Sacrificed

There was pain in his arm...somewhere between his elbow and his wrist. For a while it was the only feeling Hiccup registered.

Then the pain grew, steadily and quickly as his mind picked up speed, swift in taking over much of his jumbled thoughts. Still, he made no noise or movement for it; he was too exhausted, trapped in a place where he wasn't sure what was real, if he were still flying or not. His weight seemed to have left him, like he was being carried...over someone's shoulder where their armor dug into his stomach and the blood rushed to his head.

The slow growing awareness picked up a noise outside his mind. At first a hum, then indistinguishable blather, then the familiar and most unwelcome words of Norse.

"...shot. I could have—"

"—never heard of...could be a new—"

"...been a while...maybe—"

Captured. Captured. They were captured.

Reality slammed into him with the might of Thor's hammer—they fell!—dread crushed his heart—Toothless!—and, just as Hiccup meant to open his eyes, to struggle and kick to the last of his strength, he was thrown.

"AAARGH!"

He landed on the compact ground for the second time in who-knew how long; he landed on an obviously already broken arm. He didn't hear the slamming of a door or the cruel laughter of his captors from well beyond his sight. For a moment longer, Hiccup refused to acknowledge anything outside of his own mental chaos and physical torment. He whimpered, desperately swallowing back another scream, and curled in on the appendage, slowly trying to roll his weight off it. Nothing he did would ease the pain; agony swelled with every movement.

"Oh...gods..." he moaned, taking a deep gasp of air once he was on his back. His breathing became particularly labored as he tried to manage the pain and panic. He didn't know how long it took for the mind-consuming burn to subside enough to think somewhat clearly again, or how long he spent lying on his back, the misshapen bump beneath his skin held gingerly to his chest.

Hiccup may have fallen asleep at some point, or fallen into a trance, but for a long while he simply didn't know what was what in the world. It was as though some part of his psyche tried to suppress all rational, tried to keep him from thinking clearly, to protect him from having to deal with what was surely a very painful truth.

However, his kept circling back to one subject until he realized what was amiss.

"T-Toothless," he gasped, his eyes were open now—or at least he thought they were. Nothing but darkness surrounded him. Somewhere in his subconscious he recalled the limited echoes of a door shutting, he knew that he was in a small room of sorts, with no window or light fixtures.

A prison.

"Too-Toothless," he stuttered again, his eyes wide and desperate for any shred of light to show him that he wasn't alone.

He knew he was alone. No breathing or shifting other than his own accompanied him, no presence of the dragon could be felt—something he hadn't realized had become a constant until it was gone. Everything felt wrong without a connection to Toothless.

"Toothless...Toothless..."

He clambered to his feet, still breathing through his pain. Sweat slid from his brow—he hoped it was sweat—and he could taste blood on his lip. His face throbbed and his nose pulsated in time to his rushing blood. It was probably bleeding, but not broken. His feet shuffled along the ground and he inched forward with his good arm outstretched, trying to make contact with a wall he couldn't see.

His right arm. His wrong arm. He had been reaching for his dagger with this left, which was probably why it was damaged from being held at a hard angle upon impact.

"Toothless..." his voice cracked. His throat felt raw, like he inhaled too much dirt. "Toothless..."

He continued the weak mantra until his fingertips brushed something of stone. His breathing turned quick and shallow as his palm slapped against the wall, seeking out a hinge or a change of material, anything to show him an exit.

Eventually he hit metal, and nimble, shaking fingers danced around the outline, trying to determine where the handle would be.

He couldn't find one. Nowhere along the border could he feel a handle, which told Hiccup it was a one-sided door. And locked—of course it was locked, he was a prisoner! There was no way to escape. He couldn't get out. He couldn't get to Toothless.

Toothless, who was out there, somewhere, dead or alive, in the hands of Vikings.

Hiccup couldn't stave off the truth any longer. He couldn't keep his mind from clearing, couldn't hide in that safe state of confusion and denial. True horror seized him.

