.Defiant One.

WARNINGS: AngstMemoriesAngstMentionofUnderageFightingAngstBl oodAngstTears and a little fluff (i think that's all)

A/N : This chapter was ready like week ago. Sorry, Life slapped me a couple of times. This and the next chapter are basically what I was writing this fanfic for. These two scenes were in my mind the whole time and I couldn't wait to write them. Well, now I wrote them. Expect update the day after tomorrow. Probably.

By the way character in this chapter is not OC. Identity will be revealed in next chapter.

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

BETA: I.F.T.S (Who really-really spoils me with her compliments)


The Broken One


They laid there under the stars and the glow of the campfire, shivering in their wet clothes in the cold air for some time. The moon as the great unblinking eye stared down at them, but for the first time in many years he- Toothless didn't feel uncomfortably naked under its scrutinizing gaze. He could feel his limbs numbing a little from the nipping frost, but it was... Nice. Life-threatening… but nice.

The Little One next to him moved, his teeth clattering very loudly as he stumbled back to the campfire, from where they rolled quite a distance away. Toothless lifted his head to look as the brunet shifted through his hidden belongings in the crevice of roots and produced from there a thick fur blanket and a slightly worn out brown shirt. Noticing him looking, the Little One smiled with his pale lips, "I said that I've got things for an emergency."

Toothless smiled to himself and stood up, removing his wet shirt and taking the blanket offered by the brunet. Hanging the shirt over the fire where the metal pot previously was, he sat back on his place cuddling into the tickling him blanket. He blinked when he noticed that the Little One already changed into the brown shirt, added branches into the fire and sat down across from him. The brunet's body was still noticeably trembling from the cold and it took less than a second for Toothless to make a decision and another two to stand up and to sit next to the boy. The brunet startled badly when he put the blanket over his shoulders, but Toothless only shifted closer so they were pressed thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder.

"We'll be warmer like this." he murmured, wrapping the blanket tighter around them.

The Little One squeaked as they pressed to each other and fidgeted at their closeness (and probably Toothless' half naked state), but relaxed as soon as the combined warmth of the blanket, another body and the fire slipped through his freezing body.

It felt alien and almost surreal, sitting here in front of the dancing flames with another person. Heck, the whole situation seemed like one of the dreams Toothless used to have when he was a youngling and when he still had what to dream about. Toothless looked into the flickering fire and listened to the breathing of the Little One. Its steady rhythm and the warmth around him that seemed to sip through his bones and into his very soul, lulled him into a peaceful state of mind that he couldn't reach by any training or mediating for a long time already.

"We are born from the youngling years."

The words were muttered quiet and he wasn't sure what spurred them out. Was that the unreality of this situation? Or the presence of someone who he knows will listen? Nevertheless, his mouth moved as if on its own accord, as he gazed into the fire, hypnotized by seemingly matching pattern the flames moved with the inhaling and exhaling of the Little One.

"He selects us personally: visits our nurseries as soon as we learn to walk, talk and are taught who are we and what for we are existing." He could remember the day Father came to them; looming over each of them like a snake over newly hatched prey, the emotionless eyes cold and piercing as he walks over their rows, selecting and choosing. "He sees who has a potential for archery, who for a sword wielding. Or if any of us particularly catch his eye." Toothless still remembers how those cold eyes landed on his little, frightened out of his mind form and the glint that entered that glossy, bloodlust gaze. Curious. Interested. Promising.

"The training starts soon after that and they do not find it necessary to go easy on a child. They are ruthless. Strict. Unmerciful. We were thrown into the mountain lion pit and told to claw our way back. We were left facing a pack of hungry wolves with only a blunt knife as a weapon. We were left in the forest in the midst of winter and told to survive till the summer no matter what." The old scars stung at the memories, but the warmth of another body soothed them enough so he was able to continue with his memory trip. "It is a selection; the weak ones were disposed off in the first few sessions, some were not lucky enough to last until the end." He swallowed loudly, in front of his eyes the faceless nursery mates broken and lifeless on the ground as he trembles, but moves forward over them and up.

"Those who survive are left facing the best fighters in the match. To the death."

He remembers the fear, the mad fear that clawed his way into his mind when he entered the area with one single man standing on the sand painted in red. Around, the bodies of previous ones who tried to fight for their way out. He remembers the fog that entered his mind when the first droplet of blood was spilled; that numbing state when he finally snapped. He felt nothing, knew nothing, except for -killkillkillkillkill!survive- and he lunged for the man like a hungry predator ready to rip out the guts and spill more of that crimson life-force, while somewhere in the corners of his broken mind the sanity tried to claw its way back and screamed for him to stop!-

Toothless startled when a small hand clasped around his trembling one. Warm and comforting. Anchoring him. The man inhaled and relaxed his stiff muscles, shooing away the memories, the feelings; trying to return his calm and indifferent demeanor, returning into the role of unattached story-teller rather than the man who dwells in the past.

