Title: A Cruel Fate

Summary: He truly thought that he'd be dead by now. His human was long gone, so why was he here all these years later?

Rating: T+ because it's angsty.

A/N: I'm a mean person, really I am. I don't know why I thought of this fic. I was in a really grouchy mood this week, and I was trying to think of a way to throw my characters into the HTTYD universe without going all AU on you guys. So, after reading some fics that have described Toothless as immortal, I figured, hey – why not be all cruel and keep him alive after Hiccup is gone? That would just be so angsty and awesome.

Warnings: Kind of OC-heavy near the middle. If you don't like it, don't read it, or just read the first part as a one-shot. I just sent my characters to go play with Toothless. Also, there's quite a bit of angst.

Enjoy… I hope. And review. Nothing is more important to me than constructive criticism. Even if you didn't like it, tell me why! Maybe I can make it better, or add/take away something.

Chapter 1

The memory was clear as day in his mind.

He had never wanted the human boy – his rider – to go. There was an uneasy feeling in the back of his mind as he watched the boat sail away.

"It'll be alright, buddy. What could happen?" The boy had pointed out as he flashed a wide grin, his new-found self-confidence shining through.

A thousand things could go wrong, thought the dragon.

And they did. It wasn't a week later that the ship returned, carrying the body of the boy. His boy. He had fallen off a cliff on an island not far south of Berk. A cliff. Stupid, clumsy, fragile little human, thought the dragon bitterly.

In all his stubbornness, he refused to believe it until he saw the body for himself. Surely this was just some kind of cruel trick the humans were playing on him. It had to be. Pushing his way to the boat, he saw the scene that he'd been dreading the most. Two Vikings were carrying down the boy on a stretcher. He was there as soon as their feet touched the shore, sniffing at the face of his human. His skin was pale and cold, void of his usual crooked grin and warm eyes. Lifeless, he reeked of death.

No.

He would not believe it.

His nose was fooling him. His eyes were deceiving him. This had to be some sort of cruel dream. He looked around for some kind of answer from the Vikings surrounding him. Each bore identical expressions; grief, sadness, loss. Feeling a hand on his back, he whipped around, eyes wide with panic. This can't be the end.

"I'm sorry Toothless," spoke the red-headed chieftain softly, "He's gone. We couldn't save him."

The boy's father was beside himself with grief. Somehow, the dragon sympathized with the man. How could they let him go? Even all these years later – had it really already been three years? Seemed like yesterday they were running from the Green Death – he was still the same clumsy Hiccup. The blonde girl was in hysterics, screaming to see the body of his human – she'd loved him, she really had. Even the normally noisy blonde twins were uncharacteristically silent, the male twin even going so far as to comfort his sister.

This wasn't at trick. It was real. Horribly and terribly real. He couldn't take it anymore. The noises from the humans, the smell of death surrounding them; it was too much for the dragon to take in. He had to leave, to run. Oh what he wouldn't give to fly –

Oh Gods.

He'd never fly again.

He let out a cry of turmoil before bolting into the nearby forest. No one bothered to stop him. They'd never be able to calm him anyways. That was a job reserved for one person, and one person only. His human. His Hiccup. And now he was gone.

Where did that leave him? He had once been a proud dragon, feared by most – if you had any brains at all – and loved by no one. Most of that had been stripped from him when he had been hit by that bola. But the boy had righted his wrong hadn't he? He had given the dragon back what he had taken from him – his flight.

And now it was gone again. No one would ever ride him like his human did. He would never let them! That saddle was reserved for only one being, and now that being would never sit there again. Ever. It seemed like a cruel joke that the Gods were playing on him. Like dangling a piece of meat in front of a starving dog, letting him have a bite, and then snatching it away again.

He let long, low cries escape his mouth. Part of him had died today. Oh how he wished the rest of him could follow suit. What was the point anyways? A dragon without flight… was no better than a common lizard. And he most definitely had more pride than a common lizard.

This was it. This was the end. The end of everything. His world had just shattered; destroyed with the loss of the small, delicate, soft human who had became the centre of his very universe.

The boy's funeral was held two days later. He was given a proper Viking send-off. The whole village, dragons and humans alike, were subdued. Even the weather saw fit to be miserable, bringing sleet and bone-chilling rain. The air itself tasted melancholy.

