Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was not a fan of water. Ironic, and a bit nonsensical, perhaps, since he lived on an island surrounded by the stuff and spent a large amount of his time flying over it, exploring The Great Beyond's archipelago. But several brushes with death had made him wary, not to mention, he'd never been the strongest swimmer — even less so now with one leg.

He didn't let his unease stop him, of course. He just tried his best to stay above the surface and maintained a healthy respect for the sea. When he did have to swim, he always made sure to have Toothless nearby.

Unfortunately, he didn’t think that the Grimborn brothers knew or cared that Hiccup never swam alone.

Hiccup, Snotlout, Astrid, and their dragons had been captured while on patrol. Hookfang had taken a dragon root arrow in the flank and crashed to the ship's deck. With Snotlout at knife point and Hookfang out of commission, Hiccup and Astrid had had no choice but to land and let themselves be captured.

They'd been thrown into a cell, with Hookfang, Stormfly, and Toothless muzzled in their own cells, and they had sailed to Viggo's ship, crouching in the waves, waiting for them.

Once on board Viggo’s ship, they were separated — Astrid, Snotlout, and the dragons forced below deck, to the cells, and Hiccup, hands bound behind his back with sturdy rope and a gag secured around his mouth, shoved toward Viggo’s chambers. He caught one final glimpse of his friends over his shoulder as the Dragon Hunters led him away. He locked eyes with Astrid and tried to communicate through his gaze alone that he was going to be okay, they'd get out of here. Astrid's blazing expression told him she'd understood, and that she would find a way to escape, and then they would come find him.

Hiccup had no doubt that either his friends would find a way out of the cells or Fishlegs and the twins would realize they'd been gone too long and track them down. One way or another, rescue would be coming. He just hoped it wouldn't be too late. He had a terrible foreboding that this time, Viggo hadn't singled him out just to gloat.

A Hunter shoved Hiccup through the door to Viggo’s chambers and directly into Ryker's waiting arms. Hiccup's pulse quickened at the dark glee burning in the enormous man's eyes — Ryker seemed very excited about something, and since, as a general rule, anything that made Ryker happy turned out to be bad news for Hiccup, he had a feeling he was in for a bad time.

Especially since Ryker had been itching to hurt him for some time now, but whenever he had played too rough, Viggo always stayed his hand. Ever the gentleman, he supposed. But now, Ryker looked like Snoggletog had come early, so Viggo must have decided that his current tactics weren't getting him anywhere and told Ryker he could have some fun.

Sometimes Hiccup hated being right.

Ryker gripped Hiccup's upper arms with bruising force and manhandled him to Viggo's desk. Like the last time he'd been brought here, Ryker shoved him into a chair. Unlike the last time, Viggo didn't chide his brother for the rough treatment.

"Ah! Welcome, Hiccup. I was wondering when you would make time in your busy schedule to come visit me again." As if he hadn't orchestrated their entire capture to get Hiccup in his clutches.

Hiccup glared with all the heat he could rally, ice sliding down his spine. Being unable to respond to Viggo’s taunts was more than a little unnerving; Hiccup felt off-balance, like he'd been spun around blindfolded and then dropped onto the swaying deck of a ship. He and Viggo, antagonistic though they were, had a similar knack for wit, and their exchanges usually consisted of traded barbs and snapped retorts.

Viggo doubtlessly sensed Hiccup's unease with the shift in their dynamic, and he laughed silkily. "Dragon got your tongue?" His words may have been playful, but his tone spat venom. "We have reached a point, my dear, where I feel that our usual tête-à-têtes are a waste of my time and energy. Therefore, as much as I enjoy our little chats and will miss the sound of your voice, I have decided that the only time I wish to hear you talk is if you are telling me what I want to hear."

Hiccup's heart skipped a beat, but he struggled to keep his expression neutral — a difficult feat with a strip of cloth tied over his mouth.

"So. My brother and I will give you one chance before we take more… drastic measures." Viggo’s lips curled into something predatory that sent fear hurtling through Hiccup's body. "I am not a man who craves violence, and too much blood can put even the most stalwart stomach off its appetite. But I assure you that what we have planned for you, you will not enjoy. So will you save yourself an extraordinary amount of pain and tell me, Hiccup — where are the remaining Dragon Eye lenses?"

