Chapter 2

The beast eyed it's quarry across the small field, constantly adjusting to make sure it was both out of it's sight, and out of it's sense of smell; feeling the wind adjust around his body. It did not know, nor care how long it took for that perfect opportunity to strike, confidence in its ingrained abilities to finish the grass-feeder before it used those springy, strong legs to bound away.
The night-suns moved slowly as it stalked and followed the dotted furred creature until it saw the moment in the motion of a rabbit across the field from the deer, attracting it's attention, and it lowered it's guard for a second too long after spotting it's fellow prey.

The mighty being pounced from the tree branch it had been curled upon, it's body a whistle in the darkness as it secured the kill, jaws clamping around the vulnerable throat and biting with a crunch that echoed across the field as he rolled gracefully, taking it with the momentum of the initial pounce, ending up above it, letting go of it's neck and busying itself, eating at the stomach of the four-legged one and making sure to spare nothing; to be gracious of the life-cost of it's meal.

Feeling eyes on it, the being snapped up, eyes meeting a small upright four-legged, it's forearms rested at it's side holding a stick of some kind. Sniffing at the air, and smelling nothing, the being forgot the nearly finished food below and started walking toward it, sniffing and huffing, but no scent came; and blinking.

It was gone.

Tiredness rolled over it suddenly, as if it had gone a dozen winters without rest,and could find no better solution than to immediately collapse in the field, bloodied still with the kill beside it.
He would deal with the mysterious being come next light.

Hiccup blinked his eyes open, gritting his teeth at the pounding ache he had all over, and then at the pain of opening his eyes even slightly; it was like needles were being jabbed into his skull and he looked about him.
Wooden walls surrounded him and he noted he must be in one of the stables they kept for visitors horses - Berk was too treacherous and it's people too stocky and impatient for horses - that was for milk-drinkers and southerners, apparently, even though he and Fishlegs had tried to bring it up to his father.

Shrugging the thought off, Hiccup frowned - why didn't his shoulder, no, why couldn't his shoulder move. Trying to crack his eyes open again, he flinched harder, and noted several things that were wrong.

He couldn't move anything. Not his mouth, his legs, his arms. Nothing would respond to him, but he could feel something cutting into him, and the first tide of panic seemed to hit him - he'd been restrained, tied down, but it wasn't like when the twins or Snotlout tied him up, that was usually just to keep his arms and legs out the way while they socked him or hung him off of a cliffside or rolled him down the hill through the village; this was to stop him moving entirely, and the ropes were so tight they hurt to push against.

Hiccup looked again, trying to glean anything that might give him some more information and tried moving his hips to wriggle forward and get to the stable doors and look under them or through the wooden planks thin gaps, and heard the the straining of rope, that stretching sound as something tested the bonds, but his head refused to turn, trapped in something, and panic kept poking at his mind, something at the back of his consciousness battling to come forward, powered by the fear he was feeling overwhelmed by, but he battled with it, needing answers before he really gave in to fear.

The thudding and cussing of Vikings was impossible not to hear, and Hiccup jumped at the anger behind the words, though he couldn't make them out; like they were calling from a great distance away, but they sounded to be a few steps from where he lay bound up and tied. Though he couldn't understand what they were saying, he knew who it was by their mannerisms and sounds; his father, Gobber, and Spitelout. He must be in real trouble, then.

They were just outside by the sounds of it, and Hiccup's hope rose in his chest, light pushing away that heavy weight pushing at his conscious from the back of his mind, trying to smile, but his lips refused the command, so he just gazed at the entrance, hearing the loud chains jangling as they were removed from the handles and the door was opened, the sun blasting in and he had to shut his eyes, the brightness of it burning tightly; this was like when he'd been dared by the teenagers and some adults of the village to 'test his mettle' and drink ale till he couldn't anymore, and the pounding in his head and the ache behind his eyes was similar to that of the kveis he'd suffered a year or so ago.

Once the door was shut, Hiccup slowly blinked his eyes open, elation running through him, and he looked up, eyes wide with happiness; but then faltered.

