Six.

Hiccup tried to keep out of everyone's way as they set sail, feeling a dozen vitriolic glares stabbing at his back. If looks could kill, I'd be well and truly dead, he thought with a sigh. Not that he blamed them: he was a nobody, a scrawny outsider, not of their tribe, who was being favoured by the Chief and given a free passage back to their remote island with no discernible skills except... He stopped, trying to school himself not to think that way. It was hard, though: three years of slavery and rejection by everyone hadn't done much for his self-esteem. He calculated he had precisely none left.

Being on a ship wasn't helping either: his uncle had been a blacksmith so he hadn't sailed much and Hiccup's first real voyage was in chains after his tribe had handed him over as booty to make the raiders leave. That trip had been filled with fear, cold, pain and finally the horror of being branded. He stared out across the waves and swallowed against sudden nausea, his hand rising automatically to his brand. Of course, subsequent voyages hadn't been much better, ferried from one cruel master to the next, each filled with a small measure of relief and more trepidation...until he ended with the Captain.

He blinked and felt his stomach knot at the memory: that was territory he really didn't wish to revisit either. The Captain had been a sadistic man who had worked the boy far beyond what was needed and who had enjoyed hurting the boy. Hiccup closed his eyes: he supposed he should be grateful the man hadn't assaulted him sexually but it was probably the only thing he hadn't done. Most of the scars on his body were from the Captain's tender mercies. He wrapped his skinny arms around his body and winced: this wasn't helping either.

He turned and looked for the Chief. Stoick was in conference with his Elders, discussing something that had him scowling and for a long moment, the boy hung back. The truth was, of course, that the only people who seemed happy to see him were the Chief and his self-proclaimed (but very quietly) 'Right Hook Man' Gobber. He drifted a little closer but a scowl from Spitelout had the boy backing up with his head down, like a cowed animal. So he waited, cold and anxious, until the men had finished. Finally, he stepped forward but Sven jumped in first.

"Chief, can I just have a word..."

Hiccup felt his stomach sink. It didn't sound like the prelude to a brief chat and he bowed his head and backed away again. Stoick patiently turned to the man and the boy sighed. The Chief was too busy, too important to spare any time for the battered slave and Hiccup slowly stumbled to the stern, found a quiet corner behind the cargo and hunkered down. He was very stiff and most of his body really hurt. He ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair and hunched up, trying to stay warm.

A step alerted him that someone was there and he stiffened-until he looked up and saw Stoick. Embarrassed, he tried to get up but he winced and gave a groan and felt even worse as a strong hand helped him to his feet.

"I could see you wanted to speak with me," the Chief said calmly. "I'm sorry: a Chief serves his people and sometimes they are demanding!" Hiccup shook his head, his expression wary.

"It-it was n-nothing important," he stammered, kicking himself at his nervousness. "I-I just wanted to ask if there was something I could do?" Stoick looked at him.

"You're not a confident sailor, are you?" he realised. Hiccup shrugged.

"I don't swim well," he admitted, "but-but I was slave to that Captain and he-he insisted I work every hour Odin sent. I kinda did everything on board the ship..." His cheeks flared and he stared at the deck. Stoick patted his shoulder and then gently steered him to the prow of the ship. Hiccup wished he could vanish, with so many hostile eyes on him. The Chief rummaged in his pack and pulled something out.

"It may be a little large for you," he said in an embarrassed voice and lifted a fur vest. He offered it to the boy. "I-I bought it for you just before we sailed. I'm sure you'll grow into it..." Hiccup stared for a long moment before he tentatively closed his hands on the gift. He blinked and his lips tilted into a smile.

"Er...wow," he said, staring at the garment and then looked up. "Thank you," he added, his green eyes shining with gratitude. The Chief gave a slightly awkward nod.

"Good," he murmured. "Well, you looked like you needed something warm…and no one else will get you some decent clothes." Hiccup looked down.

"No one else would say I deserved any," he said quietly, his face carefully blank. The Chief looked at him and frowned.

"Hiccup?" His tone was puzzled. The boy sighed.

"They all know," he murmured. "About my being a slave. And…where you got me." He swallowed. "When we arrive, soon everyone will know." He shuffled his feet self-consciously.

"So you want us to drop you off elsewhere?" Stock asked in a gruff voice.

"No. No!" Hiccup said urgently. His eyes were scared. "No-I really really want to come with you. I-I just don't want you to be shamed by what they say." Stoick kindly laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and he stared down into the bruised face, the green eyes wary.

