A/N. Real quick, before going on and reading- check to see if you saw the most recent chapter added. I updated and condensed the layout of chapters all within one night.. so despite adding Chapter Three, it did not register as an update. I know not many people are reading this, but for those who are, I wanted to point that out before going on. Thanks - Rummybones

*Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault

Chapter Four

Until he became a slave himself, Snotlout did not have much knowledge or experience of the trade at all.

In his time as a Dragon Rider of the Edge, when he and the others would make trips to the Northern Market, there were small glimpses that indicated that it was alive and well: merchants shouting promises of the sturdiest labourers that can be bought, or stands where nervous women stood behind scowling and suspicious men. These merchants knew when to bite their tongue, however. Just as many traders knew to hide their finest dragon scale hides and dragon bone weapons when they saw the Riders enter the market, they were well aware of the treaties passed about the tribes of the Archipelago and toned down their offers.

Though slavery still existed among a small handful of clans in their chain of islands, it was mostly a practice that was frowned upon by Vikings. Treaties were signed amongst the tribes that abolished the disgraceful act generations ago. His father, Spitelout, had explained this to Snotlout when he was just a young boy. One could have looked at it through two different lenses - you could say it was done from a moral high ground, or just protecting one's own. "Imagine," Snotlout remembered his father explaining to him one night with a sour look upon his face, "You have dragons flying in to take our livestock, plucking people away into the skies! Not only this, but you have plundering tribes coming along and taking your family away too, putting them on ships and sending them away to far off lands, never to be seen again!"

So the Hooligan tribe amongst many others made an agreement: 'no longer take my people, and we will no longer take yours.'

The way it was explained to Snotlout in his youth, however, it was not only an agreement to protect one's own. Many things were sacred to the Viking: the battle, devotion to the Gods, and freedom. And despite slavery being abolished for not two decades, his people grew to deeply scorn those who took freedom from others. Though their great-grandfathers had openly participated in the act, it only took a few generations to become disgusted with the very idea.

There was a story passed around Berk that not only got a good chuckle from the people, but perfectly exemplified this; starring Stoick the Vast and his steward, Gobber. There was one day that Johann the merchant sailed into the bay of Berk (this of course was long before anyone knew of the man's treachery) with his wares, bringing all of the villagers down into the docks to take a look.

As the chief was going over the goods, Johann had nonchalantly made a comment (at this point in the story Gobber would do an exaggerated yet accurate portrayal of the merchant): "Stoick, I'm so sorrowful to hear of your lovely wife Valka being taken away by the dragons! One cannot easily replace such a fine lady... yet there are many lovely, tame and exotic women available for sale from the markets that can be made into good wives. I'll even offer a King's discount!"

Apparently, had Gobber not been there to calm Stoick down, Johann's body would have left Berk without a head. And that was the last time anyone tried to offer the sale of another human being to the Berkians. So it became a practice that was always on the fringes of the Archipelago, careful and guarded, yet thriving in other parts of the world.

Snotlout's time in captivity stretched into weeks, and then months.

Days were the same, all ending in the same night in the corner of his cell.

He was learning the routine very quickly… they worked all throughout the daylight hours and were given two small meals a day. Their job primarily was to build warships, though occasionally carts drawn by horses would be brought in to move prisoners to other jobs. He worked endlessly on these ships, all the way from laying out the skeleton to attaching the finished figurehead. It would be rolled with the use of logs into the ocean, and then it would start all over. Snotlout never lost his drive to escape. He constantly watched and waited for the smallest slip of attention or cover from the guards, but the chance never arose. And as time passed, the scars on his back multiplied.

There was one morning when the horse drawn carts appeared he was ordered to join. Ralof was beside him. In fact, the two almost seemed to be paired together. It may have been because the two were so close to each other in terms of being cell neighbors, but Snotlout was beginning to learn it may be that the younger boy would not be a good accomplice in escape. They rode on the back of the cart into the woods silently, archers watchfully following on horseback. It had been refreshing to be in the woods for a change, under the shadow of the trees with birds calling. They rode for hours until they arrived at a rock outcrop where a cavern lied and many tents laid about its entrance: the mines.

