This plot was the brainchild of the incomparable psychicsaphie. Wellspring of ideas, sounding board and beta, thank you so much!

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money, no sue.

Hey, all you reviewers? YOU ALL ROCK.

Lady Khaldz, Voldyne & Ze Great Camicazi: Thank you so much, guys! I'm so happy you're still enjoying it and are sticking with it! Foxy's Girl: You should be safe with that one! ;D 4ever2010: I know, getting close! \o/ OmarBarria: Eventually, I promise! Strider714: Oh my, thank you so much! *blush* Leon Woon: I do love my obsessive details! Studying for a story has never really felt like a chore. Thank you soooo much!

*deep breath* Here we go!


It was the last day of the Triumph, and Hiccup was feeling far more confident about the whole situation, though he was certainly no happier. There were still problems in the barracks. The Morae still whispered at night and the pinch-faced thieving retiarius, Mercury, had tried to cut the strings on his pouch as they waited for the morning meal. Hiccup had been furious and swung his hammer without thinking. His precision with the weapon was still unmatched, and he ended up breaking the small man's arm in a trice. Since then, some of the more overt hostility towards him had eased.

Nemesis had not tried to talk to him again, though he had felt her eyes on him several times. She watched him with a sad, thoughtful expression when she thought no one was watching. Hiccup wondered what her story was, but knew better than to try and seek her out.

The Briton had become more and more withdrawn as the end of the Triumphal week neared. Hiccup was worried about him. He had taught Hiccup more Latin, but his mind seemed distracted, a million miles away.

He had become quite the draw-card of the games. The crowd had learned his alias, and he was greeted with a slowly increasing chant of 'Vul-can, Vul-can, Vul-can…!" each time he was pushed into the arena. He had only ever faced dragons, though it seemed that they were running out of varieties to throw at him. There were more each day, though always the same individuals. Feather utterly adored him now, and the Big Fella had turned out to have a surprisingly sweet and docile personality under that veneer of pain and suspicion. The last time he'd been in the arena, Hiccup had actually brought in bandages that Atlas had given him for the bronze dragon's injured side. The audiences were astonished and appreciative of each new dragon tamed, and cheered uproariously whenever he managed to get one to perform a trick or two. Scarlet had proven to be excellent at standing and half-walking on her hind legs, her tail balancing her delicately. He'd even gotten her to set herself alight a couple of times. Feather was better at fire-tricks in general, though, sending flowers of flame into the air. The Big Fella didn't breathe fire, but smoke, which he could blow in rings or in great billows.

In addition to his initial three, next they had introduced a squat dragon with a bullish head and violently orange hide, which although fearsome-looking was in fact slightly overenthusiastic and clumsy. Then it was an astonishingly beautiful swanlike dragon, his white body incredibly flexible, who was even vainer than a Nadder. Next was a pair of strange, segmented, long-bodied dragons with frilled heads and wide eyes and mouths. They were refined and dignified, with long whisker-like fronds over their mouths. Hiccup had found that they loved to dance, and he would get the crowds to clap with him as they crossed and crisscrossed the sandy floor. He had named them Clumsy, Handsome, and the Twins.

Finally, there was Sulky. She was an old dragon, her muzzle greyed and her eyes stained with white. Her body was a brilliant blue, and Hiccup wondered whether she was an amphibious species, as her feet were slightly webbed. She did not breathe fire, but he would have sworn she could spit boiling water the way Fishlegs had once described. She had not attacked, but she didn't join in at all. Hiccup kept trying though – he was worried that the handlers would simply kill her if she didn't put on a show. She had a coughing, rasping roar and she shied away constantly from the noise and light. Hiccup wished fervently that he could spare her the heat. If he was right about her being a water-dragon, the blisteringly hot sand and screaming crowds would be unbearable for her.

The Emperor had not attended the games since the second day, though Hiccup had heard that he was expected again that very morning. The dangerous-looking woman and the indulgent-looking older boy had attended several times, but Hiccup had ignored them. It made the woman close to apoplectic, though the teen didn't seem all that affected. He had simply waved for more fruits or wine or whatever to the harried slave beside him.

