Three.

He knew the whorehouse. Everyone who visited the port did. Stoick was a man without a wife and sometimes, buying affection where company was needed to ease his loneliness for a while. So it wasn't a stretch to walk to the building as dusk fell and enter, as so many others did. He took a seat in the front room and accepted the pitcher of mead, then scanned the room. The decor was rudimentary: wooden walls with shields and plates; the small windows shuttered; woven rugs on the floor and high-backed wooden chairs and benches by the small tables. Ale and mead was plentiful and the lamps and fire kept the room warm and just bright enough. The women were clean and professional-looking as they lounged on the benches waiting for clients but the shape he sought amongst them was absent. After a pause, where he seemed to be weighing his options and privately debating how much he actually wanted to do this, he gestured to the steward and leaned close.

"I heard…you had a boy…" he murmured in a low voice. The man's eyes were mocking and he leaned closer, his knowing sneer making the Chief's huge fists bunch.

"I fear he is…indisposed today," he murmured. "I hate to disappoint you, sir. Maybe in a couple of days he will be free to service your…" Stoick leaned closer and felt in his belt pouch, then drew out three silver coins. He silently showed them to the steward. He knew the man was lying.

"If the boy is unfit for...action...then perhaps I can talk to him instead," the Chief said, adding a fourth. The steward was clearly fighting a war in himself: then he snatched the coins as gracefully as he could manage and nodded.

"This way, sir," he said unctuously. "It will take a few moments to prepare the boy. He has been…a little under the weather." Stoick nodded curtly and allowed himself to be led to a small room with a bed, a table and a chair. He settled his bulk on the chair and stared at the door. His heart was racing, his entire body tense. What would he find? Was his mind playing tricks? Had he imagined it?

But as a quarter hour passed, he wondered if he had been cheated and he grasped his sword and made to rise. And then the door opened and the skinny, listing shape cautiously entered. The Chief stared as the boy waited nervously by the door, his face downcast and half-hidden behind messy auburn hair. The man beckoned him in and warily, painfully, the boy slowly advanced a few steps, the chains on his legs jingling. He swallowed.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked in a fearful voice. He gave a slight shiver and the man beckoned him closer. With a slight pause. the boy reluctantly advanced.

"Look at me!" the Chief commanded. The boy-clearly very wary but more frightened of the steward and whatever the man had threatened him with-lifted his face, his green eyes scared. Stoick gave a sigh: they were Valka's eyes. Her colour, her shape, even the long lashes… The boy's face was very bruised, an eye closing and welts dark on his pale skin. He was moving very hesitantly, hinting at a lot more bruising that wasn't obvious. Stoick gestured to the bed but the boy gave him a betrayed look and stubbornly remained standing.

"What do you want, sir?" he asked softly. There was certainly the trace of an Archipelago accent and Stoick wondered where the boy had come from.

"Are you alright?" he asked. The boy froze and gave a forced smile.

"Right as rain," he lied and winced as he shifted his position slightly.

"Alright-what did they do to you?" the Chief asked. Hiccup hesitated, recalling the stern injunction he had been placed under: don't tell him anything. Or else… But what more could Sundby do to him? Then he stared at the stern Viking and his eyes narrowed.

"What does it matter to you?" he asked suddenly.

"You asked for my help," Stoick reminded him gruffly. The boy flinched and his eyes suddenly flared with recognition.

"Yesterday!" the boy snapped back. "I asked for your help yesterday when I had broken out. When I needed protecting against his men. When I needed someone to stop them taking me back. I needed help yesterday! Now…" He gestured to his ankles, to shackles clamped around his legs and gave a grim smile. "It's too late now…" Stock jerked to his feet.

"What did they do you?" he snapped and the boy back-pedalled and almost tripped over his feet. He fell back across the bed and stared up, his eyes suddenly wide with fear as Stoick advanced on him. He cringed and his face lost all defiance.

"Please…" he breathed. "Don't…" He was hyperventilating and his eyes shimmered with tears. The Chief took an awkward step back as the boy struggled to a sitting position.

