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Viggo moved his fingers fluidly around a dagger, weaving it deftly between them, leaving light to dance from the polished blade delicately on the walls.
His mouth was drawn, brow furrowed as his foot tapped lightly on the wooden flooring of his office. For all his planning, the wait, such as this, never failed to make him, as they say, antsy.
It hadn’t been too long over their appointed rendevouz time.. It seemed as though he had gotten too used to punctuality from his favorite recruit. It wasn’t like him to be late.
Something he had to ensure never happened again, if he survived.
It was a simple raid they planned. Small island with little in the way of defense. The real prize was, of course, the cavern crasher in it’s depths.
It was only by sheer coincidence, his newest recruits former friends had been stationed there. A smirk formed on his face. A real shame if one were to run into his asset.
The last time, after all, was quite unfortunate. For them, at least. Ah, his beautiful prize? Well, he did quite wonderfully. He wondered how they were recovering from the loss of their chieften line. Ah, the irony tasted sweet.
Ah yes, he relished their faces the first time. The shock, the fear. The lass, Astrid, her face was priceless, blue eyes wide with shock as a blade of fire-improved, deadly, brought death upon the man that raised the weilder.
He ruminated on their fear, savoring it. Oh, he could’ve destroyed them there, but what would the fun be? They played into his hands in a way they never had before. Oh, it was child’s play at this point without their greatest player at their side.
As if summoned by his thoughts, and nigh an hour late, the subject of his thoughts walked in, a shadow behind a group of soldiers, a dagger in the dark.
His dear traitor.
He moved as if he were made of darkness himself, seperating from the shadows as if they were reluctant to release him, light holding no favor on the deep scales that decorated his armor,
He couldn’t help the way his lips twitched up at the sight, eyes gleaming.
“Ah, Hiccup. Report?” The shadow stayed silent, face covered with a blank visage of leather and iron carved into the visage of a night fury, thin slits for eyes, sharp spines and sharper eyes lying beneath the mask.
It brought any who looked upon it shivers, a fear that dug into their soul. Inhuman, the way he stayed silent. Fearless, obidient.
Silent.
He felt a frown form on his lips at the way he stayed still, quiet. Not even a word from his lips. One of the men by his side coughed, looking between their leader and their pet ‘dragon.’ He shuffled in place, nervous as he looked upon Viggo.
“Success. Our little assassin is quite the force of nature. Wouldn’t think it, looking at him-”
“As difficult as it may be, do refrain from answering questions not directed to you.” Viggo didn’t even bother looking upon the speaker, irritation budding his tone.
"But-sir, he hasnt spoken since-" The man-the captain-ah, he recognized him; One appointed by his brother, of course, fell silent, a heavy weight of fear tainting the air. Viggo scoffed, glaring at the warrior in black. A small chuckle left the group, from a soldier in the back, cloaked in Nighmare scales.
“Like the little worm can. Only a husk, A monster. that one-”
A dagger found its way into the wall, right besides the speakers head. A gasp sounded, the men leaning away from the wall in shock. All, but one, who only stood blankly, a slight glow from inside the helmet the only indication of awareness.
His frown deepened, a fear building in his throat-no, not fear. Frustration. Disappointment, perhaps.
He glared at the men, who seemed to only be able to stand there in shock, shaking in their boots like a few children scorned by a parent. Quite useless, they were. He grabbed a dagger to replace the one which found its way across the room, working it into his fingers. The men swallowed audibly.
“Leave. Do be useful and inform my brother.” He sneered.
“Y-Yes, sir.” They did so, quickly, like the little sheep they were, gone in a flash. Oh so terrified of the big bad wolf. His lips quirked slightly at their reaction, only to fall at the sight before him.
His little piece hadn’t moved an inch.
His feet slowly carried him forwards, moving with purpose towards the figure. Inches from him, now, he could smell blood.
It glistened on the armor, speckled like the night sky on a black canvas. Scales shined back, gleaming in the thinning daylight, like the depths of the cosmos.