Everyone in the room had a hand on a weapon, beside Gobber - who's hand was a weapon.

His father looked at him with no recognition in his eyes, not even the disappointment he hated.

Hiccup opened his mouth to say something, but his throat felt dry all of a sudden, constricted; aching, foreign. As if he'd not spoken in months, or if he was learning to again.
That weight pushed on his head again and he barely pushed it off, as the three of them spoke between themselves in hushed, angered tones.

Finally, after some time, Hiccup's mouth obeyed him and he cracked his mouth open, calling for his father, trying to lean forward to get closer to him-

But only a sullen, whining croon left his lips.

Shock smacked him and he quickly tried again, harder - it must be how hoarse his throat was - and kept trying and only that same, questioning croon left him. An animalistic noise.

That same weight pushed on him, but he refused it, Stoick's look concentrated and full of anger, which only fueled him to battle it and call to him.

Hiccup was looking into the eyes of each in the room, and was able to hear himself whimper, and that thought crept into his head, but he refused it.

It was just a nightmare, he was fine. His mind was tormenting him further, he'd had them before. He would wake up.

But Hiccup found he stopped struggling slowly as Stoick yelled into his face, his grip on his sword clenched white with barely restrained desire to draw it.

To draw it on his son.

Breathing carefully, Hiccup wriggled his head, moving it to the sides as the strap around it ached and pushed on his skull and jaw, and tilted himself like he would to look down at his hands.

He did not have hands.

That wild burning returned, pleading with him to give in almost but he shuffled, staring at the two stubby, clawed forelegs he had instead; a leathery colour so closed to being black but still distinctly brownish. Blood coating the underside of them.

Still, Hiccup struggled, yelling at his father who stepped back as he battled the restraints, unable to use most of his body but he tugged and pushed, whimpering and staring at him, trying with just his eyes to beg him, to plead him to see his son.

Stoick the Vast stared at the beast below him and reared a huge fist back, punching him right in the nose, and Hiccup could almost feel the sick glee he got as he crumpled, whimpering and trying to cover the bleeding nostrils with his legs.

And Hiccup could handle it no longer. This truth, the sickening twist his life had taken was going to kill him if he stayed in it.

So he left; retreated, and let that pressure crushing his head out and retreated back to it, wishing to sleep - to wake up in his bed. The beating, the bullying he could stand it, he would take anything over this.

But the nightmare was all there was for him now.

Stoick the Vast watched for a moment, fist bloodied at his side as he watched the monster before him collapse, and then open it's eyes again, and he leaned backwards a little, feeling his compatriots unsheathe their swords slightly.

It's eyes had gone from the wide, afraid ones, as if… afraid, to slits, thin as the beast let out a deep, thrumming growl that rattled the wood around him, echoing off the roof of the barn.

The massive man grinned, looking at the other two.

"The devil tries to play tricks on us, but look at it now." He goaded at the thing, and the flaps along the side of it's head flattened and it's spine bristled a little from nose to tip, snout still leaking dark blood.

Gobber heaved a sigh and leaned into Stoick. "So, wha's the plan then Stoick? We can't keep a dragon, let alone a Night Fury here in the village fer long."
His close friend scratched at the long strands of his beard and Stoick pushed his chest out.

"This… thing killed- killed my boy. It killed Hiccup." He said, emotionless, and Gobber waited patiently, eyes trained on the beast, much like the second-in-command beside them.

"I mean… there's no proof-" Spitelout started, but he got cut off by a furious yell from the massive man beside him, who whipped on him in a moment's notice.

"It was in that field, coated in blood, with my- with Hiccup's own clothes in it's teeth." He all but snarled into Spitelouts face.

But Spitelout didn't flinch - he trusted in Stoick. But he trusted his years of honed hunting skills a little more.

"All I were sayin' was: Hiccup's body weren't found. We've combed that entire island just 'bout. And you'd giv- you'd think for finding his clothes, he'd be dead?" He said slowly, meeting the reddish-haired man's burning, furious gaze with practiced coolness.

