Seven: Debts.

"You lost my Night Fury!" Dagur screamed at Ryder and the man just stared at him, mouth agape.

"Sorry-how did I do that? Oh wait-I wished up a bunch of army soldiers to snatch him from our grasp!" he snapped back sarcastically. Dagur fumbled for his gun.

"You mouthy streak of..." he began as Ryder dropped his hand to the butt of his pistol was well.

"Then what were you doing?" Viggo asked him, his eyes locking on the battered shape. Ryder gave a small shrug.

"I saw one of your men knocked from his dragon in the melee and I went after him. He was on a ledge but before I could grab him, one of the stray Night Fury blasts took him out..."

"YOU WORK FOR ME!" Dagur screamed.

"Sorry, I thought we were working together!" Ryder called back, grimacing as he grabbed at his injured arm.

"So did I," Viggo growled and turned his glare back on the Berserker leader. Dagur pouted like a sulky child.

"Shall I just go and find you another one?" Ryder asked and Dagur glared at him.

"You belong to me! You work for me! And you will do exactly what I say or I will kill your wretched dragon!" Dagur roared. Flapping backwards, Ryder glared at him icily.

"Yeah, you're good at that," he commented.

"Dagur! Daylight is wasting and our profits aren't increasing! Either we attack the army or we go hunting for other dragons that we can put through the auctions!" Ryker shouted at him from Viggo's side, their matching Nightmares flapping their wings in perfect unison.

"Fine-you go find some more boring and very uninteresting and common dragons while those soldiers get away with my glorious Night Fury!" he grumbled. "We're going back. And you..." He glared at Ryder. "You cost me my Night Fury so you can owe me the market value...five thousand!" Ryder stared at him.

"How-how did you come up with that?" he asked. "I mean, I had nothing to do with losing your dragon. Maybe you should send the bill to the Army...though I'd doubt that they'd cough up five thousand for a dragon you never owned and they have captured for their own reasons!"

"But you belong to me," Dagur shouted at him, his eyes fey with rage. "And that means I decide your fate-and how much you owe me. You knew the deal when you accepted it, Ryder. Don't try to worm out of it now...you won't like the consequences!"

"I already don't like the consequences," he growled. "Some thanks for saving your life, Dagur! I should have let your precious Night Fury blast you to ashes!" The Berserker started and his eyes narrowed...but Savage leaned close and spoke to him. There was a brief argument, out of earshot from the watching Ryder and then Dagur gave a growl.

"Get back to the compound!" he shouted. There were groans: it was a long flight and they would be back close to nightfall. "And you-get that shoulder seen to. I'm not having you slacking off!"

"Definitely should've let that dragon crisp him," Ryder muttered as they turned back to Berk.

oOo

It was dusk when they arrived back and though he had to stable and feed Hookfang, Vorg had repeated Dagur's orders. Reluctantly, Ryder sat in the little room overlooking the yard. He really wasn't keen on having the burn treated because he always tended himself, but Dagur had insisted-because Ryder had saved his life. The stranger was already regretting the action for the penalty that had been levied on him when his day got even worse and Astrid walked in, holding a bowl of water and a box of bandages and ointments. He groaned.

"Ah, service with a smile," he commented dryly as he stiffened and her face adopted a very unfriendly expression.

"You!" she said coldly. He made to get up.

"Yeah," he said dryly. "Look, you don't have to put yourself out. I'll be..."

"Dagur commanded me to treat your burn so I really have no choice," she said angrily and he almost cringed at her tone. It didn't promise gentle hands or caring treatment.

"Seriously..."

"I seriously need to get on with this so take your shirt off!" she snapped and he sighed, then winced as he shrugged off his vest and eased the shirt over his shoulders.

"Can't resist all this raw gunslinger, huh?" he quipped.

