Seventeen: He should be put to death

Hiccup dropped his sword, gently rose to his feet and cautiously extended his hand, walking slowly towards the nearest Nadder, which squawked and advanced on him. He started up into the acid yellow eyes, seeing the black vertical pupils shrunken into slits and forced the tension from his skinny shape. He could hear Astrid breathing behind him as the Nadders advanced and he stared fearlessly into the ferocious glare.

"If they attack me, Astrid," he said calmly, "please run for it. Please escape." Her breathing accelerated and almost hitched.

"Hiccup…I…" Her hand was still tight around the haft of her axe but he took a deep breath.

"Drop the axe and prepare to run…please," he begged her, never taking his eyes from the dragon's face. "If this works, you can get away…"

"This is insane!" she breathed. "Just because you…" And it struck her. "Touched a Night Fury…"

He took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, extending his hand and expecting to feel teeth slice into his arm. He was almost trembling but knew he had to project a calm he certainly didn't feel, his heart galloping in his chest. He felt a huff of hot breath on his arm, heard the creak of the leather skin and muscles as the dragon shifted…and then he felt pressure against his palm, the warm scaly skin strangely smooth. He stiffened and opened his eyes to see the dragon's nose calmly pressed into his hand. The pupils were wider and calm, the dragon crooning. Almost shaking, Hiccup's mouth curved up in a shocked smile.

"Hey," he murmured softly. "Um…thanks for not eating me…"

The other Nadders hissed and cawed and the now-friendly dragon pulled away, hissing back, flapping its wings and starting to drive them away. Astrid stared up at him in shock and the boy shrugged.

"Go," he mouthed and she paused…then grabbed her axe and sprinted away. The Nadders were dancing around one another and Hiccup backed away from the skirmish-and then he heard the screams and roars as a handful of Vikings came racing forward. His head snapped round and then he turned to his friendly Nadder, seeing its blue and gold wings flapping. "GO!" he shouted waving his arms and it looked at him-then saw the approaching Vikings. Instantly, the pupils slitted, the spines raised and its hissed-but it launched urgently into the dark sky, the orange light of the fires casting eerie shadows over the village. The other Nadders fled as well as the solid shapes of adult Vikings approached, weapons raised to chase off the marauding beasts-and Hiccup sagged in relief-as a staff crashed across his head. Vision spinning and greying rapidly, he felt himself slam to the floor, almost as if it was happening to someone else. An unfamiliar voice echoed through his fading consciousness.

"'E were strokin' that dragon! 'E's a traitor! And 'e should put ter death!"

And then it all went black.

oOo

He awoke slowly, his head hurting from the blow and everything stiff from where he had been lying. He gave a low whine of pain and his hand drifted to the throbbing point on his head, feeling a large lump. And then he slowly opened his eyes-to find himself in a cell.

His eyes snapped wide and his breathing accelerated in fear. He tried to push himself up to his knees but his head spun and he collapsed, closing his eyes against the persistent dizziness. He groaned and curled up, breathing raggedly. He was cold and aching and suddenly very afraid. There was no sign of the Chief and the boy realised he had probably ruined his relationship-such as it was-with the huge man. And that hit him harder than the blow, the sudden loss of the person he had begun to unwillingly trust and care for-love, for want of a better word-as the father he never had. So he curled up, a hand pressed hard onto the lump on his skull and lay hopeless and miserable, scared what would happen next. Because the voice had called him a traitor…and called for his execution.

Two large Vikings that Hiccup had seen sitting with the Chief in the Great Hall entered the jail some indeterminate time later and the boy stiffened and scooched back as far as he could get in the cell, his skinny shape pressed hard into the corner with knees drawn up to his chest. They glared at him and he hunched up even smaller, eyes wide with fear as the door of the cell was wrenched open and they entered.

"On your feet, slave!" the larger man said, his long blonde beard rippling as he growled. Hiccup nodded, not even bothering to argue. Every tiny scrap of confidence he may have garnered had vanished completely, leaving him in the panicked and terrified state he had been in as he escaped from Sundby and the whorehouse. Wearily, he levered himself up to his shaky feet and he flinched as he was grabbed, rough hands painfully tight around his skinny arms. His head dipped in fear and he just allowed himself to be hauled out into the dreary grey morning on Berk, the drizzle on the cold breeze stinging his pale skin. Emerald eyes trailed over the village, seeing scorch marks from the raid, some houses reduced to scarred skeletons or damaged beyond habitation. Vikings were all working, trying to salvage what they could or start some tentative construction work to repair the uninhabitable houses before the weather worsened. But every eye turned on the skinny shape of the prisoner as he was escorted from he jail at the bottom of the village all the way up the hill and further up the very long stair to the Great Hall, built into the side of the pinnacle that formed the upper village.