A blank slit met his gaze, watching, calculating, perhaps. One might think he were a statue. If not for the way his chest slowly rose and fell, a fact he checked idly with lingering fingers, he wouldn’t be so sure if there were a person in the armor. Red coated his fingertips, small dried flecks one could mistake for rust.
“Come now, Hiccup. No need to be so coy.” He chuckled. Hiccup didn’t answer. Viggo, in turn, ran a hand down his back, leaning ever closer. He could feel the heat of his breath, the shaky quality of it. His hands were slightly shaking, he noted. Not suprising. It was something quite normal, now.
Something he was…unsure how to feel about, knowing the reason. A boon and a bane, a curse with a prize. A method and the madness it left behind.
His hand moved further, cupping his hip, as his breath caught on the shell of his ear. “I know you are in there. Hasn’t this farce gone on long enough?”
Hiccup did not react to his touch. He hadn’t for a long time.
Not since the death of his dear Astrid.
He fought down the frustration as he pulled away, looking at Hiccup with a more critical gaze. Truly, nothing. Not even a peep when there should be a snarky comment. Even a simple frown didnt grace his lips. Just glazed dead eyes of a corpse staring blankly at him. Absent. Submissive.
Viggo had a hard time pulling words from his dear rider, these days. It made things…predictable, boring in all the ways any other victor would be proud of.
Hiccup grew quieter each mission, each length of time seeming to take away a chunk of him, strewing his path like the bodies he left behind. His resilience was burning away quickly, his actions far more ruthless, perfect even. This rebellion, however….
He bared his teeth, grabbing the collar of his shirt and tugging him closer, face to face. Hiccup followed, like a dog on a leash, stumbling upon himself as he sluggishly righted himself.
“Nothing to say? Truly, how the great have fallen. A month ago you wouldn’t have hesitated to tear me apart. Look at you now.” He traced the blade down his throat, his collar peaking out slightly,
Only whispering breaths, labored by a broken rib.
He snapped.
“Say something!”
Nothing.
A part of him knew this was no farce, no lie. And yet, he searched the others expression. It didnt change. Nothing lied in those green depths. Only hunger, obedience.
He snarled, brown eyes alight with fury as he pushed Hiccup back. He stumbled, yet-no reaction, only his head slightly hanging lower, like a doll with its strings cut.
“Pathetic.” He whispered, venom coating the words. “You cannot even speak for yourself. You are nothing.”
Hiccup didn’t respond. Not even a hint of a hitch in his breathing, not a twitch. There was once a time that he would, at the very least, respond to his voice. His eyes, though dialated and distant, would lock on him, a heated silent scream resounding to those who dare gaze upon them. A time where he would snap back. He hadn’t heard his voice in months.
Viggo fought the discomfort in his throat, his eyes burning as he scanned the man before him. Sweat dripped from underneath his mask. Only one reason for that-one that could not be ignored. Viggo sighed, tiling his head up.
“You need more I take it?” At the silent command in his words, Hiccup took his helmet off with a flud motion, soft clicking and leather rubbing gently against fabric filled the room as he exposed his face fully.
Blank green eyes with tight black pupils, small enough to be scarcely seen in the sea of green, greeted him, ringed by the slightest hue of purple. They were unfocused, staring into the distance with nay an emotion to be found in their depths.
Tubes, empty but for a few glowing drops, held close to his throat, bobbing gently with each breath on the leather contraption weaved around his neck.
It was an intricate piece, one he was proud of. Unlike the swine from the north, his collar was created with thought, hanging perfectly on his riders skin, like a thick collar. Tubing made through expensive means from the extract of a tree from afar, trailed gently down into the collar of his armor, where empty vials were tucked away, protected in his suit and unable to be tugged out.
A perfect design, comfortable. Not that Hiccup ever thanked him.
“Why don’t you beg, then? Hm?” Viggo said, voice coated with honey as he moved the slightest bit closer to the rider. Hiccup’s eyes tracked him lazily, eyelashes fluttering slightly on hallowed cheeks. Leaning back, a small frown grew on his lips as his voice took on a teasing lilt. “A please would suffice.”
A part of him expected some reaction, even the smallest twitch on the dear riders scarred face.
