it.

"Astrid!" The rumbling call of her leader seeped into her ears.

Said girl turned to face him, observing his grim, determined expression.

"Yes, chief?" She spoke, stepping up to him. He was a good two metres tall, if not taller, and she felt terribly minuscule and weak in his presence.

"I want yuh to join us, at the meetin'." He spoke, eyes boring down into hers, voice having quietened a little, "Yuh are, by far, one of my best warriors, and I want you there." There was the tiniest hint of an approving smile crossing his lips before it disappeared.

Pride immediately began to swell up within Astrid as she did her best to suppress her overwhelming joy and eagerness.

"Yes of course, chief." She responded with her much-strained dignity.

The burly man turned and left. Astrid bit her lower lip with joy.

He strapped the prosthetic to his stump, twisting a coil, then clacking a flap back. Observing the metal replacement for a left foot more clearly, Hiccup grinned merrily, pleased with his accomplishment.

It had taken him a good two years and several secret tricks taught to him by an old blacksmith back in the village of Looting Liars, before he perfected his forgery skills to its maximum, and managed to create a prosthetic that matched himself and his loyal companion.

"What do you say, Toothless? Wanna give this a try?" He stood up, scratching the scar and stubble on his chin.

The obsidian dragon warbled a little, chartreuse eyes peeking open to stare rather unexcitedly at his rider.

"Aww, come on, I promise not to test out the flying suit this time. Just want to see how my new construction fits with yours." He patted his leg, then directed his hand towards the black painted piece of leather that sat strapped to Toothless' left tail-fin.

Shaking his scaly head, then begrudgingly getting to his feet as he stretched his large, bat-like wings leisurely, the dragon complied.

He warbled some more, lowering himself for the boy to climb aboard.

"That's the spirit." Hiccup adjusted the leather saddle he had created at the delicate age of fourteen (and readjusted with every growth spurt they both underwent) and clacked the prosthetic into place.

"Goin' for a ride, son?" Near the dreamy, viridian cliffs that overlooked a beautiful lake and roaring waterfall, his mother approached, a woven basket of fish in her arms.

She stepped up the small ascending that lead to the plateau Hiccup loved so much. From there, he was capable of overseeing the whole of the dragon sanctuary. Every flapping dragon and every caw was heard and seen.

"Testing out the new peg-leg, yeah." Hiccup grinned smugly. He was proud of his invention; despite the small bubble of envy he had due to the fact that his mother needed no aid at all in flying Cloudjumper.

No saddle or anything; she was that natural. He, on the contrary, found it impossible to stay on Toothless' back for too long without a comfortable seat underneath his rear. Hel, it had taken three years before he allowed himself to disband the attachment strap he usually connected to the front of his flying suit and the saddle. And only because he had enough expertise to not fall off his dragon anymore.

Valka outstretched her hand, stroking the maw of the Night Fury with a smile, "And?"

He frowned upon her words, glancing at her face to see what she meant. But she had her jade eyes directed towards his dragon, affectionately patting him.

"And what?" He leaned back in his seat as Toothless bent his torso down, relishing the good scratch he was getting underneath his chin.

Valka laughed light-heartedly, "I know yuh, son. Yer'll be out there, scouting to find further dragons, especially Night Furies." Finally, she redirected her orbs to glance at him with expectancy.

She knew how he'd respond; he was her son after all.

Hiccup sighed, eyes cast towards the behemoth that currently slept with much peace at the bottom of the lake. Only his horns' tips and upper half of his gigantic skull protruded from the salty liquids.

"Hiccup..." Her hand now reached out to him, stroking his cheek with tender love, "Have fun." Was all she whispered before she turned and left, trudging towards the squawking mass of infant dragons.

The auburn-haired boy sighed deeply before he heard a wail from the reptile underneath him.

"Sorry bud, you're right. Let's go." The Night Fury jolted into the air, unfurling his grand wings and immediately gained altitude.

Within fractions of a second, the sanctuary beneath them grew into a tiny spot of battling colours, and the sky became vaster and vaster. Blues and reds intermingled, clouds decorated the thinning air, and the temperature dropped drastically.

His lungs burned, his skin tingled and his eyes watered.

Plunging a hand into the saddle bag he had attached to his dragon's leather construction, he grasped his helmet, pulling it over his head.

Then, he peeked towards the prosthetic tail-fin, scrutinizing the mechanism before he pressed the pedal down, allowing Toothless to twirl to the side before he dipped down towards the glittering oceans.

He bellowed with glee. Once more, he readjusted the pedal and felt the air tear lovingly at his gear. They accelerated, the wind roaring inside his ears despite the new protection he was wearing.

Mountains grew rapidly before they disappeared again. Whole landscapes swooshed past faster than Hiccup could count. Once more, he clicked the mechanism and performed a new stunt; Toothless somersaulting into a cloud, dashing with an almighty wail.

"Seems the prosthetic is just perfect!" He shouted, earning him a lifted right ear from his best friend.

Suddenly, Toothless flapped his wings and ascended again, before deciding to softly glide into the approaching sunset.

"There is still so much to discover, Toothless." the boy now whispered, grabbing his helmet and tugging it off. Soft, pinching breezes poked his cheeks, making them glow red. Nostalgia overwhelmed him without warning and he reconsidered his entire life up until this point.