"I won't be," he assured the boy, his eyes crinkling in a reassuring smile. "Now maybe you could try that vest on before you freeze?" Hiccup nodded and eagerly pulled the vest on. As Stoick had surmised, it was too large but the boy pulled it around this scrawny shape and suddenly felt warmer-not just from the vest itself but from the kindness behind the gift. Then he saw Spitelout cast him an unfriendly look and he shivered.

"I really need something I can do to help can my passage," he suggested softly. "So they don't say I am just exploiting you!" Stoick sighed.

"You're the one who has been exploited," he told the boy sadly and the lad shuddered.

"Thanks for reminding me," he said sarcastically…and then he flinched and hunched his shoulders, closing his eyes and curling against a blow. The Chief stared at him and then started as he realised the boy was expecting a blow. He leaned forward.

"Hiccup?" The boy shook his head: he was trembling.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, his tone panicked. "I-I shouldn't have said that, sir. I-I am so sorry…" The Chief gently laid a hand on his trembling shoulder and squeezed.

"Easy, lad," he said. "I won't hurt you, remember?" Hiccup opened a scared eye.

"But I-I shouldn't have answered back," he murmured. "Sorry, I-I just can't help it…" The Chief frowned though his eyes were smiling.

"Hmm. After years of Gobber, I doubt four words of sarcasm from you will kill me," he said. "Relax, boy. You'll strain something." Hiccup slowly untensed and glanced up. He offered a wary smile.

"Stoick!" Gobber called, as if hearing his name. "I want to have a word with ye! About Hiccup." The boy's face fell and he looked up at the men. Stoick nodded.

"What is it?" he asked, his eyes suggesting please, say something helpful!

"I want to apprentice him," the blacksmith announced. The Chief stared at him and the men nearby all stopped what they were doing to listen in.

"Are you sure?" the Chief asked.

"Positive," Gobber said, a small grin on his big face. "The boy's served six years with a blacksmith in his own tribe and he's got some skills!" Stoick frowned.

"So how did you find that out?" he asked. The blacksmith tapped the side of his nose.

"When we took his shackles off," he explained. "Lad knows the tools and certainly has some moves and a very deft touch. He's not the strongest but he makes up for it in skill. And he's got a nice sarcastic sense of humour that I think would do well in my forge!" The Chief stared down on the boy and saw a little flash of hope in his green eyes and gave a smile.

"Yeah, I noted that," he said in a slightly teasing voice, noting the flush that rose in the boy's freckled cheeks. "But if he wants to work with you, then I think it would be very fortunate. You've been looking for a while."

"None of them wants to learn a proper trade!" Gobber noted disparagingly. "All they wants is to fight dragons and end up in Valhalla! But what are they gonna fight with if there's no blacksmith?" Stoick nodded sagely. He turned his gaze to Hiccup.

"And you?" he asked. The boy started: he hadn't been given a choice for such a long time. He stared up and tried to gauge what the correct answer would be. Then he shrugged.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked softly. Stoick leaned forward.

"What do you actually want?" he asked the boy. Hiccup stole a glance at Gobber.

"Idliketobehisapprentice…" he mumbled swiftly. Stoick frowned.

"What?"

"I'd like to be his apprentice," Hiccup said, his shoulders hunching at the sharp tone. His heart sunk: he'd given the wrong answer. "Sorry," he added in a small voice. But Stoick grasped his shoulder reassuringly and smiled.

"Looks like you have a new apprentice!" he told his friend and Gobber rubbed his chin.

"Aye-looks like I'll be having my hand full!" he commented and his blue eyes twinkled. Hiccup looked up again and his eyes were suddenly hopeful.

"Really?" he asked suddenly. "You-you mean I can…?" Stoick nodded. Then he leaned closer to the boy.

"Good luck," he whispered with a smile.

oOo

He managed to find some gainful employment during the voyage because he couldn't stand the silent accusation that he was stealing his passage. His determination to earn his place had him slopping out the waste buckets, swabbing the decks, gutting the fish they caught to the meals and helping stitch any tears or damage to the sails. The only thing no one asked him to do was row, because it was patently obvious that he was incapable of putting enough muscle behind the effort. He helped the assigned cook-Sven-in preparing the meals and hunkered down at his side, listening hard and helping out willingly.

But when he wasn't toiling, the boy hung around close to the Chief. He had stationed himself as the Chief's slave, fetching him ale when he expressed that he was thirsty, delivering his food, serving his every need. And just remaining meekly a couple of yards from the man, eager to be close to the man he owed everything to.

