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“I don’t know what you think you’re going to get out of me,” Hiccup says flatly, and Viggo narrows his eyes. “I was hoping for information of some sort, but I’m guessing you think that’s out of the question. Would I be correct in that assumption?”
“Absolutely.”
Viggo laughs. “Alright. You’re free to believe that, but I assure you, we can and will break you. I can and will break you.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Hiccup scowls, and Viggo smirks. It’s a sickening expression, his leer slightly threatening. “Why don’t I give you a few hours to mull it over, hmm? Goodnight, my dear.”
He stalks out of the cell, and Hiccup yells at him, “Don’t call me that!”
Viggo doesn’t look back.
The next day, presumably, Hiccup is brought to a separate cell with a vast array of weapons and torture devices laid out on a large cart. As he eyes them warily, the guard handling him shoves him roughly onto a chair and ties his hands to the back of it. His wrists burn, and he hisses in pain. The guard looks at him incredulously and shakes his head, murmuring, “If you think that hurts, you’re going to hate this next part.”
“Oh, I know,” Hiccup says, laughing slightly. “Trust me, I’ve been here before.”
The guard raises his eyebrows, but says nothing in return, instead turning to the weapons and hovering his hands between two; a glaive and a dagger. He seems undecided, and Hiccup says quietly, “I’d prefer the glaive.”
The guard narrows his eyes and snatches up the dagger, and Hiccup internally congratulates himself– this guard is dumb, which means Hiccup can easily manipulate him into less torture.
The guard glances around nervously, and Hiccup raises his eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” the guard says hesitantly, “no, nothing. I’m meant to– I’m going to torture you now.”
“… Okay.”
The guard seems to be debating his chore, and eventually, Hiccup lets his head fall back and he stares at the ceiling.
It comes suddenly, as he’s studying the wood grains– the guard rips Hiccup’s tunic off and swipes the dagger across his chest and stomach. Hiccup cries out, the cuts unexpected and unwelcome, and the guard actually looks terrified. In his panic, he drops the dagger on his boot and it lands blade down– he roars in pain, and several other guards come rushing in to pull him away.
The cell door is slammed shut, and Hiccup is left alone.
He’s crying, a pathetic result of the wounds on his chest. His tears spill onto them and he cries harder at the salt it brings to his blood.
Just as they stop stinging, the door opens, and Viggo enters. He smirks at Hiccup, who glares and balls his fists.
“My, my,” Viggo says, looking Hiccup up and down. “What a sight… unfortunately, I rather think Ívarr did more of a number on himself than you. What did he use, a glaive?”
“Dagger,” Hiccup mutters, and Viggo scoffs. “Absurd. Glaives are much more effective in these situations, I find. As anybody with a brain would.” He picks up the glaive, eyes the bloody dagger on the floor with disdain, and approaches Hiccup with a glint in his eye.
Hiccup braces himself, squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth, but the blow doesn’t come. Instead, he hears a sheath, and his hands are suddenly being untied.
He opens his eyes to Viggo laying him, face down, on the floor. He’s gentle about it, retying Hiccup’s wrists above his head with minimal jostling, and Hiccup nearly relaxes into the floorboards.
Viggo’s boots appear in front of his face, the toes covered in a layer of steel, and a sigh comes from the man. “Now, you’re going to tell me what I need to know.”
“You haven’t told me what you need to know,” Hiccup says, instantly regretting it when Viggo stamps down, hard, on Hiccup’s hands, effectively crushing three of his fingers. He screams, agony blinding him, and he can practically see Viggo’s smirk.
“I need to know,” Viggo whispers, leaning down, “where the last Dragon Eye lens is.”
“It’s not the last one,” Hiccup says, breathing heavily. “There are at least three others that nobody has found.”
“Do you want me to break the rest of your fingers, my dear?”
Hiccup shakes his head as best he can against the floor, and Viggo gives a knowing hum. “That’s what I thought. Now, the lens.”
“I won’t tell you,” he says. “You have to know by now that I won’t tell you.”
“Oh, but you will. We– I will torture you until you break, until you are a mere shell of a person, until you don’t know who you are without me– and then, Hiccup, you will tell me where the lens is.” Viggo sounds sincere, and Hiccup feels a shiver down his spine. Nevertheless, he spits at his captor’s shoes, and he pays dearly.
Viggo isn’t dumb like the guard was.
The glaive, of course, hurts more.