A hand planted in his mid-back and he stumbled, almost falling. There were sniggers and he saw the twins laughing at his disgrace with Fishlegs at their side-though the larger boy looked shocked, not scornful. Espen, Ove and Jorn were all whispering and pointing at him, clearly exchanging the Viking equivalent of 'I told you so'. Astrid stood with her family, pale and withdrawn, though her father had an especially unpleasant expression on his face. Eva was pulling towards Hiccup but their mother lifted the protesting little girl in her arms and took her back into the house, even as she was starting to cry and ask why her friend was in trouble.

Heart shuddering in misery-because the Vikings all looked at him as if he was a dead man walking-he began the long walk up the steps, until they finally reached the doors of the Great Hall. Behind him, half the village was following, silently walking to witness what was to come. Trembling hard, he glanced back and whimpered, before he was thrust through the doors and led up to the table placed in front of the great fire pit. And seated at the table was the Council of the Hooligan Tribe-the group of people that would decide his fate. He was shoved to stand on his own and the two warriors withdrew, leaving his skinny dishevelled fate facing his fate.

Stoick was sitting in the middle of the Council, his shape upright and stiff, his face grave. Hiccup's shoulders hunched as he saw the man's face, guessing he had shamed the man beyond repairing and he guessed it was over. Astrid had warned him and he had ignored her-because he had to do something to save her. And he had been willing to give his life to get her away…so at least this was a sacrifice he had been willing to make. Except it just seemed unfair when he had gotten her away with no loss of life. And who had he harmed?

Gobber was sitting at his side, his face worried and disappointed. He knew the man had been so kind and enthusiastic in teaching Hiccup and his loss as apprentice was a blow. Hiccup sighed: he loved smithing and Gobber's company and tuition had been some of his happiest moments of Berk. But beside him sat Spitelout and the boy shuddered, seeing the cruel triumph in his eyes at seeing the instrument of his disgrace meet his doom. Snotlout sat at his side. On the other side of Stoick sat a hunched, wizened old woman with a squint and a long thin grey braid. She waved her staff and scowled at the Chief. Beyond her were a very short and hairy man with a pleasant and amiable face and a bald man with sticking out ears and a mildly discontented expression.

An old man was standing to one side, his wild hair sticking out to the side of his face, his large, sharp nose topped by mean eyes and a helmet with several spikes on. He was waving a staff and Hiccup realised in shock that this was the person who had knocked him senseless after the raid. Behind him, he heard murmurs and the shuffling of feet as the village filed in to watch what seemed to be a trial.

"I don't know why yer bothering with all this!" the old man whined in a mean, grating voice. "That…is a traitor as well as a slave and an affront to Thor. It should be killed immediately before it brings the wrath of Thor on us!"

There were murmurs behind Hiccup and his head bowed further. It seemed it didn't take much to sway the village. He hoped there wasn't a general vote for his fate because if so, he was already dead.

"I don't presume to know Thor's mind-so maybe you shouldn't either, Mildew!" Stoick said in a cold voice. Mildew? What kind of name was that? Hiccup blinked. The old man leered at the words, unconcerned.

"That was the worst raid for months-and it can only be because we have accepted a slave in our midst…" he began but the short, hairy man raised his hand.

"There are many Tribes that have slaves and they have far fewer raids, Mildew," he said, his softly accented voice worried. "So it cannot be due to him the raid was bad. We have known for years, they vary. This was just a bad raid."

"Thank you, Mulch!" Stoick said in a slightly less irritated voice. "If you have an accusation against the boy, Mildew, you make it!" The old man scowled, the expression so unpleasant Hiccup was sure it could curdle milk.

"Then I shall!" he sneered. "I saw it with me own eyes! That boy walked up to a dragon and petted it on the snout! 'E were friends with the dragon. So he must be callin' then down onto us! 'E's causin' the raids!"

There was a pause-and then Stoick and the Council all burst out laughing. Mildew slammed his staff onto the stone floor, his face twisted in a look of hatred.

"There have been raids on Berk ever since we sailed here, three hundred years ago!" Gobber pointed out scornfully.

"The idea one bed slave from the mainland could be calling them on us is utterly stupid!" Spitelout added. "Even one as lazy and ruined as that…thing…"

There was a creak as Stoick's fists tightened, his expression murderous. His freezing glare finally turned on Hiccup and the boy felt his heart drop to his boots, sensing rejection in the cold stare.

"I saw 'im walk up to a dragon and touch it!" Mildew shouted. "That is treason 'E was consorting with a dragon. And our laws are very clear!"

Every eye turned accusingly onto the boy and Hiccup lifted his face, green eyes wide with anxiety and fear. His face was pale between the bruises and he looked cowed.

"Is that true?" Stoick asked him in a stern voice and the boy nodded, then dropped his head.