He only spent a few moments in the cavern. It was damp and cold inside with torches lighting the way into the tunnels. He and Ralof were led into a dark passage where iron ore veins glinted in the stone walls. The moment a pickaxe - the first tool he was given since captivity - was put into his hands, Snotlout struck.

Snotlout was not even thinking, all he knew was that he finally had a weapon. He swung it at a guard, barely hearing the sickening crunch of a skull as he sprinted on. The Viking worked his way down the tunnel towards the entrance with a battle cry, overtaking nearly a dozen men on his own - though they outnumbered him, their skill in weaponry and battle could not compare to that of the Viking. The mouth of the cave was in sight, and he felt elation as he approached escape. But men swarmed in large number and pounced on him, ripping the pickaxe from his hand and beating him down. That night, he lay shivering and bound in wet grass, his ribs broken and back flagulated into a bloody mess for his attempt.

That was the last time he was given a tool and allowed to leave the closely guarded shipyard for the year. He left the mines the next day, earlier than the others. After several weeks the cart returned. Half of the slaves were missing, and from his position in the shipyard working, Snotlout was glad to see Ralof was still amongst them.

As always, the two worked together. Even when they were not clearly given orders to work alongside one another, Snotlout always found himself beside the young man. They would not speak much under the watchful eyes of the guard, but at night when the guards were not looking after them, they spoke to each other quietly.

Snotlout could see the boy deteriorate as they spent more time together, and everyday he was sure it would be the day Ralof would not be able to get back up. His coughing steadily became worse, and though the sun beat down on them, the boy became white and gaunt. Sometimes, he would suddenly become weak and swoon, and Snotlout would be there to catch him. "Come on, you gotta get back up," the Viking would say in a low voice, trying not to draw attention to them, "Be stronger!"

Snotlout pretended to not know why he was so protective of this kid when so many others were in just as bad shape… he was reminded of Hiccup in his younger years. Ralof was a fishbone (a word Snotlout would use to taunt his cousin in the past). There was no way the boy could go through this on his own, and the Viking was determined to be there for him. Some part of him, some guilt he was not ready to confess to, might have that thought that perhaps saving this boy would redeem him of his past treatment of Hiccup.

It was his own bad attitude and protectiveness of Ralof that got him in trouble the most. In his first two months as a slave, he was given lashings three times. Though he could not see it, his back was becoming criss-crossed with raw wounds and raised white scars - his abuse forever etched onto his body. Surely, if Carlisle was not so certain of his price, the guards would have killed him. And he could sense it as well - the men gripping their weapons tighter when they were close, and the hostile whispering between the men as they glared in his direction. Any small step was an invitation to beat the Viking, yet Snotlout would gladly refuse to submit for the price of a black eye or two.

Speaking of Master Carlisle himself, he saw the man very seldom.

From his cell, Snotlout could occasionally hear his ringing voice in the guards quarters. He had spotted the man a few times in the shipyard, as he seemingly made his rounds to inspect the 'crop' as he had put it that one day. When he did make these rounds, it was not uncommon for him to be followed by many other decadently dressed men and women as he boasted loudly of his operations. Occasionally, Carlisle even had people such as these for feasts on the shoreline as they watched the men work in the shipyard.

It was one day when Ralof was having an especially hard time, Snotlout was summoned.

He was holding wooden panels so that Ralof could hammer them to the beams of a future ship. Snotlout was always concerned about his cell neighbor, but today was worse. The young man was declining faster than he thought possible - several times during the day Ralof had slurred nonsensical things, talking to his mother that wasn't there and not coming back to reality when Snotlout shook him. He had given the boy his ration of breakfast and water but it did not seem to be helping. He had just caught the younger slave as he coughed violently and stumbled when he felt a spear-tip poke his side. "You there. Follow me."

Snotlout steadied Ralof so that he was on his feet and whispered, "Just take it easy, okay?"

