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Hiccup lost his grip on the iron rod as the Outcasts closed in on him, each colossal Viking grasping one of his arms in their platter-sized hands. Meaty fingers wrapped around his biceps and forearms, squeezing tight enough to summon tears to Hiccup's eyes. His would-be connecting rod clattered to the floor with the resounding clang of a death knell.
Distantly, over the sounds of his own panicked breaths and shouts and struggles, he heard the metallic ringing of the metal rod rolling across the stone floor, out of sight, out of reach. Their ticket home, their escape from this godsforsaken enemy island, kicked away, discarded, useless.
But Hiccup quickly became more concerned with his own predicament than the lost connecting rod. Hiccup was a lot of things (or so he'd been told) — strategic, stubborn, defiant, even scrappy. Astrid had even said once that although he had the combat skills of a beached whale, when backed into a corner, he fought like a caged dragon, primal and desperate and with a strength that defied his size. It helped that he wasn't too proud to bite, scratch, or kick his opponents.
Well, none of that was helping him now. Because something else Hiccup was known for was, to his infinite frustration, his less than impressive size and strength. The men who had captured him were as strong and brutal as they looked, towering heads over Hiccup, muscles bigger than Hiccup's waist bulging against hairy, scarred flesh, grips as strong as a Gronkle's bite-force. It didn't matter how much Hiccup wrenched his arms against their hold, kicked his legs, or wriggled like a fish caught in a net; they dragged him before Savage without a lick of effort.
Hiccup's heart threw itself against his ribcage on the wings of a trapped bird desperate to escape. His breath came short and fast, his skin prickled and his muscles twitched at the urgent need to escape. Adrenaline coursed through him, making his blood buzz, but even its borrowed strength could not free Hiccup from his captors.
All too soon, he stood before Savage, flanked by the two Outcasts. His shoulders ached and throbbed to the rhythm of his frantic pulse as he at last stilled his struggles. Save your strength, he reminded himself. You're not stronger than them, but you're smarter. They'll slip up eventually. And when they do, you take your chance, and you run.
But this was so much easier said than done. Fear pierced him with venom-laced fangs as he stared up at Savage, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible. He wanted to glare, wanted to spit at his feet, wanted to struggle and fight. And if it had been anyone else standing over him, he would have. Because when Hiccup was scared, he fought. The more terrified, the more defiant. But even though Hiccup had only spent a short time with Savage the last time he'd been kidnapped by Alvin (he really needed to stop making a habit of this), the man's reputation proceeded him, and he knew that he had to be very, very careful going forward.
The last time he'd been taken, after Hiccup had tricked Alvin into taking him to Toothless and had escaped triumphantly to Berk, he'd asked his father to tell him more about the Outcasts.
Hiccup remembered it well: Dark clouds had descended on the flight back, and by the time they'd made it home, rain had begun in earnest. It beat like angry fists against the roof and the sides of the house, and Hiccup had shivered by the hearth, clothes dripping, body aching, numbness spreading as the reality of what he had done, what he had been through, and what it could mean for the future washing over him in waves colder and more furious than the storm outside. An enemy tribe had found out about his triumph over the Red Death, thought him the "Dragon Conqueror," and had come to Berk to kidnap him.
Hiccup had scarcely been able to wrap his mind around that concept. Alvin and Savage had taken his friends and his people hostage just to draw him out, and Hiccup hadn't thought twice about giving himself up to save them. And even though Hiccup had outsmarted Alvin, had escaped without a scratch, the implications had yawned in front of Hiccup's eyes like a gaping chasm. How long until Alvin regrouped and tried again? Would Hiccup be able to escape the next time? He'd had nightmares for months afterwards, of being dragged from his bed in the middle of the night at knife-point and carted off into the dark, across the ocean into enemy territory, never to be seen again.
And so, trying to distract himself from the cold and the fear and the unknown, Hiccup had asked his dad to tell him more about Alvin and the Outcasts. Stoick had pondered this for a moment, then sat heavily at the table, scrubbing a hand across his weary face. Hiccup settled himself against Toothless's warm body and slowly unstrapped his prothesis with chill-stiff fingers and started to carefully massage the aching stump beneath. At last, Stoick spoke.