"It killed my boy. All I had left of- of Valka." Stoick said, his words nearly cracking but he kept strong, staring at Spitelout, who deflated a little, nodding.

"Well, ay' that. Bu', the question remains." Gobber said, staring at the beast who'd kept his eyes fixed on the big bearded Chieftain before him, locked; like he didn't even consider the other two to be in the room with weapons out.

"Bring it to the Arena." He said firmly, crouching down and meeting that venomous verdure gaze from the monster.

"Have anyone who wants to fight it talk to Spitelout or I. We don't kill it - we leave it alive for as long as we can." He continued, his voice building up but then dropping to a whisper.

"For Hiccup."

Hiccup was in a dark place, unable to see or feel anything, but that didn't stop him from trying to get it back. Despite the ache and sadness of knowing, he also couldn't bear to not know.
All he received were blurred, yet sharp images that were like memories of a dream he'd had, and he couldn't hear or feel anything - but the being pushing on his mind would not relinquish it's apparent control over his body - his new body.
The panic was still coursing through him, but if there was anything he was good at, it was curbing that terror in his heart and his mind for a few moments so he could think.

He was trapped in this body and he had to find a way out, a way back. He had to find a way back - he had to find a way out of this, there must be some way.
His mind rushed back to the rushed call to the Gods he'd made, trapped between a devil's claws, staring death itself in the face, but that simply wasn't possible - this must be magic from the Night Fury he'd saved. Some gross thanks for not killing him, but a measure to make sure he still would not.

Hiccup 'shook' the thought free, and kept squeezing and prying at the force that stopped him from seeing, pleaded with it to let him just look. But still he was met with that stone cold resilience, battering the defenses for what felt like years and years, until he finally pushed through and it was like the looking straight into the sun, the pain racing through his entire body until he was finally back in the waking world from the darkness that had taken him away.

And he truly, deeply wished he hadn't.
Hiccup was slowly but surely being cartwheeled through crowds of jeering, angry Vikings, some he recognised, some he didn't - but none of them recognised him, not the begging in his eyes. People pelted stones and food at him. People leered and held weapons above their heads, cursing him to an eternity walking Hel or to be Garmr's next meal and other such things that would make even the most respected warrior bow his head.

He kept watching, as crowds parted in front of him and followed him, inspecting his binds - it was the design he'd come up with in hopes of impressing his father, but modified; a cart with no edges and bent metal rods above it to encase a dragon, with mighty nails hammered through to hold chains and ropes. It was one of the very few things he'd ever been proud of, that his father had given more than a passing, dismissive glance and a wave of his hands - caught dragons from raids always got carted on these. To the Kill Ring.

Hiccup's heart faltered, responding to that sudden wave of awful panic that he'd battled back for so long now and it overtook him; and he began shaking, the force that had allowed him to hide seemingly gone as he trembled, the rickety wooden wheels rumbling against the stone beneath him as he started to shake and bay. Whimpering and tugging at the straps of rope and leather restraining his muzzle, trying to get it free so he could talk to someone like a person. Each tug resulted in the leather feeling tighter and tighter, and he ducked his head, hitting the cart's wooden base with a thud, looking around as they crossed the thick, wooden planks and got closer to the kill ring, hearing screeches and yowls and roars - the other dragons in the arena all somehow hearing the commotion of every viking in the village storming over to them, and he couldn't understand the words, but he more felt them.

Fear, anger, desperation, terror.

They were scared - but they were the huge killing machines with claws and teeth and fire and scale that every Viking feared, that raided their village monthly almost.

The cart ricketed to a halt at the sloped gate of the Dragon Arena, the village crowded around the edges of the arm thick steel bars, leaning in and jeering at him. To them, he was the monster now. Not the screwup, but a demon. He knew, they weren't sad he was gone, they were sad the chief had lost his son, he could sense it in their eyes; the anger wasn't from sorrow, it was vengeance. Vikings only seemed to know revenge and anger.

