A/N: Shortiesunited, Varsity Geekery, PixieGirl13 (btw, Pix, never apologize for long-winded reviews – everyone knows those are the best!), I really appreciate your comments on characterization – that's something I've always fought with a bit. I get ideas in my head and then sometimes characters run away from w hat they're supposed to be and I don't even realize it until someone points it out. So thank you!

Which reminds me; readers, pleeease don't hesitate to give constructive criticism! I write here so as not to get rusty, and getting criticism back from people is so very helpful.

Ch. 3: Hagalaz

Hiccup couldn't move. Maybe if he could find his body, he'd be able to move, but at the moment he wasn't quite sure where his arms were, or where his legs were, or which direction was up. But that was ok. He didn't need to move. He was fine right where he was, wherever that happened to be, in the dark and numb.

Well, ok, he was a little cold. And maybe his shoulders hurt a bit. Maybe.

No… they definitely hurt.

Now that he at least knew where his shoulders were, he tried to shift a little, but nothing happened. Maybe if I use my eyes, I can see enough to move, he thought. But when he opened his eyes, he saw a blurry mess of grey and black and brown, and could make out nothing. Nor could he move his head.

This was a bit too distressing, so he closed his eyes and tried to leave his senses behind, but now they were catching up to him. The pain in his shoulders was becoming sharper, and it was traveling down his arms to the tips of his tingling fingers. He could now feel his heartbeat pounding on the back of his right hand, which felt too warm. His left leg hurt, but that wasn't too unusual. He realized he had a troll-sized headache, getting worse with each heartbeat. And lastly, and most bitterly, he was freezing.

He tried opening his eyes again, and this time he was aware enough to realize that it was rather dark, and he was laying in snow. It had melted directly beneath him and water had soaked into his clothing. Hiccup was well aware of the consequences that came with being outside and wet in the winter, and suddenly death seemed like it might be a bit closer than he would have expected.

Focusing past the snow around him, he saw three blobs that slowly made themselves out to be Berserkers. The possibility of death took another giant leap closer, and Hiccup flinched. He figured sitting up would attract their attention, but if death didn't kill him, his shoulders surely would if he didn't try and relieve them.

As much of a struggle as sitting up turned out to be, he still couldn't make his shoulders feel better, owing to the fact that his arms were folded up behind his back and bound with the inevitable piece of devilishly rough twine. Hiccup almost called out to the Berserkers to let him go; excuse me, I know you're holding me captive or whatever, but my shoulders really, really hurt, so can you untie my arms? Of course his shoulders hurt, that's probably what they wanted. Or at least, he was sure they wouldn't care.

Wait, I'm being held captive.

The complete gravity of the situation dawned on Hiccup and his mind froze for a moment. He didn't know what to start thinking first, or where to be looking, or what to be saying or doing. He had to escape, but the idea of escaping from a group of Berserkers seemed impossible, suicidal, and at the same time the only option of life he had. There was no way they'd let him live, at least no way they didn't have villainous plans for him. He was tied up, after all. Were Berserkers cannibalistic? Wouldn't they have chosen someone with more meat on them?

He had been the only human on the other side of the gate, though, at the battle. Maybe he was the only one they could nab. But they'd broken through, he remembered, right? He'd seen Stoick –

Stoick! His dad had been hit, that's why he and Toothless had – Toothless! Hiccup mentally slapped a palm to his face, gritting his teeth. The situation kept getting worse; what if they were hurt? What if they needed his help? What if they were dead? He spent a moment trying to remember all the events leading up to the present time, and realized that he had no idea where Astrid was. She'd been out in the woods with Gobber, at the same time the Berserkers had been there, if the howls he'd heard indicated anything. What if they found her? Berserkers were anything but gentlemen, and if they found her in the woods…

Stoick, Toothless, Astrid, he had no idea if they were alive, hurt, dead, lost… here he was, tied up with a bunch of bloodthirsty madmen. He might get out of this, but what if the other three were dead? The thought made him shudder, and the cold needled further into his body. They wouldn't die. They'd be fine. They were the three toughest people he knew.

And these Berserkers were the most formidable force he knew of.

Take stock, he thought, and raised his head. There were five Berserkers he could see, scattered about in front of him. They were inland, on a ridge in the woods. Great spruce roots twisted into the rock and disappeared into the snow. The Berserkers imitated the boulders, sitting still and silent. Hiccup had been told that the cold of the North didn't bother them, but these men were wearing layers of fur pelts, hunkered down in them exactly like a sane person would be doing in these temperatures. He could only see one man's face; thankfully, his eyes were closed. Dark stripes were strewn across his cheeks, and from his tangled blonde beard dangled black birdsfeet. He certainly looked like a Berserker.