A wave of panic tried to envelop Hiccup, but he shoved it down, ignoring the frantic drumming of his heart and the way his chest tightened and his ears buzzed. Rescue is coming, he reminded himself. I just have to hold out until then.

Swallowing hard, breathing deeply through his nose, Hiccup looked Viggo dead in the eyes and shook his head. No.

Viggo sighed, sat back in his chair, the very picture of a weary parent being forced to discipline his disobedient child. "I had a feeling that you would be too stubborn to see sense. Well, brother, you get your wish. Bring him."

And Hiccup was hauled to his feet and dragged out of the office, Viggo trailing leisurely behind.

They brought him up on the deck. Hiccup saw plenty of masked Hunters milling about, but a quick scan of the skies showed that the other riders hadn't found them yet. Furthermore, there had been no explosions from the cells, so Astrid and Snotlout hadn't escaped yet, either.

They forced Hiccup to the port side of the boat, and peering over the side, he saw that a small rowboat had been lowered on ropes and suspended a few feet above the water. It swayed with the larger craft, knocking against the hull, and somehow managing to look menacing despite being a tiny vessel with two oars and room for maybe four people. A rope ladder had been slung over the side of the ship, leading down to it. Hiccup's stomach twisted in anxiety — if they were planning on transporting him somewhere else, then that would make rescue a lot more tricky. But it didn't make sense.

Hiccup grunted in surprise when Ryker abruptly threw him to the ground; he tensed and tried to scramble backwards as the hulking form of Ryker crouched over him. A nasty leer on his face, the Hunter grasped Hiccup's left thigh in one gigantic hand — his meaty fingers wrapped all the way around Hiccup's leg — and his prosthetic with the other, pulling it off and tossing it carelessly over the side of the boat, into the ocean.

Hiccup barely even noticed as Ryker pulled a length of rope from his belt and forced his legs together, binding them tightly above the knees. A buzzing chorus of rage, humiliation, and hysteria tore through him, turning his veins to fire and his heart to ice. He felt somehow numbness and everything at the same time.

Ryker had stolen his leg and thrown it into the ocean like a bit of soggy driftwood and not a literal part of his body. It was debasing and infuriating, and the sheer injustice of it all caused hot tears to press at the back of his eyes.

Hiccup felt two pairs of malevolent eyes on him as Ryker finished securing the knots and dropped his legs, and he steeled himself, determined not to show any weakness. He blinked back the tears, breathed slowly through his nose, and glared up at his tormentors.

"Oh look, he's being brave," Ryker taunted.

Viggo met Hiccup's gaze evenly. "I've come to expect nothing less," he said simply. "Let's get this over with." He turned away from his captive and began descending the ladder.

Chuckling darkly, Ryker grabbed Hiccup around the middle and threw him over his shoulder, following his brother down to the rowboat

"I tend not to enjoy leaving the comforts of my own ship for a humble vessel such as this," Viggo called up conversationally as they descended. "But from one leader to another, it is imperative to always remember that there are some jobs you should not delegate. If you want a job done right, then do it yourself."

Hiccup, unable to respond, just glared upside-down at Ryker's back, grimacing at the shoulder digging into his stomach and trying very hard not to think about whatever was going to happen next.

"My brother wanted you hung by your wrists from the ceiling and flayed within an inch of your life." Viggo spoke like he was chatting with an old friend about the harvest, and Hiccup’s stomach churned at the measured, friendly tone. He's trying to get under your skin, he reminded himself. Viggo continued, "And while I don't have a problem with getting my hands dirty, I thought a creative mind like you deserves something more interesting than flogging."

Oh, gee, thanks. How thoughtful, Hiccup would have snarled if not for the gag.

When they reached the boat, Ryker dumped Hiccup unceremoniously to the floor, his shoulder smacking hard on one of the benches. He decided that it would be marginally more dignified to squirm into a sitting position than to lie where Ryker had dropped him, awkwardly crammed between the two benches.

When he had finally righted himself, he watched, helpless, as Ryker drew his sword and sliced through the ropes suspending the vessel above the water. Icy water splashed over the sides as the craft hit the lapping waves. Without a word, each brother took up an oar and began to row. Terror clawed at Hiccup's insides like a cornered dragon.

