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Astrid burst through Viggo's ornate office door, axe hefted, blood boiling in her veins, fury breathing down the back of her neck, mingling with her festering fear. Hiccup hadn't been in the cells of Viggo's flagship, which meant either he had been moved elsewhere since his capture, the unthinkable had happened, or he was with—
"Viggo," Astrid snarled, the rage sinking its fangs into her throat. Her grip tightened on the haft of her axe so much that her fingers ached and she swore she could hear the wood creak. The office was small but ornate, brimming with intricately carved furniture, rare dragon trophies, an abundance of invaluable maps and charts, and enough finery to feed the people of Berk for a year.
But Astrid paid no mind to the sickening display of Viggo's wealth and ego. She had eyes only for the young man seated in a high-backed chair near the back of the room, flinching away from the Hunter chief who loomed like a carrion bird over him. Viggo had planted his palms on either armrest, leaning forward into Hiccup's space. Astrid didn't know exactly what was happening, but the frightening mix of resignation and terror on Hiccup's face, paired with his cagey posture and the manacles binding his wrists, said more than enough. Astrid wanted nothing more than to vault over the desk in the center of the room — the only thing separating her from the ugly scene playing before her — and bury her blade in Viggo's back before he had time to turn around.
And she would have — she should have! — but Hiccup met her eyes and instead of relief, she only saw an aching dread on his face. Then he shook his head, a slight movement, almost imperceptible. No, he was saying, don't attack.
Astrid considered attacking anyway but her slight hesitation cost her the chance. In the space of a breath, Viggo stood and turned around to face her.
"Ah, Astrid," Viggo Grimborn said, spreading his arms wide in a mockery of welcome. "I was wondering when you would show up. I understand that you are… unhappy with the current situation." He spoke delicately but coldly, and she had no doubt that the soft tone and massive understatement were precisely calculated to make her seethe. She hated Viggo for it, but she hated the fact that it was working, that he was getting under her skin so efficiently, even more.
Viggo eyed his office door, axe-gouged and kicked in, hanging from a single hinge, with an expression of fond long-suffering that raised her hackles and lifted the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. "I rather wish you would have left my study door out of it, however — it is carved of mahogany, you see, a valuable tree from far away. A rare specimen in these parts. Much like my young friend here." Astrid's skin crawled and her anger surged as Viggo's fingers carded briefly through Hiccup's hair. Hiccup jerked his head to the side, away from Viggo's hand, but said nothing, which only added fuel to Astrid's fear.
"Let Hiccup go, Viggo," Astrid growled. "We've taken your ship and captured your men. It's over." That was a bit of an overstatement — technically, when last she'd been above deck with Stormfly and the rest of the riders and their dragons, they hadn't exactly taken the ship. Yet. But that was the end goal, and Astrid had no doubt that given enough time, they would achieve it.
The cruel, knowing glint in Viggo's eyes told her that she hadn't fooled him. But still, he smiled and stepped aside, gesturing grandly at the door. "By all means," he said, his voice like warm yak butter sliding over moldy bread. "He is free to go." Viggo paused as if mulling something over, and fresh dread prickled her skin, spreading gooseflesh in its wake. No way would Viggo let Hiccup go without a fight. There was a catch. There was always a catch. Viggo continued, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his lips: "Provided, of course, that our dear Hiccup wishes to go with you."
Astrid narrowed her eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Viggo just stood there, smiling a caricature of pleasantry that unsettled her more than open malice and undisguised threats ever could. Several moments passed where no one moved, and Astrid realized that Viggo expected her to make the first move, to buy into or call his obvious bluff. And while Astrid hated being forced to concede, one glance at Hiccup was enough to compel her to shove her pride to the side.
"Okay," she murmured, taking a step closer, eyes focused on Hiccup but every other sense hyper-aware of Viggo. She knew Viggo wouldn't just let Hiccup go, but she'd play along for now. "Come on, Hiccup. Let's go home."
