Chapter Text
Hiccup groaned as Ryker hauled him roughly to his foot, every battered muscle in his abused body screaming in protest.
There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt: A bounty hunter's hook to the head and a dart to the neck had left his head pounding a dizzying tattoo; a bone-deep ache permeated his back and ribs from all the times he'd been tackled and thrown and slammed into the ground. Rope-burn stung his wrists and pain spasmed in his arm and shoulder muscles; he’d spent the better part of the day bound in one way or another, as he was passed from bounty hunter to bounty hunter like a piece of cargo.
Agony pulsed in the stump of his left leg with every beat of his galloping heart; not only had he run and jumped and stumbled his way through multiple failed escape attempts, but Savage had also ripped his prosthetic right off of his body without undoing any of the straps. Not to mention the whole grown man who'd just been dangling from it. He felt weak and shaky, nausea swirling in his gut, both from the dart the masked man had used to knock him out and the flagging adrenaline from hanging on a cliffside and very nearly falling to his death not thirty seconds prior.
And none of that held a candle to the state of his neck. Although he'd yanked the chain away at the first opportunity, it left its revenant behind: A tightness in his throat that felt like he was still choking, a ring of pain biting deep into his neck, a lingering coldness from the chains. Hiccup had had no time to even begin to process anything that had happened to him today, but he especially couldn't quite fit his mind around what the masked bounty hunter had done. The panic when that chain had looped around his neck as he ran for cover, the breathlessness as it pulled tight, the pain as the bounty hunter yanked him back by the chain, back-first onto the unforgiving ground…
During his nineteen years, he had seen Vikings do countless inhumane and cruel things to one another (Hel, he'd had a stupid amount of terrible things done to him by his various enemies in the past three and a half years alone). He thought this might be one of the worst. To be leashed and yanked around like a lamb to market, led to his own private auction block, went beyond mere cruelty — it was deeply debasing and dehumanizing, and then seeing Ryker with that bag of rocks instead of the promised gold, sneering at Hiccup like he wasn't even worth that…
And he had endured all of his in less than a day, since he'd been kidnapped literally right off his own doorstep just last night. He was exhausted, hurting, scared, and every escape attempt had been shut down, each one more violently than the rest. And now, because of his stunt on the cliffside, Hiccup was down a leg. Surrounded by armed Dragon Hunters, led by Ryker, the most vicious of them all, and he couldn't even walk. Without Ryker's enormous hand wrapped around his arm, holding him upright, Hiccup sincerely doubted he'd even be able to stand.
And his friends, who no doubt were out searching for him, hadn't made it in time. For once, no last-minute rescue flying out of the horizon. He was on his own.
He had tried. He had fought, bitterly and desperately, for his freedom. He had done everything in his power to escape and return to his people. And it had all been for nothing. After everything he'd done, everything he'd been through, Ryker would drag him to Viggo anyway. Viggo would wring every last bit of usefulness from Hiccup’s broken body. And then Hiccup would die.
And there was not a godsdamned thing left that he could do about it.
He didn't fight Ryker as the man dragged him along. What was the point? So great was his weariness that he could barely hold his own head up. But even his compliance wasn’t enough for the elder Grimborn.
"Will you hurry up?" Ryker snapped as Hiccup staggered into him.
Despite the pull of exhaustion, Hiccup still found it within himself to growl back, "With what legs? Because in case you've forgotten, one of mine just took an unplanned swim with that masked bounty hunter."
With a huff, Ryker pulled Hiccup to a stop and spun him around. "You want me to carry you, is that it?" he snarled, lip curling in distaste.
Hiccup grimaced. "Actually, that sounds positively dreadful."
Ryker grunted. "Too bad." Then, before Hiccup even had time to blink, Ryker drew back his tree trunk of an arm, muscles bulging, and sank his massive fist into Hiccup's stomach.
It was like being struck by lightning — bolts of breathtaking, searing agony coiled at the epicenter of the punch and radiated out, up into his chest, around his sides, down into his groin. He gagged, then choked on air as his lungs promptly forgot how to breathe. Dark splotches gathered in his vision, pulsing with the spasming well of agony in his gut. He distantly felt himself hoisted onto someone's shoulder.
Then mercifully, the darkness claimed him.
It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes before the first tendrils of consciousness returned to him, and he wished desperately that he'd just stayed unconscious. Pain racked his body as every one of Ryker's steps jarred his myriad injuries. The worst was his stomach; his captor's rock-hard shoulder dug mercilessly into Hiccup's throbbing middle.