The guard gestured Snotlout toward a table in the distance. The Viking, as he always did upon seeing Carlisle, felt his blood boil and hackles raise. The man sat under the shade of a tent near the shoreline with several others. The guard, using his spear, continued to prod Snotlout in its direction until the Viking stood before Carlisle and his friends. He tried to keep his eyes away from the feast on the table - fresh fruit, cheeses, smoked fish, a whole roasted boar and tankards of cold mead. Before him sat Carlisle, to his side the man Flemming, and several elegantly dressed men and women. They wore colorful robes and jewels, the women with paint on their lips and men with perfectly trimmed hair and beards.

"Yes, this is my Viking, friends," Carlisle said, and his words were just slurred enough to indicate the amount of mead he drank. "And not just any Viking of the cold seas. It rode upon a dragon, giving my men a great struggle. Many a battle have my men fought for such a prize, and finally I have the fruits of the labour: my very own barbarian!"

One of the men with a white beard and yellow tunic yelled, "Three thousand gold for the dragon Viking!"

Snotlout didn't say anything as these people humoured themselves. He just stonily looked upon them as they drank heavily from their cups and cackled. "My apologies" Carlisle laughed, "But this one will bring quite a fortune to me one day and I cannot accept the offer."

"You there!" another man shouted, slurring.

Snotlout looked to him and narrowed his eyes. "Do you speak the language?" the same man said and then comically slowed his speech. "Can. you. not. speak?"

He was prodded in the side by the guard to answer, and through gritted teeth he hissed, "I can understand you just fine."

This for some reason seemed to amuse the noble people very much as they laughed and shared elated looks. Snotlout became very aware of the fact that his hands and fists were free.

"Barbarian," a woman with heavy eyelids and elaborate hair addressed him, "They say the Viking are unmatched in battle. Tell me, how many men have you slayed?"

He said nothing at first, but Carlisle waved his hand as if to encourage him. "Enough."

"And tell me, which weapon do you favor?"

"I can use them all. Hands work just fine too," he said with a hint of a threat, and then added, "But I favor the sword and bludgeon."

The seated men and women looked on him in awe, both intrigued and some showing apprehension. "If only we could see a display," a man said with a sigh and took a sip from his drink.

Carlisle, who mostly had been watching, suddenly had a light in his eye. "I suppose that could be arranged. Would that not be fun, my friends? To have a bit of a demonstration?"

There was a murmur of approval and Snotlout did not like the direction of their conversation at all. Carlisle turned to Flemming. "You know the slaves best, pick out an opponent for our Viking."

Flemming nodded at this. He began to scan the yard full of workers when a mischievous look came over him. He nodded his head towards the shipyard. "That one."

Snotlout turned and followed his gaze, and his stomach sank. This could not be happening.

"But that one is far too small, it won't be a fight at all!" the woman who addressed him earlier cried unhappily.

"The Viking has taken a liking to that boy," Flemming said and looked at Snotlout with a smirk. "Looks after it like a cat with it's kitten."

Carlisle put his fingers to his chin and pondered on this out loud. "It will be a classic case of the underdog. We will see what will happen! Guard, get this slave to the loading docks. Then we will have our show!"

Snotlout's heart was hammering as he was taken to the loading docks.

It sat on the far side of the building away from the shipyard, where crates were stacked to be put on ships. He wanted to pace, but was forced to stand still and wait. Eventually, the table and tent were carried over by several slaves. Carlisle and his friends leisurely followed in the shade with their drinks, laughing and having a grand time. Snotlout resented these people with every fiber of his being.

Soon they were all sat, and with a wave of Carlisle's hand, Snotlout saw a guard approaching with Ralof. He couldn't do this, Snotlout thought, he couldn't fight this sickly boy. His eyes took in the new surroundings and steadily growing crowd. Carlisle seemingly brought extra guards in to watch, and most carried crossbows. Both he and Ralof would surely be shot down if they refused or tried to run.

"Friends!" Carlisle shouted, "Here we will have a show! A Viking in battle!"

And then he turned to the two slaves that now stood next to each other. "The winner of this skirmish will get a full meal from our very own feast tonight!"