He would reveal very little about Alvin himself, which made Hiccup think that there was more to the story, something crucial his father wasn't telling him. But Hiccup hadn't pressed, because he was exhausted and sore and had only just stopped shivering thanks to Toothless's radiating body heat, and also because no one, not even Odin himself, could pry anything from Stoick the Vast that he didn't want to talk about.
But he'd said plenty about Savage: The filthy menace was little more than a mercenary who played dogsbody to the cruelest, most dangerous villains in the Archipelago. Rumor had it that he had connections to some of the most nefarious chiefs in recent history.
Supposedly, he'd served as an overseer in Ug the Uglithug’s slavelands, he'd followed Madguts the Murderous into dozens of senseless, bloody raids on other tribes, and now he worked for Alvin the Treacherous, Berk's greatest enemy. He was a leech, Stoick said, unashamed to live in the shadow of more powerful men as long as he could lap up the bloody scraps of power and victory dropped in their wake.
"Savage may be a follower and not a leader, but do not underestimate him next time you cross paths with him," Stoick had warned, and Hiccup's stomach had flipped when he realized that his father spoke of encountering Savage again not as a possibility but as an inevitability.
"He is as slimy as he appears, and he fights dirty. He is the kind of man who will do anything, hurt anyone, if it benefits himself. He is brutal and enjoys the suffering of others. But he's stupid. Use that to your advantage. Fight smart, do not lash out, do not antagonize him."
Now, as Savage loomed over him, large and imposing and vicious, everything his father had said about the man flooded into his brain, and Hiccup took a deep breath, trying to steel his nerves. He clamped his mouth shut, jaw tight, a reminder to not mouth off, not make himself a target. And as humiliating as it felt, he shifted his gaze down, glaring at Savage's feet as the man took a step closer.
Fight smart, he reminded himself again. Keep your mouth shut. Don't antagonize. Don't be defiant. Snotlout and Toothless are around here somewhere. Just stay alive until they find you.
But then one of Savage's hands shot out and grabbed Hiccup's face, fingers digging hard into his cheeks. Hiccup couldn't hold in a yelp as Savage wrenched his face upwards. Now forced to stare up at the ceiling, Hiccup gritted his teeth when Savage leaned over, sneering down at him. And though he tried to keep his expression neutral, fear and anger now mingled in a dangerous dance at the sight of Savage's smug, ugly face leering down at him.
The fire in his soul must have flashed in his eyes, because Savage squeezed Hiccup's face harder. Hiccup inhaled sharply through his nose as he felt one of his teeth slice into his cheek and tasted iron, and he couldn't contain a furious glare. He must have looked so ridiculous, standing there in the arms of a couple of full-grown Vikings, his face smushed in Savage's iron grip, glowering helplessly up at the much larger, much more imposing man.
Savage seemed to think so, anyway — at Hiccup's open display of defiance, he threw his head back and guffawed, his fellow Outcasts quickly joining the grating chorus. Hiccup fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut against the pain in his arms and his face. At least he couldn't say anything to piss Savage off further: The grip the slimy bastard had on him had forced his mouth shut and puckered his lips, so he could barely utter a sound.
"Oh, look at 'im, boys," Savage howled, shaking Hiccup by his face; Hiccup groaned as another cut opened up on the inside of his cheek. "The little runt is tryin' to be brave. Thinks he's somethin' scary."
The man on Hiccup's left cackled, "Not quite as intimidatin' as dear ol' dad."
Savage snorted and pulled Hiccup's face up, forcing him to his tiptoes. Hiccup's breath hitched and he just managed to bite back a whimper at the bolt of pain shooting down his neck.
Savage leaned in so close their noses almost touched. The stench of his tormentor's breath was almost enough to bowl Hiccup over, but he could only breathe through his nose and try not to pass out. Fear thundered through him as he stared up into Savage's ruthless eyes. In them swirled untempered rage, twisted amusement, and a spark of savage madness that chilled Hiccup to the core.
"Hard to believe this scrawny runt is the son of Stoick the Vast," Savage scoffed, and Hiccup grimaced as spittle landed on his face. Savage grinned wickedly at him, giving him a close-up view of his yellowed teeth that Hiccup could have gone his whole life without seeing. "If Stoick was a real Viking, he'd've left you on a mountaintop when you were born. Let the gods decide your fate. I mean, look at ya! Pathetic scrap of a thing, not even a proper meal for a Terrible Terror!"