Hiccup didn't move. He didn't look at her, either, just dropped his gaze to his manacled hands, his fingers curled into fists.
"Hiccup," Astrid snapped, more urgently, and Hiccup's eyes, filled with pain and regret, snapped to meet her own. But he stayed seated, made no move to rise and follow. Panic flared, taking over her body like a Grimora over a dragon, and she surged forward, intent on rounding the desk and physically dragging Hiccup out of the room if she had to.
Only now did Viggo react, stepping smoothly in front of Hiccup, partially hiding him from view. He took several pointed steps toward Astrid, one hand resting on his sword hilt. For a moment, Astrid was sure that Viggo planned to attack her and braced herself for a fight, but Viggo merely pulled out the chair behind the desk and sat down, back perfectly straight and fingers steepled neatly before him. His elbows rested on the spread of inked parchment laid out across the desk. Astrid couldn't make out the words upside down, but it appeared to be some kind of contract. Something deep in her gut twisted at the thought.
"It seems," Viggo said, measuring his words out slowly, seeing her agitated urgency and taking care to draw this out as long as he could, "that there has been a bit of a… misunderstanding, Miss Hofferson." Astrid gritted her teeth and adjusted her grip on her axe, her eyes shifting anxiously between Hiccup behind and Viggo in the foreground.
And though she knew she was playing right into his hands, responding the way he undoubtedly anticipated, Astrid couldn't stop herself from hissing, "What kind of misunderstanding?"
Viggo made of show of looking abashed, the slightest bit awkward. "Well, I am afraid that you are under the impression that this is a rescue."
Astrid ignored the icy fear twining around her heart, weighing it down. "This is a rescue," she snapped. "You should know how this goes by now; we've done this enough times. You capture one of us—" (usually Hiccup, though she didn't say it, they all knew it anyway), "—and the rest of us attack you, we take your ship and thoroughly kick your collective asses, release your captive and all your dragons, and leave you with a nice, big hole in the side of your ship." She glowered at Viggo, her anger potent enough to raise the temperature in the room. "Does that sound familiar to you at all?"
Viggo chuckled, shaking his head, and behind him, Hiccup seemed to shrink into himself a little bit more. "I admire your fire, Miss Hofferson," Viggo said. "I admit, your team of Dragon Riders can be surprisingly effective when it comes to rescuing one of your own. But this time, there is no one to rescue." Viggo's lips twisted into a triumphant smirk. "Because, apart from you, Miss Hofferson, everything and everyone in this room, I own."
Astrid's heart skipped a beat; her mind went white with confusion. She didn't understand, couldn't comprehend… She had heard the words slither like poisonous serpents from Viggo's mouth, but they didn't make sense. Astrid glanced over to Hiccup for help, but he studiously avoided her gaze, entirely fascinated, it seemed, with the chain linking his manacles together.
So Astid commanded her racing, stumbling thoughts to get themselves into some semblance of order. "Hiccup—" she started, but her voice stuck in her throat. She took a breath, readjusted her death grip on her axe, and tried again. "Hiccup doesn't belong to anyone."
Viggo smiled up at her mildly, condescension oozing from every pore, coating every word, when he asked, "Not to the Dragon Riders?"
"You know damn well he doesn't belong to the Riders," Astrid hissed, hating the way Viggo had her talking about Hiccup like he wasn't sitting right there, hearing every word. "We're a team."
Viggo's smile grew fangs. "Not anymore. Hiccup belongs to me, now."
He said it simply, bluntly, with only the barest hint of cruel celebration underlying his tone. He said it, not as a taunt or a threat, but as a statement of fact, so sure, so steady. Viggo Grimborn was a man of games and bluffs, of mind tricks and manipulation. But Astrid knew immediately that this wasn't a lie. Viggo's declaration was not a trick meant to throw her off. Somehow — gods gods gods — Viggo spoke the truth.
She couldn't keep the crack of desperation out of her voice. "How the Hel would you own Hiccup?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hiccup flinch, and panic clawed the ravaged remains of her heart.