"Toothless!" he screamed this time, and threw his weight against the door. "Odin damn-it! Let me out, you bastards!"

If he held onto his anger he could trick himself into thinking his arm didn't hurt nearly as much as it did. If he held onto his anger he could keep the overwhelming guilt at bay.

He struck and struck the door, sometimes with this good arm, other times with his foot. Each strike was punctuated by a howl.

"Toothless!"—slam—"Where is he!"—slam—"Answer me,"—slam—,"damn-it!"—slam—"Toothless!"

Every clout antagonized his break, granting him the suffering he deserved, a pain he needed to feel as some sort of repentance for how he wronged his best friend.

No matter how hard he wailed on it, the door wouldn't give, no one would respond. There was probably no one out there. Why stick around to guard an imprisoned boy when they had a legendary Night Fury to torment?

Hiccup hit the door again, but this one lacked the fervor and desperation he once so strongly projected, creating a hollow sounding thud to mirror his heart.

"Please," he moaned, a dry sob following, "please..."

Toothless wasn't responding. Toothless was nowhere near. Toothless was, for all he knew, dead.

He killed his best friend. Because he was selfish and childish and so caught up in his new freedom that he was wholly unprepared for when reality snuck up on them.

The scales of a dragon's wings were harder than any other on their body. They had to be, as they covered their most crucial appendages; appendages that spent more time stretched out and vulnerable than tucked into the body.

This was something he learned from Toothless, not anything taught to humans by humans. If a dragon fell, they used their wings for protection. If they were expected to be vulnerable in any situation, they cocooned themselves in their wings. It was a reflex, an instinct.

But Toothless ignored instinct. He fell, belly down, to save the stupid, weak human on his back.

How could Toothless do that? Why would he...why would he choose death...for him? Hiccup could not find the logic in it and would have loved indulge in his anger towards at Toothless for being so self-sacrificing if despair hadn't taken up so much of his energy.

Was it because Toothless felt obliged to do it? Had Toothless done it because he didn't think he would be able to take on the demon himself and didn't want to live with a smear on his pride? Or had he done it because he loved Hiccup as Hiccup loved him?

Maybe...maybe Toothless felt the same way Hiccup did. That there would be no living without his other half, even if he were still alive.

Toothless was his family. The only family he had left. If he had killed his bondmate—if Hiccup indirectly ended Toothless' life—then he wouldn't be too far after.

For the first time since he could remember, Hiccup felt like crying.

He didn't just feel like crying, he felt hysterical. His breathing grew rapid and shallow; the pain in the left half of his body spurred the downward spiral into bedlam. Guilt so potent he wanted to die choked him.

Hiccup gripped his break again, releasing a rough scream at the physical torment he inflicted on himself. It released him from his introspection—if only for a moment—and his breathing came a little easier.

He closed his eyes and tried to control himself. He tried, in vain, to stop the hot tears brimming along his eyelids from dropping. He tried to keep his breathing under control, to keep it from escalating to a point where he would pass out. He tried to focus on remedying the situation rather than sitting there, brooding and hurting himself to stay sane.

Hopeless and helpless, no matter how hard he tried to think of fixing the future, his mind was stuck in the past. He kept replaying what happened time and again, making changes that would have avoided the whole disaster—a reality where they hadn't left before dusk, a reality where he had been paying attention to their surroundings and avoided the trap.

This reality though, the one he suffered through now, was happening, and dwelling on 'what if's wasn't going to change that.

Hiccup thudded his head against the metal door.

Sad. It was so sad. Toothless' situation was sad. Here was a Night Fury who had his freedom taken from him, a proud creature who was first enslaved by a demon and then had his free flight stolen. Toothless rendered his services to a frail human that could keep him airborne and then...and then willingly put himself at the mercy of Vikings for that human.

