Chapter Two.

Snotlout felt hot tears on his face and was practically blabbering, calling his dragons name and swearing vengeance.

Below the deck of the ship it was dark and cool, and he fought hard against his captors. Men were getting punched, headbutt, bit, anyone who got to close left with an injury. It took organized yelling and teamwork to pin him to the ground: a man grabbed the arrow that pierced him and twisted so that he was brought to his knees in pain, and there they subdued his hands behind his back. They moved through the ship's belly, shoving and kicking, where he was led to an area with several cages. At a quick glance he thought he was looking at cages meant to hold dragons, but realized they were much too small. The Viking was thrown in unceremoniously and the heavy gate closed behind him, locking. Snotlout got on his feet and glared with wet and bloodshot eyes, panting. The men who had wrestled him into the cage were laughing as if they just played an entertaining sport.

"It is what they say, the Vikings being strong as an ox," one man said, wiping sweat from his brow, and Snotlout could immediately tell he was the one in charge of the ship. "But they also say they're dumb as one and that seems to hold true as well! I also now see the stories of dragon riders are not just tall tale… you and your lizard sure put up a fight, lad!"

He got spit in the face as a response. "You're going to regret this," Snotlout snarled. "They'll come for me! They'll burn you all to the ground!"

The man's face had reddened significantly at being spit on, but he resisted the urge to open the gate and beat the subdued prisoner. "We'll see about that, last I saw your friends were turning tail and running! Cowards!"

With that, he turned on his heel and stomped away. The other men followed suit, leaving only a single guard at the door who warily eyed him and kept his fingers on the hilt of his sword. Snotlout slowed his breath. His adrenaline was fading. First his eyes combed the room, looking for any chance of escape. He quickly assessed that wouldn't be possible on his own. All the while, repeating in his head like a mantra, Hookfang oh, no. Hookfang, Hooky…

His dragon had been killed in a cruel, horrible way. And he could only watch. If only he had just fought harder. Snotlout didn't even try to hide the tears streaming down his face and body-shaking sobs, too distressed to acknowledge the shame. The pain in his shoulder throbbed like nothing he experienced before, the arrow completely passing through his flesh, yet it was nothing compared to the flashing images of Hookfang's death in his vision. He attempted to roll his shoulder, but now out of survival mode, the smallest wiggle produced shooting pain that made him see white. He needed to get out, avenge his dragon. But he needed help. He had to wait for the other riders to come to him.

Snotlout was no stranger to being held hostage. Since becoming a dragon rider, he and his comrades had been held against their will at some time or another - multiple instances for some. It was an occupational hazard. He had attempted to stay calm, but was so distraught about Hookfang he hardly noticed the passing of days. The morning after his initial capture, after a sleepless night someone rattled his cage open. Immediately the Viking leaped to his feet, ignoring the protests of his bounds and screaming shoulder pain, "What do you want from me? Are you dragon trappers?"

He got a punch to the jaw in response, sending him to the ground. Wordlessly the man grabbed the arrow and flexed. Snotlout cried out, and heard the wood snap. Without any regard to comfort, the man jerked the arrow out of his body and flung it behind him. Snotlout felt a cold flush rush over him and then the pain returned three-fold. The man had dipped his fingers into some sort of salve and roughly jammed it into the open wound. Snotlout was squirming and biting his lip so hard he tasted blood trying not to yell out. Then as quickly as he came, the man stood up and left with a simple, "Shut it with your whining," and snatched the helmet off his head on the way out.

He was only let out of his binds once a day to drink water and relieve himself, and he used this time on the deck to try to get a look at landmarks around them, but it was just expansive ocean. He was only able to note they were heading West from the rising and setting sun, away from Berk. At first he denied the little amount of food they gave him - he was too sick over his dragon to consider eating. After three days his body would no longer let himself go unnourished and he stubbornly relented, though the stale food made him nauseous. He quickly learned that talking to or questioning his captors was met with a swift punch or beating as he quickly accumulated bruises. All the while, he slowly experimented with moving his shoulder. Gradually, too slowly and painfully, he was able to move it just a little more with the passing days. He also tried to make sense of these people… they were different.

Unlike the typical Viking, their frames were much more compact and their height shorter. Though they shared the same language, their accents were something Snotlout had never heard before. They were clearly not people of his known Archipelago, and Snotlout had no idea where they may have come from.

As time passed far too slowly, he anxiously wondered what could be taking Hiccup and the others so long. Historically, their rescue missions could sometimes take a day or two to formulate a plan… but why was it taking so long this time?

It was when he was locked in his cage on the night of the seventh day, bound and hungry, he finally realized: they're not coming for you.

