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Daur chewed at Heather’s famous yak chops, too jittery to enjoy it. He was sure it was delicious, as usual, but it tasted like eating sawdust, and he was kind of annoyed he couldn’t enjoy it like usual.
He was quiet as everyone else ate with apparent relish. Heather’s cooking went down a treat, and watching them smack their lips in delight made Dagur think fondly of his mother. Heather must’ve got her keen talent for cooking from her. He also thought fondly, of the times he tried to cook as well. He set the kitchen on fire, and his father yelled at him, as was the way with their dynamic. Dagur the screw-up, Dagur the dainty, Dagur the deranged. He knew it by heart.
“You not hungry?” Heather asked, her hand hovering over his plate. Her eyes were fond, but quietly scrutinising. He wondered for a moment when he learned to read his sister’s face so well.
Probably when he caught glimpses of his father in hers’. The anger, the disgust, the scorn, it was all the same. If he didn’t love her, wasn’t certain he’d die and kill for her, he might’ve wanted to stab her just to get him out of his head.
I’m not supposed to think like that , he reminded himself. I’ve changed.
“No thanks,” he said with a polite shake of his head. “Guess it’s all that dragon flying.”
“That reminds me- you’re due another Gronckle riding lesson- you’ve got a lot to catch up on,” Fishlegs piped up. “I was hoping to work on the inverted Gronckle drop, maybe with a variation...”
Dagur tuned him out, anxiety swamping in his gut. It wasn’t like he didn’t care about Fishlegs -he really did want to learn- and he was almost beginning to respect him. But last night’s nightmare left him feeling jittery and raw, like someone only had to look at him to know exactly how he was feeling. Not to mention it felt as if a simple hover would turn his insides outside.
Today was not a good day.
“Hey, are you feeling alright?” Fishlegs asked suddenly, breaking off from his spiel.
“Huh? Oh- oh yeah, I’m fine.”
“Of course he’s fine, he’s Dagur, ” Tuffnut said. “He asks other people to throw knives at him for fun.”
“ What? ” Dagur snapped, suddenly defensive. He couldn’t label how it happened, but it's as if someone flipped a switch inside his brain, and raised his guard. Spikes could’ve been protruding from his body for all the comfort it does.
“Where...” his voice was hollow, ringing through his skull, “did you hear that from?”
“Gossip,” Tuffnut said casually. “Berserkers do all kinds of crazy stuff. They like the pain. Or that’s what they say at Berk, at least.”
It never occurred to him that Berk might think of his tribe -nobel, determined, fierce, valiant- as nothing more than crazed lunatics who like to be tortured for fun. Let alone what they thought of him.
That didn’t make Tuffnut’s next sentence any less painful to hear.
“I mean, that’s how you got the scar on your face, right? Knife throwing accident or something.”
“Alvin,” was all Dagur managed to get out before his head started spinning. He clung to the nearest solid object like a lifeline, which happened to be the table.
“Uh, Dagur?” Hiccup asked, he and Heather returning from the kitchen. “Are you alri...”
His voice faded into obscurity as Dagur crashed to the ground, shaking, muscles clenching, hot liquid dripping down his face. His knees hit something solid, and his heart dropped. No .
But it was, it was Outcast island. His three-year prison sentence, and the worst three years of his life.
Alvin was standing over him, the whip, that Thorsaken whip, in his hand. He swung it tauntingly over his head in mesmerising circles.
“Hello, Dagur.” With a flick of his wrist, the whip crashed against the wall, inches away from Dagur’s head. “So lovely to see you again.”
Dagur spat at his feet, defiance sparkling in his eyes.
“Very well. I had something so much... nicer planned for you,” he said, bending down to Dagur while he was chained to the floor, gripping his face with his hand. “But if you’d rather...”
Dagur let out a quiet gasp of terror, pressing his lips together so he didn’t scream. “What- what are you-”
“You’ll see. Or...” Alvin pulled a blindfold out of his saddlebag. “Maybe you won’t.”