Snotlout scowled. Of course this man knew that Ralof didn't stand a chance… he was just offering an incentive to make the boy fight. "Hey," he said under his breath, "We'll figure something out."

But Ralof, still out of his mind, just looked hungrily at the foods with a sad and vacant expression.

Carlisle clapped, and then guards moved in. With suspicion in their eyes, sword hilts were offered to the two slaves and the sentry raised their crossbows, ready to fire if something went amiss. Snotlout took the sword and felt confidence return, feeling the familiar weight of steel. It was as if he had become reunited with a lost limb. They were actually giving them weapons… this could change things. Ralof took his and struggled to raise it, weak with hunger.

"Begin!"

Snotlout took a few paces back and raised his sword in a guarded stance. He watched as Ralof swayed with the weight of his sword, unsteady and disoriented. He probably never lifted a weapon in his young life. Okay, you're going to have to do this just right, Snotlout thought to himself and took a deep breath. He looked Ralof in the eye and gave a nod, hoping that the boy would catch on to his plan.

Ralof moved first, clumsily swinging the blade and the onlookers cheered. The Viking easily blocked, and the two were face to face as he intentionally locked their weapons. Looking each other in the eye, Snotlout whispered urgently, "Ralof, we have to fight back."

He was shocked when Ralof continued to struggle as if trying to overpower him. "I'm just - I'm - I'm so hungry."

The locked blades broke away with a metallic ring. Snotlout took another step back and began to circle. He had to make this look realistic to the onlookers. With a small cry, Ralof once more swung with all his might but Snotlout dodged with no effort. "I'm not going to fight you, Ralof! We need to work together, we can take them on!"

Ralof coughed hard and his eyes were glossed over and rolling, as if not even seeing the person before him. "I'm s-sorry…"

"The boy can barely lift the blade!" A man in the audience loudly complained. "A dagger, give him a dagger!"

A guard obliged, moving in to trade weapons. Snotlout attempted to convey with his eyes to Ralof: now's your chance. But he was only given another weapon. Ralof was beginning to sway in place - swinging the sword had drained him. Snotlout moved in closer, lowering the sword as if to show he was not hostile. "Ralof, don't do this. I know you're hungry, but-"

With a sudden speed that he was not prepared for, Ralof thrust his dagger forward with a whimper, point aimed at the heart of the opponent - a killing strike. Snotlout's body reacted on its own, a quick and ingrained reflex developed from hundreds of hours of training.

Snotlout's eyes widened in horror.

The dagger fell from Ralof's hand, and there was an explosive cheer from the men and women watching. It could have looked as if the two slaves were in an embrace, the smaller of the two leaning across the Viking's chest, were it not for the sword passing through him. "Oh, Gods," Snotlout gasped. What did he do? What has he done?

Snotlout lowered the boy to the ground, oblivious of his surroundings and the clapping onlookers. "Ralof?"

The boy coughed weakly, becoming white as a ghost, and specks of blood came from his mouth. "I was just so hungry…"

Snotlout grasped the boys hand tightly, helpless. "Oh, Gods. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

The boy coughed harder, and his eyes were glazing over. He looked up at his friend with fright. "I d- I don't want to die. Pl-please do something!"

Snotlout just held his hand tighter, eyes brimming with tears. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to speak. His voice was hoarse and strained. "Th-There do I see my father. My mother, my brothers and my sisters…"

Ralof's body began to shake and take in short guttural breaths.

"They bid me take my place among them in the halls of V-Valhalla…"

Snotlout held his breath. He watched as Ralof stilled, and his eyes looked unseeing into his own. "...where the Brave shall live forever."

He was still holding Ralof's limp hand when the guards began to drag the boy's body away. With an enraged snarl, he reached for the dagger sitting nearby but a boot stomped hard on his hand. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man said, shoving the point of a strung arrow in his face.

"A quick, but epic conclusion," Carlisle was dramatically speaking to his company. "Please, I insist you stay and watch another."

