.Defiant One.

WARNINGS: English from a foreigner~ And awkward conversations between a slave and a viking ;/ Awkwaaaard.

A/N : Long awaited The First Real Confrontation of the two maing chars!I'm not that good in conversations (a bad side of being socially awkward ;D) so if something seems weird for you - it's all my fault! Hope you will like this chapter.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything related to How To Train Your Dragon.

BETA: I.F.T.S (who really is lifting up my self-esteem about my english ;D)

The Nameless One

Night couldn't come fast enough, but when it did, Hiccup was very grateful.

He trudged through the village silently, a little flame of his candle didn't light anything farther than two feet away and he paused every time he heard voices or saw a light. He had no desire to be seen, after what he had experienced today.

Without mentioning his utter failure (not very surprising) on the training (where he spent most of his time on his back with the axe pointing at various parts of his body), he spent his day trying to evade all villagers on sight. But it was very hard, considering that he needed to replenish his home food storage., and as soon as he stepped outside, his skin tingled from all the stares he received, while walking to the docks for some fish. A couple of times he could see some sort of weird look in villager's eyes – looking strangely like… approval? He wasn't sure. He tried not to pay attention to the people who suddenly were so aware –and so wrong- about him.

As fast as he could, he had taken what he needed and hurried back home, where he was safe from the following eyes. He wasn't sure what to do with the whole mess that started from his own stupid slip. He should have been more careful when he left the pens yesterday, but he was so shaken by everything, that he hadn't paid attention to anything around him that time. But at least… nobody had even suspected that he was visiting pens not for torture.

Probably the thought of the Chief's useless son torturing a slave from the Drake Tribe was more plausible, than even the slightest chance that he was helping an enemy. Hiccup grunted, adjusting the heavy bag on his shoulders, as he neared the arena. Well, he never was the one to satisfy his tribe's expectations.

He paused at the entrance of the tunnels, taking a good look of the dark entrances and feeling slightly hesitant about coming. He could admit it – he was afraid. The angry red marks on his neck, hidden by the scarf, were a very fresh reminder that sent terror up his spine, leaving him trembling in his boots. But in front of his eyes flashed an image of bleeding figure and in his ears ringed a tearful wail that echoed through his mind, and he found himself already lightning up the torch and tucking a few spare ones under his arm as he limped into the tunnel.

Carefully navigating his way through the tunnel, he silently wondered if his journey was even necessary. Was the slave even there? After he opened the pen, he didn't bother to close it and even left the key there, after their… little encounter. The man would have for sure noticed it and made his escape, but as Hiccup neared the pen he was proved wrong.

The slave was still there. Injuries caked in blood, pale as ghost and quietly breathing on the floor in the middle of the pen facing the entrance. The untouched key is on the ground near the bars and the pen's door clearly still open. Hiccup stared, astonished. Not quite believing himself he stepped closer, but recoiled quickly when the slave opened his eyes and looked at him. Hiccup's throat restricted, but he swallowed his fear and stared back at the slave, flinching when the man sat up with a grunt.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice was raspy and scratchy, sounding more like an incoherent growl of the wounded animal, but he guessed it was from all the screaming and the lack of water. Strangely enough it suited the man's looks, and Hiccup found himself wanting to hear more of that voice, realizing that it was the first time he heard him speak (beside yesterday's yelling fest).

"I can ask the same question." The slave lifted an elegant dark eyebrow and Hiccup pointedly looked down at his feet at the key. The man grunted, but said nothing, just idly sat back against the wall, not really caring about his injured back. Feeling oddly disappointed, Hiccup bent down to put torches and the bucket of water he took with him and took the key and put it in the inner pocket of his vest, before putting his hand on the pen's door. He glanced at the man and noticed that he tensed, "Can I?.."

The man narrowed his eyes in suspicious look, "Why?"

Hiccup chewed at his lip, before blurting out, "I need to treat your injuries." Great job Hiccup, telling the man who you bought that you wanted to poke in the wounds inflicted by his father!

The dark-haired male looked at him long and hard, and Hiccup could see the battle of emotions in his expressive green eyes. Suspicious. Anger. Distrust. Hesitation. And some degree of curiosity. The man battled with himself for a little more, before heaving a sigh and slumping against the wall. His whole posture just screamed 'I don't care anymore' as his eyes tiredly looked down on the floor.

Bracing himself, Hiccup pushed the door silently, ducking through the entrance and allowing the torch to lighten up the pen a little better. Ignoring the foul smell of the stuffed and dirty pen, Hiccup set the light down and brought the bucket into the pen with the spare torches. The teen crouched a few feet in front of the man, setting his heavy bag on the floor near the bucket and lightning up a few more torches to see better. He glanced at the man, who hadn't move from his position nor lifted his eyes. Hesitating, Hiccup cleared his throat, "I… need you to turn to me with your back." He murmured quietly.

There was a pause before the man silently complied, exposing his back for the teen. Hiccup blinked and opened his mouth, words itching to spill out, but he quickly shut them down. He took out a cloth and damped it in the water, wringing it. Hiccup stretched his hand with a damp cloth forward, but it froze before it touched the red from the blood skin. His hand hovered hesitantly over the other's body, and he wondered if it was appropriate to touch the male. He had already given a permission to treat his wounds, so it should be okay, but Hiccup felt as if he is trying to overstep some kind of boundary that he shouldn't. The marks on his neck pulsed a little and he sighed. Well, the man probably already overstepped that 'touchy' boundary.