The nine-year old boy had attended every day, not always with his sister. Hiccup always gravely saluted him, and the little boy had taken to raising his hand in response. His sister generally had her face hidden when Hiccup emerged, and whipped it around to stare and blush at him. Hiccup would wink at her, and she would giggle and bury her face back into her brother's shoulder. Hiccup liked her; she was sweet, and untouched by the worries that plagued her big brother.

Hiccup woke the Briton at dawn. "Last one," he said in mangled Latin, and the Briton smiled briefly.

"You are getting better," he congratulated. Hiccup concentrated like mad to make out all the conjugations.

"I will be hoping," he said with a grin, and the Briton shook his head.

"I hope," he corrected, and with a chuckle switched back to Norse. "You have done well. It is a good thing you are clever."

"And you'd fit in back at home, now," Hiccup congratulated him. "Except for, y'know, all the blue paint."

It was a jovial atmosphere in the meal-room that morning. Many gladiators were expecting to earn their freedom through the funds they had made their masters over the Triumph. Some, including the gentle giant Atlas, intended to stay on as free gladiators and trainers; rudiarii. He was surrounded by his fellow-Goths as they spoke cheerfully in their snappish language, slapping his broad back.

"Do you think you'll get freedom today?" Hiccup asked the Briton as they washed out their bowls. The Briton stood, face tight.

"No," he said flatly. "I am political prisoner. I was paraded through the streets like a bear on the first day of this Triumphal farce and children spat in my face."

Hiccup was taken aback. "I'm… I'm sorry, Briton."

His great, grizzled head turned away. "I am sorry. I should not bring my angers on you, my friend."

"Well, we're all in the same longship," said Hiccup ruefully. "Not like I'm getting out of here after only a week, after all."

The Briton made a noncommittal noise, his eyes distant. Hiccup turned to follow his gaze to see Nemesis swinging her axe in preparedness, a fire behind her eyes.

"She has a quest, that one," the Briton murmured. "Do not be in her way today."

It was all too soon when the gladiators were lined up and waiting in the training square, their weapons at the ready. Hiccup honestly didn't know why he kept bothering to bring his hammer, but it was a comfort to hold it as the men departed in their small groups into the waiting onslaught of noise and violence. As always, he was left until last. Strangely though, the Briton had been kept with him, his face impassive and full of calm dignity as Hiccup fidgeted beside him listening to the roar of the crowd and the shrieks of dying men.

The overseers eventually prodded the Briton towards the ring, and Hiccup looked at him with a million questions in his eyes. The man smiled faintly.

"I go to face the Emperor, I think," he said quietly.

Hiccup swallowed. "Good luck," he said, and the man nodded once, clapping his winged helmet down over his head.

"I am beyond luck," he said, and Hiccup suddenly saw the man who had been a king inside the prisoner emerge as though from behind a cloud. "This is my execution, I believe."

He had no words. He reached out and clasped the Briton's forearm tightly, before dragging him into a hug. "You are the great man here," he said hoarsely, and the Briton's deep chuckle sounded.

"You are as my younger brother in Rome," he murmured. "You are hero, and I am honoured to have been your friend. Your name?"

"Hiccup Haddock," Hiccup said, and his voice cracked. "You?"

The Briton only smiled, and turned to the waiting expanse of sand. "I will be meeting you in your heaven, then, Hiccup Haddock, a great hero. Dagda keep you," he said softly, and stepped into the scorching light.

Hiccup pressed his eye against the crack in the door the minute it closed, trying to hear over the audience's jeers and shouts, trying to see his friend in the tiny sliver available to him.

"Claudius!" the Briton roared, and his deep voice thundered across the arena. Hiccup's breath caught. What was hedoing?

"Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus!" he roared again, and Hiccup tried to make out the face of the old man in the purple box. The woman was standing tall and straight, quivering with anger, but the Emperor had leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of his strange curved chair. His head was shaking – or was it some nervous palsy? Hiccup couldn't tell.