Snotlout was shaking. That poor boy. It wasn't Ralof's fault.

His vision was white hot with sorrow and rage when the guards brought a new slave over. This man was tall and muscular for his people, towering over Snotlout. As Carlisle shouted out the prize of the battle, this man gave Snotlout a hard and unflinching look: it was clear he wanted it badly. This time, spears were shoved towards them and the two slaves put distance between each other. Snotlout had angry tears pricking his eyes, and the spear shook in his hands. Beyond this slave he was supposed to fight to the death, he could see Master Carlisle fucking grinning.

"Let the battle begin!"

He moved forward. The slave jabbed the spear towards him, and he expertly spun to evade the attack. He was already pulling the weapon behind him as he moved, and with a roar, he blindly launched it as he turned towards the long table. He could see the look of surprise on Carlisle's face as the spear whistled through the air. A loud thunk! resounded in the loading dock.

Snotlout was panting and crouched like a coiled snake, having put all of his weight into the throw. Carlisle sat dumbstruck, the spear embedded into a crate, point not two inches away from his skull. He had not hit his target. There was a gasp as the onlookers realized what had happened, and Snotlout took immense pleasure from Carlisle's shocked and white face. "Next time," he hissed, "I won't miss!"

Immediately guards cocked their crossbows and moved in to kill. So this is how he will die, Snotlout thought to himself, eerily calm, when he heard a resounding shout, "Hold, men!"

Carlisle had stood and though his hands trembled, his eyes filled with fury and his face was growing scarlet. He continued through gritted teeth, "Take him to his cell."

Snotlout could tell something big was going to happen.

He sat in the corner of his cell, waiting. The image of life leaving Ralof's eyes repeated over and over in his head, but he did not shed any more tears. He felt sick. Never had he taken a life in such a way. As a Dragon Rider he had no other option than to kill in several situations… but he was saving his comrades, or doing something for the greater good. Those men that he had hurt were actively trying to kill him, his friends and their dragons. That was not even including the amount of dragon trappers they left in the open ocean on a sinking ship - how many of those people had drowned? He had slain men in the mines as well in a desperate attempt to escape his slavery. This was entirely different. It was wrong.

"I'm so sorry Ralof," he whispered to himself, knees drawn up to his chest and hands in his hair. If only he had given Ralof more of his rations or water, maybe the boy wouldn't have been so out of his mind to fight his only friend in this place.

Hours were passing, and he waited anxiously. He watched as the prisoners were led back into their cells that night, and time still went on. He could hear the raucous guards drinking as they did every night. He was beginning to think that he may actually go unpunished when someone appeared at his cell. A guard that slightly swayed on his feet unlocked the door and stood aside with a glare. "You're coming with me."

He was brought out, and rather than turning into the hall that would lead him to the shipyard, he was pushed down another passage where the glow of a fireplace flickered: the guards chambers. Though he could hear the men there drinking and being rowdy every night, he never laid eyes on it. And now he stood at its door looking in, confused. A dozen men or so glowered at his arrival and contempt was thick in the air. There was a fireplace with a kettle above it, and a long table in the middle of the room littered with all sorts of empty mead bottles and tankards. Two large beams stood up from either side of the table to support the stone ceiling. It was dead silent.

It was there Carlisle sat, eating his dinner and looking all too calm having almost died that very morning.

He looked at Snotlout and gestured for him to come closer. Snotlout could feel the tension of the room as he approached the table.

Carlisle finished chewing and sat his utensil down with a sigh. "You are really becoming quite the pest."

"Good," was all Snotlout said.

Carlisle put his finger tips together in thought. "You see, you are putting me in quite the predicament. I'm a man of business," he said, "And I am here simply to make coin. I'm finding it harder and harder every day to see whether your worth in gold is worth the trouble you give my men and I."

The Viking didn't answer, waiting for this man to get to the point. "So," Carlisle responded, "As I wait for a potential buyer for you, I need you to behave. Can you do that?"

"Don't think so."

Carlisle gave another long sigh. "I was afraid you would say that."