The last time Snotlout spoke to Hiccup, he said something horrible. He implied that Hiccup's deceased father wouldn't even want his own son as chief… Snotlout didn't even know why he said it, he didn't truly believe that, at least not now… but even before that moment. Though it never came down to beatings, Snotlout tormented his older cousin on a daily basis all throughout childhood. Made it clear that he was a failure to his people, and he probably would've continued to do so had Hiccup not become the unlikely hero of Berk. And the rest of the dragon riders would follow their adored Hiccup blindly. Fishlegs hated Snotlout, thinking of him as a complete moron, and they had their fair share of animosity growing up together as well. Astrid had clear disgust for him after all the years of his unreciprocated flirting, and the twins clearly had no concern as well, delighting in near-death situations he would get thrown into on missions. Even the people of Berk never took him seriously - his words were usually met with eyerolls and a dismissive shake of the head. As he spent days of solitude with nothing but his thoughts, it occurred to him more and more: there was no reason for them to want to come to his rescue.

He thought to his father, how he would never let someone take his son so easily. Surely he would come for him. But his heart sank, deep down he knew Spitelout was loyal to his chief no matter the circumstances, and if Hiccup decided to forbid a rescue mission, his father would follow orders.

Besides, what did his father have to gain from rescuing him? All throughout his life Spitelout pushed his son to be the best and to make the Jorgensons proud. The day he was taken, Snotlout brought disgrace to the clan. Had he gone home that day, he probably would have been given a beating and disowned. And what kind of warrior and Viking was he, being downed from Hookfang so easily by his captors? Why would Spitelout even want to come looking after all of this?

He was a failure, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Snotlout never felt so alone. All that show growing up, trying so hard to be better by putting everyone else down: in the end it was worthless. He had no one to impress now. In the solitude of his cell, in the darkness of the ship's belly, he tried hard to blink away bitter tears. He could do nothing but sit alone with his memories. The thoughts of Hookfang and his self-made isolation was surely going to break him mentally.

One day he heard a commotion above deck, and soon after the sailors shoved unfamiliar faces into his room and threw them in cages. Three men and a woman. They didn't even resist, and there was no need to put binds on them as they all shook with fear. Snotlout could easily tell they were not people of the Archipelago. How far have they travelled, then? When it was just them left alone with the guard, Snotlout whispered, "Hey, do you know where we are?"

But they just looked at him with wide eyes and seemed fearful of him. They wouldn't speak to him throughout the rest of the voyage but would whisper amongst themselves quietly.

He stopped keeping track of the days - his loneliness and heartache for Hookfang consumed everything. He didn't realize it, but they had spent three weeks at sea. It was one morning when Snotlout slowly opened his eyes he heard something unusual - the sound of gulls. They had made landfall. There was shouting coming from the deck and the sounds of the ship being tied to port. Eventually the men came down for their prisoners. The four in the other cages were led single file up to the deck. Snotlout was by himself, guarded by multiple men and he was pushed forward. The sun was painfully bright in his eyes, and he winced.

He had never seen anything like what he was looking at now. The port itself was of decent size, but the land stretched as far as the eye could see. There was nothing of this size in the Archipelago and he felt lightheaded taking in its expanse. Three ships were docked as well, and he recognized them as the ones from that very day he was taken - they had burns and claw marks on them.

On dark sand of the shore there were crowds of people moving about - prisoners in tattered clothes and their sentry. The guards wore a light armor with shiny breast plates and blood red tunics beneath. Some wore helmets and gauntlets, but they all carried a weapon. The prisoners showed more diversity, seemingly from all kinds of far off lands that Snotlout had never encountered with unique and foreign features. He saw horses pulling carts and being ridden, animals only depicted in books and drawings he read as a child - Berk traded the luxury of horseback for other livestock long before his time. Sitting just beyond the shore was a long, flat stone fortress with a fenced shipyard close by. The skeleton of a massive boat under construction sat there, where dozens of prisoners laboured.

As he was led to land, he was aware of people stopping to watch, pointing him out specifically. He was pushed forward when he paused to observe their strange fascination. "What is this place?" he asked, eyeing the prisoners who worked away in the shipyard.

"Your new home," the man sneered and jabbed him with a spear point to keep moving.

At this point no one was even bothering to hide the blatant stares at him, pointing and talking amongst themselves. "That's a Viking from the cold seas! They're worth a treasure."

"That one will bring some coin in."

"It looks as if the Master has finally caught himself a Viking!"

Before he had no idea why he was being held captive… he had assumed it was to be a prisoner of war. But now he realized what exactly his fate was with a wave of anger coursing through him. He was to be a slave. He was no more than an exotic commodity to these people. Snotlout kept his head high and eyes forward. For the first time since he accepted that there would not be help from Berk, he felt a fire kindle within. He would escape.