"This is dishonour to you, O mighty conqueror!" the Briton bellowed, standing proud and noble before the Imperial family. "You shame yourself, and me! Do you seek to sully your glory and that of your people and ancestors with this display? I am a brother king, a man you have defeated in arms. You do no service to your might and your splendour to treat a valiant conquered foe thus! What wonder is it that such prefer to fight you to the death, when the price they must pay for your great empire is this unmannerly and crass display of the might of only buildings and money and bloodlust? You have been called a great mind, Caesar. Dare you to hear the words of your defeated enemy? He has little else left to lose!"

The sneering and hollering of the crowds reached ear-splitting levels, and Hiccup pressed his hands over his ears, riveted to the sight of his friend standing calm and defiant before the most powerful man in the world. The words had been too fast for him to follow it all, but he thought he had the gist. The Emperor looked troubled, his head shaking and trembling more violently. It was definitely a nervous palsy, Hiccup decided absently.

The woman was shrieking, her eyes wide and angry, but the Emperor held up a hand for silence. The hush spread slowly over the audience, and they sat to watch the Emperor give a verdict. Hiccup's breath stopped.

The man stood, and the harsh sunlight etched the lines of care on his face. He really was just a tired old man, Hiccup thought in surprise. He listed slightly to the left on his feet, and his hands also trembled a little as he raised them again. "I hear you, Caratacus of the Catuvellauni," he said in a surprisingly loud voice, though the trace of a stammer, carefully trained out, could still be heard. "You are a king of a once-great people. This does not befit you, n-nor the majesty of Rome. She must p-prove a fairer mistress than she seems. This execution will be stayed until you have addressed the s-Senate."

The Emperor nodded seriously to the Briton - King Caratacus - who nodded back just as seriously. Men in shining bronze breastplates and strangely-crested helmets marched in perfect step into the arena. Hiccup realised he was seeing his first of the legendary Roman legions. The leader of the small band of twelve foot-soldiers beckoned brusquely to Caratacus, brandishing a set of shackles. The King inclined his head in polite dismissal, and began to stride with utter poise across to the open arena gate. The legion's leader glanced worriedly at the Imperial box, before they followed him. They looked far more like an escort for protection or impact than a prison detail.

Hiccup blew out a shaky breath, his heart hammering in his chest. The Briton wasn't dead. He had to speak to this senate thing, and surely that was good. It meant he would have a chance to make the case for his life, and Hiccup could attest to the fact that the Briton was a powerfully intelligent man. He spoke near-perfect Norse now, and they'd only been conversing for a week. He was dignity personified, and noble and kingly. They couldn't fail to be impressed by him. (1)

A sharp jab in his back startled him, and he turned to look into a handler's flustered face. "Get in there!" he hissed, and Hiccup was pleased to find that he understood him. "In! In!"

No doubt the man was upset by the unexpectedness of the Briton's speech. Hiccup muttered, "Okay, okay, sheesh!" as the man gabbled in his face, pointing and gesticulating. Hiccup sighed as the door opened once more.

As he walked out into the arena, the chant began to sound. Hiccup squinted up around the packed tiers as "Vul-can! Vul-can! VUL-CAN! VUL-CAN!" began to build and grow in strength, reverberating around the oval. It would have been really nice for his ego if they'd been shouting his real name, Hiccup mused, lazily saluting the Emperor, the little boy, and winking at his little sister, but hey, beggars couldn't really be choosers.

Then he saw a familiar face in the corner of his eye, and it was as though his vision sharpened tenfold. Sitting beside the Imperial box was Gnaeus Appius Balbus, Hiccup's owner, his sad-eyed hard-faced wife Plotina Sulpicia – and demurely dressed in a white toga with red embroidery, was Alvin the Treacherous.

Hiccup felt his rage coalesce into a living thing that danced behind his eyes. Alvin smirked at him, and blew a little kiss.

The creak of the animal pen's gate opening barely registered as Hiccup stared at Alvin. A soft head under his hand made him blink and look down – and there was Feather, her coppery eyes heavy-lashed and adoring. His hand scratched her head without any conscious direction from him as he continued to bore holes in the villain with his gaze.