"Boy?" he murmured. "Easy, lad-I won't hurt you…" The boy gave a pained grimace.

"He said that as well," he said in a tiny voice. He was trembling. Stock took a step closer and dropped to a knee to stare into the battered face.

"What did he do to you?" he breathed. The boy looked away.

"What he felt he was allowed," he said tonelessly.

"To his slave," Stoick probed gently. The boy winced.

"I'm not a slave," he murmured obstinately. His cheeks were flushed with shame.

"You are marked," the Chief told him gently. He had seen the brand. The boy sagged and rested a hand against his middle. He shook his head "Do you work here?" The boy shook his head again.

"No, I haven't…" he said urgently, his green eyes wide with the plea once more. "I-I ran because I wouldn't…I refused…" He took a shuddering breath. "He was my first c-customer and I ran away…" He stared at the floor. "I-I knew he would be so mad but I couldn't…couldn't face…" His words faded into jagged breaths, the boy's eyes closing as he tried to stop his tears coming. He flung his arm across his face. "I'm sorry…" he muttered. The Chief reached out and caught the boy by his shoulders and pulled his arm away. Hiccup froze, not daring to move. He was trembling hard so the Chief just stared at the lad.

"What did they do to you?" he asked gently. Trapped, the boy stared at the floor and took a couple of deep breaths. What did it matter what this man knew? He would never see him again after he left this room.

"They brought me back," he said quietly. "They beat me once I was back. Then I was locked in the small room and told I would be isolated for two days. Sundby came in and whipped me." He gave a wan smile. "I-I've had worse," he managed in a self-conscious attempt at bravery. "And then they left me in there. Just some water. No food. It was pretty cold. And when he thought I had had long enough to lie in pain and think over what they would do to me, he came back. again. And this time he didn't bring his whip." He swallowed. He was studying the floor furiously and the Chief realised he didn't want to say more.

"How old are you?" the Chief asked him. His green eyes flicked up.

"Fifteen, I think," he admitted. The Chief gave a slight nod and the boy found himself wanting to tell, to connect with another human being. "My mother died birthing me and my father rejected me. I was to be floated out with my mother's corpse on her funeral ship so my aunt-the midwife-kept me and they took me to another island and raised me."

"So how did you end up in chains?" the Chief asked him. The boy grimaced, his skinny shape slowly calming as he was able to concentrate on his story.

"When I was twelve, they died and shortly after, our island was attacked," he admitted slowly, his voice flat. "The fighting was fierce and our tribe was badly harmed. Many died and the attackers promised to leave if they could take slaves to pay for their losses." He gave a grim smile. "The rest of the tribe decided I could be spared and I was given to them to sell. I ended up…in chains, under a master in Berserk. He wasn't very kind." He paused and the space was filled with a world of pain. The lad lifted his chin slightly before he continued. "I served there for a year until he wearied of me and sold me on. I was a farm-slave in Meathead lands for a few months but they decided I was too weak and no amount of beating me would make me bigger and stronger. So I was sold again. The next master was a ship captain and trader and he was worse: he almost worked me to death and he whipped me incessantly. He was very cruel. He just enjoyed making me bleed."

There was another pause and the Chief stared at the skinny shape, the thin arms and legs folded around the battered body. The boy had endured some desperate times. "Eventually, I escaped and jumped ship. I ended up here, trying to conceal the fact I am runaway. But I'm not really dock-hand material and eventually, I couldn't feed myself. There was nowhere else I could go except…here." He shuddered. "But I never told anyone about my brand…until Sundby found out when he…" And then he pressed his eyes closed, his arm flung across his face in a vain attempt to conceal his shame. He flushed bright red.

"What's your name?" Stoick asked him softly. The boy sighed.

"Hiccup," he admitted. And he winced. He paused then glanced up at the Chief, exploring the large face and kindly eyes above the enormous beard. "Aren't…aren't you going to laugh or comment or tell me what it means?" he asked slowly.