"I-I had to…" he mumbled. There were the hisses of gasps and Stoick frowned, inspecting the skinny shape with concern. Hiccup was curled in on himself, all evidence of the gently growing confidence gone. He was trembling and Stoick knew in his heart that the boy wasn't a traitor or evil: he was just Hiccup…which seemed to mean being in the wrong place at the wrong time and ending up doing exactly the wrong thing.

"But why?" he asked softly. "Hiccup-please tell me. Why?"

"Does it matter?" Mildew sneered. "'E's confessed ter the crime. We should take 'im out and kill 'im before 'e brings the wrath of Thor down on us!"

"Be. Silent!" the Chief growled. "This boy is facing death and you won't even allow him to speak!"

"Why should we listen to his treason?" Mildew snarked and there were murmurings from the crowd that rapidly quietened as the Chief rose slowly, his massive shape towering over the rest of the Council. He walked heavily round and came to face the bowed shape, gently resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. Hiccup flinched.

"Hiccup-please tell me why you touched that dragon," Stoick asked him huskily. "You must know it's wrong…" The briefest of flicks up by the shamed emerald eyes caused the Chief to frown.

"I-I had to," he murmured softly.

"Why?"

There was a pause and the boy swallowed, his pale throat bobbing nervously.

"Because we were going to be killed," he admitted. "Astrid was in trouble-she was surrounded by dragons-those spiky bird ones-and she had lost her axe. I-I ran to help her and….um, well, that didn't really work." There was a ripple of scornful laughter led by Snotlout and the twins at his ashamed words that quietened when Stoick glared at the crowd.

"Go on…" the Chief said. Hiccup chanced a look up.

"And I knew we were going to die so I thought…I thought maybe I could manage to calm them enough to let Astrid get away at least," he murmured. There were gasps.

"But they're dragons!" came a voice from the crowd. Hiccup thought it sounded like Gustav.

"They're animals," he said more firmly, lifting his wary gaze to look into the Chief's grim face. "And-and I've dealt with lots of animals when I was a slave on Meathead. I spent months looking after everything they had, working from dawn to dusk, slaving in the fields and the pens and the stalls and even in the slaughterhouses…wherever they thought they could use me. So I-I wondered if I could calm them enough…" He shrugged hopelessly.

"But they're dragons! They can't be calmed!" came another voice from the crowd.

"Um…sorry…but I did calm one of them…and if they hadn't been startled, I-I think we might have gotten away…" Hiccup mumbled self-consciously.

"But our laws state you can't touch them!" Mildew protested angrily.

"Where?" Gobber asked thoughtfully, rubbing his big chin. "Don't ever recall that-and we touch 'em all the time, when we wrestle them and kill them. And when we dismember the corpses to dispose of them. And of course during Dragon Training…"

"But you can't just touch them like…that!" Mildew shouted in an outraged voice. "It goes against everything we know!"

"Maybe…that's the problem," Mulch said thoughtfully. The small, very hairy round man had a soft, pleasantly-accented voice and a determinedly amiable face. "We all know dragons can't be trained because we've been fighting them for three hundred years!"

"They've killed hundreds of us!" Spitelout pointed out.

"And in return, we've killed thousands of them," Mulch retorted. "We know they are dangerous wild beasts because that's what we're taught and believe and see."

"Because it's the truth!" Ivar Hofferson yelled.

"No, it's what we've always been taught," the bald-headed man commented suddenly. There was an abrupt silence as every stared at him and a hundred jaws dropped.

"Silent Sven…did you just speak?" Gobber asked the man obviously. The bald man nodded, his jug ears waggling slightly as he nodded vigorously.

"Mulch and me are both herders," he reminded them in a curiously high-pitched and rather grating voice. "I have my sheep-and Mulch has yaks and sheep-as well as a couple of chickens. And we all know animals can be tamed and trained using skill and patience."

"But they're dragons!" That was Alva's voice. "They can't be trusted!"

Nor can you, Hiccup thought aimlessly, staring into the Chief's eyes. The cool grey-green gaze was very thoughtful as he listened to the discussion and then turned back to the boy.

"Um…sorry," Hiccup said quietly. "But I wasn't brought up on Berk and I didn't know you weren't supposed to touch dragons and…well, it was the last chance I had before being killed so I either tried to save us…well, Astrid, to be honest…or we both died…"

"See? 'E admits it!" Mildew protested, his staff swinging dangerously close to Hiccup's head. The boy flinched. "'E admits 'is crime! Take 'im to the Plaza. We'll Blood Eagle him!"

And in that horrible moment, as he knew he was going to be killed, to be executed for finally doing something right and definitely behaving like a Viking, a voice rang out.

"Stop! You can't do that!" It was Astrid. "If you kill him, you have to kill me to-because he saved my life!"