Viggo's answer stole her breath and made her hands tremble — in rage, in fear, in heartsick sorrow. "How else does one acquire precious wares? I bought him, of course."
Astrid saw red, heard the blood rushing in her ears, felt the drumbeats of rage reverberate through her core. "That's — you can't — who the Hel—?!"
"I am a businessman, Astrid," Viggo said. He stood, sauntered over to Hiccup, and placed a heavy hand on his prisoner's shoulder; Astrid bristled, fists clenching, fingernails biting into her palms, at the way Hiccup flinched at the contact. "This is the nature of my work: I make deals, I trade, I sell, I buy. But," he added, his fingers tightening possessively on Hiccup's shoulder, "I only buy what others choose to sell." The corners of his mouth turned up into a predatory smile that sent shivers crawling down Astrid's spine and shot bolts of dread into her heart.
Viggo released Hiccup — chains clinked as he sagged in relief — and resumed his seat behind the desk. Without a word, he slid a document across the desk. With trembling fingers, Astrid took the parchment and began to read, horror sinking like an anchor in her gut. Viggo smiled with wolf's teeth and watched realization sink its poisoned teeth into her.
"Oh, didn't you know?" Viggo asked, his face a furnace of hunger and triumph. He leaned forward, drinking in Astrid's despair and Hiccup's terror and resignation. "He signed the deal himself."
Viggo, in a display of "benevolent generosity" offered to share Hiccup with Astrid for a few short minutes so that they could say their goodbyes before he sent Astrid on her way.
(He, of course, informed them that he would be waiting just outside the mangled door, reminding Hiccup in the vaguest of terms what would happen if he made any attempt to escape with Astrid. Like Hiccup needed reminding.)
Gods. Hiccup would likely never see Astrid again after this. Or the rest of his Riders. Or Toothless, or his dad, or—
Hiccup squeezed his fists tightly, nails digging into his palms, adding new red crescents to his recently acquired collection. The pain grounded him, focused him. He only had five minutes, less if Viggo decided to cut this short (a distinct possibility).
A heartbeat after Viggo disappeared from sight, Astrid surged forward, and Hiccup barely managed to make it to his feet before she barreled into him, throwing her arms around him and squeezing tight. Hiccup barely noticed the twinge of his broken ribs as he stood there, breathing Astrid in, savoring her closeness, the unyielding, desperate pressure of her embrace. He couldn't hug her back with his hands chained, but he melted against her, hoping she'd understand that he was, in the only way he could, hugging her back.
"Gods, I'm so sorry, Astrid," Hiccup gasped, a swill of debilitating heartbreak and guilt crashing over him.
Astrid stepped back to look him in the eye, but she didn't entirely release him. One had moved to his shoulder, the other to his cheek. "Hiccup, tell me you didn't—"
And there was the anger, sharp and swift, though laced with far more anxiety than he was used to hearing from Astrid.
"I'm sorry," Hiccup said again, the words tiny and insignificant and nothing in the face of what he'd done. What he'd been forced to do, he reminded himself. But the guilt did not relinquish its hold on him.
"What happened?" Astrid demanded, spitting sparks.
Hiccup tore his eyes away from Astrid's face and cast an anxious glance at the door. Revulsion and terror warred in his chest at the knowledge of who stood just out of sight. It had only been three days since he and Toothless had been shot down and captured on their evening flight, but it felt like years. This hadn't been an opportunistic capture — this had been a planned kidnapping, with a very distinct purpose. And Viggo, uncharacteristically, had wasted no time in making his intentions known.
Normally, Viggo was a man who played the game slow and quiet, hiding behind multiple bluffs and misdirections, slowly upping the ante while keeping his opponent guessing. But this time, Viggo was motivated enough by his flagging bottom line that he changed his tactics entirely. It was still a game to him — of course it was, it always was — but this time, he played fast and aggressive, knowing rescue could come at any moment and refusing to let his prize slip away like he had so many times before.