The Vikings had left to continue with their lives as best they could, leaving him on the shore, watching his human's funeral boat float away. Once again, he let out long, mournful cries, hoping somewhat in vane that by some miracle Thor, his very father, would hear him and remove him from his torture.

There was no such luck.

Life truly was cruel.

Thor never heard him. In fact, the god had seen fit to keep him alive, never allowing him to pass on.

Months had stretched into years, and years into decades, and eventually centuries had passed. He had watched the world change, seen the old ways give way to modern ways, and witnessed just how truly disgusting humans are.

And here he sat, a pathetic excuse for a dragon, a thousand years later. Humans had become distrustful of dragons once again. Or really any form of magic at all was generally scorned. But there were those who still practiced magic and made it their goal to have dragons – yes even cranky, terrible dragons like him – be comfortable and happy.

For three hundred years, he'd been shuffled around, from sanctuary to sanctuary. He really didn't care. Somehow over all these years he had managed to cling to his sanity and health, and he was sharp as ever. Each of his caretakers would receive him with open arms, only to grow frustrated and tired of his antics. They knew he was capable of functioning normally, but he was just too stubborn. Exercise? Bah! He could do that on his own time. If he wanted to sleep, he was going to sleep. Feeding him was a pain too. Only cod would do, unless you happened to have some sheep or goat of course.

The only perk he had – which ironically came from him being flightless – was that he was able to roam freely. No chains or cages for him, no sir. Not that they could ever get him in them.

Today was a moving day. His current caretakers – a couple of cousins in Scotland – were running out of room. And who better to get rid of than the moody Night Fury? They too, had gotten tired of him.

"He does nothing but mope all day," said the older one, one day while feeding him.

That's what you think, thought the dragon flatly. I do lots of things when you aren't watching.

"They say that's all he's ever done," replied the younger one. "You'd be the same if you couldn't fly."

Ha. If only you knew.

"Isn't there anyone who can help him? I mean, the poor thing is suffering. You should have heard him cry last night."

I don't cry, he thought indignantly.

The younger human was silent for a moment, observing the dragon before him. He seemed to be trying to remember something. "There's a sanctuary in the Canadian Rockies, a nice secluded spot, and they have this girl who has the ability to talk to animals. Maybe she could help him."

Now he'd heard a lot in his rather long life, but that was just absurd. A human who could understand animals? How ridiculous. But a change in scenery would be nice. And he rather liked mountains. They reminded him a bit of his home; of Berk.

They had packed him up – meaning they'd fitted him with a collar and rope that was most unnecessary – and got ready to ship him off. He was already quite familiar with the process. A person – or wizard, rather – who could form a portal was brought in to open a path to their destination. The first time he had encountered one, he had tried to bolt, but they had dragged him through it anyways. He had fully expected to be torn apart, but instead he came out on the other side, unscathed.

This was his thirtieth time being moved. Surely he'd seen most of the sanctuaries in existence? How many could there be?

He stepped towards the swirling portal behind a scruffy-looking man. The wizard – Porters, they were called; they did this for a living apparently – was obviously a newbie. The portals usually included a door of some sort; this was just an oblong area of swirling colours.

Wondering vaguely where he would come out this time, he stepped through the amateur's portal.

Dishes clattered noisily in the kitchen of a small restaurant, the only noise to be heard in the empty place. The lunch rush was over, and all that was left was "damage control" as the girl in front of the sink had so eloquently put it. All that was left was to put them away, and her shift would be over. Silently rejoicing, she hurried through the task.

A phone rang not far off, nearly sending the bowl she was holding to the floor. Swiftly, she grabbed the purple cordless off its cradle, punched the talk button and held it to her ear.

"Talk to me," she said flatly, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear, and resuming her task.

A hurried, overexcited voice on the other end answered, the words all jumbled together in a garbled string.

She sighed and set the dish down. "Art – whoa Art, you're going to have to slow down I can't –" she grit her teeth. The boy on the other end was too excited to stop. Sure her gift was the gift of communication, but that didn't mean she could understand over-excited gibberish. She had her limits. "Art! For the love of the high council, put your brother on!" A pause. "Yeah hi; so what's got your brother all excited?"

