Twelve: Saved by the Dragons

His eyes snapped open in disorientation, his head pounding. He lay still, mentally cataloguing his body, feeling for the old familiar pains and checking for nothing new…but apart from the throbbing pain where Snotlout had slammed his head against the wall, he was as he had been before: battered and scarred but no more injured than he had been before. His arms and legs weren't tied and he couldn't hear anyone nearby. Cautiously, he sat up and looked around.

He was in the middle of a dense forest, alone and utterly lost. The forest was quiet but he could hear the rustle of leaves and the scratching of some animal watching him. Instinctively, his hand dropped to his waist-but his belt knife had been taken and he had been left defenceless. Still vaguely dizzy, he climbed to his feet, gently rotating round to inspect his surroundings. There was no clue which was the right way to go but the boy quietly walked round the edge of the small clearing and looked for tracks, then he hunkered down and sighed. Who was he kidding? He knew the theory of tracking but he had never been taught and had little practical experience either. He squinted in search of footprints, snapped twigs and bent leaves. He searched again and finally he saw some footprints-larger and deeper than his-and hoped he was making the right assessment. Quietly, with a prayer to Odin, he headed in the direction of the tracks and hoped he would find his way back to the village.

It was gloomy and overcast and the light was definitely fading. He could hear little and when he heard voices, his head snapped round in hope-until he realised they were the voices of Snotlout-and his father, Spitelout. He stiffened in fear and backed away through the bushes-until the ground vanished from under his foot and he found himself tumbling down a steep gravelly slope, slightly larger stones slamming into his skinny body. He clenched his teeth against a cry of pain as he slammed against the base of the gulley and peered miserably up at the ribbon of sky between the overhanging bushes Then the voices paused and he cringed, curling up and praying their owners wouldn't look down and see him.

"You couldn't have left him closer to the village?" Spitelout grumbled.

"I couldn't risk the runt finding his way back before you had chance to speak to him!" Snotlout said in a grim voice. "He needs to apologise that he got you into trouble with Uncle Stoick."

"The lying little bastard-what did he tell him?" Spitelout growled.

"Probably whinged that he was being worked too hard," Snotlout sneered. Hiccup felt a twinge of anger at the unfairness. He hadn't complained to Stoick until after he had been rescued from being beaten, tied up and starved. "He deserved his beatings for his smart mouth!" He paused. "What're you going to do to him, Dad?" There was a pregnant pause and Hiccup held his breath.

"He screamed when he was belted," Spitelout murmured. "And he's certainly deserved another good thrashing for his behaviour. But I do recall that he screamed really pathetically because he thought I was going to…"

"He's a bed slave," Snotlout sneered. "He should be used to it. Probably enjoys it. Why not use him for what he's there for?"

Oh gods-no. Please…no…

"He's such a toothpick," Spitelout growled. "I'd probably break him in two." There was a pause. "But that's no reason not to try-and make sure that little slave knows his place. I don't want Stoick getting any stupid ideas about his little friend, about maybe giving him some of the status that should be yours. And if he dishonours himself with that slave, then I will take over a Chief…"

Please, don't let them do this. Don't let them use me…against him. Or use me, period.

"And son…maybe it's time you got some practice in…" Spitelout added thoughtfully. Hiccup's eyes widened in horror. This had to be some living nightmare! He had only just escaped the cruel, sadistic Jorgensons and now they had not only kidnapped him and left him in the forest but they were planning father-son bonding by raping him together. He closed his eyes and curled up as small as he could manage, feeling misery wrap around his skinny shape.

It would have been better if I had frozen to death in the port, he thought despondently. Oh Thor…isn't there a single person in this place who doesn't mean me harm? And then he kicked himself. Stoick had shown him nothing but kindness. And Gobber, with his irreverent attitude and warm mentorship. And of course, Fishlegs and Astrid who had shown him friendship…something he hadn't experienced for so long. His small hands tightened into fists and he listened as the odious Jorgensons moved away, returning to where they had left him so they could start the assault.