Alvin raised his eyebrows as Hiccup was surrounded by dragons, his expression amused. He gestured significantly to them, and then pointed to his right with a smug smile. Hiccup's eyes flicked to where the Emperor's beautiful, dangerous wife sat in the Imperial Box, and he felt his rage ignite.

"Feather," he said, kneeling down to her, "see the man with brown hair near the purple box? He has white clothes with red on them. White and red. See them?"

Feather tipped her head in a doglike pose as she blinked at him slowly, before looking up into the crowded stands. Hiccup's breath was coming fast and hot, and he felt dizzy with how angry he was. He waited as Feather made a purl of assent, and he turned back to Alvin, returning his smug smile with a furiously satisfied one.

"Fire him," he hissed, and Feather inhaled, rising on her hind legs to get a better angle.

Screams erupted from the stands as the crowd saw the billow of flame boiling towards them. Hiccup caught a glimpse of Balbus' round face drenched in fearful sweat and Alvin white-faced in shock. Plotina was obviously hyperventilating, and he felt vaguely sorry for that through the red mist of rage.

Unfortunately, Feather's fireballs weren't nearly as fast, nor as dense as Toothless', and so the rippling fog of fire dissipated long before it could do any real damage. People had scrambled over each other, tripping and screaming in their haste, and several people had to pat their clothes rather hurriedly, but that was the extent of the damage. Hiccup felt rather cheated by that, but patted Feather's shoulder in thanks as she settled. "Good girl," he murmured.

Then Hiccup noticed that Alvin had not escaped as unscathed as the rest of the audience. The side of his honest-looking face had been scalded red-raw by the plume of superheated gas that followed a dragon's fire. It would scar, and badly. Hiccup felt his ire settle into the pit of his stomach, sated. He sighed out the rest, and his legs almost buckled. Scarlet's snout pushed under his arms, propping him up. He'd never been that angry. It felt wrong – powerful and heady andwrong.

He looked up into the Imperial Box then, even as Clumsy bonked his knees with his head and flopped down onto the sand before him. He could feel the warm breathing of the Big Fella behind him, and Handsome's dainty chirp sounded from over his right shoulder. No doubt they were all there, his buddies-in-captivity.

The Imperial Box was in chaos, soldiers ringing the Emperor. The little boy looked betrayed, and Hiccup met his eyes and shook his head, pointing to the stands where Alvin had sat. The boy's expression cleared and he began to whisper earnestly to his sister and father. The woman and the older boy were issuing orders. Somehow, Hiccup thought, eyeing the woman with distaste, that didn't surprise him in the least.

A growl alerted him to another presence, and he turned to see another small squad of legionnaires marching in jingling unison across towards him. He calmed the edgy Twin and kept one hand on skittish Scarlet's head for comfort. She grumbled, but thankfully did not fire.

The legionnaires stopped twenty feet away, and one of them barked something at him.

Hiccup shrugged helplessly. "I not speak well," he called back. "My apologies."

The man frowned, and then said slowly, "You fire lizard at great Caesar."

"No!" Hiccup said forcefully, and Sulky huffed in response at the loud noise. "Sorry, Sulky," he said in Norse to the blue dragon. "No," he said again in Latin, though quieter. "I fire at man who… who slave me."

The soldier's eyebrows rose. "Man who enslave you in crowd?" he said, and Hiccup turned to look balefully at where Alvin still sat, his brown guileless eyes filled with anger and his toga pressed against his injured cheek.

"He is hurt man," Hiccup said with grim satisfaction. "Hurt on face. He Northland, like me."

"You are Northlander?" the man nodded slowly, before his back stiffened. "Games must continue."

Hiccup shrugged unconcernedly. "Dragons tame."

"You disrupt Imperial Triumph," the man said with regret in his face. "I will tell Emperor you do not fire lizard at him. But you are to be..." and he said something strange.

The last word wasn't one Hiccup had learned yet, and he blinked. "I am sorry, this word…?"