"I assume you know," Stoick told him easily. "And from your face, most people make fun of it. A couple of my ancestors were Hiccups. Never held them back." Much, he added silently. The boy frowned. "My name is Stoick. I come from Berk." Hiccup stared at him and then nodded. He knew of the place.

"Northern Archipelago," he murmured. "Three days from Berserk. Not that I liked it there," he added quickly. "I-I know you guys don't get on with Berserkers. Never really liked them either." He offered a wan smile. "So why are you here, sir?" he asked. The Chief looked uncomfortable.

"I should have helped you yesterday," he apologised. "But you looked very like someone I knew. I was surprised…" The boy stared at him warily. Stoick's hands were still on his shoulders.

"Erm, you're not gonna suddenly throw me on the bed and…well, you know, are you?" he asked suspiciously. He was tensing again. "I-I know Sundby said you only wanted to talk but I-I guess if you wanted to do anything, I couldn't stop you…" The Chief stared at him. He was deeply insulted by the insinuation but he could see the defensive light in the boy's eyes. The lad had already been more abused than he deserved and the Chief had failed him.

"No," he murmured slowly. "You remind me of someone I lost. My dead son would be around your age had he lived. You asked for my help. I just wanted to see…that you were okay." The boy sagged suddenly. He just felt too tired to deny it any more.

"I'm not," he admitted in a small voice. "Once he's finished with my punishment, I'll be offered up to the customers and I'll be made to go through it. And I-I-I…" His voice was breaking now and the Chief suddenly saw the frightened boy, faced with the act he feared. He wrapped his arms round the skinny boy and, after a long moment where he resisted, he fell into the Chief's embrace, his thin shape pressing against the huge man and wrapping his arms around his neck. He buried his face in the man's huge chest and Stoick felt him sobbing quietly, clinging to the stranger as the only person who had offered him any physical comfort for years. The Chief held him hard enough to let him know he was there, while gently stroking the boy's back…and feeling the flinches as he pressed his whip-gashes. Finally, Hiccup stiffened and pulled away and the Chief let him.

"Can I do anything?" Stoick asked him gently. He felt so strongly that he needed to help this battered and terrified boy. Hiccup shook his head.

"No," he said quietly. "But…thank you, sir. You have been kind." And then the door opened and Sundby entered.

"Time's up," he said brusquely and Hiccup stiffened, catching his expression. He guessed that he would pay for his talk. He nodded, bowed his head and walked painfully back to the steward.

"Thank you again, sir," he said in a defeated tone. "And…goodbye." And then he was gone, escorted from the room like an errant slave and Stoick narrowed his eyes angrily. He didn't believe in slavery and was shocked this boy could be imprisoned so cruelly. The tale of his slavery made the Chief's blood boil: the boy had been orphaned and despite being free-born, he was just handed over by his tribe to slavery. The fact he had the courage to escape but had been finally recaptured and treated so cruelly also made him furious. And he was certain that the steward was abusing the boy in every way possible. He forced himself to consider the situation: it really wasn't his business what happened with this thin and scared boy. The law was very clear: he was a runaway and belonged to the man who owned him or the man who caught him. If he chose to use the boy in the whorehouse, beat, whip or even kill him, then it wasn't his concern.

But then he recalled the plea in those wide green eyes and the desperate voice that had begged for help. The shuddering shoulders as the boy fought his fear of being used as a whore and the feel of the skinny arms tightening around his neck as he held the lad. Long buried paternal instincts suddenly swirled into life and he felt determined to save the boy from the horrible fate that waited him. He rose abruptly, Gobber's warning echoing in his ears, and stamped after them.

The steward and his prisoner had only made it to the main room when a large and drunken Viking grabbed Hiccup and snatched him from the steward's hands.

"You said he wasn't available!" he growled. He jerked Hiccup closer and then boy went rigid, his eyes wide with fear. The man stroked his ass roughly and his hand snagged the tunic. Then he lunged his face at the boy, pressing his lips over Hiccup's and snaring the resisting boy in a brutal kiss. The man kept stroking his ass as he crushed the boy's lips under his, trying to force his tongue into his mouth. "I want him," he mumbled. The steward looked at the panicking boy and gave a cruel smile. Hiccup was struggling but the man crushed the boy in his grasp.