He levered himself painfully to his feet, wincing at the new bruises his fall had earned him and peered up the steep sides of the gulley. He wasn't sure he could climb out…but he could see the gap leading away to his left and he sighed then began to slip slowly along the muddy ground, hoping he could find an easier place to clamber out. He trudged along until he found himself facing a blank wall of earth and sighed. He peered up…and then he sighed. There was a branch hanging down, maybe sturdy enough to carry his small weight and he bravely grasped the branch. He struggled and slid off twice but eventually, he managed to haul himself onto the muddy ground and he lay there for a long moment, breathing hard. He could see he was now filthy, small scrapes on his hands and arms leaking spots of blood onto his new clothes. He slowly began to move-and then he heard shouts of rage. He cringed, panicked and scrambled to his feet.

They saw him. "GET HIM!" they shouted and he glanced at the shapes crashing through the undergrowth and ran. It was almost as if he was back in the Port, being chased by Sundby's hounds and he was feeling the same levels of terror. He ducked through the bushes and saplings, running as hard as he could. He wasn't sure where he was heading but he knew it had to be away from Snotlout and Spitelout. He dodged between some tightly-packed trees and he knew they wouldn't be able to follow him, but they were still coming. And then he found himself tumbling down into a depression, the fall knocking the wind from him. He rolled to his knees and began to crawl, hearing them close, praying to any god that would listen that he could hide. He found a small stand of bracken and cowered behind, realising he was done: they would find him.

Then he heard breathing behind him and he froze, his green eyes wide with terror. There was some creature behind him, a huge creature. Trembling with fear, he slowly looked behind and up-to meet a pair of acid green globes, slitted vertical black pupils inspecting the cowering, muddy boy. The shape loomed above him, black and streamlined, a blunt head tilting to view the boy from all angles. The creature's body was streamlined, the legs sturdy with rounded paws with sharp claws and huge bat-like wings half-furled. A long tail flicked behind the dragon. Hiccup pressed his body back, his eyes wide and he froze.

The Night Fury inspected the boy before him-skinny and small, this human was just a child, a hatchling. His sensitive ears could hear two more crashing through the forest, shouting and snarling and the dragon looked down at the boy once more. He recognised the sound and smell of the others as Hunters from the village-and this skinny boy certainly looked like prey. He was battered and clearly afraid…and not a threat. The dragon leaned closer and sniffed the boy calmly.

Hiccup was shaking hard at the closeness of the dragon. The monster was about to eat him and he bowed his head in submission, raising a trembling hand to fend the dragon away.

"Please don't kill me," he whispered without hope.

And then he stiffened: there was a sudden warm pressure against his hand. The dragon's nose was pressing gently against his skin, the warm breath huffing against him. His eyes widened in shock and he stared up into the alien face. The dragon stared into his eyes, gave a small coo, then lifted his head, as if listening, his ear flaps twitching. His pupils shrank to tiny slits and he pulled away, turning and bounding into the air. Hiccup stared, his hand still outstretched as the dragon flapped its huge wings once and vanished into the gloom. The boy slowly clambered to his feet, his hand still outstretched. He was desperately trying to process what had happened and he took a shuddering breath.

A hand clamped on his shoulder and he screamed.

"Gotcha!" Spitelout snarled and Hiccup began to fight desperately, kicking and writhing but a second hand snared his thin arm and he felt himself held helpless. But he still fought as Snotlout sauntered round to look into the grubby, terrified face before punching the boy. Hiccup gasped, winded as Spitelout looked around the shallow depression: it was surrounded by trees and saplings and spruce concealed the little place from any casual observer. "Here's as good as anywhere!" he said with infinite menace.

"Oh please…don't…" Hiccup begged, still kicking and writhing. "I-I promise I won't s-say anything…" Spitelout spun him to face him and raised a hand, then slapped the boy hard to the floor. Hiccup hit hard and stared up, trying to scramble away-and find Snotlout grabbing him helpless. The son gave a nasty grin.

"What first?" he asked. Spitelout nodded.

