Flying blind is nauseating. It's an even worse sensation with his hands tied behind his back, on an unfamiliar dragon's spine, surrounded by the enemy. He can sense the motions, every beat of wings—the drop and the catch. His back is pressed against another's, and a bigger, stronger, firmer hand holds the rope that binds his wrists. Riding this long with an arm behind your back to keep your captive stabilized cannot be comfortable.
Hiccup doesn't need to guess where they're headed—he knows better than to pray for someplace better, like a second base. If it had been any random Flyer—and that would be embarrassing for him, to be captured by a simple soldier—he could believe that they would bring him to a secure location to await orders from their superiors. But this is Krogan, and Hiccup won't underestimate him any longer.
You don't slip a diamond into your pocket and deal with it later. You store it in a chest—locked.
Questioning will be inevitable on Viggo's base—the one Johann now uses for himself. It's the Northern Alliance's island now. Whether Viggo Grimborn willingly shares his home island with his employer or Johann set foot on shore and called an occupation without permission, he'd have to ask personally.
Hiccup knows torment is coming, and Johann and Krogan will be happy to perform their sinister acts on him.
Hiccup swings himself to the side without giving himself a second to weigh his options. The hold on his bound wrist breaks and the stomach-churning feeling of the blind fall overwhelms him. It doesn't last long enough. He doesn't hit the unforgiving surface of the ocean. He's caught before he can. Claws wrap around his chest, and the struggle is useless.
Krogan's laughter is all he can hear.
"Think you can grow wings and fly home?" Krogan taunts, triggering anger and terror in the Rider's core. He can do nothing to fight the Titan Singetail's hold on him.
The air grows colder the longer they fly north, and despite being confident that the torture began with the Armorwing's blinding blast, the icy wind is a whisper of what's to come. He has nothing to orient him but for the sound of the Flyers' shouts that they're closing in on land.
The repetitive and quick beating of wings is the only warning they're about to touch down. He's surprised by the gentle release from the Singetail. He lands on his feet, but the lack of visual takes away his balance and reflex to catch himself, and Hiccup's scraped knees hit the harsh sand of the island's southern shore.
He refuses to move and hangs his head. His shoulders are sore from his arms being tied back for this long. Every scrape burns. His head pounds nonstop. It feels like being stuck in his head—like a nightmare.
The presence that surrounds him weighs heavy. He might be deprived of his eyesight, but he can feel the stares on him—the awe—the hate.
"Impressive." Johann. "Hiccup Haddock, kneeling at my feet. I've been waiting a long time for this."
Whispers and chuckles are exchanged between Flyer and Hunter soldiers. The pull on his hair is sudden, and Hiccup's head is yanked back with more force than necessary. They want him to look Johann in the eye—to really look at him and realize he's defeated. However, Hiccup cannot distinguish Johann's features. It's still too dark to see a blur of his outline.
Despite the hold on his hair, Hiccup fights. He rises to his feet, struggling against Krogan's grip. The kick to the back of his good knee sends him back to the ground, and Krogan pushes his head low against the ground until his forehead brushes with the sand. Hiccup resists, groaning harrowingly, his body tensed up.
He won't go limp. He won't surrender. He'll bleed out before he begs. They don't want to see his rebellious side. They want to see the broken one, and Hiccup refuses to give these snakes what they want.
Krogan doesn't relent. He presses down until Hiccup's physical form fails to resist. Only when his head kisses the ground does the Flyer back off. The Rider pants but remains still.
"I win," Johann crows. "You lose. The quicker you accept these facts, the easier this will be for both of us."
Hiccup's jaw clenches. "If you think this is going to be even remotely close to easy, then I'm afraid you got another thing coming," he spits as he rises from the ground, holding his head high.
Johann backhands him without a moment's thought, and Hiccup can taste the iron on his tongue before he can feel the cuts on his face from the Trader's rings.
"Take him away," Johann orders gravely.
"You heard him," Krogan barks at his soldiers. "Take him to the dungeons."
"No," Johann interrupts. "Not the dungeons. The arena. I'm sick and tired of insults coming out of that sassy, twig-legged, sorry excuse of an heir's mouth." Hiccup can feel the Trader's face right up in his—the warmth of his fish-sticking breath—and part of him wants to spit on it, but he holds back, sparing himself another backhanding. "It's time we break that troublesome boy, once and for all. And if that doesn't work, I'll sew your mouth shut myself."
His proximity is too tempting to resist, and despite resisting the urge to paint his face red with the blood pooling in his mouth, he can't resist headbutting him. The subtle cracking of a bone sends a spark of victory up his spine, and Hiccup can't help but smirk in the face of his worst enemy.
His lights are out once again as a fist collides with his face.
I'm aware I have him knocked out often; leave me alone. My guilty pleasure. (●'◡'●)