Tears fell, each leaving a burning trail down his cheek, but Hiccup refused to touch them. He refused to release the sobs building behind his tongue. He kept the need bottled in his throat and chest, perhaps trying to suffocate himself from the emotional pressure that mounted. He felt sick. He probably would have thrown up if he had eaten recently, but he was so excited to see Miklagard that he hadn't eaten. He wanted to see the city where his mother spent her youth, to see the walls that could stop the most committed Vikings in their tracks, to see the landmark of his childhood stories.

This was not how he wanted to see the walls, as a prisoner, alone and repentant.

But he couldn't take all the credit.

It was Vikings who did this, who shared in this responsibility. He hadn't seen them, but they spoke Norse and he had heard the northern accents. They probably saw a dragon and couldn't help themselves, most likely reveling in their capture of the elusive Night Fury at that very moment. Drinking, celebrating, patting each other on the back, not realizing how much pain their joy could cause, not thinking of those they hurt...

And, in that moment, Hiccup hated Vikings. He hated them. He hated them in all their close-minded, superstitious, selfish, empty-headed and destructive glory. He hated his father for never being able to accept all that he was, he hated his peers for making him feel like he was wrong for existing, he hated Berk for ostracizing anyone who was different. He hated Astrid for not listening, for not imagining what they could do, what they were capable of, if people just opened their eyes...

Hiccup sprung to his feet, chest heaving, and gave the door a mighty kick, one that had to have been heard well outside of the prison. It jostled his arm, sending bone-deep pain shooting up the limb, but Hiccup grit his teeth and ignored it. He deserved it.

"Oi! Knock it off!"

For a moment Hiccup's breath caught in his throat—someone was there!—And then his senses came back to him.

"Go to Hel!" he barked back. "Let me out, right now! Bring me to my dragon!"

The sudden, but gratifying, response of scraping metal and an echoing thud told Hiccup the door was being unlocked.

All self-preservation instincts had left him; he hadn't backed up, hadn't gone into a fighting stance. He only wanted to passionately hate his captors as he had been doing, and to be as defiant as possible in the process. He was injured and smaller than them, but he was good at being difficult. That much he knew.

The daylight assaulted him before the Viking had. Hiccup didn't know how long he had been in the prison—it could have been anywhere from days to minutes—but the sudden onslaught of bright whiteness burned into the very shell of his eyes. He blinked rapidly, turning a glare on the hulking silhouette of the man in the doorway.

"Yeh have a lot o' attitude fer someone in so much trouble," the man said. His voice was deep, and somehow loud and soft all at once, like he could speak calmly, lightly, but be heard anywhere.

"Where is my dragon?" Hiccup hissed. "Is he alive?"

He took a step forward, towards the light and towards the undeniably dangerous man. The temptation of running past the Viking came only once and then was dismissed as purely suicidal. Hiccup needed to stay alive long enough to make some good decisions.

"'E's not dead, if that's what you're askin'," a new, more youthful voice said from outside the prison. A second Viking lurking beyond his view.

"Take me to him!" Hiccup demanded, hiding his relief at the piece of information. The front figure moved at the command—too fast for Hiccup to follow—and the boy soon found a painful grip squeeze around the back of his neck, forcibly dragging him from the cell.

He wanted to get out of the small chamber. He did not want to be carted out like some wild animal.

Hiccup squirmed and snarled, bucking and kicking, unwilling to be handled in such a way.

"Let g—don't touch me!"

The meaty fingers tightened against the sinews of his neck, pulling at the hair caught between hand and head. Hiccup found his face being dragged towards the Viking's, a square-jawed, middle-aged man with a well-kept beard and sleek, dark brown hair. If anything, he resembled an older Snotlout, which helped Hiccup greatly in maintaining his righteous anger.

The Viking bared his teeth at his captive.

"You don't get to make demands, you traitorous filth!"

Hiccup growled, an almost inhuman sound, and scratched at the hand holding him with his only good one. A pointless endeavor; it was gloved.