"Get his clothes…" he began and then a horn sounded…and again. "DRAGON RAID!" He motioned and his son jerked the smaller boy to his feet. "You say a word about this, boy, and I will kill you!" Spitelout menaced him. Hiccup nodded wildly, tears shining in his eyes. Spitelout lifted Hiccup and began to run back to the village, his son racing along at his back. Ahead, there were cries, roars and the sound of flames. The Jorgensons raced through the forest, heading directly back to the village and the conflict and Hiccup allowed himself to be carried along like a sack of turnips-mainly because he had no choice. He was thrown to the ground just at the edge of the forest and Snotlout shot him a nasty smile as he vanished to do his duty. Winded, scared and completely unnerved, Hiccup shambled to his feet and began to slowly walk down the hill towards the village. And then he stopped.

Houses were burning and two huge baskets of fire were propped up on tree trunk pillars in the dark sky. Overhead, the sky was thick with dragons, flapping back and forth, swooping for homes and livestock, breaking into the storehouses and stealing vital provisions. Vikings were everywhere, fighting with dragons. Hiccup saw the teens running back and forth as well, carrying buckets of water on the fire crew to try to save homes. His eyes widened and had no idea what he should be doing.

"HICCUP!" The Chief's voice bellowed up the hill and the boy flinched. The Chief walked towards him and glared. "Where the Hel have you been? Gods-you're filthy!"

"I'm sorry." It was the only thing he could say. Stoick scowled furiously at him. "Can-can I help?"

"No. You have no job and you can't fight. Get into the Great Hall with the children and old folks and DO NOT MOVE until I come to collect you. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," Hiccup said dispiritedly and trudged down the hill.

"NOW!" the Chief roared and Hiccup dragged his battered shape to a shambling trot down the hill towards the stairs to the Great Hall, trying to keep out of everyone's way. His cheeks were burning with shame at the public reprimand and he just wanted to crawl away and hide. He hit the steps, peered across the plaza to the Chief, bellowing orders to organise his defences and ducked his head down as he began to run up the stairs. His chest was tight with misery and he knew that he had shamed Stoick. He had failed him.

His skinny shape slid through the small gap between the he doors and he slammed them shut behind him in response to the mouthful of abuse hurled at him by the women and old men. He sighed and ashamedly walked forward-to hear a familiar voice sneer:

"Look what the cat dragged in!" He stiffened and froze, his eyes closing in resignation at Alva's cruel comment. His head dropped and he walked towards the fire.

"Yeah, what's a young 'un like you doin' in here instead o' fightin' them dragons, lad?" an old male voice asked him sharply. He lifted his green gaze to see a wizened old man glaring at him, sitting on a padded chair by the fire, both legs missing below the knees. His head dipped again.

"The-the Chief told me to wait in here," he said quietly.

"Coward!" an older woman sneered. Hiccup shook his head.

"N-no," he pleaded. "I-I've only been here a couple of weeks and I-I don't have an assignment d-during raids…"

"So you thought you'd just hide in here?" an old woman sneered, her eyes whitened out by cataracts and her hands tight on a staff, two small grandchildren sitting by her feet.

"N-no. I said my Chief told me to come here," Hiccup protested.

"But he's not your Chief-he's your owner!" Alva snapped. Hiccup's head jerked up.

"You know he brought me here and freed me," he told her with unexpected firmness.

"Yes-he BOUGHT you…from a whorehouse," she said triumphantly. "A body slave. A bed slave. I bet he just put you in here to make sure you weren't harmed for when he needed relief after the raid…" Hiccup swallowed.

"You have an evil tongue," he said levelly. "The Chief has never touched me in that way."

"You sleep in his house, his bed slave!" she scoffed. "What do you expect us to believe?" He stared at her in shock.

"Mrs Jorgenson, I have been rescued from your clutches for precisely one night," he told her softly. "One night-the only night so far on Berk where I didn't have to worry about being slapped or hurt or starved. All those in your house were filled with cold and hunger and pain. Chief Stoick has not touched me or dishonoured himself in any way. But saying such evil lies about your Chief dishonours you and your family!"