"He's double price this evening," he said, seeing the drunken man was lusty and determined and the man-as expected-handed over a small number of coins without even taking his mouth off the boy's. The steward nodded and spread his hands.

"All yours," he said. "I can give you room…"

"Where?" the Viking growled, sucking at the boy's neck. Hiccup was shaking like a leaf, still struggling. Sundby gestured to the nearest available space-a room just off the main room-and the man dragged the resisting boy into the small space, slamming the door. Hiccup clawed at the man's face, getting the man to let him go for a moment in which he could stumble back and press his battered shape against the wall.

"No," he said. The drunken man advanced on him, his face beet red with rage. He snatched the boy's hair and dealt him a vicious blow.

"You don't get no say!" he snarled and threw the boy across the room. Hiccup scrambled up, fighting against the short chain between his shackles. Then a hand fisted his hair and the Viking turned the boy, ignoring the narrow, hard bed and roughly bending him over the table. He dragged his leggings down to his shackled ankles and leaning close.

"Take it like a man!" he snarled. "If I want you sobbing like a baby, I'll tell you!"

"No," the boy begged, tears leaking down his face. The Viking slapped him hard.

"They said you was feisty," he hissed. "But if you resist, boy, I'll have Sundby whip the hide off you. Understand?" And he fumbled with his own breeches as the boy closed his eyes, praying to the gods that this was all a horrible nightmare.

"P-please, d-don't..." Hiccup sobbed, shaking his head. There was no hope now: he would be raped here, just off the main room and he just hoped Stoick would leave and never know how shamefully he had been used. The man was already ready, resting against him and he was struggling, writhing and pulling against the man's rough grasp on his hair. The Viking looked up, gave a nasty grin and forced himself forward.

The wild scream of pain echoed in the room and Hiccup felt his entire body tense against the intrusion. The man slapped him so hard that the boy saw stars streaking across his vision and he gave a pained gasp as the grip on his hair tightened. The Viking lunged forward again, dragging another pained scream from the boy.

"WHERE IS HE?" Stoick snarled as he stamped into the main room. Sundby was there but the boy wasn't and he guessed the steward-who quite clearly had locked him up, whipped him and probably raped him-wouldn't trust the runaway to lock himself up again. The other patrons, whores and bystanders all parted as he closed on the steward.

"I got an offer, a very generous offer!" Sundby sneered, his face cruel. "The boy can earn his keep…"

The scream echoed through the room and the whores looked up in shock and concern. They knew that their business depended on the illusion of willingness and enjoyment: no one wanted to hear someone screaming and begging not to be hurt. Thora tensed and her eyes darkened with concern.

He's a shy lad, a boy who doesn't want the company of men. He's being tortured by Sundby and we all know it, she thought and glanced at the big Viking, the man with the flaming beard. She sidled forward and draped herself over him and while he tensed and made to push her away, she tightened her grasp on his arm. Her whole mien was that of a very generous and blatant offer but not the offer Sundby imagined. She leaned close to his ear.

"If you have any mercy, you'll get him out of here," she breathed. "That room there, on the right!" He stared at her and his lips moved.

"Thank you," he said in a low voice. She slapped him and flounced away, her expression suggesting he had made an improper comment-and went to sit by Gerda as the big Viking shoved the steward aside and stormed in the direction she had indicated. The screams were more urgent and far more desperate.

Hiccup was lost, pain swathing his shape as the Viking continued his pleasure. He just rested his head on the table as the man continued. Tears were streaming down his face, his voice was hoarse with screaming and he just prayed that Stoick would never know what happened to him. But then the door slammed open and the voice that echoed through the room made him shrivel inside and wish the floor would open up and swallow him.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Stoick snarled as he stamped into the room. Hiccup buried his face into the table, not wanting to see the man's face at his state. Stoick was blinded with rage as he closed on the Viking who had Hiccup helpless. With a nasty grin, the Viking continued his ride, lunging forward again, drawing another pained cry from the battered boy. Then Stoick grabbed him and threw him across the room. The Viking growled, enraged at the interruption of his fun.