And he still couldn't breathe — not properly, anyway. Whether that had more to do with the punch or the way Ryker carried him, he had no idea. He fought for each breath, strove to remember with every shallow inhale that he could breathe, he was breathing, but the growing panic proved much louder.
He shifted, trying to ease the pressure on his stomach to pull in full breath, but pain lanced through him like a burst of fire, and he instantly stilled, panting hard for air that didn't want to come. He hung languidly over Ryker's shoulder; all of his limbs felt made of metal, too heavy to move, too awkward to maneuver. Like Ryker's hit had quite literally knocked all the fight out of him.
Hiccup only tried opening his eyes for a moment. The view — an up-close look at Ryker's horrific dragon skin armor — was not worth the pitching in his gut nor the stabbing in his head, and he promptly slammed his eyes shut again, praying to any god who might be listening that the sickness would die down and that he wouldn't barf all over Ryker's back. Because as much as the bastard deserved it, Hiccup didn't think he'd take it too well, and then Hiccup would be in even worse shape than before.
Thankfully, someone up there seemed to be in a listening mood. Of course, he'd be even more grateful if they'd heeded any of his prayers for rescue, but at this point, he'd take what he could get.
A few more minutes passed in this same manner — silent, except the rustle of footsteps on rocks and brambles and the whisper of tall grass brushing against leather boots — before something changed. Instead of grass and dirt and rocks beneath Ryker's feet, Hiccup felt a slight shifting, heard the muted crunch of sand below. And then all too soon, the sand became wood. Hiccup felt Ryker sit, nausea building at the soft sway of the rowboat.
A splash.
And they left the island behind.
Once they'd boarded the longship proper, Ryker spent a good five minutes barking out orders to passing Hunters, each syllable sending spikes of pain through Hiccup's aching skull. But as the crew scurried about to fulfill their duties, the creak of the ropes and the flap of the sails and the bustle of the men grew further away.
Hiccup's head bounced as Ryker descended the stairs, and he sensed darkness pressing against his eyelids — Ryker must be taking him below deck, to the cells.
Thank the gods, Hiccup thought, rather wildly. Of course, he didn't want to be locked in a cell on a Dragon Hunter ship, but at least down here, it would be dark and quiet. Down here, he might be able to open his eyes, to take stock of his injuries, to formulate a plan of escape (though the lack of a left leg certainly would make said escape plan much more complicated). And even though a Dragon Hunter cell was certainly not on his list of top ten comfortable spots to spend the night, it was better than being up there with the Hunters.
Or so he thought.
Hiccup managed to squint his eyes open just as Ryker alighted the bottom step, the sparse, flickering torchlight much easier on his head than the bright afternoon sun up top. With immense effort, he managed to turn his head — nearly blacking out again in the process — to see that Ryker was indeed taking him to the cells. The ones he could catch a glimpse of seemed to be empty. But he had expected nothing less. Ryker had come here with the sole purpose of carting a captured Hiccup back to Viggo. On the chance that the other riders arrived before Ryker could make off with his prisoner, the Hunters would not want to risk the liberation of any other merchandise in the rescue.
Which meant Hiccup had the entire block of cells all to himself. Lucky him.
Ryker marched Hiccup to the last cell on the right and shifted Hiccup's weight slightly to fish his keys out of his belt and unlock the door. He dumped Hiccup unceremoniously on the floor — agony jolted through Hiccup's body and a strangled whimper escaped his burning throat — and stood looming over him like a very ugly, malevolent vulture.
Though it still hurt to talk, Hiccup eyed a blurry Ryker warily and croaked, "Okay, you got me." He gestured with his head, biting back a wince at the flare of pain even that small movement elicited. "The door's right there."
Ryker didn't leave. Instead, he squatted down and even then he still seemed to tower over Hiccup, who still lay, awkwardly sprawled, where Ryker had tossed him. Though his vision still swam, Hiccup clocked the cold, calculating expression on Ryker's face as his cruel brown eyes looked Hiccup up and down. Hiccup cleared his throat. "D-don't you have ship to run?" he asked, aiming for bored, but unable to fully disguise the building fear in his voice.
Ryker smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. Hiccup's gut churned in nauseating anticipation. Ryker reached into the sash of his belt and pulled out a small coil of rope, a length of fabric, and a small sack with drawstrings at the opening. Hiccup's mouth went dry at the sight. He moistened his lips nervously, then commented, "Came prepared, huh?"