Hiccup craned his head around, doing his best to ignore the forthcoming arm pain. Three more men behind him, all still and silent. Were they all really sleeping, exhausted from the earlier battle? If he tried to escape, they could follow his tracks in the snow, but could he make it back to Berk before they awoke? No, said his headache, which was still getting worse. You'll collapse before you get halfway there.

He knew his headache was probably right, but he had to try something, right?

But the Berserkers will wake up and disembowel you, his headache said.

Also probably true. But wouldn't they do that anyways?

His headache didn't respond. He took that as a sign from the Gods, and attempted to shift enough to get to his feet.

"Where ya goin', boy?" said a voice, and he jumped, eyes darting frantically for the speaker. There, a Berserker perched in a spruce tree a few branches up, staring down at him like a raven.

"Uh, me? Going? No no, sir, I was just, uh, shifting. My legs were falling asleep, they – " His panic was cut short as he caught a glimpse of his legs. Leg. His prosthetic was gone. After the uncertainty about Stoick, Toothless, Astrid, and the pain of his own situation, that was about the last straw. His panic was overshadowed by intense irritation, and with it came a shadow of relief.

"Ok, seriously, you took my leg?" He realized he was talking to a man who could probably sit on him and crush his ribs, but he couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice. "Maybe you have a good reason for tying me in a knot like this, maybe you even have a decent excuse for throwing me in the snow to turn into a miniature Vikingsicle, but taking away my leg? Really? Really?"

The Berserker looked a little bemused. He also displayed the standard Berserker expression of 'I am going to remove your eyeballs and put hot coals in your sockets', but the 'bemused' was new.

"Loosing my first leg was bad enough, and now you go and…" Hiccup stifled his rant as the Berserker jumped from the tree, landing with an impressive whump, furs billowing. Now that the man was on the ground, approaching, he looked a fair bit more intimidating, not that he was in any way unimpressive before. Hiccup guessed that at this point he should probably shut his mouth, but, on second thought, this may be the last time he'd ever be able to speak again.

"And I don't get why you think you need to tie me up and take my leg and throw me in the snow and sit in a tree like that and watch me ,I'm like the size of your… well, I was going to say your arm or something but I'm smaller than your arm. I'm smaller than your arm, and you treat me like I have the ability to escape or something. My head was just telling me I'd probably faint after two minutes if I tried to hop away."

"Shut up, will you?" snarled a voice to his side, and he turned to see another Berserker, sitting up from his 'I'm a boulder' position. This man's red moustache was the most impressive piece of facial hair Hiccup had ever seen, and it was attached to a lip that was curled into a snarl that could probably curdle fresh cream. His cloak looked like a mass of wolf and fox tails stitched together. "Nobody cares about you, spawn of the deserters. Nobody cares about your cursed leg. I took it off and threw it into the ocean. And if you were a real Viking you wouldn't be bothered by a little snow. Next time I hear you whining I'll chop out your tongue. And eat it." After a glare that made Hiccup's heart skip a little, the man reassumed the boulder position, and presumably went back to sleep, or trance, or whatever it was Berserkers did.

Hiccup, back to being terrified, turned to the first Berserker, doing his best to look like anything other than the scummy spawn of deserters. The blonde man was regarding him, and Hiccup got the impression that the man was wondering if he'd be better roasted, boiled, or raw with a bit of ground rosemary.

"A bit young ta be a gimp. How'd ya loose your leg, boy?" he asked, and Hiccup blinked. The Berserker would never believe the real answer, but he said it anyway.

"I fell off a dragon into a fiery explosion after making the queen dragon explode and crash to the ground."

"Dragons, eh?"

"Yeah, dragons. You must have seen the Night Fury back there."

"That yours?"

"Y – … well, no. You don't 'own' a dragon."

"Then what's he to you?"

Hiccup didn't answer, not sure of why this Berserker was even talking to him. 'Small talk' didn't seem very Berserker-y. If he stared at his remaining foot in a sulky sort of way, there was a slight chance the man would go away, and not kick him in the head for not answering his question. A sudden crunching told Hiccup that the man was approaching him, and he flinched, expecting a blow. He heard the sound of a knife being unsheathed, and an extra pang of terror struck him. He was entirely unprepared for being stabbed. He imagined that was generally how it went with being stabbed.

Instead of slicing into his flesh, though, the knife sliced swiftly through the twine. The Berserker stepped back as Hiccup's arms fell, and he grit his teeth; the pain of sudden release dwarfed the pain of immobilized joints. Still, an unexpected act of kindness.

"What's the matter, there? Ya look like your worried we're gonna eat ya!" The blonde chuckled in what may have been a good-natured manner, and Hiccup looked up cautiously, slowly bringing his arms around to the front.