The cart rolled to a stop in the centre, and more than a dozen wary, armed vikings reached in at once, and undid the bonds that held him like they were on fire, yanking their entire arms away as if it had bit them, and Hiccup had to move, using his new legs for the first time proved harder than he thought, having to learn to walk again. His attempt at shoving with his hind legs out of the arches of metal to land a few feet away from the thing ended up in him clumsily shoving out half of his body, and then rolling forward on his neck and landing with his belly up; which something screamed at him to right, and he scrambled onto his legs, stumbling more as he turned around, to find the crowd of his village's warriors had stepped back, further than he thought he could even reach. Hiccup found himself backing slowly toward the wall of the ring, opposite the entrance he'd been carted into, his tail curled into him and his body arched upward.

Everyone cheered and roared, a cacophony of their clapping and calling as he heard his father bellowed across the ring above him, and Hiccup turned quickly to the man, hearing him above and finding that his gaze was already met by his father's furious eyes. Pushing past it, he scrambled and clawed his wayup, standing on his hind legs and trying to climb the sheer face - he had that muzzle off, he could finally talk to him!

Hiccup spoke; only a confused, pleading groan left his lips. Then another, and then a third, and he finally crawled down slowly, landing with a slap of his scales against the stone. How stupid of him, how naive to think he could talk as a… as a monster. As a dragon. Turning tail, he heard the enormous man laugh, a deep chuckle that echoed throughout and the rest of them seemed to laugh too.

They were happy he was afraid.

He whimpered and tried to curl up again, the cold stone offering no reprieve - the gates to the other dragon cages were still locked by the enormous slabs of metal and timber that kept them there, and it was all too much again, Hiccup hearing the screeches and roars from the dragons, and the yelling and laughter and cheering from the other vikings surrounding him.

The bloodthirsty calls peaked as the gates cranked and squeezed open, the sound grating Hiccups sensitive new ears, and he clamped his forepaws down on the ear plates? He squeezed down to the ground to drown it out, but that command came from inside him again.

Stand! Challenge!

He couldn't make sense of it, but he angled his eyes up a little, and spotted a pair of warriors from his village stepping into the arena, waving their arms up and calling for more cheers and support - and he choked, scrambling backward and bracing his body against the wall, arms and wings tucked into himself - belly exposed. And those words lashed at him again.

Down! Guard.

And he obeyed this time, getting into a sort of hunched crouch on all fours, feeling a little more stable as the two vikings stopped their showboating and reached for their weapons; a spear, the other, an axe - an axe Hiccup had crafted days before. They both took up shields and stared, looking between each other and slowly advancing and something in the dragon boy turned him around, slinking across the back wall of the ring so he could get out of the 'corner' they had him backed to, mind scrambling for ways to get free, or to avoid them.

One of them took a leap forward and jabbed with his spear at him, nowhere close.

Testing.

The dragon tried not to leap backwards, but the small jump the jab elicited and the quiet whine following it, as he scurried off, and finally managed to get around them, closer to the centre of the arena; the deep bellows and calls and clangs of weapons on the iron bars disorienting him, his vision swaying a little.

The man with the axe stared at Hiccup and, seemingly competent of the dragon's abilities, charged him, axe raised, and it was like the darkness had taken him again, his tail whipping out without his command and sweeping under his legs while he leapt backwards again, wings flapping a little as the viking tumble and braced the fall with his shield, scrambling to his feet while his cohort charged to cover him.

He tried to bare his teeth a little, but found that pressing his jaw down he only met gumminess, frowning slightly but not given the time to dwell on it as the spear viking was suddenly in striking range, and he jabbed and thrust the weapon out at him; Hiccup letting loose a screech of fear as the pointed end was thrown out at him he batted at it with a paw, careful of how much strength he had behind it - it was clearly too much, because the viking attached to it held his grip and spun twice before hitting the ground, with a grunt - but again, he had no time, the other Viking back up and a snarl let loose of his throat as the man charged him, the dragon stepping backwards quickly as that pressure tried again to push on his mind.