Dagur’s heart dropped into his shoes. He was going to blindfold him. Whatever he was going to do to him, he wouldn’t even be able to brace himself before something undoubtedly horrible happened.
Suddenly, miraculously, the terror began to turn to anger, like flames stoked with Monstrous Nightmare gel.
“Come here,” Alvin said as he moved towards him, blindfold in his hand.
Not if he had anything to say about it! As Alvin came towards him, he writhed against his chains, kicking and biting and screaming like a rabid animal. It slowed him down for a moment, and Dagur thought he’d won.
Until Alvin, seething with fury, slowly marched towards him. A horrible grin was on his face, promising nothing good. Dagur could only freeze in place with the hands of two guards -whose tight grip was sure to leave bruises- as Alvin stretched the blindfold over his eyes.
For a horrible moment, there was nothing. Then, a crack!
He barely had time to hear the noise, before everything came down on him in waves. He couldn’t breathe. It hurt so much. It was pain and fire and the right side of his face burning and death and life and agony and everything everything everything, everything-
“ Dagur! ” Someone placed their hand on his shoulder. Alvin. He flinched away, though he knew it would only get him more punishment later on.
Accepting his fate, he bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better.”
“Dagur, it’s alright, we’re not mad at you,” a voice -far too gentle and feminine to be Alvin- spoke. “It’s me, it’s Heather. Your sister .”
“Heather?” He found the strength to open his eyes. He was not blindfolded. He was not bleeding. The scar was closed; it had been for more than three years.
His sister was looking at him with the most worried eyes he’d ever seen on her. It scared him more than her anger.
“It’s alright, it’s alright.” Heather cautiously inched closer, her hands moving to his, up his arms, resting firmly on his shoulders. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Woah, what the hell?” Ruffnut said, staring wide-eyed at him. Dagur opened his eyes to find all the other riders looking at him, their faces a spectrum of concern to fear to bewilderment. He flinched, shame burning his cheeks to the approximate colour of his hair.
“I- I- I’m sorry, that- that was embarrassing, huh?” He gave a dry chuckle, trying to add humour to the situation. It all felt like being wrapped in ropes, the same ones he was tied with in front of Alvin , strangling, a horrible feeling he couldn’t escape from.
“It’s fine, Dagur,” Hiccup said sincerely. “It’s really, honestly fine.”
The twins hung their heads in embarrassment. “We’re so sorry we made that... thing happen to you. We totally didn’t realise it was from Alvin,” Tuffnut said, and Ruffnut solemnly nodded her head.
“You think there was anywhere else I could’ve got them in the three years I was in prison?”
“Now that you put it like that...” Ruffnut said, grimacing. “Sorry. We were muttonheads, but that’s no excuse. We’re so sorry, Dagur.”
“No, no. It was my fault,” Hiccup said, leaning on the clubhouse table beside Dagur. “I should’ve convinced my father to keep you prisoner here. We shouldn’t have left you at the mercy of Outcast jail because we didn’t want to put up with you.”
Hiccup only realised the harshness of his words too late, and he sucked in a breath. Dagur noticed, but chose not to mention it.
“Hey. What’s in the past is past. Besides, you guys are my allies now.” He gave a genuine smile. “And I won’t act like the week Heather and I have stayed here haven’t been the best for a while, I mean, it’s great to get away from chiefing Berserker Island and all, and I-”
“You’re rambling.” Heather briskly cut him off.
“Yes, yes, sorry.” He cleared his throat. “What I’m trying to say is thanks. And it’s not your fault, H. Believe me, no one can change Stoick’s mind when it’s made up.”
Hiccup nodded, a humourless chuckle leaving his lips. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But still-”
“Hiccup.” Dagur’s voice rang through the room. “Stop blaming yourself, or I’ll turn your insides out.”
His threatening scowl lasted all of two seconds before he burst into a kind smile. “Hiccup, it’s honestly fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Dagur shook himself off as he stood. “And thank you, guys. I, you know... appreciate it.”