Savage's words hit Hiccup like a punch to the gut. He'd come so far since that gods-awful portrait Bucket had painted of him and the Hamish the First treasure hunt. He'd move past so much of the hurt that had lingered from when he'd been Hiccup the Useless. He'd formed a tight-knit group of friends who (mostly) supported him, who liked him for who he was. And he'd realized that although he was short and skinny, far removed from the traditional ideal Viking, he had strengths and worth and purpose beyond the stifling bonds of tradition.
But that didn't make Savage's words sting any less. How often had Snotlout taunted him when they were kids about this very thing? Only the strong can belong! Fury roared within Hiccup, and he let it fill him with brazen courage, let it fuel the fight. His father's warning echoed in the back of his mind — do not antagonize him — but the anger had a mind of its own. Hiccup may have been small, but his will was as strong as any Viking twice his size. And Thor damn it, he had had enough.
With this newfound strength, Hiccup jerked his head to the side, out of Savage's grip. His jaw and cheeks pounded with pain, but that didn't stop him from snarling at Savage: "Get your godsdamned hands off me, Savage." It felt good, lashing out at this monstrous man.
Until Savage's face twisted in rage and he buried his fist in Hiccup's gut with the force of a catapult projectile. Hiccup's world collapsed into jagged fragments of white-hot agony and stark panic: The pain sparked first in his stomach and then radiated from the point of impact with alarming speed, out to his sides, up to his chest, and all the way down into his groin. His breath left him in one fell swoop; he wheezed, mouth gaping, opening and closing, lungs screaming—
He tried to curl in on himself, desperate to ease the agony devouring him from the inside out, but with two Outcasts holding him upright, all he could do was sag in their grip, keening and panting for breath. Gods — how could one punch be so devastating? He felt like he was dying.
Slowly, his lungs remembered how to expand, and he gulped in a shuddering, groaning breath.
The man on Hiccup's right snickered. "The teensy-weensy little Viking has got some spirit in ‘im."
Savage bared his teeth at Hiccup. "Don't worry, boy," he said, his voice slipping like sludge down Hiccup's back. "Alvin will beat that out of you."
Fear caught in Hiccup's throat like an insect in a spider's web. "I'm not going to train his dragons."
Savage scoffed. "You'll change your tune by the time we're through with you, runt." He glanced around. "We need to move," he said to his men. "If the boy is here, that dragon is probably somewhere on the island, too. We don't want it findin’ us before we find it." So Savage wasn't quite as dumb as he looked; he knew he stood a much better chance against Toothless if he were the hunter instead of the hunted.
"Toothless isn't here," Hiccup lied between slow, pained breaths. "I'm here… I'm here alone."
"How stupid do you think I am, runt?"
The words escaped before Hiccup could even think about stopping them, the fear and anger and helplessness and injustice of it all overriding his father’s warning and his self-preservation. "On a scale of one to ten? Or can you count that high?"
Something deadly flickered in Savage's soulless eyes. Without a word, he backhanded Hiccup across the face. A choked cry wrenched itself from Hiccup's lips as his head whipped to the side, the left side of his face exploding into crushing agony. Bright lights popped and flashed in front of his eyes. It felt like his left cheek and jaw had caved in, the bones and cartilage ground into fine powder. Fresh nausea roiling in his gut, Hiccup let his head flop down, chin to his chest, too dizzy and in too much pain to even think about holding his head up.
Savage had other ideas, though — Hiccup yelped when the man's hand meshed in his hair, forcing him to look up. Hiccup's scalp burned, his face throbbed, his gut ached; he was terrified and worried about Toothless and Snotlout, he couldn't think straight, his head spun, he just wanted to go home—
"Think you're funny, do you, boy?"
"Mildly," Hiccup panted through the pain, the sight of Savage's ugly, enraged face looming so close to his own summoning the quip before he could temper his tongue.
"Well, I'm sick of hearin' your stupid little voice," Savage hissed. He cast his gaze around the blacksmith's shop. His eyes landed on the worktable, where several scraps of metal and some long, thin leather strips lay scattered, scraps from a long day's work. A cold dread festered in the pit of Hiccup's stomach.