"In the end there were six of us left from our group. It was our tenth winter." Toothless closed his eyes in a minute of mourning for his non-existed childhood. The Little One's hand squeezed lightly and he thought that it was frightening how much meaning and comfort this gesture brought him.

"After that, we were trained and tutored in vast of different areas; from martial arts to axe throwing. We were given names and purposes by him and told our roles in his tribe. We become well-groomed servants who were ready to bow at his first command. We were perfect warriors for his own army. When one of us falls in a battlefield, another will stand on his place. We are an army. We are a legion." The words left a familiar disgusting taste in his mouth. They were engraved into their mind as their bodies undergo the merciless, never-ending training. They were repeated over and over again through the old seasoned warriors and fresh fledglings in a battle as a mindless mantra or oath to Father. He himself repeated them every day as he kneeled in front of that man and pledged his loyalty, mind and life to him. They showed who they were: the replaceable slaves for the monster.

"But you are not."

The Little One's voice was wavering with suppressing emotions, but the confidence in it was the most overwhelming; like a strong wave of pure resolve blasting him into the face, leaving Toothless gasping and trembling at the force. "I saw it in your eyes there in the arena and every time I faced you. You are not a slave."

How could this Little One read him only from one fleeting look...?

He gathered the pieces of himself to continue his story, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his heart at those words (NotaSlaveNotaSlaveNotaSlaveHeWasNot).

"I was told the truth." He nodded wistfully and directed his gaze into the sky. "When my eleventh winter came, we were shown the mines and working fields. Filled with the slaves. Not the born one like us, but from those tribes which were conquered or raided by him. There was... one woman. She was chained and bound, but yet her gaze was strong and her head was held high. They tried to break her many times, but for every time she fell, she stood up again. Once when I was on the night training, I somehow ended up near her cage and she spoke to me..."


"Hey, boy."

The lithe boy with dark hair was startled out of his post-running exhaustion from his place on the earth where he laid his tired body, with stubborn intention to take a little rest and continue to run after. He swept his eyes over the secluded place he stopped in; the outskirts of the slaves cage camp, behind the entrance into the mines. He couldn't see anybody around, only rock and craters with a lot of trash, but he caught a sound of soft breathing.

"You are one of them, hmm?" the same voice hummed and he whirled around to stare at the cage he didn't notice at first. The cage stood in the shadowy place near the broken old trolleys and there was a filthy cloth draped over it so he couldn't see the one who spoke, beside its glistening eyes visible through the hole, but he identified the raspy voice as female's.

"Aren't you a little young to be a warrior?"

The voice carried a light and a little teasing note in it, which was weird and it made the dark-headed boy feel strangely uncomfortable and shamefully fearful (because he doesn't feel fear) at the bodiless voice and eyes.

"You had no permission to speak, slave." He hissed out, more out of the fear than anger, standing up a little hesitant where to move; farther or closer to the cage.

The female laughed, not a charming sound with her hoarse voice, but there was no malice in it, just honest amusement that sent shivers up his spine. What was wrong with this slave?

"Since when do I need permission to speak with another slave?" The boy froze at this, not really comprehending what she meant.

The female sighed almost gravely and shifted closer to the bars; her pale and sunken face visible now along with her upper body. She was thin and bruised, signs of enslavement and torture bluntly evident. But if you look closer you can still see the beauty and strength she possessed before; with her definitely tall stature and long neck. Her hair, dirty and almost colourless now, held signs of a beautiful vibrant colour that he couldn't a name for now. Her dark green eyes, two sunken and dulled diamonds on her bloodless face, held pity towards the confused boy, as she gazed at him from her cage.

"That's what you are, boy. Don't let the lies and illusions trick you: you are a slave like me, only with another status. And I can't say it's any better than mine."

"You are crazy." He choked out, his heart thudding loudly in his ears, as he unconsciously backed away from the harmless captive. "Y-you are... W-what are you talking about? Why are you- Why are you lying? It won't give you anything!"

"It will give me something, because I'm telling the truth." She continued to stare at him with those eyes that seemed to burn in the dark and through his very soul, leaving him naked and exposed for them to see his dirty, dark thoughts and secrets.

"You poor, poor child."

But there was no disgust on her face and in her eyes. Instead, her voice held something he was unfamiliar with. Something alien and frightening, because his body tingled in response to this tone of voice and his heart was ready to burst through his chest.