"I'd rather be a traitor than a Viking!"

Instantly, Hiccup's neck was released, and before he could fully straighten or enjoy a moment of freedom, the Viking belted Hiccup in the face—right on a cheekbone already bruised from the fall. Hiccup, to his credit, did not stagger under the blow. He straightened back up in almost the same movement, spitting blood at the man's feet.

"Where is my dragon?" he asked again with deadly calm. They could hit him all they wanted, but he only had one goal in mind.

The second man laughed, "What an attitude, indeed! This'uns going to be fun, Bolli!"

Hiccup spared a glance at the other, much younger, Viking he had forgotten about. Flaming red hair, a close-trimmed, dark goatee, and, if possible, more girth than the first one.

Hiccup closed his eyes and reigned in every violent impulse. Swearing at them and making demands was not going to get him anywhere, he should have known that. Vikings can't help but give as good as they get.

"Look," he tried again, doing his best to keep a civil tongue, "I need to see Toothless, if you just listen—"

"Oh, yeh'll be seein' your friend again!" the redhead assured him boisterously. "We got a bit of a show planned out for you—"

"Halvdan," the other Viking—Bolli—cut across. He looked stern, but not angry. "Go and tell Harald I'm bringing the little savage to the 'Drome."

Halvdan, seemingly impossible to dispirit, gave a funny salute.

"Right-oh!" And then he sauntered off, in no particular hurry, still enjoying his day to the fullest.

Bolli returned his harsh hold to the boy's neck. Before Hiccup could even think of struggling, he found himself looking into slate-blue eyes.

"If you want to see your creature alive, I suggest you behave," Bolli hissed, breathing air of ale and overstored meat onto the boy's face.

And that did it.

Hiccup allowed himself to be manhandled through a maze of busy streets and back alleys, unable to meet the eyes of onlookers, unable to bother with memorizing the path, only thinking of reaching his best friend in any way possible. Even through humiliation.

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"Welcome to th' Hippodrome!"

There was nothing welcoming about the way his minder said it, but Hiccup lifted his eyes anyway to take in the awesome structure.

Some part of Hiccup's mind registered the wide racing-track that circled within a groomed space—a huge arena, beautifully sculpted, enclosed by stands. He barely acknowledged the people lingering in the rows and rows of seats, a slowly gathering crowd that had come to sate their curiosity of this great capture.

He couldn't bother himself with any detail other than the large, dark figure unmoving in the center of the court, draped in chains and surrounded by a horde of Vikings.

"Toothless!"

He moved so fast and so suddenly that he managed to slip out of Bolli's grip.

"Ay! You little—!"

Hiccup ignored the Viking's enraged howl, only focusing on the dragon that wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving?

"Toothless—!"

The Viking from before, Halvdan, sprung forward and managed to catch Hiccup by his hair before the boy could invade any further into the buffer of Vikings separating him from the dragon. Hiccup was jerked back, giving a small cry of pain.

"Woah!" Halvdan exclaimed with a slight chuckle. He seemed to be having too much fun with the entire situation. "You more of a beast than your beast, boy!"

"Please—just let me—"

He reached piteously with his unbroken arm, wanting desperately to just touch Toothless, to feel some sort of warmth off of that body, to connect himself to his best friend one last time.

He was pulled away, a thick arm wrapped in vambraces curled around his neck and Hiccup became anchored to a stronger body, losing more mobility.

::It's...It's okay...::

Hiccup used all his power not to sob with relief. Toothless was alive. One green eye opened and focused on his human, an action that did not go unnoticed by the Vikings. Some shouted in alarm, pointing their spears and grabbing a hold of their axes. When Toothless made no other movement other than look at Hiccup, the shoulders of their captors relaxed once more.

In spite of their situation, Hiccup held on to that quickly slipping euphoria and gave a shaky smile to the dragon.

"Hey buddy," he croaked, his throat sore from all the screaming he had been doing.