He wanted to give into it again, to not see, or feel or smell or sense the awful event he was forced to take part in. But he didn't know what the force would do and he didn't want to hurt these two men; he knew their names and that they had families and children, most likely watching from the crowds.
This thought burst a deep pain in Hiccup's skull and he nearly fell off balance from it, and he shook his head, staring at the man charging him with the axe, who'd chosen to discard his shield in order to heft his axe with both hands, high as he could, screaming death at the dragon who plagued his village.

It struck him with a weight on his heart and a burn to his soul.

Hiccup was going to die here - these people were going to kill him and mount his head somewhere; they would not listen or reason or think outside of the only objective Viking's ever had: kill dragons.

He was now, like it or not, a dragon.

So Hiccup reared up and screeched at the man and the pain in the back of his head abated, the Viking faltering for a second as he was faced with the child of Thor and Hel's anger, his steps faltering for just long enough for the dragon to swing forepaws out like fists and stomping and batting the man to the side. This time, when he swung his paws out, he didn't hold back, apologising in his head as soon as he heard the wet crunch under his paws, the man tossed aside, tumbling and rolling a few times and Hiccup hoped he wouldn't get up.

Focusing his attention back onto the other warrior, who looked a little less confident, but the gate behind him cranked open and another two bloodthirsty vikings came into the ring with him, the mighty hulk of metal slamming to a close as the people roared, that voice whispering at him, biting at his very mind, and he sighed.

He knew he didn't have it in him to hurt these people; the sickness and guilt wrenching inside of him making it easier to hand over control to whatever this force was that wanted it back, that knew what to do here. Hiccup risked one last look at his father and shut his eyes.

The beast blinked his eyes open and rolled his shoulders, moving from the awkward position he had been put in, and let out a loud growl at all of the yelling snapping men, staring at the large face-furred one at the top.

He did not like him, he decided.

Snapping his eyes to the two-legs that approached him in the topless stone cave, the beast made sure he'd protect the other, squaring himself and baring his teeth as they came closer.

He would not let them have him.

Berk had not seen anything quite like this in centuries, maybe. The Night Fury refused to stop. Every viking sent in ended up out after a short time, the beast screeching and yelling demonically, the wounds that had managed to be inflicted, axe wounds and cuts from swords and nasty speckled bruising on the scales of the creature, at least two arrows stuck in its hide.

And it simply refused to go down, to stop, to rest.

The cheers from the crowd had long grown quieter and more apprehensive, hisses of air sucked through teeth, panicked cries from friends and loved ones when the beast did damage. Shields were nearly immediately abandoned, as the beast had shattered and splintered the wood, the metal centres of them dented and the straps hanging loosely in their arms, instead choosing to wield two weapons at a time for better chance of bringing the beast down.

The rule to not kill had been abandoned - nothing on Midgard would match the ferocity this dragon contained, each swipe of it's paws or bite of its jaws bringing the full weight of it's namesake to bear.

Stoick had seen enough. The sun was setting, and this had done more harm than good. To the village's moral, and his own deepest prayers and thoughts - that Hiccup had escaped somehow, that he was simply wounded somewhere, that he was alive.

The beast before them was capable of no compassion, of nothing other than fury, mercy a foreign idea to the monstrosity he'd brought to his village.

Another viking went down, the dragon having a grip on his upper leg and he could almost hear the rending tear of flesh as the beast tried shaking the life from him, and tossed him aside, panting, shaking but it didn't stop once.

He put two fingers to his lips and issued a shrill whistle that had even the dragon swiveling to pay attention. Two men aside him nodded and reached for bola nets, curling them into their hands and clambering atop the metal cage until they were above the beast, which stared up and snarled at them, leaping up and flapping before it fell back down - which prompted a question to Stoick's mind, which he promptly held.

"This, is over. Everyone, go to your homes." He called, and the people around him looked no less happy, but glad to leave the gruesome fight.

Stoick had made a mistake, that was for sure. A Chief always protects his own. But in his anger, he had forgotten that. Glancing down at the ring, he saw the shattered shields and blood and held himself higher. The beast wouldn't last another few days of this. Not without food or water or help for it's wounds. He gave himself a grim smile and leaned to Gobber, who'd been affixed, in a trance at the awfulness before him, mindful for his friends ear, leaning wordlessly to his shoulder.