Savage released Hiccup's hair and grabbed one of the leather strips. "Open wide," he ordered, dangling the leather in front of Hiccup's face. Hiccup's heart skipped a beat; the thought of that thing in his mouth, of having his voice stolen, of having his one remaining defense deafened…
He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
Savage glanced at the man on Hiccup's left. "Skarde, break his arm."
The grip on Hiccup's left biceps and forearm squeezed so tight Hiccup swore he could feel the bones creaking and grinding against one another. The Outcast began to twist, and a shard of agony shot up his arm.
"Stop, stop!" Hiccup panted, horror draping over him like a black shroud. As an afterthought, "P-please."
Savage held up a hand, and the bruising hold on Hiccup's arm lessened slightly. "Open uu-up," he sing-songed once more, eyes flashing in cruel anticipation.
Hiccup had no choice; though humiliation burned into his chest like a branding iron, he pried his teeth apart and opened his mouth. He choked when Savage forced the leather strip into his mouth, between his teeth. Hiccup hated it — hated the musty, earthy taste that filled his mouth, hated the way the leather pressed his tongue down, hated how the strap dug into his already tender cheeks and how the knot, tied much too tightly, dug into the nape of his neck. He hated how vulnerable the gag made him feel.
"Much better," Savage observed. He glanced at the door once more as if half-expecting a Night Fury to hurtle through it, plasma building in his throat. Hiccup prayed for that very thing — or, Hel, he'd even take Snotlout at this point! — but the night outside stayed dark and empty. "Quickly," Savage said, the hint of nervousness in his voice suggesting that he feared they had lingered too long. "Tie him up and let's get out of here."
Hiccup twisted in his captors' hands, a muffled shout of terror ripping from his throat. Hadn't they done enough? He was voiceless, ravaged with pain, and utterly helpless in the Outcasts' arms. Binding him would be complete overkill; Savage just wanted to exacerbate his panic, wanted to watch him squirm.
Gods, Hiccup should have kept his mouth shut.
Do not antagonize him, his father's voice echoed in his mind.
Too late, Hiccup thought back miserably, biting down hard on the leather in his mouth. He should have kept his cool, should have stowed this reckless streak of defiance for another time, another enemy, another battle.
Hiccup's pulse threaded fast and loud in his ears; the men holding his arms twisted them behind his back. Where they'd gotten rope from, Hiccup didn't know, but within seconds, he felt it on his wrists, coarse and strong and biting. He struggled weakly, trying to wrench his wrists apart, away from their grasp, but it did nothing to stop them from looping the rope around them and pulling it tight.
Immediately, Hiccup's shoulders, backs, and arms began to burn from the strain, and he tugged at the rope, his movements frantic, jerky. The knots held firm, and he forced himself to stop fighting against them — he had to conserve his energy for if he got a chance to escape.
Savage planted a huge hand on Hiccup's chest and pushed, toppling him over onto his backside. Hiccup didn't even have a chance to register that he'd been forcibly relocated to the floor before Savage crouched in front of him and, reaching for his prothesis.
Panic like nothing he'd ever felt set Hiccup's nerves alight. It had never crossed his mind that someone, even someone like Savage, could be cruel enough to take a person's prosthetic limb. It had been less than a year since Hiccup had lost the lower part of his left leg, and in that time, he had learned to be entirely dependent on that small piece of wood and metal. Without it, Hiccup couldn't even walk. For someone to take that away, to steal his mobility, his autonomy…
The very thought made him shudder deep in his soul. It was debasing, dehumanizing, and it scared Hiccup more than the gag, more than the rope, more than the threats and punches and pain.
In a frenzy of desperation — no, not this, you can't have this — Hiccup lashed out with his feet. His metal leg collided with something hard with a sickening crunch and Savage screamed—
Hiccup stared up at Savage in horror, the man's face a mess of blood and fury, his nose clearly broken, an inferno blazing in his mad, mad eyes. But he didn't rage, didn't scream, and somehow that was worse. He just leaned in close to Hiccup, blood dripping over his mouth and down his chin, and said, slowly and calmly, "When Alvin is done with you, I am going to kill you myself, you pathetic little runt. And I am going to take my time. And I will enjoy every second."
