How To Train Your Dragon One-Shots

Theater of Johann

Johann is such a great character. I always thought of him as being a theater kid at heart and thought it would be interesting to explore that idea. This takes place during some unspecified time probably during Race to the Edge.

***

"Ahh, Master Hiccup! You wouldn't believe it if you had been there. There I was, standing next to the Teacher's Rock that the philosopher Homer himself once taught upon. Nestled on the coast just above the waves, it was the perfect place for the Ancient Greeks to ponder the mysteries of the world and guide each other on the path to philosophical enlightenment. And let me tell, standing there on the beach below a tree hunched over from years protecting the island of Chios from the cool ocean breezes that swept over the sunbaked land, it was as if I had been transported back in time. It didn't hurt that all of the locals had come to peruse the exceptional goods I had collected throughout the Mediterranean over the course of my voyage. A strong people, the Greeks, with absolutely magnificent hair if I do say so myself. They were so...no no no, that's not it!"

Shattered glass cascaded down on the wooden floorboards, breaking apart even further into a mess of larger shards and smaller, powdery flecks. In the middle of the broken glass lay the dagger that Johann had thrown.

"No no no," Johann muttered. He ignored the glass and his dagger and walked around the dimly lit space that served as his quarters on his ship. He strode up to a second mirror that hung beside the first one. Looking at himself, he fixed his cap and swept a loose strand of hair from his face. "That's not the story. Let's try again."

Johann stood still. He breathed once, twice, three times, centering himself. His shoulders moved forward and he slouched, making himself appear smaller and weaker than he knew he was, but just as small and weak as those pathetic Vikings back in the Barbaric Archipelago believed him to be.

Johann forced himself to smile. "After many moons spent wandering the great Mediterranean sea, exploring the offerings of the Empire of Rome and dining with the Pharaoh of Egypt, I made my way to the great land of Greece! Oh, the stories I could tell you, Master Hiccup! And Snotlout, you in particular would appreciate the Greeks. Why, while I was there, I feasted every night with the Spartans themselves, downing caskets of the finest wines and dining on pita and feta cheese. And once we had all digested, the Greeks put on fine shows, fine shows indeed. There were fights between the strongest Spartan warriors, between plays put on in my honor. For a man of your acquired tastes, Sparta would feel just like home."

That felt better. And when he threw in a jovial point and swish of his hand at the imaginary Snotlout, Johann knew he was getting close to finding the right performance for his anticipated audience. He could picture them all now, Hiccup and his gang. They were some of his harshest critics. That Gobber the Belch was especially challenging. But before all of them could be regaled by yet another of his fabulous tales, his current audience of one owed him some feedback.

"Well," Johann said, addressing the man chained to the wall beside him, "what do you think? Did that last one seem believable to you, Stavros?"

The man named Stavros coughed. "Please," he said in a deep, heavily accented voice. "Let me go home. I have nothing to offer you."

"Oh but you have offered me so much! I've never met a trader from Greece before. With your accounts of your homeland, you've given me an entirely new setting to explore. I just need to make sure that my performance is believable. So again, what do you think?"

Long ago, Johann had posed the same question to his parents. His mother and father were both traders who had become business partners before that partnership led to something of an entirely un-businesslike nature. Shortly after setting sail, the two had a child, Johann, who grew up being shuttled between the dull islands of the Barbaric Archipelago. It was no way to live. There was little to do onboard the ship, and when he was onshore he was busy helping his parents move boxes onto the boat or off from it. Bored, Johann had taken to imagining the lives of the Vikings he encountered and pretending to be them on the deck of the ship. Voices and movements flowed from him like a waterfall, and at a young age he could imitate almost anyone he encountered to a satisfyingly convincing degree. It felt good to pretend. It felt so natural, so enticing, and it wasn't enough to put on shows for only himself and the gulls that perched on the sides of the ship.

However, his parents never seemed to think much of his "antics". They didn't mind his love of acting, of taking on a life unlike his own for even a minute, but they didn't encourage him either. He was a creative kid, and that was it. Kids did things like that. His dreams of performing in the theaters of Greece and Rome  were fun ideas and nothing more. People could have dreams as long as they didn't waste their lives pursuing the imaginary. What was real was the need to make a living in this crazy world plagued by fire-breathing dragons, and trading was how Johann's parents expected him to make his living.

Stavros cried into his chains. "I don't know," he said. "I am far from home. I would like to go back, to go home."

"When I was speaking, did it feel like I had actually been there?" Johann asked, ignoring the man. "Could you see the scene?"

Whimpers. That's all the noise Stavros managed to make.

An audience really should be prepared to give honest and open feedback after a performance. Thinking about it, it was rather rude for Stavros to be this ungenerous with his critiques. He had been handpicked by Johann to provide a new story and help Johann get all the details just right. Maybe this story wasn't the one he would tell the next time he met Hiccup and the scrawny boy's friends and their dragons. No, he'd find a better story and a better audience to help him hone his craft. He heard of a ship that had recently come into the archipelago all the way from Mesopotamia. He'd find that ship, ask the captain and whatever crew to divulge all the details they could about their homeland, and then piece together a narrative from what he learned. Acting was easy, but writing was a whole other beast. Fortunately there were plenty of traders and stories out there. Whenever someone fell through, like Stavros, another trader would appear shortly afterward. And when those traders never returned to their homes, well, dragons served as good alibis if nothing else.

"I want to go home," Stavros whimpered again. 

"And I will gladly send you home," Johann replied. The man stopped his crying and looked up at Johann with big, brown eyes. Johann took a step towards him and placed a hand on his chest. "I will set you free."

Stavros gasped as one of the many small knives Johann kept hidden in his sleeves pierced Stavros' chest. Still chained to the wall, the dead man's body wasn't even given the chance to hit the floor.

Johann turned back to the mirror, breathed once, twice, three times, and centered himself. He would need to rehearse before he went back to Berk.