::Hiccup... You're okay...::

That Toothless struggled to even communicate with him concerned Hiccup.

The Vikings only heard a low groan emerge from the beast, unaware to the conversation.

"Yeah," Hiccup responded quietly. "How are you doing?"

Toothless didn't answer right away. He closed his eye again, focusing on breathing, and Hiccup bit his lip. This was bad.

"Fool's gone mad, he has," one of the Vikings mumbled to another.

::Nothing... I can't... survive:: Toothless finally replied.

Hiccup forced a barely perceivable smile on his face.

"Same here," he whispered.

They could still survive this. The situation could be saved.

"Well, here's your friend!" one of the Viking's announced, stepping between Hiccup and Toothless, giving the boy no choice but to look at him. This man stood with more prestige than any of the surrounding Vikings. He had thick, flowing blond hair that fell to his shoulders and a full, combed beard. His face was a handsome one, one that had not yet lost the smoothness of youth, but old enough to gain respect on sight.

He dressed in the same uniform as the other men; a long tunic, embroidered and belted with leather boots and forearm guards. A red cape flowed beneath the roundshield on his back and clasped at the neck by a jeweled broach. Some of the other men had chainmail on, with iron, conical helmets atop their heads, but not this man. He seemed relaxed in the presence of a dragon and its feral boy.

"My name is Harald," he introduced himself, cordial and completely unrepentant for any grief he may have caused. "It is my duty tae protect this empire and I am the one who made the decision to shoot down this dragon. You have one chance, and one chance only, to explain yourself or you'll be put down like the beast."

Hiccup was dimly aware of the stares he currently, and had, received. His hair was thick with dirt and knots, long and wild. His clothes were torn and blood dried on his face, crusting over dirt-smeared skin. He must have looked like a barbarian. No one would back him up, no one would take his side no matter how innocent or well intentioned he was. Not with a line of finely dressed protectors keeping custody over them.

He had to do this right.

"He's...he's my dragon," Hiccup slowly started to explain. He didn't meet anyone's eye; he preferred to focus only on Toothless. "We're—I'm a rider. I'm a rider and... please, just don't hurt him!"

"We are Vikings, boy," Harald told him as if he couldn't have figured it out on his own. "Hurtin' dragons is what we do."

It was then, after being in their presence for the short time, that Hiccup finally puzzled out their identity. Vikings, in Miklagard, protecting the empire...but recognizing northern dragons. These weren't just Vikings. These were the Væringjar.

Hiccup swallowed. He heard of them. Vikings who worked for the emperor of another land, trading in their pasts for gold and a solid, well-paid life. Pure loyalty.

If the emperor ordered them to be killed, there likely wasn't much he could do to convince them otherwise.

"You're from the north," Harald stated following a moment of silence from Hiccup. He posed it as more of a question.

"So are you," Hiccup returned. He'd recognize the accent from anywhere.

"Are you aware that Vikings from the north make a sport of—"

"Spare me your corrupt reasoning," Hiccup interrupted sharply, his voice sodden with contempt. "I came from a Viking clan."

"Just kill him, Harald," Bolli said. "He's an uppity brat—a smear on our people's name—!"

Harald held up a hand. He looked annoyed with Hiccup, but also disbelieving of his claim.

"Your people hunt dragons then, do they not?"

Hiccup started to shake his head, feeling more lucid than he had since before he was stuck down.

"Not anymore," he lied, the words coming to his mouth quickly. "They were being controlled...by a... a queen dragon." Maybe if he mixed truth in it would be more believable. "She forces them to steal food and feed her, they're slaves really..." The Vikings weren't buying it, no face showed any credence. "But once you get them out of the control, they're really great! They can be companions—"

"Bosh," Halvdan sighed from behind him. "A good story though—"

"I was riding him!" Hiccup snapped, trying to turn his head to properly glare at the Viking. "How can you dispute that?"

Harald hummed and smiled, unkind and condescending.