And before he knew it, a quill lay in Hiccup's trembling fingers, and then he signed his life away to the man he hated most in the world.
"Hiccup?"
Hiccup jolted out of the cascade of memories threatening to drown him — the smoldering fire in Viggo's eyes as he backed Hiccup into the corner of his cell; the forearm pressed against his throat, the hot breath and rumbling voice in his ear as Viggo gave his ultimatum; the glint of the executioner's axe in Ryker's hands, raised high above a fettered Toothless's neck; the sharp bite of the cuffs and aching pull in Hiccup's shoulders as he thrashed against the chains, desperate to get to his dragon; the exact moment when Hiccup knew that he would do anything, suffer anything, to save Toothless; the feel of the quill in his hand, the grating scratch of as he scrawled his name at the bottom of the parchment prison; the fingers in his hair, smoothing back disheveled locks and making Hiccup's skin writhe after the deed was done, and the following words that threatened to send Hiccup head-first into a deadly pit of despair: "See, that wasn't so hard, was it, my darling? Don't worry — you will grow accustomed to your new life in time. If you cooperate with me, I can even make sure you enjoy it…"
"Viggo threatened Toothless," Hiccup managed, his voice dry and crackling like autumn leaves underfoot. "Used him against me."
"Then that's duress," Astrid said, her icy eyes cold and calculating. "If that's the case, the contract will never hold up legally. The next Thing is in a few months, if we can—"
Hiccup cut her off; he'd been down this exact same path many times since he'd signed himself over to Viggo, and while there was perhaps a chance that this would work, Viggo was sure enough of himself that he planned to send a copy of the contract back with Hiccup's would-be rescuers, so that Stoick the Vast would know exactly what would happen if he tried to breach the contract and take his son back.
"Look, Astrid," Hiccup whispered hurriedly, unsure of how much time they had left, "Viggo's whole angle is that he wanted me to make the choice."
"But if he forced you to choose—"
"He's a Dragon Hunter, killing dragons is what they do for a living," Hiccup said flatly. "I wanted valuable living merchandise for my tribe. Viggo wanted the Night Fury skin. So we made a deal, with the only thing I had of any value at the time: myself." He felt a grimace twist his face; the words tasted acrid on his tongue. "Viggo's words, obviously."
Astrid stared at him for a long moment, and he could just see her thoughts chasing each other in circles, trying to find a way around Viggo's justifications. "Still, if we bring the contract up at the Thing, explain to the Council of Elders what really happened, then maybe they'll understand that it's not so simple. Maybe they'll null the contract."
"Or maybe they'll enforce it," Hiccup argued, staggering under the weariness that had chewed through his bones and into the very heart of him. "Remember, Berk is one of the only tribes in the archipelago that is at peace with the dragons, as hard as we've tried to change that. We're the outliers here. If the Council is going to listen to anyone, who do you think it will be? The tribe of traitors that turned against their fellow humans and made friends with the dragons, or the highly respected Dragon Hunter tribe that stands for everything the rest of the archipelago does?"
Astrid scowled. "I'm sorry, do you want to belong to Viggo?"
Bile rose in Hiccup's throat and his heart beat faster, frenzied. "Of course not," he snapped. "But I'm being realistic."
"So you've given up," Astrid said slowly, eyeing him with trepidation.
Hiccup recoiled at the suggestion. "Of course not!" He lowered his voice even further; Astrid had to lean in, his next words ghosting across her skin. "I may… belong… to Viggo on paper, but the only thing I agreed to was to stay with him. He put nothing in the contract about working for him, giving him any information, not even obeying him, not really. Just that in exchange for the Night Fury for my tribe, I give myself to Viggo's possession, and any attempt to escape nulls the contract." He swallowed heavily. "And if the contract is null, Berk is collateral."
Astrid's face went white. "Fuck, Hiccup."