His hand moved and a cloth gently touched an irritated injury, and Hiccup felt and saw the slave tense at the contact. Slowly, so not to startle him more, Hiccup moved the cloth, the white quickly blotched a reddish pink, as more and more skin appeared from beneath all that blood. Slowly and steadily, Hiccup cleaned up the wounds, the water in the bucket turning from the crystal clear into a dark murky liquid. He could feel the other male's shoulders slowly relaxing at his movements and the tension in the muscles under the cloth slowly disappearing. Hiccup couldn't help but feel guilty for everything the man had to go through because of him, of his rash and impulsive decisions. But he vowed to himself that he will make it up for him.

The teen hung the rug on the edge of the bucket and took out a jar of nasty smelling ointment and a roll of bandages from the bag. Opening the jar, he scooped a generous amount of the green mush, but a made a pause in putting it on, enough to murmur to the man, "It's going to sting at first."

As soon as the mush touched the injuries, the slave tensed and a hiss escaped his lips. Hiccup flinched sympathetically, but continued to apply the ointment in thick layers over the wounds while the man flinched at every new touch.

"Don't worry. It will soon stop stinging and start to cool down." Hiccup reassured him, taking out the bandages and tapping lightly the man on the shoulder, gesturing him to lift his hands.

The slave grunted acknowledgment, as Hiccup started to wrap bandages tightly around his torso. The teen's mind flashed back to the days when he needed to treat his own injuries inflicted by forge accidents, walking accidents, bullies 'accidents' and accidental accidents. Returning home alone and beaten, he took out the always full medical kit he hid under his bed and spent his evening (or night) nursing his injuries. In times like this he missed the times when his… mother was still around.

A grunt snapped him out of his thoughts, "Why?"

Hiccup blinked, noticing only now that while wrapping he ended up in front of the slave. The man was staring at him with those dark green eyes from under his fringe of bangs – a genuine curiosity shining in them. Hiccup thought that it was strange to see such a childlike expression on a mature warrior, but nonetheless a pleasant change from the distrust and anger.

"Why what?" Hiccup asked, tying a knot on the man's chest and moving to start treating his hands.

The man watched as the teen took out another cloth and started to clean the scratches on his hands, only slightly wincing at the pain, "Why… are you doing this Little One?"

"Oh, I didn't know you wanted to die from the infection, sorry." Hiccup muttered, ignoring the 'Little One' comment, getting the ointment. "Isn't it obvious that I'm helping you?"

"That's exactly the point!" The man snapped, glaring at him, but his anger quickly disappeared, and he slumped again with a sigh, "Why are you helping me? I am your enemy… and yet here you are, the Little One, treating my wounds, bringing me food. I'm a slave! I'm dangerous! I tried to kill you for Thor's sake!" He growled out, and Hiccup flinched involuntary at this, not sure if the sudden anger was direct on the situation, at him or at all of the above.

Hiccup could feel the blazing glare of those eyes that had enraptured him from the first glance, as he continued to bandaging the man's hands. The boy sighed and tying the final knots, he sat back on his heels, glancing up at the slave.

"I'm helping you… because it is a right thing to do."

The man blinked, before snorting mockingly at the Viking boy in front of him, "'Right thing to do'? Where do you live Little One? Obviously somewhere in your little imaginary world, where there is no war. Because if you weren't you would have know that it's definitely not 'the right thing' to do, to let your enemy leave, so they could kill you as soon as chance appears."

"But then, why didn't you?"

The man's eyes zoomed at him, as Hiccup smiled softly at him, "Why didn't you kill me?"

There was a silence, but Hiccup didn't wait for an answer. He turned back to his bag and got out the other things he brought with himself, while the other kept staring at him.

"You…"

Hiccup paused in filling the bowls with the cod soup from the pot, to look at the slave.

"…are a strange Little One." The man murmured, gazing down at his wrapped hands.

"Hiccup."

The man lifted his eyes, slightly raising an eyebrow.

"My name is Hiccup." The boy repeated, filling the other bowl and grimacing at the pieces of fish in the liquid. The man stared at him a little more, before a tiny, barely visible smirk graced his pale lips.

"You are an odd one… Little Hiccup." He said, accepting the bowl Hiccup handed to him.

"So are you…" Hiccup tilted his head thoughtfully. "Eh… what's your name?" He turned to the man awkwardly.

The nameless man paused, before the bowl touched his lips and gazed at him with some kind of glazed look in his eyes, "Name?" he murmured, looking down at the soup in his hands, "My name is of no importance."

Hiccup blinked, but said nothing, turning back to his own bowl of soup.

The man, once a proud warrior from the Drake Tribe, was sitting there next to him, defeated, but not really. If Hiccup needed to draw a parallel between him and the dragons they were named after, he could say that he was… a downed dragon. 'A downed dragon - is a dead dragon' the legends always say and the brave Viking in the end always manages to chop the crippled beast's head off. The flightless dragon is unable to hunt, thus it becomes weak and an easy target on the earth for predators or hunters. And more times passes, more it is weakens and become helpless. Unable to claw or bite its way past its enemies, for he is powerless to do so.

But the slave… still has his will to fight. To live. But yet, when he had a chance… he didn't attack. He had claws to tear him apart, but he didn't even scratch him. He had teeth to tear at his flesh, but he didn't even bite.

"Toothless."

The man looked at him again and Hiccup smiled shyly.

"May I call you Toothless?"

The Namele- Toothless One

I'm starving! Does anyone have a good bunch of fresh, tasty reviews?