At the look on Hiccup's face, Viggo smiled. "Don't worry, Hiccup. We aren't going far." He wasn't lying: They stopped rowing and anchored the rowboat no more than a hundred feet from Viggo’s ship. Somehow, this didn’t make Hiccup feel much better. He now had a pretty good idea of what these two had planned for him, and it wasn't pretty.

Ryker squatted down in front of Hiccup and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Hiccup yelped in pain behind the gag as the man jerked him forward, inches from his ugly face.

"Last chance before you go under, runt," Ryker sneered. "My brother would probably love for you to cave, but me? You can take as long as you want to answer." Hot, sour breath blew in Hiccup's face as his captor's voice turned to a whisper. "I'm going to enjoy every second of this."

Fear thundered through him as Ryker threw him down, laughing. Viggo, hands clasped behind his back, looked almost fondly at Hiccup and asked, "Well, my dear Hiccup? Are you willing to divulge the location of the other lenses, or is my brother going to have his fun?"

Hiccup did his best to prepare himself, grateful, at least, that they were torturing him for information instead of threatening his friends or the dragons. And he knew that they knew how much quicker and more effective it would be to leverage his friends against him. But this wasn't just about the lenses. This was a power play. They meant to break him.

He shook his head.

"Mmm. Pity," said Viggo, though he certainly didn't seem too broken up about it. He wanted to pretend to be above all of this, but his eyes gleamed the same as his brother's when Ryker reached for Hiccup.

Despite being thoroughly bound, Hiccup fought with every ounce of strength he possessed, bucking and twisting, lashing out with his foot, but Ryker was ten times stronger. In moments, the man had him pinned against his chest. Hiccup panted desperately through his nose, tried yelling through the gag, a raw, animal panic coursing through him as Viggo produced a long, thin chain with a single manacle from the floor behind him. Without a word, he locked the manacle around Hiccup's ankle and grasped the end of the chain tightly in both hands. He nodded at Ryker, who turned, hoisted Hiccup over the side of the boat, and shoved him headfirst into the dark water.

The cold registered first. The sea was always cold, but today it shocked his system so completely that he nearly blacked out.

Next, the quiet. Nothing but the eerie underwater rushing in his ears and the sounds of his own struggles.

He'd been able to take a quick breath and had pressed his lips together behind the crushing fabric of the gag, so he wasn't choking on water at least. Yet.

He floundered desperately, thrashing around like a dying eel, trying to propel himself up with one leg and no hands. The heavy manacle weighed him down, as did his clothes and boot, so he couldn't even try to float.

Stop fighting. Stop panicking.

It took a moment for logic to kick in, and even when he realized that he had been doing the exact wrong thing, that he would tire himself out and drown faster if he kept this up, that the Grimborns wanted information from him and had no plans to kill him before he gave it to them, he found it nearly impossible to stop struggling.

It didn't help that he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears, too fast and frantic, and he tried very hard not to think about the last time he'd almost drowned, in the Straits of Baldur, the diving bell rapidly filling with water, the oppressive feeling of being trapped, the certainty that death was minutes away. The water had been cold then, too. Shockingly cold. He hadn't panicked, though. He hadn't fought. He'd known he was going to die, resigned himself to his fate.

The difference between then and now: Toothless had been with him the last time, even if his dragon hadn't been able to reach him. Now, Hiccup was alone.

And he was terrified.

He knew what it was like to drown. He recognized that burning thirst for air, the impulse to breathe deeply despite knowing that water, not air, surrounded him. The water pressed in on him on all sides, trying to force its way into his mouth, his nose, his ears and eyes.

Just as flickers of darkness began to stalk the edges of his consciousness, he felt a tug on his ankle. He flipped upside down as the chain attached to his leg was pulled. Then a great splash, hands gripping his clothes, and the hands heaved him from the water and dumped him, shivering and struggling to breathe through his nose, into the bottom of the boat.

A hand, surprisingly gentle, tilted his chin up. Hiccup opened streaming eyes to see Viggo bending over him. "Let's see if your little swim has loosened your tongue," he said, reaching behind Hiccup's head and somehow untying the waterlogged knot of the gag. Hiccup gulped in a deep breath as soon as his mouth was free, sucking in water with it. The subsequent coughing fit paled in comparison to the one after he'd been rescued from the diving bell, but it still left him feeling like every remaining ounce of strength had been drained from his body.

