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Hiccup didn't tell anyone. He didn't tell his father, he didn't tell Gobber, he didn't tell his friends.
The only other living souls that knew about his torment were Toothless, his best friend who had saved him and helped him, and…
Dagur. The one who had done it to him.
Hiccup had hidden his injuries after his capture from Dagur for a variety of reasons.
One: there were other things to focus on. His treatment from Dagur wasn't important in the grand scheme of things. It was the war with him that mattered.
Two: It hadn't been that bad. Sure, he'd held him down and beaten him till blood was running from his nose and lips and his ribs were cracking, but Hiccup knew it could have been a lot worse… right?
Three: It was his fault anyway. Hiccup was the one to blame for his own torture. If he hadn't gone out on that reconnaissance mission with just Toothless, he wouldn't have been captured in the first place. He'd been shaky and tense from nightmares, nightmares about Dagur. The war was his fault. His people were suffering because he'd done something to catch Dagur's attention, to win his obsession.
Hiccup had won it all right. He could still see the way Dagur had smiled at him as he'd sauntered into his cell. The sky had been graying with dawn, enough light to see by in this place hewn from the rock.
Hiccup had been hopeful. Toothless hadn't been caught with him. They'd been separated by the net in the fall, and it had just been Hiccup the Berserkers had brought back for their crazed chief.
"You know, Hiccup, I don't like being woken," Dagur said. The cell door closed behind him. A peek over Dagur's shoulder revealed Savage standing there with the key. And a club.
"Not usually," Dagur continued. The way he approached Hiccup was menacing, predatory. He didn't have his helmet or armor on, but he was still much bigger than Hiccup without any of it. His only weapon appeared to be a knife at his belt.
Hiccup stood his ground anyway, lifting his chin. He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Oh, so I'm a good wake up call then? Nice."
Dagur laughed, and it wasn't his usual, manic cackle. It sounded more genuine. That managed to unnerve Hiccup even more than the familiar high-pitched laughter.
"You're funny, Hiccup." Dagur stopped in front of him, hands on his hips. "I'd like to keep you around."
"Why?" Hiccup asked the question dryly. He… knew the answer, in a sense. It was what had started all of this in the first place.
He'd told Dagur no.
So here they were, at war with each other, Hiccup trapped in a cell with him, and no way out. His only hope was Toothless finding someway to get him out of this.
Dagur grinned. "You know why."
Hiccup's ribs still hurt. It was a struggle for him to get in and out of bed, to fasten on his prosthetic leg, to mount Toothless, to breathe, to do anything.
And yet he stubbornly powered through. He hadn't gone to see Gothi. Of course, everyone had insisted upon seeing his face, but he'd told them all he was fine, that the injuries there were due to a crash landing from a stray gust of wind. His lie probably wasn't believable, but people stopped pressing him on it when he gave the same answer every time.
Hiccup braced himself when he and Toothless landed at his house, their duties done for the day, the sun spilling a ruddy orange into the ocean. It was a cool, calm night, and usually Hiccup would stay out later, take Toothless on his beloved sunset flight, but he was tired and hurting. It had been three weeks since the capture he'd told no one about. His face was healing nicely, but his ribs were another story.
He was sick of smiling, and let his lips twist into the grimace he'd been holding back all day.
Luckily, no one was around to see him struggle to get out of the saddle, or hear the grunts and groans of pain the movement elicited. For a moment he stood in front of the door, breathing as hard as the pain would allow, one hand to his abdomen, the other on Toothless' shoulder to help him stay steady and upright.
Hiccup thought he was free for the day, free to express his pain and rest, but when he opened the door, he found Stoick and Gobber inside the central room by the fire. There was a stew brewing in the big pot above it, and both men sat with mugs of presumably mead, a game of hnefatafl between them.
"Stoick, you know I wouldn't cheat!" Gobber cried. He nearly spilled his drink as he flung his arm out.
"I turned to stir the stew and now my pieces aren't where I left them," Stoick argued. His eyes narrowed with an anger that was more for show than anything else. "You cheated."
Hiccup was grateful to not be noticed at first. It gave him time to take a breath that felt like a stab to the chest, straighten his posture, and put the smile back on.
