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“You’ll be okay, bud. We’ll get through this,” Hiccup soothes, scratching Toothless under his jaw.
It’s strange, to be this side of the doors. He and Toothless are locked up in a pen built into the wall of a dragon-fighting arena, that some two-bit hunter has decided is the place for them. He’s muzzled and collared, but Hiccup is sure those will come off eventually. He really wishes he had Astrid’s sheer strength in moments like these.
They’re not even alone; there’s a Razorwhip and a Nightmare and a Gronkle here too. If he was ever going to break out, it would be with a team of dragons by his side. It’s like they’ve taken no precautions at all, the fools.
He waits.
They’ve not taken his prosthetic leg, which even Ryker never fails to do. He’s able to use it to hack at the wall, and carve out some stone to feed the Gronkle. The Nightmare is easily soothed once he realises her anger comes from the fact that she has a fish hook stuck in her throat. The poor Razorwhip is already cowed from losing his fight with Toothless, but willing to trade kindness for kindness. Toothless didn’t hurt him, and so he won’t hurt Toothless, and Hiccup by extension.
A hunter enters; she’s wiry and muscled, and her vest is made of tanned Armourwing hide. There’s an excited spring to her step as she comes in, dragging a cage with her.
“What do you want with us?” Hiccup asks, the chain rattling as he moves to shield Toothless as well as he can. Toothless growls softly, as much as he can through the muzzle.
“Us, he says,” she mocks. “Just you, today. That thing will face our champion later.”
She marches over to him, cuffing his hands and undoing the leg shackle. She’s too strong to make a break for it, and she strongarms him into the cage. There’s no other option than to let himself be carted out, away from Toothless, his other half, who Hiccup can only vainly comfort with empty platitudes.
“It’s okay, I’ll be okay, bud,” Hiccup shouts, before the door to the pen slams shut and he’s being wheeled—somewhere.
If they leave him alone long enough, he thinks, he might be able to slip out of the bars. He’s slimmer than the average viking; the benefits of being a runt are that most cages and cuffs are too large.
They don’t leave him alone, though. Instead they wheel him around to the other entrance of the arena, past the curious gazes of the spectators. He pulls his mask down self-consciously, to try and preserve the illusion of privacy.
“Where are you taking me?” he asks the hunter.
She laughs. “I think you know already.”
She pushes the cage all the way down into the middle of the arena, and connects the top of the cage to an automaric lifting mechanism that will free him. In front of him, they wheel out a Skrill, sitting in a small pool of water.
“Hey—hey aren’t you going to give me a fighting chance at least?” Hiccup calls, somewhat desperately, to her retreating form, brandishing his cuffed wrists.
The arena door bangs shut.
If he listens, he can hear the whispers in the crowd. Public execution and death sentence and he’s getting brutal nowadays and you’d be mad to bet on the boy!—Oh but the rewards if you do!
(If nothing else, this does contextualise Berk as one of the maddest, craziest places around. Probably putting a teenager in a ring with a wild dragon should actually be considered a method of public execution, and not an honour to compete for.)
Hiccup grimaces, the expression safely hidden. His only weapon is the knife slotted against his forearm, but it’ll be of no use since he can’t reach it. It would be of no use anyway, because it’s a tiny dagger, and that’s a Skrill.
He tries to remember anything useful from the Book of Dragons. Aggressive, powerful, and nearly untrainable. Known for their inherent distrust of others. Not useful. Channels lightning down metal spines, but does not actually generate it—this means a limited number of blasts. Attracted to metal—like my leg or this dagger. Might be problematic. Weak in water—the Skrill’s cage is in a water basin, if I can make it there I might be alright.
He can hear Toothless roar in distress as the cages are lifted. He exhales as evenly as he can, and eyes the Skrill. Neither of them make the first move.
He doesn’t want to startle it, though, remembering what happened the last time he was trapped in a kill ring with a dragon, that may be out of his hands. If the ringmaster does something, if a spectator shouts too loudly, all calm could evaporate.
