Mauled

1: Turnover

One: Turnover

Hiccup Haddock was definitely not trembling. He certainly was not afraid as he lay, curled on his side, wrapped tightly in ropes so he could not move and barely breathe. He wasn't lying shivering and scared in the hold of Ryker's ship as they sailed inexorably towards the Hunters' base and Viggo. It had to be the cold in the dank space that had him shivering, his shoulders hunched in a vain attempt to keep himself warm. And he was only lying curled up because he had been dragged from pillar to post, knocked out and dragged off by Berthel and Amos, grabbed by Savage, briefly rescued by Throk and then just as quickly snatched by the masked Viking before being handed over like a prize sheep to Ryker. And in the process he had been punched, fallen, tied up, kicked, had a chain slung around his throat which had been used to haul him along and had finally had Ryker punch him unconscious.

And he wasn't, under any circumstances, being taken to the Hunters so Viggo could kill the Dragon Rider himself.

He took a shuddering breath. His stupid pride-and, of course, his desire not to upset his father when he was leading the celebrations for Berk's four hundredth anniversary-had meant he was vulnerable and unprotected. He could have listened to Astrid, he could have explained to Stoick-though he was still astonished his father hadn't chewed him a new one for losing Berk's gold-and he certainly could have not wandered alone through the night time village on his way home but of course, he had known best and ignored the advice of the best warrior he knew. And him knowing best had landed him here, trussed up like a yak for the spit, waiting to face Viggo for the very last time.

He blinked. His throat was horribly painful, his voice a broken croak when he had tried to sass Ryker and he was curled because his middle felt like it had been crushed by the punch. Breathing hurt, lying there hurt-everything hurt.

And the fact he would never see Berk-or his father, friends, Toothless or Astrid-again hurt most of all.

He gave a slight gasp of pain as he tried to change position and ease the pressure on his already-numb arm. He hadn't given up, breaking free numerous times, running, fighting for his freedom-but the sad fact was that every single time, every person who had grabbed him had been stronger and more skilled than he was. They had all kicked his ass. His very best efforts, struggling for his life-had been useless.

The door to the hold slammed open and three hunters erupted in, somehow imagining he had managed to break free again and was waiting to ambush them. Even though his metal leg was missing, lost on that last island where the masked viking had been doubled-crossed by Ryker and Hiccup had made the choice to untie the rope around his leg and let the man drop to his death. His hand had been slipping and it had been a choice that Astrid, Snotlout or his father wouldn't have hesitated to make-but for Hiccup, it had been a watershed moment. And the vision of the man dropping away, the detached prosthetic grasped in his hand, still flashed across his vision. That was something else they had done to him: though he was certain that he and Toothless had caused deaths during the wars with the Outcasts and Berserkers, he had never killed a man one on one. He had never looked into a man's eyes as he died at Hiccup's hand-but the Hunters taken away that innocence as well.

Hands snatched his matted hair and he was dragged brutally to his foot, swaying and hissing in pain, unable to straighten up. His middle really was excruciating and breathing was sharply painful.

"Thanks...for the hand..." he croaked, wincing as rough hands locked on his shoulders and he was more or less dragged through the door and up a low stair, into an office. He gritted his teeth and looked up-to meet Ryker's cruel brown gaze. The big Hunter nodded and Hiccup was slammed brutally into a chair, facing the Hunter as bravely as he could.