"You've got a nerve for a slave!" she hissed, attacking again. "You cannot deny you came from the whorehouse-or that you've been with men, can you?" He stared at her, breathing hard, but his cheeks were scarlet with shame. He shook his head.

"Not of choice," he whispered as every eye hardened. He took a small step back and saw the woman triumphant. "Please…I never…"

"Ye better stay back!" the legless Viking warned him, clutching at his staff. Hiccup retreated another step. "We don't want your sort tainting the little 'uns. Slaves stay at the back." And he gestured, outside the pool of warmth and light, hard against the back wall. Hiccup stared at them in mute appeal but was met only by cold eyes and women cuddling their children to their bodies, protecting them against the unwanted intruder. Defeated, the boy dragged himself where the man had pointed and hunkered down in the cold, staring at the little group of Vikings, sheltering from the dragons. But even in this sanctuary, he was excluded.

But not forgotten. He had been sitting for half an hour, huddled up in cold and hunger and misery when he heard Alva's voice rise. "BOY! Fetch logs. The fire is dying down!" Hiccup stared up, blinking. He was feeling stiff and sore, the single day of freedom and one bath not enough to overcome the beatings he had taken from the Jorgensons. He achingly levered himself up and grabbed an armful of logs, warily bringing them forward to the fire. The woman silently watched him toss them in, making sure they were evenly distributed. Then he went back and fetched a couple more and quietly fed the fire once more…but as soon as he had done and wearily leaned forward to warm his hands, he felt hands grab his tunic and propel him beyond the warm circle. He staggered, casting them an unhappy look and retreating once more. He was honestly getting too tired to even fight it.

"BOY! The waste pail needs emptying!" Alva commanded, enjoying her hold over the boy. He looked up and shook his head. "NOW!" she bellowed and he started, jumping anxiously. Reluctantly, he dragged himself to fetch the large pail, noting it was three quarters full of waste and grimaced, trying to breathe only with his mouth. He hauled it over to the door and put his whole weight into opening a door and hauling himself out.

He stared down the village: the battle was still raging and he sighed. It would be better to be outside, risking death, rather than be ignored and slowly wither away in the Hall. Head down, he found a suitable spot to empty the pail and then slowly trudged back to the doors.

"HICCUP!" He started and curled with shame: it was Stoick's voice, shouting at him across the entire village. "GET INSIDE! NOW!" He stared down to the huge shape, gesturing angrily at him and he turned and slank back through the doors, the empty pail clamped in his hands. He felt his inners cringe: he was in trouble now.

oOo

Stoick watched the scrawny shape limp back into the Great Hall and only after he had shouted at the boy did he see the bucket held in his hand. The lad had been sent out to empty the waste and the Chief felt ashamed he had chastised the boy, knowing how hard he would take it. He sighed. The dragons were leaving, their damage done and booty claimed. He cast around: the fire crew were finishing off the few fires left and he saw Astrid throw her bucket in a small fire, dousing it, then walking towards him with a respectful expression on her face.

"Fires are all under control," she reported. "One house lost, two damaged but habitable. Several minor burns. The third food warehouse has been destroyed though." Stoick nodded absently. There had been little in there and the dragons had emptied it before they burnt it. No matter how hard the Hooligans had fought, they always suffered losses. He paused and became aware she was still there. "Did you find him, sir?" she asked. he nodded.

"He had run off in the forest," he said gruffly, his eyes snapping with irritation. She frowned.

"Sir?" she asked in confusion. "He was heading down the village for the forge when we left him. He'd just had his first weapons lesson and was heading to see if Gobber had a spare, old sword he could practice with." Stoick frowned.

"First weapons lesson?" he echoed. "You mean he's really never been taught to fight?"

"No, sir," she replied. "He…he was very ashamed about that, I think. But he lived on a Peaceable Isle, I think and worked in the forge. He never had any training before he was enslaved. And what master would teach his property the skills to fight against him and escape?"

"I see." Stoick's tone was thoughtful. Astrid frowned again.