He snapped his fingers, and the guards moved towards him and pulled his hands away from his body. They began to secure his wrists around one of the wooden beams with rope, forcing him to stretch out over the table. Snotlout tested the strong knots but there was no room to budge and forced out a taunting laugh. "You can whip me as many times as you want! It won't change anything!"

Carlisle just smiled at him. "I'm sorry to hear that. In the meantime, I have another issue at hand. My men do not mean to be so cruel to you. It's hard working out here far from civilization... the nature of the business can cause great stress. There aren't the same comforts of living at home with one's own family… my men need to let off some energy, and drink alone doesn't seem to cut it."

Snotlout blinked. What on earth was he going on about?

"For the good of the slaves, I need to make my men happy. As a male operated facility, it's hard living out here without the touch of a woman."

Snotlout's eyes began to widen and the guards chuckled, something sinister behind their drunken eyes. He could smell the alcohol on their breath as they closed in. No.

"So, until you learn to behave, someone is going to have to be my men's plaything..."

Calloused hands began to tear at his clothes. "No… NO! You can't do this!"

He struggled hard, and his voice began to reach a high panicked pitch, stomach rising into his throat. He fought hard against the binds, abandoning any sense of pride he had left. "NO! No,no,no,no…please, stop!"

But Carlisle just shrugged with a mock apologetic look on his face and returned to his meal. "You leave me no choice."

Rough hands pinned him down hard. Snotlout cried out, pain hitting him like a hot poker at his insides, the guards using him as a man does a woman. They laughed cruelly at his agony, hands curled around his hair and shoving his face down on the wood as he screamed, begging for it to stop. Carlisle calmly sat eating his dinner just an arms length away.

Man after man took turns with his body, one purring into his ear "are you enjoying it, love?" as he groped the Viking hard. Snotlout's screaming was surely loud enough for the other slaves to hear, and all he could register was a fireworks display of pain. Tears streamed down his face. Whether the pain or humiliation was worse, it was impossible to tell. His bound wrists became mangled from struggling - they would heal to become white scars he'd carry for the rest of his life. He slipped in and out of consciousness as hours could have passed.

Finally, it was over. Snotlout had gone eerily silent by now, and some reptilian part of his brain repeated over and over, I'm still alive, through curtains of agony he never experienced before. He crumpled to the floor when the bounds were finally released, his breathing short and rapid and eyes unseeing. Carlisle wiped his dinner from his mouth delicately and stepped over to where Snotlout lay glistening with cold sweat, bleeding and shaking.

"Well, my Viking, what do you say now?" the man spoke in his high and fair voice. "Will we behave? Or would you like to continue to be my men's plaything?"

Snotlout squeezed his eyes shut. What would his father think. Oh, Gods. He was no longer a man. Hardly a whisper, Snotlout croaked to himself in shame, "Dad- I'm sorry. I'm s-so sorry.."

Carlisle barely caught the words and smiled. He pressed his boot against Snotlout's throat, making him choke and sputter, and addressed the room. "See, men! Just as a horse, any man can be broken in. One just needs to know how hard to break. I suppose you won't be having trouble with this one any longer," and then looking to the young man pinned under his boot, "Just one more thing and I'll send you on your way."

Snotlout kept his eyes closed, sobs coming out in a small and shaking breaths as Carlisle stepped over to the fireplace. He heard coals hiss, and the man returned wielding a red hot brand. "Just so you don't forget who your master is again."

The brand was shoved hard into the skin above his hip, causing the Viking to cry out and writhe as if he came back to life. Hands then grabbed at his wrists, and the guards dragged Snotlout from the room, where he was tossed into his cell along with his ragged clothes.

He had been marked: the insignia forever imprinted into his flesh declared he was no longer his own person, only a piece of property to another. His identity had been stripped away, his manhood taken. There was nothing left, just a husk of a person.

In his time as a slave, there was always some glimmer of hope… maybe the Riders were looking for him after all this time, and would come find him and take him away from this hell. But now, he knew that they could never see him like this. He prayed that no one would ever come to know what has become of him.