"'s too much Stoick… I don't think anyone's too keen to fight it tomorrow." He sighed, rubbing just above his hand prosthetic with a hand and then itching his beard.

"Mm… but we can't just let it sit here and recover." He grunted out, staring at the beast, which was now once again affixed to him - that furious gaze gone and back to the wide eyed terror, he noted.

"D'ya think we should… just, be rid of it? It can't be good fer ye, the thing that-" He caught himself, and Stoick nodded his head, whistling again, and the two men above the dragon leaned down and tossed the nets, which fell with a loud clang, the heavy metal balls at the corners of the net clamping down and trapping the monster, which screeched and flailed at the trappings.

"Tomorrow. We'll… send this beast off. Then we'll send off Hiccup." He said, blinking away the softness in his eyes and shaking his head, standing up and Gobber stood, too, patting his shoulder with an arm.

The arena was empty, save for the dragon and the two of them; the trappers having left a few seconds ago, in a hurry; clearly not wanting to stick around the stench of death that lingered or the sight of the beast that had injured their allies.

Stoick couldn't stop locking eyes with the creature, those piercing orbs gazing into his, and he grimaced, turned away, and left it to it's fate in the centre of the ring.

Hiccup sniffled and did nothing, staring after the figure of his father and his only friend leaving, but that didn't occupy him for long, as he felt all the pain rush at him at once. The force had relinquished control without him trying this time, and when he got it back it was just like the last time; he wished he hadn't. He could taste blood on his tongue and on the air; and most of it wasn't his - there was a great smear along the wall by the entrance that was almost the length of a galley, another that looked like a human being had been splattered against the ground and all the blood had left him in a ruddy splotch on the stone.

And the dragons were all silent in their cages.

Hiccup raised a questioning sound as he tried to see if anyone was around, a warbling noise that sounded curious and afraid as he was, trapped in the netting as he slowly bled into the stones. He got nothing back. He sounded it again, louder.

A gentle, scared rumble came back from the den straight in front of him and he tensed slightly; he thought it was the Nightmare, but a second reply came, the tone only just distinct enough to know it came from the same source - the Zippleback.

Squirming, he tried to make sound with his mouth, to form words, to plead with them a way out, but all he could make were disturbed sounds of desperation that made the other dragon's chime in with attempts at comfort; whether they were words or not he did not know, but they relaxed his raised hackles and made his wings ache a little less as they folded in closer to himself.

Hiccup breathed slowly and looked around again, before he looked up to the sky, the sun setting and he couldn't see the stars yet, but he let out a guttural, sad call that came from deep within his exhausted chest; the entire breath he'd had in his powerful lungs pushing out as a cry for help, for anything, anyone to save him from the awful nightmare he was in.

His cry was done, he just dropped his head. He knew he could not sleep, more of the Vikings would be back soon and he feared that sleep held no respite for a soul cursed like him.

Instead, Hiccup thought to himself, staring and making patterns in the cold, bloody stone before him and he moved his tongue in his mouth.

He knew he could not just lay down and die, let them have him - the pressure on his head anytime he visited the idea got stronger, and told him a resolute no - so he needed to escape. But he could not fly. He could not climb. What could he do..?

Hiccup focused and laid down on the cool stone, pulling his limbs into himself and covering what he could against the breezy air, and then tried to pull that force forward. That ache, the deep set ideas and calls and commands he'd kept receiving since he was stuck in this body, ideas running through him. What was it - was he trapped, sharing the mind and body of a dragon he was too weak to kill? But after poking and trying to relinquish control, nothing had happened, and he huffed a warm breath of air out into the chill.

Was he going mad? Losing himself to this body and mind? Was it the Gods, breaking his will yet further for their amusement?

All of these turned up wrong, and he sat for a moment, deliberating; if there was anything Hiccup could do, it was think on something until the sheep came home, he remarked dourly.