"Hiccup!" Stoick cried upon noticing him and Toothless. "Glad you're home. Dinner's almost ready."
"Um, ah, thanks." Hiccup went to the table to also pour himself some mead. He didn't drink a lot of it, usually only a bit at meals, but he poured more into his mug than usual. Maybe it would take the edge off the pain for the night.
"I thought you'd still be in the Great Hall," Hiccup said. He joined Stoick and Gobber in an empty stool by the fire, trying so very hard not to wince when he sat down. Any movement was anguish. "Isn't it Gripe Day?"
Gobber snorted. "Every day is Gripe Day when you're Silent Sven."
Hiccup couldn't help but snort in amusement at that. Silent Sven sure had a lot to gripe about for someone who was mute.
That movement, however, broke his carefully crafted and maintained façade. Pain lanced through his sides and chest, and he found himself doubling over, dropping and spilling his drink, both hands to his chest. He felt like he couldn't breathe, and black spots swarmed his vision like locusts come to prey on his consciousness.
Hiccup heard people calling his name, felt strong arms supporting him as he nearly collapsed to the floor. Everything hurt so bad that he could hardly breathe.
There was a statement that brought him back to himself though.
"Get Gothi."
"Wait!" Hiccup tried to free himself from his father's arms, realizing it was him who was holding him. He held up a hand to try to stop Gobber, attempted to stand, knees shaking, fire lancing his chest with every breath. "Wait, wait, wait!"
"You're hurt, Hiccup," Stoick said sternly. "I'm getting you to bed and Gobber will go get Gothi."
Hiccup ceased his struggling, panting. He was tired, aching, sweating. It felt like he couldn't see straight.
"F-fine," he managed to get out.
He hadn't wanted anyone to find out what Dagur had done to him. It wasn't that bad, and he was hardly important enough to be wasting Gothi's time. Berk's sage had already tended to many wounded from the war, and Hiccup didn't need to be one of them. Supplies should not be wasted on him. Nor should time or concern.
Despite his reasoning, Hiccup was compliant as his father and Toothless helped him up the stairs to bed. He heard the front door close as Gobber left to fetch Gothi.
The next part of this wasn't easy. Hiccup hadn't been in this much pain from these injuries before, and he was wondering if all the movement on his part had moved or dislodged something. Maybe being seen to was a good idea… Because he yelled as he was helped into bed, even with his father being gentle and having him move slow.
But, finally, he was there, laying flat on his back, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. It felt like he'd never get a good breath again.
Hiccup almost hoped his father would leave. He knew he had questions, and he didn't quite want to answer them.
"What happened?" Stoick demanded to know.
Hiccup kept his eyes closed for the moment, reached out a hand, felt Toothless' snout under his palm as he cooed gently.
"Y-you know how Dagur had me captured a little while back?" Hiccup began, voice tight with pain.
Stoick sighed. "You've been hurt this whole time? You've been walking around like this for a week and a half?" He sounded shocked, but also tired. So very tired. This was why Hiccup hadn't wanted to tell him in the first place.
"Uh… maybe." Hiccup hated admitting to it. He had his eyes open now, but was just staring at the ceiling. His hand was idly scratching Toothless between the ears.
There was silence. Hiccup waited, unsure of what to say, expecting his father to be angry with him.
What came out of Stoick was not anger, but understanding.
"I understand the desire to appear strong as a leader," Stoick said. "I also understand feeling that those you command are more important than you are. But, Hiccup—" He paused and took his hand, and Hiccup finally met his gaze— "We can't lead from a place of strength if we isolate and run ourselves into the ground. Secrets get us nowhere."
Hiccup didn't have to think about this concept much. His father was right, of course.
But what he didn't understand was the guilt. He didn't understand that it felt to Hiccup like it was his fault they were at war with the Berserkers, that it was his fault that he was so badly hurt. None of this would have happened if…
For a fleeting moment, he thought of telling his father. No one knew the entirety of the events that had occurred that night on Dragon Island when all of this had started. No one knew what Dagur truly wanted.
Except him of course.
But instead, Hiccup plastered on a pained, tired smile and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Secrets get us nowhere."