Ryker leered at him. "You're damn right I did. I know how slippery a catch you are, Haddock." He chortled obnoxiously at his own stupid pun. "I heard tell that you squirmed your way out of the clutches of more than one bounty hunter today. I'm not taking any chances."
Panic roared inside of Hiccup, a caged dragon frantic to escape, but he somehow kept his voice level, even as Ryker started to uncoil the rope. "I'm missing a leg, Ryker. How far do you think I'm going to get if I can't even walk?" Of course, that little detail would never stop Hiccup from trying, and Ryker knew that, too.
"Not taking any chances," Ryker grunted again, and he reached for Hiccup.
The panic breached containment, and a burst of adrenaline gave Hiccup the strength and endurance to roll out of the way of Ryker's grasping hands. He scuttled backwards on his hands and foot, like a crab, until he reached the back wall of the cell. The pain had receded in the wake of the adrenaline, and Hiccup found himself able to pull himself up to his foot with the help of the wall. He'd quite literally cornered himself, but at least he was doing something. At least he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
And for a moment, Ryker actually looked stunned at Hiccup's sudden speed and agility. But then he shook his head, chuckling, the sound of it deep and grating, flaying Hiccup's already tattered nerves. He gritted his teeth and, in lieu of a weapon, he raised his fists in front of him, well aware that no amount of adrenaline could turn the ensuing fight in his favor.
"You're brave, I'll give you that," Ryker drawled, eyes glinting malignantly in the torchlight. Then he charged.
Hiccup lunged to the side as best he could on one foot, but he mistimed the dodge and Ryker slammed into him with the force of an iron battering ram. Thanks to the adrenaline rush, he barely noticed the explosion of pain at the impact. He kicked and snarled, bit and punched, used elbows and foot and fists to attack every inch of Ryker he could reach.
But in the end, all of his fight and all of his effort, as they had all day, amounted to nothing. No amount of frenzied panic could overwhelm the sheer might of Ryker Grimborn's hulking physique. One hand meshed in his hair, the other latched onto the flailing stump of his left leg. Pain shot across his scalp and up his left thigh as Ryker picked him up and flung him bodily into the partially open bars of the cell.
And even though he could feel his newfound reserves of energy flagging, could feel the pain returning tenfold, Hiccup still scrambled to his hands and knees. He reached for the bars, intending to drag himself to a more defensible position, but before he could, a boot slammed into his back, knocking his arms and legs out from under him. Hiccup's forehead smacked the bars on his way down, and he saw stars; he couldn't tell whether the ringing in his ears was the residual of his head hitting the metal or a precursor to passing out. As he wriggled weakly beneath Ryker's boot, he couldn't help but hope for the latter.
Any remaining air in Hiccup's lungs vacated as Ryker leaned forward, pressing more of his weight into Hiccup, who swore he could hear his ribs creaking.
"I've had about enough of you," Ryker growled. "Scrawny, stubborn son-of-a-bitch. Viggo thinks you're so smart, but you can't even tell when it's time to call it quits and accept your lot."
Amidst the agony sweeping through him, amidst the spinning head and the groaning ribs and the panting breaths, Hiccup found strength enough to gasp, "Fuck. You."
Ryker howled with laughter. "Does your father know about your foul mouth?" He increased the pressure on Hiccup's back, musing, "Suppose it doesn't matter, since you'll never see him again."
Hiccup couldn't retort; he could barely squeeze air into his lungs. White spots danced before his eyes and the ringing in his ears intensified. Thank the gods, he was going to pass out.
But then Ryker stepped off him, and Hiccup choked air into his lungs, and the white spots and ringing receded. "Learned your place yet, runt?" Ryker snapped.
"Ha— have you?" Hiccup wheezed.
Ryker's responded by grabbing Hiccup's arms and dragging them behind his back. The adrenaline had fully deserted him now; he felt weaker than a newborn yak and his whole body trembled with a staggering cocktail of pain and terror. He didn't struggle — couldn't struggle — as Ryker looped the rope around each wrist one, two, three times. He took as deep of a breath as he could manage, trying to steel himself. He'd been here before, multiple times. Being tied up was not fun or comfortable or pleasant in any way, but he could deal with it.
Until Ryker gripped Hiccup's bound wrists in one hand, snatched his right leg with the other, and brought them together. Fire jolted through Hiccup's muscles at the stretch, and he bit back a cry. His heart thundered against his bruised ribs when he felt the same rope binding his hands loop around his right ankle.