"I paid for that!" he shouted and ran, half-naked, at the huge Chief of Berk. His fists swung but Stoick was sober and furious and a far better warrior anyway. He blocked the blows and his fists swung again, the crack of fist on flesh loud in the small room. The Viking flew back with a crash, his drunken shape slamming against the wall. With a groan, he slumped bonelessly on the bed.

Then he turned, breathing hard, his face scarlet with anger. He scanned the room and saw the shape, cowering under the table. Hiccup had managed to reassemble his clothing but had just crawled under the table and curled up like a small animal, his arms thrown across his tear-streaked face. And then the Chief dropped to a knee in front of the table and stretched out his hand.

"D-don't…" Hiccup whispered.

Stoick stared at the bowed shape and calmed his breathing.

"Come with me," he breathed. "I promised I wouldn't hurt you. I thought I had some time…some time to do this right…" The boy lowered his arms and heard it then-the decision to rescue him. The apology that while he had made his determination, the steward had sold him. Shaking with shock, his small hand grasped Stoick's huge paw and allowed himself to be lifted into Stoick's powerful arms. Stoick looked down onto the skinny shape, the messy auburn mop and shining green eyes, shadowed with fear and pain and felt the boy shivering.

But as he emerged, the steward was waiting with his two henchmen-the two who had captured the boy the previous day.

"That's mine," Sundby sneered, pointing at the shape huddled in the Chief's arms. Hiccup stiffened and Stoick felt the jolt of terror run through him. He stood back and motioned the men forward. Stoick backed away, his eyes flicking from man to man. These henchmen were not seasoned warriors, merely dockhands who hurt others for pay. Stoick had fought a dozen wars and battles to protect his tribe and he didn't hesitate as he shifted Hiccup so he was held in one arm, the other drawing his sword. He leaned forward, his weight onto the balls of his feet and he gave a nasty grin.

"Take another step only if you want to visit Valhalla," Stoick sneered. The men, too stupid to listen, rushed him and the Chief used his sword as a bludgeon, battering the men back, a foot swinging out to take down the third man who thought to flank the chief. Stoick spun, backhanding the last man standing and watching him crash onto a small table, smashing it. There was shattered earthenware all over the place and spilled drinks. Many patrons had departed because they didn't fancy any attention from the guards, though some were standing at the side, protecting their ales and cheering wildly. They were Vikings, after all and they appreciated a good dose of mayhem. The whores had withdrawn but Thora and Gerda stayed, watching the confrontation and the fate of the boy.

"That. Slave. Is. Mine." Sundby's words were emphasised and the Chief turned to him, his naked sword still raised. He felt Hiccup bury his face in his chest. The steward had really terrorised the boy. He shook his head.

"I'll take him," he growled. Sundby laughed in his face.

"He's not for sale!" Sundby sneered. Stoick laughed in his face.

"This is a whorehouse," he mocked. "Everything is for sale.' Sundby grabbed at the boy.

"Not him," he snarled. "He's lied to me and run for the last time. I want him broken and begging to work…" Stoick felt rather than heard the groan that shuddered through the boy and that crystallised his resolve. He punched the steward-hard-and as he slammed back, the Chief sheathed his sword and tightened his grasp on the boy. Then, deliberately, he fumbled in his pouch and slammed a dozen coins down on the board: they were smaller than earlier, but made of gold.

"This will more than cover his price," he said grimly, "since I know you paid nothing for him. I will deal with him." Hiccup stiffened in fear but the steward eyed the coins for only a moment before placing his hand over them.

"Deal with him," he hissed, "and you'll find what trouble that little bastard is!" Stoick stared coldly into his face.

"He is now property of Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk!" he announced. And with that, the skinny, sobbing shape in his arms, he stalked out of the door and into the night.