"Sir, I don't believe Hiccup would go into the forest…not of his own free will," she said quietly. "He's wary enough in the village. He won't go into a forest he doesn't know. If anything, I guess he would go looking for you."

"You think he was lured there?" Stoick asked her. She sighed.

"Or just taken there against his will," she admitted. "He's not big and he can't fight. He'd be easy to overcome. Not everyone is his friend." She sighed. "Almost no one is," she amended.

"But you are?" Stoick asked. She nodded smartly.

"I think he needs all the friends he can get," she told him. Stoick nodded.

"That's for sure," she sighed. "Thank you, Astrid. You have been very kind to him." She smiled then ran back to check on her home and her family. Stoick checked the village, made sure all was under control, then walked heavily up to the Great Hall.

It was very late and the families and elderly within had settled down by the fire, snuggled together for warmth and comfort. Blankets and furs were draped over the little groups, making sure all were cared for. Stoick stood silently looking at them: his people, his charges. They were warm and safe and that made him feel good.

But the shape he sought wasn't among them. His keen eyes swept over the group twice and confirmed that Hiccup wasn't among them. So he straightened up and his eyes swept the Hall, seeking beyond the warm light of the fire into the gloomy shadows, looking in the cold and dim corners-and finally finding the little curled shape, huddled by the wood pile. He could see the warm hint of auburn hair and the pallor of his face. Stoick quietly walked towards the boy and hunkered down by him, staring at the grimy and bruised shape. Quietly, he shook the boy awake.

Hiccup's eyes blearily opened and he recognised the Chief. He gasped and recoiled, curling up. "I-I'm sorry, sir," he whimpered. "I-I shouldn't have g-gone out…" Stoick laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I saw the pail too late, lad," he reassured Hiccup and pulled the boy to his feet. "Why are you sleeping over here?" Hiccup stared at the ground, his cheeks burning with shame.

"They didn't w-want a slave near their children…" he muttered quietly. "Or anywhere near them…" He sighed. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I-I tried to tell them that you h-hadn't touched me in that way but Alva Jorgensen made sure they all kn-knew what happened in the Port…" He twisted his hands together. Stoick cast a glance over at the sleeping group and decided not to wake them…but have some serious words come the morning. He gently rested his arm around Hiccup's bony, narrow shoulders and steered him towards the door.

"What were you doing in the forest?" the Chief asked and Hiccup stiffened.

"Um…sorry…" was all he would say. Stoick got him out of the doors of the Great Hall before grabbing the boy's shoulders and dropping to one knee to stare firmly into the shamed eyes.

"Who took you there, Hiccup? I know you didn't go there of your own accord." The boy's expression startled for a moment and then he grimaced.

"Um…Spitelout promised to kill me if I said anything," he murmured wearily. "Snotlout knocked me out and took me into the forest and left me there. But then, as I was trying to find the village, they came back…to beat me for disgracing them. I-I don't know how, sir, but it seems to be my fault." He sighed. "I really need an assignment during raids, sir, because I cannot go through that again. I felt so utterly worthless and I would rather be eaten by a dragon-like that black one I saw earlier…"

"Black dragon?" Stoick asked. The boy nodded and described it.

"I'm sorry, sir-I'm not sure what type it is," he admitted.

"Night Fury-the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself!" Stoick announced grimly. "If you see one, hide and pray it does not find you…"

"Um…sorry, sir…it just looked at me, sniffed me…then flew away…" Even with his total absence of dragon knowledge, Hiccup could tell from the Chief's expression that suggesting the creature had been sorta friendly would be a fatal error. The grip on his shoulders tightened.

"When?"

"Um…moments before the horns sounded," Hiccup managed. Moments in which the Jorgensons planned to rape me, he added silently. Stock frowned, then rose to his feet.

"You were incredibly lucky," Stoick told him as Hiccup cast him a sideways glance. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself had been the friendliest thing in the forest by a long way. "Stay in the village now, boy-you may not be so lucky next time!" Hiccup sighed as he was led back to his home, mulling over the truth of it-but not as Stoick understood.

Yeah, next time there may not be a dragon raid to save me.