"Yeah," Hiccup agreed; he'd been thinking the exact same thing for days now. "He insisted on Berk being collateral because he knew my people were something I would never gamble. He knew if Berk was on the table, I would stay, and that my father and you guys would be forced to stay out of it. So I'm going to abide by the contract." He attempted a grin that was more of a pained wince. "But I'm not going to make it easy for him."
Astrid considered him before cracking a humorless smile of her own, her eyes strangely bright in the flickering candlelight. "You rarely do." She cleared her throat. "Why would Viggo leave so much out of the contract? If he was using Toothless against you, there's very little he couldn't force you to do. If it was Stormfly, I…" she trailed off, gaze distant.
"Yeah, but where would the fun be in that?" Hiccup asked dryly. "This is a game to him, like always, Astrid. Except now he's got me tied to the game board and I can't escape without losing so much more than the just the game."
The cold fury in Astrid's eyes blazed into something hotter than an erupting volcano. "He wants to break you himself." It wasn't a question.
Hiccup nodded tersely, not trusting himself to speak.
"Hiccup, you can't go through with this!" Astrid spat. "We'll find another way, we'll—"
"Astrid," Hiccup interrupted, sensing that their time was coming to a close, "I may have signed myself over to Viggo's possession, but I am still technically the leader of the Dragon Riders and heir to Berk." Astrid tilted her head, questioning. "He didn't brand me," Hiccup explained. "Wanted me to make the choice, to continue to choose to stay with him no matter how bad it gets. If he took away my freedom with a brand, there wouldn't be any kind of choice."
"There still isn't a choice," Astrid argued. She was right: he would never abandon his island to the Hunters to save his own skin. "And if that's the case, then he'll probably brand you as soon as he thinks he's broken you."
"Maybe," Hiccup conceded. "So that's why I'm not going to break."
"You can't possibly know that. Everyone has their limits," Astrid pointed out. "Even you."
Hiccup knew this all too well. But despite what Viggo kept insisting, he didn't have any other choice.
"I may not be able to escape, but I can make his life hell." Astrid snorted. "At the very least, I can give him as much hell as he gives me. And who knows? Maybe with enough time, I might be able to show Viggo the truth about dragons. Convince him to change his ways?"
Astrid glowered at him. "You've got to be joking."
Hiccup shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, chains jingling with the motion. "I'm grasping at straws," he admitted, "but it's better than crumbling."
Astrid had no retort for that.
"Listen, Viggo's coming back any minute. When he does, he's going to give you a copy of the contract to bring to my father so he knows the stakes. Then he's going to have someone escort you to Toothless's cell. You need to take Toothless, call off the attack on the ship, and go. I'll be okay."
Astrid studied him long and hard, grief and anger and understanding swirling like twin eddies in her eyes. "What does he even want with you?"
Hiccup's heart stuttered at the question as the ghosts of Viggo's fingers played with his hair and skimmed his cheek. He couldn't protect Astrid from this situation, from losing him like this, but he could at least protect her from this one reason he suspected. "Oh, you know… same old thing. He's going to try to make me work for him, give up valuable information about Berk or you guys — I won't, you know I'd die first—"
"If you die, I'll kill you," Astrid growled.
"—and I expect he'll use me to try to get you guys to stop attacking his ships. I'm sure he's eager to humiliate me in front of the Hunters, too, but little does he know, I spent so much time embarrassed as a kid that I'm immune to it now." The joke fell flat, even to his own ears, so he plowed on, ignoring the way Astrid's eyes narrowed. "But he won't kill me. Of that I'm certain."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"Because," a silky voice purred from the doorway, "he's much more valuable to me alive, and I am a man who seeks value above all else." Hiccup bit back a cringe at the sight of Viggo's bulk filling the open space. He'd meant what he'd said to Astrid — there was too much at stake, he would never let himself break, and he planned on fighting Viggo until his last breath if he had to. But that didn't mean he wasn't terrified of the man, and of what might happen once Astrid had left with Toothless and Viggo had Hiccup fully and firmly in his clutches, all to himself.