Snotlout joined other prisoners being led off of ships - there were about two dozen of them altogether, some barely older than children and others elderly, and they were all being led into the stone fortress across the black sands. He said nothing but flicked his blue eyes around to take everything in, evaluating. The prisoners easily outnumbered the sentry, but each guard was armed and men with bows stood watchfully about the perimeter… even if he were to get help from the other captives, they would be taken down quickly.

Once inside, the armored men drew swords and spears to deter any resistance. They stood in a bare stone room with many hallways, and the air was stagnant inside this place. The man from Snotlout's ship, who had gotten spat in the face on the day of being captured, suddenly strode in front the group.

"Alright, you lot, listen up," the man boomed. "If you don't do things quietly and nicely, I'll personally spill your guts! You are now the property of your master, you will do as your told or you'll get the knife."

Snotlout could see the men and women shaking out of the corner of his eye, and he tried to keep calm though the gravity of the situation was beginning to hit. The man nodded to a set of guards, and they grabbed people from the group. Some of the captives began shouting and crying, and Snotlout realized they were only taking the women away. Some part of him instinctively jerked and moved towards the commotion to help, but a man raised a sword point to his throat and smirked. "I wouldn't be doing that now."

He gulped feeling the point against his skin and could only watch helplessly. The women were dragged away through a hall, and it was only men left, some of them weeping for their wives and daughters. The man who was speaking just continued as if nothing had happened, "Follow me."

They were shoved along into a different hallway now. There were multiple levels to the building, for they were led down passages that led deeper into the earth. Some areas were dank and chilly, others stifling hot, but all the rooms reeked of sweat and fear. They came into a dark room save a single flickering torch with what appeared to be a pool in it, and he saw one of the guards cutting binds off of the prisoner's wrists.

"All of you wash up," the man shouted, "And quit yer sniveling over your women. They'll be far better off than you."

"Don't try anything, Viking," one of the men hissed into his ear and Snotlout felt his hands become free. It felt heavenly, he had been bound for the majority of the journey and flexed his shoulders. The left still ached tremendously, but was nothing compared to the first few weeks at sea. He was aware of the guards gripping their swords tighter, eyeing him distrustfully.

Many of the men instantly stripped down and got in the water, others nervously and slowly cleaned themselves. Snotlout was no stranger to male nudity, as Berk shared a bathhouse, but still he glowered at the guards. He was prodded in the stomach with a spear. "Get in the water, savage."

With a growl and venomous look, he obliged. There was no way of escaping at this moment, and no point in getting killed over refusing to take a bath. And though this tepid water was nothing compared to the steaming hot springs of Berk, it was somewhat refreshing, to be honest: the voyage to wherever they were made him filthy. Ragged clothes were thrown at the men and guards ordered them to dress. Snotlout felt more naked than he did in these clothes than actually bathing: the hide bracers and heavy fur cape that he typically wore were taken away as were all of his other belongings - probably to be sold to curious buyers.

Once dressed, Snotlout was bound again, though the others were not. He said nothing at this, in fact he hadn't spoken a word since they stepped foot inside. The slaves were led through multiple halls, and then he was aware of voices in the distance. The hallways opened up into a well lit room, and then Snotlout laid eyes on him.

The man standing before their group had tan skin and almost white blonde hair cut very close to his head. With sharp blue eyes, he looked very hawk-like and was dressed decadently in a long blood red robe adorned with all sorts of rings and jewels. His voice was light and he looked delightedly on the slaves.

Snotlout instantly hated him.

"Ah! Flemming, you've returned with the latest crop," he said with a straight and toothy smile as he looked at hungrily on the group of slaves, inspecting a terrified young boy's face. Snotlout stood towards the back, and could feel his hair bristling, the contempt he had for this man was almost intrinsic.

"Aye, Master Carlisle," the guard now identified as Flemming said. "It was a long voyage, but a good turnout. And there is something that you may be interested in…"

That was when the hawk-faced man caught sight of Snotlout. He gasped, and then grinned, striding forward quickly. "A Viking!"

"And not just any Viking," Flemming was practically purring in anticipation of praise, "The stories are true. This man rode a dragon, we shot him and the horrible beast from the skies."

Snotlout clenched his jaw as the man - Master Carlisle - approached, and the guard behind him tugged on his binds when Master Carlisle reached to touch his face. "Careful sire, he has bitten."