"They poisoned your mind, making you believe that you are to be warriors. They robbed you of your childhood and your families, just for their benefit. You poor, poor children..."

Why she looked so upset? So angry? Why she spoke like she pitied them more, when she was the one beaten and imprisoned? And what she spoke about?!

"Wh-wha-" he stuttered out, too confused to form sentences or thoughts. Just staring at this woman who was scaring and calling out for him in the same time with her gaze and words.

"Listen, boy. They tell you about what a glory it is to serve your chief. They tell you that you are going to be his pride, his warriors. They tell you about the life outside the tribe, where everybody won't hesitate at killing you, so you need to fight, to kill first, before they will do it to you and then to your Chief. They make you promise your bodies and minds for them to use and dispose like they want and in exchange, promising you Valhalla on the earth; where you won't need to worry about anything except for serving your God, that is not a god, but a demon in a human skin. They pour lies into your young minds, leaving nothing human, but the desire to hurt and kill for someone else's pleasure. They make you see only black, disregarding any other colour, so you won't be able to see the truth." Her eyes were filled with fury and pain as she spoke the words that stabbed him harder than any sword or spear.

"You are slaves, who don't know that they are slaves, believing yourself to be not. Which is much worse than being just a slave like me. I know who I am, even if I am a slave right now."

She stared down at him with pity, but coldly.

"Do you know who you are?"

"I… I…" He couldn't speak. His mind was in a whirlpool of emotions. Who was he?

He is the young prodigy of the tribe, who is capable of taking down five fully-grown men at his Father's first command. He is a faithful follower, who listens greedily to his Father's every word. He is a loyal beast, who is ready to rip anyone's guts for daring to look at his Father in the wrong way. He is the Night Fury, named by his Father, and he exists only to serve him. He is…

He blinks, eyes wide and mouth open as he looked unseeingly ahead.

He is… a slave.

He is a slave. A slave. His Father's slave.

"Now, you see."

She murmurs, leaning back into the shadows that swallowed her as if she wasn't even there before. But he didn't see it, as he sat there near the cage of now-silent slave, under the dull shine of the moonlight that shone at his broken little figure.


"…After that… I… didn't know what to do. I was… so lost. So confused. But I didn't dare to speak with anybody about it. I kept silent and listened, looked for the proof that all what she said was a lie, in hopes to lie to myself so I could believe in Father again. But more I looked… the more I saw the truth. Until one day, four years later, I witnessed with my own eyes, how they brought little hatchlings back after the raid and carried them into the nurseries. I understood then: that's how we - I – were brought here too. It was like she said; we were stolen from our tribes and turned into the slaves that do not know that they are slaves, because they have no memories of their other life. Because they didn't know any other life."

The feelings were hard to suppress now. His left hand was digging into his thigh, the nails piercing through the fabric of his pants and into the skin, breaking it. His other hand was still clutched into the Little One's hold and he could feel it slightly trembling, but still clinging to him. Toothless resisted the urge to look at the Little One in fears he will snap, like that time in the cage, when he nearly strangled the boy in his emotional state. But he steadily lost this little battle with himself and lifted his head up, only to find big green eyes staring into his own, and for one frightening second he thought that it was that woman, but he blinks and in focus appears freckles and brownish auburn hair of the Little One.

"I tried." His voice suddenly sounded so broken and pained in his ears, but he doesn't care. "I… t-tried to tell them. I tried to fight it. So many times. All t-these years… I tried. B-but I couldn't find the way out… I was trapped, caged like that woman. Knowing, but helpless. I couldn't do anything. I… w-was enslaved. I was forced to stay, to be a slave, because I-I couldn't find a w-way… I was lost… I nearly b-broke…" He whispers the last words, fearful that now that he said them aloud it will be obvious that he did break and couldn't find the lost pieces of himself anymore, hiding the ugly gaps behind his warrior façade. But he knows that his bluff is obvious, but the Little One doesn't lean back or turn away.

No, instead he moved forward.

The blanket shifts and he feels the cold air brushing his skin, but then it was replaced by a heat of the twig-like arms that wind themselves around his shoulders, pressing him into the little body that he clutch desperately in answer.

"It's okay."

The murmur ghosts over his ear in a warm puff and he presses closer to the boy, trying to sink into this alien and so comforting warmth.

He knows that it's not okay.

But for a second he allows himself to believe in it.


...

Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. They warmed my little heart.

And of course thank you all those who faved and followed, and those who even bothered to take a look of this fanfic.

Special thanks to Winder, Taisi and my beta I.F.T.S.

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