He was so deep in thought, the sun had left completely. Hiding it's light from all who looked for it, and the moon had risen in its place as he buried his pain and emotion so he could think on this, but he trembled all the same as he thought on it, the common denominators being he had to give control to it, and that it was dealing with things he couldn't. Hunting, from the nightmare, fighting, from where he lay now. Then why had it wrestled for it when his Father was talking to him in the stables - did it know he would strike him?

His rambling was paused by a light jangling of the chains above him that held the centre of the ring from being a free escape for a dragon that wasn't a Terror, but everyone in the village was a more or less acquainted archer, so it wouldn't ever get far. Hiccup slowly angled his gaze toward Asgard, and met that familiar pair of green orbs, and panicked - yet that pressure did not come forward like he'd expected by this point, tugging at the heavy ropes, the weighted metal orbs at their ends scraping but little else.

"Help, need?" Came that chirping, but it wasn't any of the other dragon's, it sounded almost like he'd said it himself - and he looked up.

Hiccup almost wanted to scream at it, but hadn't the energy, and a large part of him desired to stay here, trapped and tucked into these bola nets and await his fate; but that brought the Gods-damned pressure again. So he looked up slowly, studying the Night Fury he'd failed to kill that must have done something to have this happen, and gently nodded once.
The beast stared back at him, and that piercing gaze locked on to him, and he turned away. He couldn't look again. He was too weak.

A light crackling sound came from above and he was bathed in light; and the dragon above him rumbled a little warning at him, before… drooling blue-hot fire over him, the plasma that was so infamous; the fire crackling as it tore through even the metal orbs and wires the bola was made out of, the rope giving off a hideous smell, like burning hair that was so potent to his sensitive nose, he scrunched it up with a snort; as he felt that weight release him, and he shakily got to his exhausted feet, looking up and noticing the fire drooling down must have also burnt through the thick iron bars above him.

"Up, up." The dragon warbled and Hiccup didn't need to be told twice; taking a deep breath and shaking his body out beside his wings and tail - he had little idea how to consciously move those - and went into a striking stance, body coiled like a spring; and he jumped the length of a ship's mast upward, the height even surprising him as he went a little over the other dragon, getting a whiff of it's scent; that comforting, warm smell of a midwinter fire burning in a hearth, but so much deeper and a thousand times more complex.

Hiccup fell from his leap, scrambling clumsily with all four legs as he gripped for purchase on the smooth metal chains, the beast behind him… laughing? Hiccup would turn to snap at it or something, or ask it for help, but he finally found purchase, the flats of his legs and forearms resting on the metal and he took several deep breaths, looking toward the bridge and then the dragon.

He was both angry and ashamed to be saved by the creature that had made this mess in the first place and was tempted to swat at it or try and attack it, but his thoughts were stopped when he noted - the two men who were guarding the bridge were on their sides, unmoving and quickly leapt off the bars, stumbling the landing on the stone floor and hurrying over to their bodies and pushing his snout near them carefully. They were still breathing, which shocked him, looking back at the top of the cage for his rescuer.

But finding him almost right behind him, pushing his snout curiously under the base of his tail and he paled, jumping to the side and smacking him with the base of his wing on accident, which gave a satisfying slapping noise and made the dragon recoil, shaking his head and huffing at him.

"Come, tree, follow." It spoke, the low warble giving no room for argument even if he could, the dragon lumbering off ahead on the bridge and disappearing through the houses as if it were a Viking itself. Did it do this before?

Hiccup looked one last time at the two men who were knocked out, and sighed, the huff warming his cool nose a little and he padded after the other Fury. Getting more and more used to walking on all fours, as he was easily able to discern the path the monster had taken, seeing its footfalls even in the low light, as they took to the hill and stood in the treeline, the other not turning once to make sure he still followed.

The chief's son stared at that lonely house on the hill, seeing just a flicker off warm firelight through the door with his enhanced eyesight, making a small promise to himself.

I'll come back.

The dragon on the hill disappeared into the blackness of the treeline with its new 'friend'.