"Why am I here?"

"Well if I told ya, it'd take away all the suspense."

"I'm good without suspense. I don't need suspense."

"How 'bout a drink then?"

"What?"

The Berserker reached into his robes and drew out a flask. Hiccup wasn't particularly thirsty, what with being soaked in icy water, but the man shook the flask at him, as if expecting him to take it; his eyes were twinkling mischievously. Maybe if he took it, the Berserker would take it as a sign of thanks for releasing his arms.

"Um," he said, and reached out slowly, willing his joints to forget the pain and move. "What is it?" he asked, gingerly taking a hold of it.

"Bear blood." Clearly, Hiccup could see, the Berserker expected him to drop the flask, gasp in horror, or otherwise prove himself a wuss.

"Bear blood," he echoed, shaking the flask experimentally. "You know, much as I love drinking blood, I think I'm good for now. Thanks, though." He handed it back, and the blonde man took it, thankfully.

"It'll make ya strong, though, boy. Looks like ya need a bit of meat on your arms. Ya could swim out and find your leg then!"

"Oh, come on …!" Hiccup threw up his arms in frustration, then winced, having forgotten that they still hurt. "I am not that weak."

The Berserker regarded him.

"Ok fine, compared to… adult… or young adult… peoples of the North, I'm smaller… But I'll have you know, I can lift anvils!" He was quite proud of the fact, too.

"Right."

Hiccup just about sprung into another rant about the consequences of doubting his size and strength, but then he remembered he was facing a Berserker, not Gobber. Instead, he sighed, shivered, and wished Toothless would come crashing through the woods to save him. But Toothless had been hurt. He might be dead.

But… he heard something now.

Something was, indeed, crashing through the woods.

The blonde Berserker's face hardened, eyes turned flinty.

"On the alert!" he shouted. "Everybody up, it's coming!"

"What's coming?" Hiccup asked, but his voice was ignored, drowned out by the sudden awakening of the Berserkers around him. They sprung to their feet, shifting, tossing their shoulders, eyeing Hiccup and then squinting towards the sound. Hiccup didn't know if he wanted it to be Toothless or not. Sure, there was a chance he'd be saved, out of the grasp of these madmen. But Toothless was hurt; could he really take on this horde?

Someone hauled him up by his collar and shoved him forward, towards the noise. They all started marching, and Hiccup took a step with his stump, forgetting again that there was nothing there. He lurched forward, and the person with a grip on his shirt wrenched him up again.

"Woa, hey! Missing foot!"

They didn't respond, instead shoved him forward roughly. Fine, I'll hop, he thought, but that plan proved to be unfeasible. The terrain was too uneven, they were moving too fast. He stumbled, and was part carried, part dangled, part dragged for a few feet before the company stopped and he found solid ground. Everyone was silent, weapons raised at the ready, staring into the woods. Whatever was approaching through the spruce thicket did not care about a surprise approach.

"This thing spit fire?" someone asked.

"Lightning," the mustached Berserker answered.

Oh, Odin, Hiccup thought, and despair welled in his chest. He understood now. They were holding him to attract Toothless. They knew the dragon would come for him. And now they were going to kill Toothless, or bind him, or do something else terrible, all because he'd let himself get captured. Helplessness paralyzed him and he wanted to call out and warn Toothless, but his vocal chords weren't responding, and besides, Toothless wouldn't be able to hear that anyways, not above the ruckus he was creating… Now that Hiccup thought it, the crashings were a fair bit louder than he would have expected. Toothless wouldn't be making that much noise…

He was sure of it now. Whatever it was was seconds away from bursting out into the open, and whatever it was it was going to be bigger than Toothless. It wouldn't be another dragon; they should all be spending the winter in the remnants of the volcano, where it was warm. What else would it be, though?

Involuntarily, he leaned away. He wished he could run.

In a burst of snapped branches and bending trees, something – definitely not Toothless – barged into view, bringing with it a billow of frosty air and a roar that shocked the Berserkers into silence and made Hiccup's bones vibrate. He couldn't believe it. He'd heard rumors, sure, especially from the elders of Berk. There was supposed to be two or three of these on the island, but he'd never seen one before, or heard one, or seen signs of one. He thought maybe they'd all been turned to stone or something. But no, apparently not all of them.

"Troll!" murmured the Berserker behind him, and Hiccup caught a hint of horror in the way the word was whispered. He didn't blame him. The troll's tough grey skin was impossible to penetrate, his spiked club longer than two cattle. Trolls were swift on their feet, despite their massive bulk, and it was very likely that the face of a troll will stop you dead in your tracks. The frost giants, they were called sometimes. Starvation, freezing, inhospitable lands, the vengeful spirits of the woods, it was all spelled out plainly in the roll of flashing eyes and the wild tangle of hair.