He looked to the sky, glanced back at the boat. Still no sign of rescue. Hiccup had told himself he just had to hang on until his friends arrived, but he felt so cold, so exhausted, so terrified, that he feared he'd be dead by then.

"Well?" prompted Viggo.

Hiccup wanted his first words to Viggo to brave, defiant, maybe even witty. The creative string of curses he managed to spit Viggo’s way were certainly brave and defiant, but they sounded decidedly less so with his voice so weak and stuttering with cold.

Viggo's face darkened and he backhanded Hiccup hard across the face. His head snapped to the side, but he was so numb he could barely feel it.

"I'm surprised at you, Hiccup," Viggo said. The violent anger had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He reached out and gently brushed Hiccup's sodden bangs off of his forehead. Hiccup tried to lean away from the touch, but he had nowhere to go.

"D-d-don't t-t-t-touch m-me," he shivered.

Viggo laughed. "Not quite as clever as usual, today, my boy."

Hiccup was too cold to try to reply, too cold to think. After a moment, Viggo withdrew his hand. "Again," he ordered.

Hiccup lost count of how many times they threw him in the water. At first, he stayed as still as possible, trying to conserve energy, but this time, when they left him in far longer than they had any other time, panic took over and he thrashed and fought like a fish on a line, chest burning, lungs empty, pulse deafening in his ears.

Gods, it hurt so much. He was holding his breath, but he had begun to forget why. So what if he breathed in water? At least his lungs wouldn't be empty anymore.

White spots burst behind his squeezed-shut eyelids. A tinny ringing drowned out the sound of his pulse. His lips, pressed together against the searching water, gave a small tremor.

He couldn't do it anymore. He opened his mouth and breathed what he thought was supposed to be water but that burned like acid — the unbearable pain raked its claws through his chest, filled his lungs with icy fire, filled his throat and flooded into his sinuses.

He forgot everything — who he was, why he was being burned alive from the inside out, why it was so cold, and dark, and silent.

As his consciousness faded, he thought he felt a tug on his ankle.

He woke up retching water — what felt like buckets of it. Someone rolled him onto his side, and his hands were untied, and he shook and hacked and wheezed through the endless water emptying from his lungs. His chest felt like it had been branded from the inside, his lungs burning like they'd been doused with Changewing acid. As awareness slowly began to return and the coughing finally eased, he realized that a hand rested on his back. For a moment, he dared to believe he'd been rescued, but the voice that materialized above him belonged to Viggo. He didn't sound happy. "…kept him under too long—"

Ryker's voice swam in and out of his awareness: "…so what if he dies? … the girl, next time."

Hiccup fought to stay awake as his consciousness ebbed, but the pull of the cold and the numb and the dark and the deep held him in thrall, and he succumbed.

Right before he floated away, he thought — hoped, prayed, dreamed — that he heard the haunting whistle of a Night Fury.

Hiccup's world splintered into fragments that swirled and scattered and shifted. Impressions, pieces, moments, melting together, falling apart —

Cold. Cold that bit and gnawed and chewed on his bones like a starving dog.

There were voices, sometimes — he could not make out the words but sensed the shape of them: Worried, angry, thick with grief. Someone was crying.

Flashes of faces, reptilian and human. Black scales, mournful green eyes, the press of a warm nose. Toothless. He saw Astrid, back turned, looking out a window, shoulders tense and back taut. And there! The twins, except these twins were solemn, quiet. He dreamed of Snotlout crying. Fishlegs asleep in a chair close by, the Book of Dragons on his chest.

He saw his father, and Gothi, and Heather, and Dagur, and Gobber. They murmured words, smoothed his hair, soothed his brow.

Sometimes he felt hot, too hot. He saw a massive dragon, the size of a mountain, crashing into the ground,burning alive from the inside out. He fell into the flames, burning, burning, unable to move or scream.

He saw others. Two brothers, standing on boat. One of them called him dear and the other one threw him into a frozen sea. He saw Savage and Alvin and faceless Dragon Hunters wielding white-hot brands. They burned him and tossed him into the cold.

He froze and he burned, he thrashed and cried out, he wished to die and thought he was already dead. He drowned in fire, then in ice, choking, coughing, gasping, dying —

And then, finally, he woke up.