"It means 'punished'," came an emotionless voice speaking in Norse, and Hiccup's eyes flicked to where Nemesis stood in full armour, her war-axe over her shoulder. "They mean to make you fight me to the death. It is punishment for disrupting the games."

Hiccup gaped at her, before turning up to the Imperial Box. The Emperor looked furious as he argued with his wife, who looked spitefully, coldly triumphant. Claudius gestured to the arena, his hand shaking as the little boy tugged at his father's sleeve.

The soft-faced teen selected a fig and brought it lazily to his mouth. His eyes met Hiccup's, and a glint of amusement passed through them as he bit down. The juice travelled over his chin.

"The woman, this is her idea!" Hiccup said desperately to Nemesis, who bowed her head.

"Agrippina," she said darkly. "Yes, this is no surprise. She is the Emperor's wife. That teenager there is her son, Nero. The Emperor's own children are there – Britannicus and Octavia. It is no secret that she wishes to do away with them. Her ambition knows no bounds."

"She's the one," Hiccup's breath was growing faster again, "she's the one who made the deal with Alvin to get the dragon-taming knowledge. It's her."

Nemesis shook her head and unlimbered her axe. "What can you do to a woman like Agrippina? No, protect these, at least. You must tell them to go, or the handlers will kill them for disobeying," she said, and her voice was chilled steel.

"Wha…? No," Hiccup gasped, and began to talk to his friends very fast. "Scarlet, Sulky, lead them back. Back into the dark, guys. You can't stay here, I've got to do something that you no doubt will try to interrupt and the minute you do they'll kill you all. You've got to go back into the dark, guys. That's it, Sulky! The dark! Big Fella, Handsome, follow Sulky! Twins, no dancing today, sorry buds, but you've got to go! No, Feather…" he pushed her head away from him. She crooned and looked at him with huge, worried eyes. "I'll be okay," he said softly, and scratched her eyeridge again. "Go on now! I'll… I'll see you tomorrow!" he pasted on a big smile, and the feathered dragon gave a curious whine, before trotting after her fellows.

The clang as the animal pen's gate closed behind them was echoingly loud and final.

The legionnaires had taken up positions around the edge of the ring. Hiccup unhooked his hammer and turned to face the tall, immensely strong warrior before him.

He'd beaten Oglaranna, but it had been luck and surprise. No one had expected him to win, which had made it easier to shock her into a defeat. Nemesis, on the other hand, was infinitely more dangerous. She had actually seen Hiccup fight every day in the practice yard, knew his speed and technique and strengths. She wasn't as physically huge as Oglaranna, but Hiccup knew she possessed a massive, wiry strength in those shoulders of hers, capable of cutting his trunk in two with one blow. She was also more skilled than Oglaranna, having been exposed to the fighting styles of Thor only knew how many cultures, and furthermore honing her own skills in life-or-death situations almost every day.

Lastly, Oglaranna had fought him to avenge insult on her clan and person – but really only because she enjoyed a fight. Nemesis was fighting for something else – something that made fire burn behind her eyes. It was probably a lot more important than some silly insult, Hiccup was certain.

"I will make it fast and painless," Nemesis said in that same unemotional tone. Hiccup swallowed and assumed a ready position.

"I don't want it at all, think you can manage that?" he said shakily, and her axe whistled through the air to slice at his chest. He jerked back, feeling the tunic gape. She'd sliced fabric, not flesh, and Hiccup almost collapsed with relief.

"I am sorry, boy," she grated, and the weapon howled as she reversed the swing towards his face. Hiccup was grateful beyond measure that Astrid was an axewoman and had spent so many hours drilling him in ways to combat them. It seemed being at the business-end of an axe was becoming a habit.

"Sorry enough to stop?" he gasped, and his hammer snaked out to rap firmly on her axe-elbow as her pass went wide of his head. She didn't even stop the weapon's arc, but changed hands briskly and allowed the axe's momentum to spin her full circle. Hiccup brought up his hammer as fast as he could, and the edge of the axe brought up sparks as they clashed. Hiccup skidded back in the white sand, heart pounding.