Hiccup had spent a lot of time with diverse villagers in various places all around the northern hemisphere, and had observed their style of living. He had compared what he had seen with what his mother had told him about her prior life.

Whereas children slept curled up in the blankets of their beds, he was used to the wings of Cloudjumper or Toothless wrapping around him.

They stumbled and crawled towards their fathers; Hiccup stumbled and crawled towards a fully grown Gronckle. Mother's would teach their offspring how to talk and communicate like a Viking, but Hiccup learnt dragon language before his own.

They slaughtered and fought dragons, viewing them as their mortal enemies; he saw them as the heart-warming, loveable family they were to him.

"It's a different world, theirs from ours, son." His mother had explained, placing a sympathizing hand onto his shoulder as he observed the curling flames in the horizon.

So many times he had wanted to intervene, to show them just what dragons were truly capable of; that they were not mindless monsters, but beautiful beings with soul and heart. So many times he yearned to stop the onslaughter of man and reptile.

"No point" Valka would always explain, a sorrowful expression in her eyes, "I have tried, so many times. I always wanted to reason with yer father, with them all. But they never listened."

It was the only thing stopping Hiccup from seeking out this strange island known as Berk. To see where he had been born, and meet the tribe he was from; meet his father.

Were they anything alike?

"You have his hair, and stubbornness." Was all his mother would ever tell him; she hated to talk about the past, especially his father. It pained her too much, but she could never return; for this was where she belonged.

She knew it. Cloudjumper had known it all those years ago. Hiccup understood.

A heavy sigh escaped his now chapped lips. Something tugged at his heart, and he felt incomplete once more. There was a part of him, he knew, that he had yet to discover. And it was not with the dragons. It was with the humans.

He remembered being at the forge with Skeggi the blacksmith - his wispy, grey beard reached until his mid-chest. The man of the Looting Liars had taught him all the skills a good forge-worker needed; Hiccup had disguised himself as a simple, fatherless child, wanting to be of use.

The old Viking would never admit it, Hiccup knew, but he was glad for the company; for a soul ready to listen to his old tales and endless teachings. The auburn-haired boy imagined that was what it would be like to have a father. Or at least a grandfather.

From the workshop he observed a young boy playing 'Dragons and Vikings' with an equally aged child. They would fake roars, the dragon hunting the Viking, who would run around, giggling with glee.

His first friend had been an injured Deadly Nadder in the forests of Odin's Beard.

Then, a young woman entered the scene; her hair as dark as midnight, eyes a brilliant brown. She leaned down towards the boy pretending to be the warrior Viking and tugged at his arm.

"Come on, Bjorn, we need to go home. Mom's cooking dinner." Her voice was soft and flowing, with a hidden edge of strictness within it.

She could not have been much older than him.

"Observin' the ladies, me lad?" Skeggi would interrupt, hammering a shield on the workbench.

Suddenly flustered, Hiccup turned around, grasping a rusty old sword and inspecting it's condition more closely, "N-No!" he could not help it. He was a terrible liar.

"Haha, ah yes. What wouldn't I give ta feel the beauties of a youthful heart again. But don't be too optimistic, ma boy. Yer not the most...Viking of men, afta all." He laughed loudly, returning to his work.

Hiccup frowned. He was not burly, he understood that – his bodily shape was lean and modest, although he did have muscles and strength. He did not sport a grim expression, despite his perfectly angular face and strong nose. Hiccup was well capable of wielding sword and shield (axe not so much) and he could run, despite his missing limb. But he was not the toughest and preferred to use his brains over his abs.

He rode a dragon, per usual, after all. Toothless fired menacing purple flames, and flew faster than any eye could observe. Together, they worked as a perfect team.

When angered, the young man could glower intimidatingly and he had a very persuasive nature, so his mother claimed. Yet his eyes were soft and rounded, containing a beautiful malachite hue.

"Eyes like mine." Valka whispered once, stroking his cheek as she smiled adoringly, "Yer father fell for those eyes." there was sarcasm as well as some tiny, hidden pride within her voice before she chuckled softly.

"I have a lot of raw Viking power within me, Skeggi; any woman could tell!" He heard the roaring laughter of his mentor, smirking himself as he carried the head of a hammer towards the grinder to flatten the edges.

"Yer are quite the catch, m'boy. Don't waste it on some flustered village lass." Hiccup's grin faltered, and he had to scowl in confusion, turning around and stopping in his doing as he watched the elder blacksmith disappear into the storage room.

Half of him had the inner desire to question that statement. The other half did not dare.

In those ten years of constant learning of blacksmithery, Hiccup understood one thing most clearly when dealing with Skeggi: you don't ask too many questions. Not if you cherished your life.

The day Hiccup turned fourteen, however, was the day everything changed, and he started to use every knowledge about dragons his mother had taught him. It was the first time he had dared and lost as well as won. It was when he attempted to tame the untameable.

The Night Fury.

It was the day he met Toothless.

A/N: So, a quick peek at how Hiccup got kidnapped too, then 20 years later a small insight on the life of Astrid and of Hiccup. If you WANT to read this, then it'd continue with Hiccup next chapter, the raw of it is written. But that depends on you. Do you want more? Yes? No? Just review and tell me. Thanks my beauties. PEACE.