Hiccup found out later that Astrid and Snotlout had broken out of their cell using the classic "oh my gods, I think she's dying" ploy, freed the dragons, and scooped him off of the Grimborns' boat and to relative safety.

He had known it must have been bad by the way Tuff burst into tears upon seeing him lucid, or the way Snotlout could barely look at him, or the way his father seemed to have aged ten years since he'd last seen him, his shoulders bowed beneath a great invisible weight. The way Fishlegs had wept and Astrid had hugged him, so softly, so carefully, so intimately, like he was a delicate instrument she feared would break.

But it wasn't until he was able to get out of bed for short periods of time that he found out just how close it had been.

The cold alone had nearly killed him before they got him to safety; only the heat radiating from Toothless's body beneath him as they flew away kept him alive. He'd had such bad frostbite on his stump that Gothi had had to take another couple of inches off — his leg now ended a finger breadth below his knee. Hiccup hadn't even begun to process that yet.

And then he'd taken ill once they got him back to Berk. Fever had ravaged his body, sending him into fits of convulsions. He had coughed so hard he'd vomited, his chest had rattled and wheezed, and he'd lost so much weight he could count every one of his ribs. He'd been delirious, caught between dream and reality, past and present. Toothless had stayed by his side the whole time, cooling his sweaty forehead with his tongue, rumbling and warbling every time Hiccup twitched.

He had come so close to death that their shoulders had brushed.

But somehow, he had clawed his way out of the cold and the dark. The road to recovery would be long, and difficult. He had nightmares about drowning, and about burning, but the worst were the ones about Viggo.

"You are the strongest of us all," his father had said the first time they'd been alone since Hiccup had woken up.

Hiccup scoffed. "Says the great and powerful Viking chief the size of a small mountain to the emaciated talking fish bone." He hated how his voice grated and scratched when he spoke.

"I'm serious, son. What those bastards did to you… Men much larger and much older could not have held up under that kind of torture."

Astrid had punched him in the arm.

"Is that for scaring you?" Hiccup asked dryly.

"No. It's for being such an idiot. You should've given him the lenses, should have lied about where they were, should have—"

She broke off, then leaned over and kissed him like she was dying and he was the only thing tethering her to life.

"Was that for everything else?" he murmured into her hair.

"No," she sniffled. "It's for coming back to me."

Hiccup slowly recovered.

The twins hovered and made terrible jokes and brought Chicken for nightly bedtime stories (Chicken, supposedly, was the storyteller.)

Fishlegs kept him company, geeking out about dragons and discussing new ideas for protecting the Edge, and playing games of dice, and providing an abundance of reading materials.

His dad and Gobber kept him entertained for hours, regaling him with larger-than-life stories of their adventures when they were his age.

Snotlout threw himself into Hiccup's physical recovery, helping him push past his limits and grow stronger. He did so with a begrudging air, like someone had forced him to take on this mantle instead of volunteering himself, but he'd also cried on no less than two separate occasions and had vowed holy vengeance on Viggo and Ryker, so Hiccup knew he cared.

Astrid stayed busy with the A-Team and whatever dragon riders weren't keeping Hiccup company, making sure that with Hiccup out of commission, there would be plenty of riders to protect Berk and travel to and from the Edge as needed. But she stole a kiss whenever she could, and sometimes she'd sit on his bed, and he'd rest his head in her lap, and she'd weave little braids into his hair. They talked, they laughed. Sometimes they cried, and Astrid held him, and he held her, and the cold and the dark encroaching upon him didn't seem quite so oppressive as before.

And Toothless was his constant companion, his heart outside of his body, his anchor when the nightmares threatened to drag him out to sea. Toothless grounded him, nuzzled him, licked him, loved him. Whenever Astrid flew him, Hiccup ached like his heart had been carved out, and the memories and chill pressed in around him. But when Toothless returned, and Hiccup ran his hand along smooth black scales, the darkness receded and he could breathe again.

Some days he remembered what he'd gone through and felt strong. His father's words echoed through his head.

Other days he realized how hard it was to stand, or hobble on his new prosthetic, and felt weak. The nightmares and memories stalked him relentlessly, reminding of how far he had to go.

His friends, his father, his dragon — they were the light guiding him through his darkest days.

And he knew that even when the ice froze and the fire burned and the dark smothered, he was safe. He was protected.

He was home.