She was phenomenally strong. His hammer had smashed against his side under the blow, and he could already feel bruises forming. A screech from the animal pen told him that Feather was watching, and he called, "back in the dark, girl! Go on!" even as Nemesis began a huge overhand blow that would split him head to navel.

He ducked at the last moment and swung his hammer as hard as he could onto her sandalled foot. She cried out, and the crowd gasped. They were unused to ever seeing Nemesis show pain on the field. Hiccup fell back, watching warily. He'd been lucky, and wouldn't get away with that again.

She limped slightly as she closed the fight once more, and first punched him solidly in the mouth before following it with a backhanded swing at his ribs. Hiccup gasped as pain bloomed along his side, his ruined slave-tunic falling to the ground. Nemesis stalked closer, her eyes glittering.

"I really am sorry," she breathed, and stamped down on his prosthetic foot. Hiccup landed heavily on his back, his hammer flying wide. He scrabbled for it, even as she raised her bloodied axe once more. "But this is the last day, and you will be the last man I kill as a slave. I go home, to the Northlands. I will tell them your tale, that you were brave."

Hiccup choked as she placed her wounded foot on his throat, holding his body flat. He could hear the screams of the crowd, and the shrieks of Feather. They all sounded as though they were coming from underwater. Nemesis leaned close. "Your name, boy, and village. I promise to tell your wife. I swear it."

"H…" Hiccup croaked, and Nemesis lifted her foot slightly, trying to hear his words.

Hiccup lunged for his hammer even as his injured side screamed in protest, and swung it wildly at her knee. He heard her grunt in pain, and he scrambled to his feet – only his prosthetic was broken. His foot – she had snapped off the metal base. He tottered awkwardly even as she gathered herself again and pushed her axe under his chin. "Your name, boy!" she grated.

He grabbed the handle of the axe and yanked forward, ducking as he did, and she fell heavily into the sand, scrabbling to stand on her injured knee and foot. "Very sneaky," she hissed.

Hiccup grinned tightly, balancing precariously on the broken metal leg. "Thanks," he said between harsh breaths, and she swung the axe viciously, cutting a swathe over his ribcage, before grabbing his pouch to bring his head close for a vicious headbutt. He fell back to the ground, dazed and reeling, his blood in his eyes.

"Enough," she panted. "Your name."

He groaned as he tipped his head back, and his eyes closed in defeat. He never thought he'd die like this. He hoped that Odin could find him, in this hot land. He hoped he'd see Astrid in Valhalla. He hoped dragons got there too. "H… Hiccup," he whispered.

Nemesis remained frozen, her arms locked in a killing blow that would not come. Her axe fell from nerveless fingers, even as her racing breath slammed into her body and choked her. "What…?" she said in a tiny, aghast voice.

"Hiccup… Horrendous H-Haddock," Hiccup managed, and coughed, trying to stretch out his burning side. "Son of Stoick… the Vast… of…"

"Berk," she finished in a whisper of horror and disbelief. "You… I just… oh great Odin, no, no."

Hiccup coughed and pressed his hand as hard as he could to his bleeding ribs. "Tell… Astrid that I… love… and Toothless… and tell… Dad that he… seriously needs to... lighten up…"

Nemesis clapped her hands over her mouth with a strangled noise of pure anguish, before her eyes closed. She stood still as a stone, her face twisted with distress and shock.

Hiccup swallowed twice, before he relaxed as much as he could on the baking-hot sand. The roar of the crowd had become a faint echo in his ears, and he felt light-headed. "Okay…" he croaked. "I'm… ready…"

Nemesis gave a cry of wordless horror, and threw herself onto the ground beside him. She started to tear her sleeves in a panic, and her eyes now glittered with tears. "I'm sorry," she gasped hysterically, "so sorry, I'm sorry, oh Hiccup, it's you, it's you, I'm here, look at you, I'm so sorry, I'll fix it, I'm here now…"

The babbling was so uncharacteristic that Hiccup's eyes opened and he peered at her muzzily. "What was… Ow!"