Hiccup swallowed, terror curdling his insides. He had no doubt that Savage spoke the truth.
Savage reached for Hiccup's leg again, and this time, Hiccup didn't fight. What was the use? Defiance had only caused him pain, and now, he feared, he'd reached the point of no return. If Toothless or Snotlout didn't show up soon and rescue him, he would soon face a very slow and painful death at the hands of a twisted man who would savor the sounds of his screams. And there was nothing Hiccup could do to stop it. Not anymore.
Savage wrapped his filthy fingers around Hiccup's prothesis and jerked it off without bothering to undo the straps. The gag captured most of Hiccup's cry as the leather straps pulled and scraped at the tender flesh beneath, turning his stump into a battlefield of inflamed scar tissue and screaming nerves.
Savage considered Hiccup for a long moment, eyes glittering, drinking in his suffering. Then he hefted Hiccup's metal leg (his stomach turned at the sight of it in someone else's hands, someone who had ripped it off of him) and slammed it into Hiccup's head.
Hiccup's vision went white and his ears rang and a shockwave of pain reverberated from the top of his head all the way down his neck. He didn't lose consciousness, not completely, but all control of his limbs deserted him and when his vision returned, it came back wrong — blurred and tinged with red — and his head hurt so much he let his eyes slip shut.
As if outside of his own body, Hiccup very distantly felt himself being lifted and roughly slung over someone's shoulder. With every step, the pain in Hiccup's battered head, gut, and stump spiked, eliciting grunts and groans that were promptly captured by the gag.
"Think Alvin's gonna be mad you hurt him?" the Outcast carrying Hiccup asked.
Savage's voice came from somewhere behind him. "He'll get over it. I loosened 'im up for Alvin, that's all."
"But—"
"Quiet!" Savage hissed, and to Hiccup's surprise, he didn't sound angry or smug anymore — an undertone of panic simmered in his voice. Something had spooked him. Abruptly, the man holding him stopped, the shoulder digging into Hiccup's aching stomach rock-hard with tension. Hiccup couldn't drag his eyes open, no matter how great his curiosity, but he listened hard, trying to parse out what Savage had heard over the tinny ringing in his ears.
For a moment, nothing. But then, another sound joined the ringing, this one sharp and high-pitched, a purple-tinted whistle that Hiccup would recognize anywhere: The impending attack of a Night Fury.
Oh, thank the gods.
In an instant, the world around Hiccup fractured into chaos, into purple flashes against his eyelids, shouts of terror turned agonized screams, of explosions and frenetic motion and the smell of burning flesh.
And then — purple fire painted the insides of Hiccup's eyelids, heat flashed dangerously close to his face, and the man holding him, jostling him, running away with him, toppled, and Hiccup went with him. Half-conscious, hands tied behind his back, Hiccup could do nothing to catch himself. His aching body tensed instinctively, preparing for impact, but it never came.
Instead of collapsing onto hard earth, Hiccup found himself caught up in another set of arms.
"Oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods," a voice, higher-pitched than usual but unmistakable, muttered. Hiccup felt himself being lowered gently to the ground. Snotlout's voice rang out again, swelling with relief: "Got him, Toothless!"
The sounds of fighting — more like the slaughter — had ceased. Claws clicked against stone, brash against the uncanny silence, quick and urgent. Above him, an anxious trill. Toothless.
Hiccup forced his eyes open when Toothless licked his face, rumbling deep and worried in his chest. The world swam into view, and he drank in the blurry sight of his best friend, pupils blown wide, and his cousin, mouth set in a grim line, eyes glinting strangely in the moonlight. Hiccup had never been happier to see anyone than he was just then, looking at the dragon who shared his soul and the cousin who drove him crazy a large majority of the time.
"Gods, Hiccup, are you okay? Are you hurt?" Snotlout asked, a slight tremor in his voice. Hiccup managed a weak nod as Snotlout drew his knife. "Toothless, give us a little light, would you?" Snotlout demanded, and it was a credit to how dire the situation was that Toothless obeyed without a fuss. "Hold still, Hiccup." Carefully, Snotlout worked the knife beneath the leather strap of the gag and sawed at it in small, measured strokes. Hiccup had never known Snotlout to be so focused or controlled.