And all at once, the Skrill takes off. Roaring, she flies as high as the metal chains of the arena ceiling will let her, scratching at them and crawling all over them, sending electrical blasts down their lengths and scaring the spectators.
She’s determined he’s not a threat, he realises. And she’s attracted to the metal of the chains. If he can just get out of these cuffs whilst she’s still distracted… he fiddles with them as quietly as possible whilst approaching the water basin. If there’s a way to trick her into chasing him into it, he might be able to touch her, get her used to his scent, without the danger of being shocked.
Once dragons catch his scent, they usually calm down. Between Toothless slobbering on him affectionately, and the fact that his suit is mostly shed Night Fury scales, he comes off as pretty draconic. It helps that Night Furies and Skrills are sister species, and tend not to compete too much. Really, all he really needs to be right now is non-human.
For that reason, in the hopes the Skrill will look at him, covered in scales, and see dragon, he stays low to the ground as he moves to mimic quadrupedal movement. He manages to slip out of the cuffs, and grasps them tightly in his left hand, whilst his right hand moves to unsheathe his dagger.
He makes it to the water basin as the Skrill screeches. She’s stopped shocking the chains, realising it to be a fruitless endeavour, and is now looking directly at him.
Alright.
He holds up the handcuffs and the dagger to her, shaking his hands gently so the sun flashes on the metal and attracts her attention. He needs her to focus on the metal, and not on him. Not just yet.
She drops from the ceiling with a great wingbeat, landing some metres away from him. Her gait is cautious, but threatening, lightning crackling over her teeth as she approaches.
“There we go,” Hiccup murmurs, trying to sound as soothing and friendly as possible. “Good girl. Come here, come quietly.” He glances up at the ringmaster, who is whispering to a bald friend of his. Blinking, he turns back to the Skrill; he has bigger problems right now.
She stops only a metre from the basin, growling softly. Hiccup realises the position he’s in.
“No, no, no don’t do that to me, I’m a friend,” he says, dropping the dagger to the stone floor. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
The hunters probably trapped her in water, he realises, and winces at the stupid move he’s about to pull. “I’m going to come closer, okay?” he says, and gets out of the basin, shaking water out of his boot.
He holds his empty hand out to her, and takes a slow step towards her. She bares her teeth, and he immediately stops.
“It’s okay. I promise.” Even if she doesn’t understand the exact words, he hopes she undertands the meaning. “I’m not going anyway. Not by choice, necessarily. But I’m here. And I’m not going to hurt you.“
The arena is dead silent. In the distance, he can hear people groaning, and dragon fire. Zippleback gas sparks, and a Nadder throws spikes. The others are here, he realises.
“Hiccup!” Astrid shouts, as Stormfly lands on the arena’s ceiling. Stormfly roars, and before Hiccup can shout NO! she’s fired on the Skrill.
She roars in pain, aiming a lightning bolt at Stormfly—who evades—before turning back to Hiccup, pupils slit and jaw wide open.
“Wait no please—“
She blasts him directly.
He hears gasps of horror and cheers of delight, and Astrid screaming in anger and grief. Warmth consumes him and for a second a frenetic energy takes him, skirting through his bones and into his bloodstream. His nose bleeds, and his eyes ache, and his ears ring.
The Skrill roars again, this time in confusion.
The world has gone silent again.
Since when are Night Fury scales lightning proof? Hiccup thinks, blinking down at himself. His armour is fireproof, sure but lightning is a different beast. Guess that “unholy offspring of lightning and death itself” thing is truer than I thought.
Here comes the second shock—he can’t see himself. He still exists, he’s not dead, he’s not a spirit separated from a corpse. He moves in physical space, invisible but not intangible, a step and then another step towards the Skrill.
She sniffs at the empty air, but she cannot see him. Another step, and he reaches out a hand, trembling from the fear or from the electricity or both.
And if she can’t see me, she can’t see any human. All she smells is scared dragon.
The invisibility doesn’t last more than a few seconds. He sees his own hand reappear before his eyes, placed gently on the Skrill’s snout. She purrs, pushing her head against his hand.
“There we go, girl,” he murmurs. “Now, let’s get out of here.”