She pressed the fabric against his side and began to tie it down. "Hiccup… I'm… you don't remember me, of course you don't remember me, and I'm so sorry, so sorry, I was always coming home but I was captured, and I should never have left on that last voyage, and I've hurt you, I've hurt you, and just look at you, a man now, such a handsome man, oh Hiccup, my boy, my little boy, I'm so sorry…" she rattled in a breathless, panicked undertone.

"Wait…" he said slowly, and she abruptly stopped her frantic movements and words, her wet eyes suddenly afraid.

"Repeat all that again?" he asked, an indescribable feeling beginning to rise in his stomach and fill his chest.

Her mouth began to tremble and she put a hand on his cheek, turning his head to face her. "Shhh," she said tenderly. "I'll fix it. I'm here now."

Hiccup stared at her through a haze of pain – at her auburn hair with the two white streaks from her temples, at her green eyes, at her suddenly-familiar brow, at her long-fingered, clever hands. "But you're…" he began, and she stroked his cheek fondly, a tear spilling down her face.

"I was captured," she said with a trembling smile. "Captured and sold."

"Mum?" Hiccup mouthed soundlessly, and she nodded, her face almost crumpling for a moment before she found that tremulous smile again, tears hitting his face.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," she managed, and pushed the scrap of cloth onto the slash under his ribs.

He hissed in pain, before looking back at her blurry face again. Or maybe his eyes were full of tears too. He wasn't sure. "You hurt me, Mum," he said in dumb shock, and his fingers fumbled at the makeshift bandage.

"I know, sweetheart, shh, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry," she said tearfully, barely holding back the flood. Hiccup blinked his own green eyes at hers.

"No…" he said indistinctly, "not that… it's… you weren't there…"

At that, the dam broke and she bent her head over his face and wept – great, heartbroken, soul-deep sobs. She shook and shuddered, her grief too huge to comprehend. Fifteen years. Fifteen years. It rattled his mind loose from its foundations.

Hiccup tried to push himself up, hissing when his ribs complained. "Hey, no, no, Mum, no… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… said that," he said muzzily, and patted her hair the way he patted a dragon. "Shhh. Hey, look at… the bright side… you didn't have to go through… raising a teenager…"

She laughed brokenly even through her tears, and then wrapped him in her arms. She stroked his hair and rocked him gently as he clung helplessly to her. She smelled right – like home in his earliest memories. "Oh, my little boy…" he heard her whisper against his hair.

"Please don't… call me that…" he mumbled. "Even if it's true… s'your job to lie to me. Make me feel better."

She laughed again and pulled back to look at him, her hands framing his face. "No," she said firmly through a fresh wave of tears. "I'm your mother, and so you're always my baby boy. Oh," she bit her quivering lip. "You look like me. So much like me."

"How come… I'm so skinny then?" he wanted to know, and she caught him and held him close. He could hear her humming through her hitching breath, and he closed his eyes. His mother's arms.

Nemesis was his mother. His mother was Nemesis. She was Valhallarama of Berk, and she had been captured and sold into slavery when he was only three, and she had missed his whole life. He didn't even know how to feel about it. It was too huge, and he was too hurt.

A cleared throat from above made Valhallarama start, jolting his injured side. He groaned and his hand clamped down on it tightly.

The legionnaire captain's voice sounded a bit diffident as he asked in slow, careful Latin, "sooooo… you're not going to kill him, then?"

Valhallarama's head whipped up and she fixed him with a murderous glare.

"Only, the crowd is wondering what's going on," he added hastily, and her eyes darted to the audience. They were craning forward to see what was happening, and muttering was beginning to rise from the tiers.

Valhallarama gently lowered Hiccup to the arena floor. "Don't move too much," she said warningly, and he quirked his lip into a weak, crooked grin.

"Not in any state to," he answered and coughed again. She smoothed his long reddish hair back and touched his stubbled cheek.

"I see some things don't change. You were a cheeky boy then, too," she said with a watery smile, and then she stood to face the Imperial box.

"What…" Hiccup started, but she shushed him.