Hiccup had never thanked him, under duress or not. It was admirable. He oh so loved the reaction it brought forth, teeth bared and lips drawn, eyes narrowed as the rider swallowed, a barrage of insults building from his clever mouth.
Not that that happened. Not anymore. Viggo remembered his annoyance and intrigue at their games. Now, he yearned for those lips to part. Fascinating, how eerie the silence was.
He realized far too late he never much craved silence from those lips. Of course, the rider's taunts were quite endearing and frustrating in equal measure, but the cost of such a victory didnt seem so high, back when such measures were implemented.
Viggo sighed.
“Perhaps not. No. You lack such complex thought as simple formalities. You are but shell for my whims, A piece on my board.” He continued after a moment, leaning forwards. He brushed his fingers on Hiccup’s pale cheek. His skin was cold as death.
Hiccup’s eyelashes beat on said cheek once, fanning sweetly on pale skin, opening slowly into a half-lidded stare. Viggo watched the motion with an odd sense of irritation.
Viggo glared. “Maybe you see nothing, hear nothing but commands. A little doll-the perfect slave.”
And he was. The ultimate weapon. The greatest boon. With him and his dragon, Viggo had swiftly ended their war, and pushed the rider to continue in his conquest. He built a far stronger reputation than even Viggo imagined, building their business and creating fear across the Archipelago.
He could have achieved total control with his prize. Not that he desired such a thing, of course. Domination was bad for buisness, and he had no interest controlling more islands. However, buisness was booming with the threat of Viggo’s Dagger lurking in the shadows, and no other dragon hunter stood against him after the death of Drago and Krogan. All others were swiftly dealt with, and his Dagger remained a mystery to all but him and his victims.
The destruction of Berk was simply the first step into breaking down Hiccup. Everything else fell beautifully into place.
And now, their tiny rebellion, what was left, was destroyed by their own leader, if this mission was as successful as he was lead to believe. He wished he could have seen the defeat in their eyes, as he had seen in Astrid’s.
And yet, the win felt hollow, seeing the absent need in Hiccups eyes. The knowledge that Hiccup might not even know what he had done tainted the victory.
“When you killed Astrid Hofferson, did you feel anything? Not even a twitch? A tear?" Viggo took a small step back, cocking his head as his hands trembled slightly. "You were to be married, once. Ah, I wish I could’ve seen the fear in her eyes as you felled the very people you promised to save.”
Hiccup blinked once more, slow and lethargic. Viggo clenched his teeth.
“Do you even know your name, anymore? Do you know where you are?” The words were hushed, dark, whispered like a prayer to the god’s he didn’t believe in.
Sending him on this mission, a part of him hoped…
But no, instead, Hiccup stood before him, bathed in his friend's blood, none the wiser.
It...
Viggo grabbed the man's hand, pulling it up to his mouth. The cold skin felt odd in his hands, limp, unfeeling as his breath danced on the other’s hand.
Hiccup watched him idly, His head tilting in a sluggish daze. Purple-nothing but that horrid shade of purple gleamed like fire on his eyes, highlighting the green, the pinpricks of black, and the glazed haze of a broken mind.
He did this. He did this.
“Come back to me.” He prayed, kissing the man’s fingertips. He looked at Hiccup, his rival, his everything. He swallowed, throat bobbing as he stood before his worst creation, his best player, his broken toy.
Viggo won. Surely, fully, without a doubt-Hiccup belonged to him.
A tear ran down his face, small, subtle, like a star falling from the firmament. The feeling came as a shock. Viggo thought himself incapable of such an act, but at that moment, he found he didn’t know how, nor did he care. Viggo’s very body seemed to rebel against him, his throat growing dry as a pain of a thousand arrows pierced his heart as he gazed at his creation. His failiure.
He didnt understand the emotions. It hurt, and he hated it. He hated the way Hiccup mattered to him far more than he realized.
He got everything he ever strove for, and never regretted more.
“Please.” Viggo muttered into the man’s ear, like a beggar at an altar.
Nothing answered but the cold beat of the other's heart. Beating, but not alive.
Hiccup Haddock was dead.
This wasn't what he wanted.