Stoick watched the boy as he willingly helped. He had no fear of unpleasant tasks, merely carrying himself with determination and efficiency. And his familiarity with the tasks certainly supported his tale of servitude on a trader's ship. But when not occupied, the lad followed the Chief round quietly, attentive to his every need. He was starting to feel a little uncomfortable because he never freed Hiccup to make him a slave. But it was just as clear that the boy felt a deep dependence on the Chief who had spared him from the horrors he was facing and was determined to do whatever he could for his saviour. Hiccup slept curled at his feet, the awful bruises on his face slowly melting as the ship neared Berk but he was quiet and wary around the other Vikings, who made no attempt to welcome the young boy. Only Gobber grinned and chatted to the boy-his new apprentice-while Spitelout made a determined effort to speak with the Chief.

"Stoick, we need to speak about the boy," he said grimly as Hiccup was occupied gutting the day's lunch. The Chief stole a glance at the small shape, sitting cross-legged with a pile of gutted and prepared fish at one side and a bucket of fish-guts at the other.

"Speak," he said a gruff voice, already knowing what he wanted to say. Spitelout was a man with little guile and less tact: he had been murmuring to the rest of the crew all voyage about his reservations.

"The boy can't stay with you," he said grimly.

"He has no one else and nowhere to go."

"He's a slave!" Stoick's brows dipped at the accusing words.

"If that is the case, then where else would he stay but with his master?" he snapped back.

"A bed slave."

"He wasn't…"

"I can see the bloodstains. So can the rest. He's spoiled, Stoick. You let him stay under your roof and the entire village will assume…"

"What the Hel they want!" Stoick growled.

"You can't give away your authority for…that!" Spitelout reminded him. "We have a few solid allies and constant dragon raids. Your tribe needs to respect you!"

"So what do you suggest?" Stoick asked him in a calmer voice. He could feel the weight of eyes on him and looked up to meet the bright green eyes of the boy. He nodded and the lad stared furiously at his work. He knew the Chief was discussing him. Spitelout gave a nod.

"I'll take him in," he offered. "I have a wife and a boy about his age. It won't look as odd." Stoick gave a slow nod, acknowledging the logic. "And he can offer a little help with the chores to pay his way."

"He's apprenticed to Gobber so he'll be out of your hair most of the day," Stoick reminded him. "And brother: I didn't free him to slave in your home. Remember that."

"Oh, I am sure my son will make him welcome and introduce him to the others his age!" Spitelout commented. Stoick sighed. He had lived alone since the loss of his wife and was wondering how he would cope with a teen boy living with him-though from observing the boy, he guessed the lad wouldn't be much trouble. He turned away as Spitelout went to inform his son and stared out to sea. He would have to speak to Hiccup once he had finished his chores.

The boy completed his food preparation and washed his hands, hung the fish to dry and walked quietly and tentatively towards the Chief. Stoick smiled and beckoned him forward and the boy advanced with a smile, his green eyes hopeful. He stationed himself a yard in front of the Chief, his head slightly bowed. Stoick nodded.

"You are determined to make a servant of yourself," he commented. The boy sagged.

"I just try to earn my passage," he protested in a small voice. Stoick laid a hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

"That wasn't a criticism, by the way," he reassured the lad. "But I worry that the crew will start to see you as such…given your recent past." Hiccup's eyes flicked up and he sighed.

"Thank you," he murmured. Stoick took a breath.

"I have been thinking about where you will live when we get to Berk," he said gruffly. The boy inspected him with concern and his face grew wary.

"I-I thought I would be living with you," he said before he could stop himself. Then he flinched and slapped his hands over his mouth. "I-I-I'm sorry…" he said urgently. Stoick read the fear and sighed.

"I am a busy man and though there is room, I would not be there to look after you as you deserve," he explained. The boy visibly sagged.

"I-I can look after myself-and you, sir," he argued desperately. "I just need a spot by the fire, out of the wind to sleep. I can cook and clean. I won't be any bother…" Stoick's gentle grasp tightened slightly.

"You are a young man who has suffered far too much and we are taking you to a new place with an unfamiliar tribe," he advised the boy. "So my brother and his family will look after you. His wife will supervise you. His son will help you meet the children your age. And, of course, Gobber will train you in the forge."

"Will I see you?" The voice was very small, the eyes downcast. Hiccup was afraid he was being cast off. Stoick's booming laugh sounded.

"Of course!" he reassured the boy. "Look, boy, I promised I would protect you and this is the best way to do this. And I will expect to see you regularly, son." His thumb slid up and lifted the chin, forcing the downcast face to meet his inspection. "I will protect you so if you have any worries, I want to hear!" Hiccup forced a smile on his mouth.

"Thank-thank you," he managed and then he frowned as Snotlout approached. "He-he is your brother's son?"

"Snotlout Jorgenson, my heir," Stoick confirmed. Hiccup saw the calculating smile and nodded.

"Thank you," he repeated, with a sinking sensation in his stomach.