The Berserkers didn't move. Something had finally stopped them. They backed away slowly, clumping into each other, warily eyeing the beast in front of them. Hiccup wasn't sure what the troll was doing, because he was carefully not looking at it. He was small; maybe it wouldn't notice him.

It drew in a great breath, and released it in a tremendous bellow; Berk must have heard it clearly. A punch of glacial air swept over them, easily passing through Hiccup's thin shirt, through his skin, reaching for his core. His breath left him, and with it went the edge of the cold, but he was still left feeling frozen. The Berserker behind him tossed him to the ground like a used rag, and he clung to the ground; snow almost felt warm now. He didn't care anymore that he'd been captured by Berserkers, or that there was a troll staring them down. He was cold, and he needed to get warm. Gobber's lesson floated briefly through his head: 'When out in the elements, if you're cold enough, you're not gonna care about food, or water, or the fact that your hand's been chewed off, or that your house is burnin' down. All your gonna think about is getting' warm again.' Yes, but how?

Sounds of battle reached his ears, and he flinched, crawled shakily to the nearest spruce, put the trunk between himself and the slaughter that was happening. There was no way any of the Berserkers were going to survive, and Hiccup only hoped that when the troll was done with them, it would go away and not notice the kid shivering behind the tree.

It didn't take very long. Or so it seemed. Maybe time passed quickly when you were concentrating on not freezing to death. His clothing had gotten stiff with ice and his skin was largely numb. He couldn't imagine much at the moment, especially not a good way out of this. When all the noise had died down, he waited a few moments before leaning around the trunk, wary of trolls. He couldn't see it, but then again, the sun was beginning to come up. As there weren't any new colossal boulders laying about, he thought it must have slipped away, or turned into a tree or log. Trolls were known to do that.

There were, however, plenty of dead Berserkers. Indisputably dead, from the looks of it. Lots of orphaned cloaks, then.

He flipped around onto hands and knees, crawling carefully toward the nearest body, which looked like it was wearing bear fur. He almost stopped halfway, the sensation of frozen clothing against his skin and snow under his palms too much. It was so close now, though. And getting closer. When he reached the body, he carefully didn't look at the remnants of the Berserker's head, and instead reached out two frozen, senseless hands to try to peel the cloak off the body. It was tied, and shoved under, and the knots were going to be impossible to undo with numb fingers. But the Berserker had a knife stuck in his belt, and after Hiccup cut the ties, he gingerly tucked the knife into his own belt.

But the cloak would not come out from under the great bulk of the dead Berserker. The other Berserkers were all so far away, too.

"No," he mumbled, feeling pathetic, leaning against the furry back. Too cold. He didn't want to die like this. It was squeezing him, squeezing him out of his own body, loosing sensation and numbing his mind. He couldn't escape it. Biting back a weak sob, he forced himself to think; a solution seemed so close, he was sure he could figure it out if he weren't so cold. He wouldn't be so cold, he thought bitterly, if he weren't so small.

Small… He drew out the knife again, pushing his fingers closed around the handle clumsily. The blade nicked his finger, and though he couldn't feel the cut, the blood was bright and obvious. Sharp blade. He leaned over the body in front of him and started slicing at the cloak. His muscles didn't warm with moving, but he kept slicing. After an exhaustive two minutes, he'd cut off all the cloak he could reach. The cloak was big enough, and he was small enough, that the bear skin wrapped around his shoulders.

He crouched, pulling the edges of the small cloak tight, waiting desperately for the first tiny sensations to come creeping back, waiting for a merciful wisp of warmth. Just as he was convincing himself that maybe he'd feel less like a snow sculpture sometime soonish, he heard another bellow, another howl, another noise from some beast in the woods, another threat for him to deal with. It didn't sound like any Berserker noises he'd heard yet. It wasn't terrifying enough to be a troll. He started to sink into the snow, willing to play dead until any danger had passed, but the undertones of the bugling noise stopped him.

This noise sounded desperate. Like a call for help. Like Toothless's frustration before he and Hiccup were friends, trying to escape from that sinkhole. Pitch is different, Hiccup reminded himself. It had to come from something smaller.

He considered not investigating. It was probably safer to just crouch here and warm up until he felt he could start moving. But the desperation in the call reminded him of the desperation he'd felt for warmth, not minutes ago. Yes, the bearskin was warming him up a bit. It was the most welcome feeling in the world, and though he was a long ways from being 'warm', he'd at least warded off death. Nerves tingling, waking back up, he reached for a broken spear, sunk in the snow. He pushed against it and hauled himself up.

A/N: Don't worry, there's more than just a bunch of funny noises to the plot.