"Th beasts are known to have hypnotic powers under the right conditions. Judging by what we gleaned from the contraption on its tail, we know it uses you to help him fly."

Hiccup would have gripped his hair in frustration if he weren't being held down. That sounded like something his father would say.

He sneered at Harald, envisioning Stoick's face. "You can travel halfway across the world but you can't quite get away from that ignorance, can you?"

Pain bloomed beneath the softness of his unprotected side as Halvdan struck him with a free fist.

"Watch what you say, ickle savage. You don't want to go and upset the people in charge, now do you?"

"Just...call 'em...as I see 'em..." Hiccup gasped. He felt a shift in weight, like Halvdan was pulling back for another punch to put him in his place.

Toothless started a long, low growl that rumbled until everything around them stilled. The men closest to the dragon took a few steps back; all present were wary, despite the heavy chains and lack of action, waiting for an attack that never came.

Halvdan decided not to hit Hiccup again.

Harald sighed, long suffering, as if the proceedings were taking up more of his time than he preferred.

"Right then," he said. "Back to the matter at hand. I couldn't help but notice that you had some interesting valuables in your possession..."

Hiccup watched as Harald started to walk towards his pack that lay feet away from Toothless, knocked over and carefully rooted through. Goods he had stolen from other thieves were littered about, pretty ceramics, shiny cutlery, the moneybags, the rubies...

"You're quite the wayward thief," Harald commented. It almost sounded like a compliment. He bent down and picked up the plain sack that Hiccup knew had the rubies. He didn't know why he kept saving them; he may have liked having them in his possession, never knowing if he would ever need them.

If things had been different, if he still had hold of them, maybe he could have traded them in exchange for his and Toothless' freedom. He just wanted to get out of there with his dragon; he couldn't bring himself to care about all of his collected items, now gone.

"I'll tell you what...I'll buy the dragon off yeh." Harald must have misinterpreted Hiccup's shock for he then added, "That's right, you can keep one of your gems and I'll let you on your way."

A fury erupted within Hiccup, blistering in his throat like bile.

"You—you can't buy Toothless!" he roared at them. He felt like he was channeling all the indignation Toothless would have felt, had he just a little more energy. Halvdan squeezed the arm around Hiccup's neck, cutting off any more verbalization of his rage.

"This is the chance to leave with something other than your life," Harald slowly explained. He appeared to be on his last string of patience.

"You are not killing him before me!" Hiccup choked out. Harald looked frustrated. Not so much at Hiccup's difficulty, but at his mad reasoning.

"Do you realize what you're sayin'?" Harald asked, shaking his head in incredulity. "This here is a dragon. You were raised to hate his kind, were you not? And now you willingly offer your life for it?"

"'E's mad, mad I tell you!" a disembodied voice rose from the crowd. Murmurs of agreement followed.

"He's worth it!" Hiccup struggled further. "More than any human is!"

"Empty words," Harald scoffed, waving it off. "It's easy to play the martyr when you have nothing to lose, isn't it? But to throw human life away for a dragon is practically sacrilege."

"You have no right to talk about being a traitor or blasphemy!" Hiccup yelled, managing to find his voice against Halvdan's arm. "You gave up your religion—your culture—for money! How can you even think to tell me—umph!"

For the third time, Hiccup was struck, accepting another blow to the side of his head. Harald threw the punch himself after four, long and speedy strides; apparently he didn't like having his honor called into question. Hiccup swore he couldn't feel it. Desperation and numbness kept him from making any sound, but blood leaked into his mouth, either from a loosened tooth or an accidental bite to the tongue.

This time Toothless had risen to his forepaws and released a roar similar to those he used to scare off the Adlets—a noise that could chill any creature that valued its life, but only brought warmth to Hiccup. Weapons were drawn again; half of the men scattered, shouting in fright, while the other half descended on the dragon, trying to force down what the chains wouldn't.