Oh, gods. Hiccup had thought the chain had been bad — and it had! — but this was just icing on the (immensely unpleasant) cake. Face flush with the rough wooden floor of the cell, arms and leg wrenched behind him in a malformed O, bound literally hand and foot with thick, unyielding rope. Hiccup hated that he could now add "knows what the boars unlucky enough to wind up in the twins' boar pit feel like" to his ever-growing list of useless, unfortunate knowledge (most of which had come from the twins themselves).
Ryker cinched the knot so tightly that Hiccup's fingers and toes began to tingle at once. Hiccup barely noticed over the cramps already taking hold in his upper back, arms, and leg. His shoulder and hip joints screamed for relief, stretched beyond their limits. A low, keening groan rose from deep within Hiccup's chest, and for the first time since this nightmare started, he felt tears prick his eyes.
Without further ado, Ryker released Hiccup's hog-tied limbs. Hiccup teetered on his stomach for a moment, then crashed onto his side. Gods, he hurt. At this point, he couldn't even differentiate one pain from another — his entire body was a pulsating mass of agony, each injury's torment blending seamlessly into the next.
And Ryker still wasn't done. Hiccup watched in horror as his tormentor picked up the strip of cloth. With surprisingly deft fingers, Ryker knotted the cloth several times in the middle. There was no practical reason for it; Ryker just wanted to make Hiccup as uncomfortable as possible. If he hadn't been in the throes of abject misery, Hiccup would have been furious.
Ryker shoved the cloth into Hiccup's mouth and tied it far too tightly behind his head. Hiccup gagged as the knot wedged just behind his teeth, digging into the roof of his mouth and compressing his tongue.
"That's much better," Ryker commented, grinning like a demented, overgrown kid on Snoggletog morning. "I can't tell you how long I've been wanting to do that."
Hiccup glowered at Ryker over the gag, panting in quick, sharp bursts through his nose. Ryker just laughed and snagged the sack; he pulled it over Hiccup's head and cinched the drawstrings tight. Immediately, Hiccup's stifled, darkened world turned into his own personal hell and he felt the cool press of phantom chains alongside the rough cord.
"It's a twelve-hour voyage to our base, given fair winds," Ryker said, barely audible over Hiccup’s roaring dread. "So make yourself comfortable, chiefling runt. You're going to be here a while." And with a hearty laugh, he heaved himself to his feet and clomped out of the cell. Hiccup, despite his fear, rolled his eyes as he heard the door clang shut and a key turn in the lock.
That's definitely overkill.
But swiftly the silence and the dark and the pain and the terror descended on him in earnest, all sharp teeth and jagged claws and suffocating pressure.
Twelve hours. He'd been bound like this for less than five minutes, and already his pain had crescendoed from excruciating to unbearable levels. His stomach was alight with it, his arms and legs crawling with it. His back twitched with spasms and wrists stung and his jaw ached. The bag had a loose weave, so he could still breathe, but not comfortably.
And he was scared.
Gods, he was scared.
Because as brutal as Ryker had been, as violent and humiliating his treatment of Hiccup, they hadn't even reached their final destination yet. He still had to face Viggo.
And while Hiccup knew what to expect from Ryker — brash, fiery rage and violent outbursts and sick pleasure at the suffering of others — Viggo was another story entirely. It was hard to get a read on him; Hiccup had left the predictable and familiar behind, and stretching before him was a vast sea of unknowns.
Viggo had gone through all the trouble of putting this bounty on Hiccup's head (even if all he'd planned to pay for him was a bag of rocks). Which meant he had plans for Hiccup.
Ryker claimed Viggo wanted to kill Hiccup himself. Hiccup didn't doubt that — he couldn't imagine a world where that wasn't the end goal. But if Viggo had wanted Hiccup immediately dead, he wouldn't have placed the bounty for him alive. Which meant he wanted something from Hiccup first — leverage against his people, information, dragon training knowledge, maybe. He couldn't get any of those with a dead Hiccup, so he would keep him alive for now, at least.
And what Viggo Grimborn could do to a living Hiccup scared him more than the promise of death ever could.
Hiccup squeezed his eyes shut, biting down hard on the gag as he rode out a muscle spasm in his right arm. Try to rest, he ordered himself. Think. Plan.
But the suffocating silence, darkness, and agony made these impossible. Hiccup lay bound and gagged and blind on the floor of an enemy cell, and resigned himself to twelve hours of hell.