When Ragnar Lothbrok gets a Dragon

Short Deconstruction of (a) Male Character in Fantasy

Up until recently, most fantasy heroes were men. Protagonists were men. Power and success and kingdoms and money came naturally to this majority of the fantasy world as tears and fainting became common traits of most female characters. But feminism rants aside, men have been depicted, both in history and literature, as heroes destined to conquer and explore and push the old world out of its sleep and into a bright future. Nothing could stand in his way and, when faced with a challenge, the whole universe plotted in his favour. So when you have a story set in the Viking era, where both men and women fought bravely side by side, storms roaring around them, one would imagine the protagonist to be a reinvention of the Ragnar Lothbrok archetype: brilliant and charismatic, beautiful and strong, fighting with the efficiency of a dragon and the grace of a dancer, almost God-like in the impact he had on Viking history, as the first great invader of Britain. And yet the first 8 minutes of “How to Train your Dragon” show our protagonist to be anything but. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III has the lineage to rule, but lacks the flair for leading, has the intelligence and humour of a pre-medieval Einstein and the muscles and battle coordination of a broomstick. Nothing about his appearance during the dragon raid hints at survival, let alone a great destiny. We like him, for he is funny and hard-working, we see how badly he wants to be a proper fighter, but we know he never will be and we extend a compassionate hand to pet his red head. But we don’t catch him, as he runs off with his contraption: nothing short of a catapult-turned-crossbow meant for catching dragons. Again, we smile like old men knowing how useless that machine is against such quick and terrifying creatures. Then lo and behold, the kid catches a Nightfury, the Powerball of the Vikings, the ultimate trophy to bring back home.

And Hiccup releases it.
For any character within the story realm, his decision sways between idiotic and mad. For any person who has read a bit of history, his decision is a revolution. From the paved roads of the Romans to the discoveries in anatomy during the Renaissance, from Rosa Parks and Nelson Mandela to Steve Jobs, those brave enough to challenge the norm, no matter how mad it seemed at the start, in hindsight, it made all the difference. Hiccup is the first Viking in history to have a moment of quiet and complete power over a dragon and the understanding blooming from that connection changed his motivations and dreams completely.

From now on, he steps into the light as the living experiment in the deconstruction of masculinity. By opening himself up to understanding dragons, by edging closer to Toothless and slowly befriending him, he refuses all the conventional Viking methods. He submits himself to the taunting and ridicule of his peers and the disappointment of his elders, believing with all his heart that dragons are not meant to be killed. And this is the moment Hiccup becomes a hero: when everything around him is against him and yet he treads on. His contraptions become more complex as he nurses Toothless back into hunting-shape. He learns how to fly with him and makes amends for ruining his tail. All that he learns, he uses to calm and control other dragons and that gains him more respect than any of his dragon-killing efforts had ever obtained him.

And he does so alone. That’s what truly sets him apart from all other fantasy protagonists.

Think about how Hiccup trained Toothless. It was beautiful trial-and-error. No wise old man, no witch in the woods, no magic stone, no magic blood, no magic at all actually. Hiccup is not born with special powers, Hands of a King or the voice of Thor at his command. He is ordinary, small, sarcastic and awkward, until his brains, compassion and profound understanding of the deeper workings of the world make him extraordinary.

While his journey starts off highly eccentric and different from any fairytale you’ve ever read, he slowly displays all the virtues we admired in Arthur and Aragorn, only not in the way we expected. Far from saving a damsel or fighting a bear with his bare hands, his first great act of bravery is protecting Toothless in front of his father. Much can be discussed on the coming-of-age aspect of the movie, for in their interaction, in Hiccup’s determination to change Stoick’s mind, there is such sudden growth in the relationship and the boy’s character. He doesn’t prove his valor by killing the Monstrous Nightmare, but by tackling the real danger that was Red Death, a danger none of Vikings, too busy protecting their sheep, had anticipated. At the beginning of the movie, he couldn’t make anybody listen to him. At the end, he was leading the first dragon riders into battle. Not to fangirl or anything, but how cool is that?! Even though this entire adventure costs him his leg. And what a touch of genius this was from the writers. A crippled hero, bound to be forgotten? Not at all. By losing his leg, the equivalent of Toothless’ tail, the world which he had shook returns to balance. The Gods are pleased, the fortunes are settled and the dragons turn from pests to pets.
But while apparently the story flies strictly through the realm of fantasy, Hiccup is the most faithful representation of the type of man Ragnar Lothbrok was. How to Train your Dragon 2 plays a lot on the dynamic between Hiccup and Drago and their antithetical visions over what it meant to travel far beyond the horizon, towards a new world. Discovery versus raiding. Learning against conquering. There you have him, Ragnar Lothbrok, building his ships and army and heading into the unknown to unveil it, and the two dragon-sides of the same coin. What Hiccup aspired for shows maturity and vision and the “Green Luck” the Italians believed led heroes on unbeaten paths that not even they knew where they led. The Norse Hero and his younger fictional counterpart. Completely different stature and leadership skills, yet of the same mind and of the same cause. I like to think that, if they would have met, Ragnar’s height wouldn’t have bothered Hiccup. For they would have both looked each other in the eye and see the heroes they both were.

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That is what the protagonist of any given fantasy book has to do: earn that title. The literary world is flooded like a kitchen with a clogged sink from all the Aragorns and Gandalfs and The One Dark Lord, with a booming voice and black-clad minions. Putting it like this, it’s almost racist. This “same cookie in a new wrap” fashion of writing isn’t what Tolkien and Lewis and all the other great fantasy writers were aiming at. They wrote the books they wanted to read. They gave new twists to classic tales, they reinvented the hero, they reinvented Imaginary Worlds. Cressida Cowell, when she created Hiccup, and Dean DeBlois, when he reimagined him, paid great homage to Tolkien’s legacy by choosing a protagonist the world was aching to see, even though they didn’t know it.

Because not all of us are Shaolin masters or great fighters and none of us can shoot lightning from our hands, fantasy is a realm of suppressed fantasies and wish-fulfillment, that always leaves a dull ache at the back of your head, knowing you’ll never be as great as these guys, who just forged a rebellion and fought against the evil empire. We want to be heroes, but the heroes we are presented with are too good, too perfect, too capable. Imagine how refreshing and reassuring it is to watch Hiccup and see his highly-realistic struggles and his fantastic, yet achievable success. He’s a hero you can learn from, but also one you can resemble. We don’t have fire-breathing lizards, but we all have talents and skills and dreams that we need to build upon and nurture and train in order to fly and defeat the great foes of modernity and capitalism. The spark of the heroic in Hiccup is a core part of the human heart, though nowadays it’s choking under many layers of procrastination, anxiety and comfort zones.

How should I put it? Write the books you want to read. Be the man Kvothe would want to sing a song about. Sometimes, fighting bears doesn’t take as much courage as asking that one girl out and that alone is enough creative food for the bards. The world needs small acts of courage to change and, in time, if people can become better, so will the economy, the industry, the books. So will fantasy. And isn’t that a goal of world-saving importance?