Another, longer pause.

She nearly dropped the phone. "I'll be right there."

When a wizard is born, they receive a gift. For some, it was strength, others knowledge. For Sakura Ross, it had been the gift of communication. This made it quite easy for her care-givers because she could always make it quite clear what she wanted, rather than having to resort to the guess work some babysitters were reduced to. But it also had its other uses, mostly in the field of animals. The boys she had been speaking to, Artemis and Apollo, helped run a dragon sanctuary not far from where she lived. She couldn't count how many times she'd been interrupted by a hungry or thirsty dragon when she had gone to visit.

She'd also had her own heroic moments. Well, there had really only been one. A smaller dragon had been thrown into a rock face by one of the larger ones, and had been bleeding internally. He had told her exactly what was hurting and where, which lead to the twins' mother being able to save the poor creature.

And somehow the word had spread to Scotland, to a pair of cousins with a rather depressed dragon on their hands.

Upon arriving to the Flynn sanctuary, she immediately saw the black beast. It was laying in the sun, black scales glinting in the sunlight, two figures hovering over it.

"Oh thank Zeus you're here," said the dark-haired figure with a relieved expression as she approached. "They just kind of came and left – just left us with some instructions for him, and requested that you see him."

She frowned. "Me? Why?"

The blonde one looked over at her. "He's depressed, and they don't know why."

"That's ridiculous, dragons don't get depressed," she stated.

"Well this one certainly is," replied the blonde, standing up. Both boys were a good foot taller than she was.

Sakura sighed. "Okay, so he's depressed. What breed is he?"

The blonde snorted. "You tell us. They said he's pretty well ancient, and you know we only specialize in more modern breeds…"

The two backed away from the dragon as she approached. She had a good knowledge of the Ancient Breeds, as they were called. Zipplebacks, Gronkles, Nadders, you name it, she knew what it was. Her eyes scanned the great beast carefully. Frowning, she pointed to the dark-haired brother. "Art, you still have my manual on the Ancient Breeds, right?"

He nodded. "Of course I do."

"Go get it," she commanded, never taking her eyes off the beast. She had a hunch about what this dragon was, but there was no way that this dragon could still be alive. "Apollo, grab me any book you can find relating to Vikings and dragons, and Norse mythology if you can."

He nodded in the same fashion as his brother and dashed off.

Sakura crouched down next to the sleeping beast. "Just you and me now, buddy."

The sun was so nice and warm when they arrived in the mountains. He had immediately made himself comfortable in a nice sunny spot. It had been rather cold and wet in Scotland, so this was a nice break.

Too bad he couldn't sleep, though. Stupid humans and their incessant chatter, he thought moodily. His former caregivers had left in a hurry, leaving him with the younger humans. Soon another arrived.

Her presence intrigued him. She didn't have the same feel as the rest did. The others felt soft, small, weak. Regardless of her small stature, the girl had the same feel as many of the Vikings he'd come across; strong and confident. She acted it too. No sooner was she there than she was barking orders at the boys. They obviously thought him asleep.

He heard her approach him, and heard the click in her knee – old injury he guessed – as she crouched next to him. He opened his eyes fully from their former slits.

"You're a Night Fury, aren't you?"

He cocked his head at her with surprise. No one had been able to determine his breed for years. The knowledge had been lost with the Vikings.

Just who was this girl?

A/N: Okay, I have to admit, writing that whole first part with Hiccup had me choking up.

But that's beside the point. How was it? I hope my characters don't seem too outlandish and Mary Sue-ish. A few things to know about them (in case you weren't too sure):

The twins, Artemis and Apollo, are half-Greek. Their father, who happened to be a mythology nerd, married a Greek woman. Somehow he managed to convince her to name their twin boys after a god and goddess. Strange man, that one.

Sakura is Japanese (duh) with a past far too long to natter on about here. She also happens to be main character of my own story. This is story takes place in the summer after all my characters' shenanigans, after all the shit has gone down. When Toothless says that she walks with the air of a Viking, he really means it: she has a can-do attitude and the magic and muscle to back it up.

Hopefully you'll be back for Chapter 2!

Review!

~MissHanyou

Edit: How embarrassing! I forgot the line breaks. I assure you, it will not happen again.