In moments, he'd sliced through the gag. He peeled it gently away from Hiccup's face and out of his mouth. Hiccup flexed his jaw, nearly blacking out at the pain from Savage's backhand. "Th-thanks," he said hoarsely. Snotlout didn't answer; he was busy shifting Hiccup onto his side — Hiccup cursed as the motion jarred his injuries — and just as carefully, he sliced through the ropes around Hiccup's wrists and helped him lie back down, arms at his sides.
Hiccup bit back a cry as feeling flooded back into his tingling hands and his arms and shoulders pulsed with agony. "Thanks," he murmured again. Somehow he managed to reach a shaking hand up to stroke Toothless's scales. "And you, bud."
Toothless warbled and bunted his hand, and something inside of Hiccup's chest began to loosen at the sound and the feel of his best friend's warm nose against his palm.
"Savage?" Hiccup asked, not bothering to crane his head up to see the damage.
"Dead," Snotlout said stiffly. "You okay?"
Hiccup thought about lying. I'm okay. Just a little bruised. But Snotlout's brows had drawn together in a worried frown, and something earnest lurked in his eyes. Toothless fixed him with a reproachful, knowing look, and Hiccup was exhausted, hurting, and still trying to process the fact that he was safe, and he just couldn't pretend, not now.
"Not even a little bit," he said. "But find my leg and help me up, anyway, will you? We've got to get back to the forge and get that connecting rod so we can get the Hel out of here. Everything else can wait."
Toothless huffed uncertainly; Snotlout didn't move. "I don't think you should—"
Frustration flared, but Hiccup pushed it away. Snotlout had just saved his life. Was worried about him. Snotlout, in his own weird, Snotlout-y way, cared.
"Look, I appreciate—" Hiccup shifted, trying to rise up on his elbows, and his breath hitched at the burning agony that swept through his body, "—I appreciate the concern—"
"Concern?" Snotlout scoffed, his disdain far less believable than usual. "Puh-lease."
Hiccup ignored him. "—but we're still in enemy territory, and someone was bound to have heard all the explosions and screams. So if we want to get home, we need to move, now. Otherwise, your heroic rescue will have been for nothing."
Snotlout opened his mouth to argue, but his chest puffed out a little at the word heroic, and, after a quick glance at Toothless, who grumbled in reluctant agreement, he gave a curt nod.
"Okay," he said. "Let's go home."
Home.
The prospect alone was enough to cut through the cocoon of agony and fear and shock and the lingering taste of leather on his tongue. He gritted his teeth through the pain and nausea and dizziness as Snotlout and Toothless helped him to his foot. He leaned heavily against his dragon when Snotlout ran off to find his leg.
"Thank you, Toothless," Hiccup murmured again, running his fingers over sleek obsidian scales.
Toothless purred in acknowledgement, then nudged Hiccup lightly with nose and looked pointedly at Snotlout, who was making his way back to them, back to the carnage, Hiccup's leg in tow. As if to say, He did good, too.
A small smile tugged at the corner of Hiccup's lips. "Yeah, he's not so bad after all," he agreed quietly.
But not quietly enough. Snotlout snorted and slapped Hiccup's prothesis into his open, waiting hands. "'Not so bad,'" he griped. "That's the understatement of the year! I'm awesome." As he talked, he helped Hiccup climb onto Toothless's saddle, amidst a chorus of tempered whines and pained groans. "Like, actually the best," Snotlout continued, following Toothless's lead and heading in the direction of the blacksmith's shop. "If it wasn't for me…"
Hiccup let him ramble on about his prowess in battle and his selfless heroism in the face of danger. He decided not to mention that if it wasn't for Snotlout, they wouldn't have been in this situation to begin with. Snotlout had really come through this time; he'd earned this moment.
And sure, he defied Hiccup at every turn, even when it was stupid, even when it was dangerous, even when it was not in his best interest (or anyone's, for that matter). But how could Hiccup expect Snotlout to always make the right choices, to listen and keep his mouth shut and do as he was told, if Hiccup couldn't keep his own tongue in check when his very life was on the line?
Because if Hiccup's encounter with Savage had taught him anything, it was that Snotlout was not the only recklessly defiant dragon rider in Berk.