"Don't try to stop me," she said firmly, and her crooked grin was the answer to his own. "I've missed so much," she said bitterly, "but I can still do this for you."

"Mum…?" he struggled to sit up, but the legionnaire held him down with cool, professional hands.

"She does a good thing now," he hissed. "Do not waste it."

"Great Caesar!" she called to the box and her face was once again pure adamantine steel, though blotched with the aftermath of her storm of sobbing. "Great Caesar! I earned my freedom this day, the price for my last fight!"

Claudius looked somewhat bewildered at a second change of plans, but stood and nodded acknowledgement. "You have fought the boy, but the duel is unfinished," he replied in his surprisingly strong voice.

"I cannot, Lord," she said, and turned back to where Hiccup lay prone. "He is my son."

The murmurs in the crowd became gasps of astonishment. Claudius' own mouth dropped open slightly before he checked himself, and he nodded once.

"Then the duel is forfeit without death. You have your freedom."

"Give it to him," she said fiercely. "Give him my freedom. I have that choice. I will stay and earn it again. But let him go, let my son go!"

The Emperor actually rocked back in surprise, and his eyes flickered to the long figure of the wounded boy. "This is done," he said and lifted his hand. Then he added in a gentler voice, "You have a great heart, Nemesis, and it is a great deed. I will send my own doctor to the boy. Who is his former owner?"

"Uh," the oily Balbus rose to his feet with an obsequious bow. "That would be me, Father of the Country."

"He will be quartered at your villa. See that he is cared for. My greek physician will tell me otherwise." Claudius regarded the slave trader with scarcely-concealed dislike. Then he sighed. "A fine end to an Imperial T-triumph!" he exclaimed, and the crowd tittered dutifully.

Valhallarama bowed her head. "Thank you, great Caesar," she breathed.

He waved his hand again, before rubbing his brow. "Are there any m-more surprises?" he said in a weary voice. "No? Good. I'm going home."

As the Emperor's entourage left, Valhallarama returned to Hiccup's side, tucking the piece of his broken foot into his trousers. The legionnaires were organising a cloth stretcher, and no doubt there would be a palanquin beyond the arena to take him to the slave-trader's home. "You… shouldn't have…" he moaned, and grasped her hand. She squeezed it firmly.

"Think of it as every time I should have sent you to your room, all rolled into one," she said and a bitter laugh escaped her before she pulled him close again. "I love you," she said against his hair, "and I have been fighting for so many years just to see your face again. If they kill me tomorrow, I will die happy."

Hiccup buried his face in her shoulder and clutched at her with all his strength. Then gentle hands were pulling him away, and he was laid on a stretched piece of rough cloth that two legionnaires picked up carefully. "Mum…?" he mumbled and fumbled at his pouch. "There's…"

"Here, sweetheart," she said, but he couldn't see her. Dark spots were dancing before his eyes. He pulled out Astrid's headcloth, one he had given her for her dowry. It had sat inside Valhallarama's jewellery-coffer for fifteen years.

"Here," he said and pushed it into her hands. He heard her gasp, but his vision was fading.

"Hiccup," she said wonderingly, and he grinned in the vague direction of the voice.

"I stole it… from my wife," he said confidingly, "cos… Dad never remarried." And then the darkness swallowed him.


(1) "If the degree of my nobility and fortune had been matched by moderation in success, I would have come to this City as a friend rather than a captive, nor would you have disdained to receive with a treaty of peace one sprung from brilliant ancestors and commanding a great many nations. But my present lot, disfiguring as it is for me, is magnificent for you. I had horses, men, arms, and wealth: what wonder if I was unwilling to lose them? If you wish to command everyone, does it really follow that everyone should accept your slavery? If I were now being handed over as one who had surrendered immediately, neither my fortune nor your glory would have achieved brilliance. It is also true that in my case any reprisal will be followed by oblivion. On the other hand, if you preserve me safe and sound, I shall be an eternal example of your clemency."

Tacitus, citing Caratacus' speech to the Senate, The Annals.


Caratacus (sometimes spelled Caractacus) was a real person.