Astrid snarled wordlessly and raised her axe, taking a threatening step toward Viggo. Hiccup quickly stepped in front of her, raising his chained hands, which only stoked the fire in her eyes. Gently, he reminded, "All of Berk is at stake, Astrid. Don't you dare put me in front of our home, our people."
The axe trembled briefly before lowering, limp and deflated, to her side. "I can't let him have you," she whispered.
"You have to," Hiccup said simply. "Go. Take Toothless, and get out of here. Make sure… make sure he knows I did this for him." Heat pressed, relentless, at the back of his eyes and tears swarmed his vision. Gods. He'd saved Toothless from execution, but he'd still never see his dragon again. Not if something didn't change.
But at least he'd be safe. At least Berk would be safe as long as Hiccup didn't waver. And he wouldn't. He couldn't go back to them, but he could protect them from here, with all he had. It would have to be enough.
After a slight hesitation, Astrid holstered her axe and drew Hiccup into a hug tight enough to steal the breath right out of his lungs. "We'll take the contract to the Council," she murmured in his ear. He savored the feel of her breath tickling his skin, raising chills wherever it landed. He would think of this moment, of Astrid's closeness, whenever similar memories of Viggo pressed in. "We'll make them see the truth. We'll get you back."
And, gods, if there was anyone who could make a group of stubborn, tradition-bound old men see things her way, it was Astrid Hofferson. Hiccup allowed himself the tiniest shred of hope, knowing that it might come back to shatter him later, if Astrid's plan didn't pan out, but right now… right now, Astrid was here, and she was holding him, and promising to get him out of the hell he'd trapped himself in—
Viggo cleared his throat pointedly, and with great reluctance, Astrid released Hiccup. Watching her walk away from him, knowing that she only did so because he'd given her no other choice, hurt worse than any torture. Something deep inside his chest trembled, but did not break. He didn't allow it to break. He wouldn't break.
He stood there, watching, increasingly numb and distant, as Astrid snatched the proffered contract from Viggo and stiffly followed a summoned Hunter out of the room. Just before the crested the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder, sorrow and purpose bleeding together on the beautiful, devastated canvas of her face.
I love you, Hiccup thought at her, his heart flailing in the throes of regret, bashing itself against the walls of his battered ribs in its anguish. I love you and I never told you and now I probably will never get the chance.
And in the breadth of the moment before the Hunter prodded her forward, Hiccup thought he saw the same feelings reflected in her own face.
And then all thoughts except the need for survival, the resolve to be strong and brave and to never break, fled his mind. Viggo stalked toward him, a hungry cat surveying its terrified breakfast, a satisfied, predatory smile curling his lips. "I thought she would never leave," he said lightly. He stopped right before Hiccup, raised a hand, and seemed to relish the flinch as he brushed Hiccup's cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.
Hiccup yanked his head away and stumbled back. "Don't touch me."
Viggo's eyes glittered in amusement and… something else. "You belong to me," he reminded Hiccup. "You gave yourself to me."
Hiccup blanched at the wording, the insinuation, but gritted his teeth and retorted, "The contract said I couldn't leave, not that I couldn't fight. And I will never stop fighting you with everything that I have."
Viggo's smile grew wider, toothier, and Hiccup's stomach plunged to the depths of the sea beneath. "Excellent. You still have your fire. I was hoping you would — the game is only fun if I get to break you myself."
Hiccup's breath caught and he staggered back as Viggo advanced, to taunt or torture or touch, he didn't know, but he kept Toothless in the forefront of his mind as the space between them diminished. I did this for Toothless, Hiccup reminded himself. And I will keep doing this for Berk.
He would defy Viggo to the very end, even if it killed him. And it probably would kill him, eventually, but he'd fight death too, if only for the chance, however small, that his father and friends could do the impossible and find a way out of the cell of ink and paper he had drawn around himself.
Until then, he supposed, he would be here, with Viggo, with the Hunters, fighting, surviving. Lying in the bed he'd made.