Realizing the strange, protective connection between man and beast went both ways, Harald, roughly tore Hiccup from Halvdan's hold and brought his broadsword to the boy's throat.

"Continue to struggle, beast, and I spill his blood!"

It did the trick. Toothless immediately slumped to the ground, unable to support his heavily injured body while decorated with overweight humans. He had made his opinion on Hiccup's treatment known.

Harald threw Hiccup back into Halvdan's arms and re-sheathed his sword. A small moment of contemplation passed over his face, and his eyes darted from Hiccup, to Toothless, to Hiccup's pack. He nodded resolutely and began to walk with purpose back to the pile of stolen goods. Hiccup watched, confused and wary at first, and then a cold lump began to form in his stomach as Harald bent down and slowly drew Astrid's axe from the mess of clothes and trinkets.

"I will free you from this beast's control," Harald announced as though he were about to commit to a great service. "And then you'll thank me." He fingered the sharp blade of the double-headed axe, admiring the imprint in his glove. "Maybe, if I'm feeling generous, I'll let you join our guard."

In that moment, Hiccup realized that it didn't matter that they left Berk, or travelled through lands of many cultures, or trained day and night for perfect flight. It was happening anyway. Prejudice and hatred had caught up with them and everything he once feared would come to pass despite his every effort.

"Toothless—Toothless do something!" Hiccup cried, throwing caution to the wind. Toothless moved once, he could move again. "Fire! Anything! Just move!"

Harald positioned himself before Toothless' neck and Hiccup knew it would take more than one swing to kill him—they would have to hack and hack, again and again—

"Toothless! Move! You'll die if you don't!"

::Then I die for you!::

It was the first full sentence Toothless managed that day without struggling and it stabbed through Hiccup like the very axe being leveled.

"What? No! Toothless!"

Toothless didn't respond any longer. His eyes didn't open. He was too injured, too tired, to try and get out of this with both of them in tact. One of them was going to live, and it wouldn't be the dragon.

Hiccup's knees felt weak; he started to sag against Halvdan, who now supported Hiccup rather than restrained him.

"Don't," Hiccup gasped, suddenly unable to breathe. "Don't..."

The axe rose.

"Toothless—!"

Harald's chest inflated, a breath to power the drive.

"TOOTHLESS!"

Instinct and terror took over. Hiccup pitched a sharp, precise elbow into the Solar Plexus of the man behind him, and, in a feat of strength borne to men thrice his size, he threw his captor from his body.

His legs pumped, one after the other. All other sound was blotted as heartbreak clouded around his head; he didn't hear the shouts of surprise or the warnings to the executioner. His vision tunneled on Toothless' face—resigned, eyes closed... just as he had been when Hiccup was about to plunge a dagger into his heart.

Too much was set in motion; nothing could be stopped. Not the momentum of the Viking's swing. Not Hiccup.

Hiccup threw himself over Toothless' head, beating the axe to its destination by a hair's breadth.

Searing, unbridled, endless pain tore through his body and mind. An agonized roar assaulted his ears.

And then everything went dark.

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A/N: D:

O noes, booboos!

Væringjar: Old Norse for Varangians

Sorry for the disgusting amount of angst.

I wanted to keep this rated 'T', so I tried to hold back on the swearing while expressing how desperate he felt. It was hard; I kept trying to picture myself in that situation and could only think of the most vulgar terms that would leave my mouth.

Hiccup doesn't hate-hate Berk or its people; he's just extremely emotional right now. Or dead.

Some of you might be thinking 'dang, that's a lot of OC's she's throwing in there!'. Well guess what? The joke's on you. Halvdan, Bolli and Harald are all history, baby! I may have taken some liberties with the timeline to get them all in at the same time.

Thanks to Fjordmustang for her wonderful insight on Istanbul! Go read her new story! It's great!

And thank you Mr. Beta!

There were too many sad pandas last chapter. Perhaps there is more rage this time around?

R&R!