"Oh, how delightful! My first Viking, such barbarians I've heard they are!" Carlisle was practically clapping. "It's not as tall as I expected, but look at that size! What a stocky brute, all muscle… and a dragon tamer, how fascinating! But to keep or sell is the question, this one would fetch a pretty penny indeed-"

"My name is Snotlout," he suddenly snapped, stepping forward. "My name is Snotlout, and I am not your thing!"

Carlisle didn't even acknowledge the comment but gave Flemming a disdainful look. Snotlout took a fist to the stomach that brought him to his knee, but was quickly pulled up by his binds and breathed hard through bared teeth. Carlisle just continued as if nothing had happened, turning the boy's face this way and that and prodded him in the stomach and ribs. "And what is this," Carlisle said with a frown and poked the puckered flesh of where he had been hit with the arrow, making Snotlout hiss in a breath.

"We hit him while downing the dragon," Flemming answered. "He rode a Red Wyvern."

Carlisle looked overjoyed and gave out a high-pitched cackle. "This Viking will be worth a fortune! If the stories are true I could sell him to the trappers, or even to this rumored 'Draco Bloodfist'... I can't make up my mind right now, put him in the cell closest to the guards chambers. I suppose it can work as a labourer with the others until I am given an acceptable offer… and keep him fed well enough and fit, I want him to keep these muscles and please, no scars on the face."

Snotlout suddenly lunged forward and would have grabbed the man's throat had he not been restrained. "And you say my people are barbarians, you fucking monster!"

Immediately the men descended on him and began moving him away. Carlisle had jumped backwards but looked more amused than anything, and Snotlout had wanted more than anything to strangle the smirk off of his face. The young Viking was so livid and seeing red he barely paid attention to where he was led, but he found himself being shoved into a cell. The men reached in through the bars and sliced the rope securing his wrists before strutting away and muttering to themselves. Snotlout could feel himself shaking with rage.

He, Snotlout, was a slave. He could have thrown up had his stomach not been so empty.

He anxiously rubbed the raw skin where the binds held his wrists together and looked at his surroundings. All that was provided in the small cell was a sad and thin animal hide over damp straw to serve as a bed, an old bucket and a cracked tankard. He had no more living comforts than an animal in captivity. Turning to peer through the gate, he realized what Carlisle had meant when he gave his guards instructions. He could just see the glow of a well lit room down the hallway and hear the crackling of it's fireplace if he stood in the farthest corner of the door - he assumed these were the guards quarters mentioned before. It was then he heard a weak cough to his left and a whimper.

Snotlout listened hard, and could hear the faint sounds of ragged breathing. "Hello?"

"W-What?" he heard as a response, barely above a whisper.

Snotlout put his hands around the iron bars and pressed his face against them urgently. "Do you know where we are? What is this place?"

The person beside him sounded like he could've been just a boy. "I don't know. When they took me, we traveled-" another weak cough, "-traveled far. And I didn't recognize anything anymore."

"What's your name?"

"Ra-Ralof."

"...how long have you been here?" Snotlout asked quietly.

There was another whimper and cough. "I don't know anymore. It's been so long. They took me and my Pa. Pa used to keep track of the time before he died, and I stopped."

Snotlout's stomach sank even further. Still, the voice continued.

"Master Carlisle runs the place. People pay him to use the slaves as labourers. It's mostly working in the shipyard but some-cough-sometimes we'll be sent to the wheat fields or mines so that change is nice. When he and the guards get bored he'll have the big guys fight each other as sport every once in a while, but if you're small like me they won't pay attention."

Snotlout did not answer. His hands dropped from the iron bars to hang limply at his sides as the gravity of the situation set in, and his stomach turned to lead. This couldn't be it… this could not be happening. He took in a long, shaking breath and tried to keep his rising panic at bay. He had to escape. He had to.

A/N. Hello, friends. Once again, thanks for the follows and favorites and whatnot. Tyrannosaurus Ross- I'm just gonna go ahead and apologize now... you're going to be sad to see what our Snotty has to go through, but I swear you're gonna have some good moments in there, too!

Just as a note, I'm going to tweak some things regarding the layout of chapters. It would drive me crazy if the numbers in the chapter index continued to not match with their titles so I'm going to combine the Prologue with Ch.1 with my next update. So for the few who are actually reading this, if you see an update next month but it doesn't appear to have a new chapter listed, that is why! On the same note, I decided that I'm going to divide this fic into three parts. Thing is, I did not expect for this to get as large as it already has. I'm trying to stay way ahead of the game, so what you all have seen is just a small portion of what has been written already aaaand it is quite a lot already. I'm going on 100 pages now for something I thought I would only dedicate a few chapters to. So like I said, I hope those who are reading can stay with me... and just considering the sheer size of what I have planned, reviews would really help me stay motivated, Thor knows I need it :} Cheers!
- Rummybones