"Not having any trouble with that at all," she spat back, her blue eyes narrowing as she inspected the deep burn across the shoulder and upper arm, noting the tightening of the young man's features. She grabbed a rag and dipped it in the warm water before dabbing away at the wound. Ryder hissed, looking away, his arm tensing. She paused, reading far more pain than he was willing to admit and she unconsciously paused, trying to be more gentle. He wasn't bulky but lean muscles rippled slightly as he moved, his smooth skin marred by old burns and scars and she found herself wondering what this ruffian had been through. She shook herself: he was just another piece of vagrant trash that Dagur had hired and none of her business.

"This isn't the first time you've been burnt," she murmured. He flicked his green gaze up: he really did have mesmerising forest green eyes

"Nope. Working with dragons tends to do that," he said dryly. "The fact one end shoots fire is a clue, to be honest..."

"Is everything some sarcastic comment with you?" she snapped.

"Well, Milady, I've spent years getting this good so it's a shame to waste it," he shot back then hissed as she jabbed the burn hard. "Oww! I can see the nursing career ain't gonna end well."

"You can tend it yourself, you pig!" she hissed and threw the cloth at him. He caught it effortlessly with his other hand and gave a self-conscious smile.

"What I was expecting anyhow," he admitted and quietly turned to the bowl, dipping the cloth in and carefully dabbing at the wound. He grimaced but methodically cleaned the wound, then flicked his gaze up to see her watching him. "Um...making me a little uncomfortable here, Milady Astrid. If you're not going to help, could you give me some privacy?"

"I can't," she snapped. "I have been ordered to treat you and I can't leave until you're treated..."

"Even though you're not treating me?" he asked her sarcastically. "Why does no one in this damned place make any sense?"

"You don't understand!" she shouted at him, her face filled with frustration.

"Then enlighten me," he told her, laying the cloth down and wrestling with the ointment jar. With a sigh, she grabbed it from him and flipped the top off, then took a generous helping and began to smooth the soothing cream into the raw wound. She was breathing hard, her azure gaze focussed on the burn.

"I'm a hostage here," she said quietly. "I'm not here of choice. Dagur...claimed my father lost a substantial sum at poker...claimed he had a huge debt that he had to repay..."

"How much?" he murmured. She looked up into his sympathetic eyes.

"Ten thousand," she said defeatedly. He winced. "Sorry," she added, thinking she had jarred his wound. "My father, who was so religious he never gambled a day in his life, whose faith never wavered even after our mother passed, supposedly just gambled away the value of our house and farm and his only daughter? I don't believe it! And he always protested it was a lie but, of course, Dagur could produce his Gods damned brothers as supposed witnesses who swore blind to the truth of his allegations. And because my father was never there he had no counter witnesses. And then Dagur claimed he attacked him just before the Marshal was due to ride into town-the Marshal who my father wanted to appeal to with his case-and so Dagur shot him dead."

Her hands were shaking and he gently caught her wrist, his thumb stroking the back of her hand, the skin soft under his calloused thumb. "I'm sorry," he murmured, seeing her eyes shine with anger and sorrow. She blinked and pulled her hand away.

"I was left as the person responsible for the debt," she said bitterly. "So Dagur insisted I live with him to meet our obligations. My brother was thrown out onto the streets-though the people of Berk look out for him..."

"Brother?" His tone was thoughtful.

"Gustav. He's twelve..."

"That cheeky kid with black hair and bright eyes and holes in his elbows?" Ryder asked and unwillingly, a smile lifted her lips.

"I see you've met him," she said and he nodded, a lopsided smile lifting his mouth.

"Reminds me of me," he admitted. "So can't you sneak out and grab him...then go?"

"On what?" she snapped, voice sharper than before. "I don't have a dragon and Dagur will hunt us down wherever we go," she sighed. "He'll never let us go...and if I try to do anything that he doesn't like, he threatens to kill Gustav..." He tilted his face slightly and read the despair in her beautiful face.

"That Nadder likes you," he murmured.

"I'll never get her," she sighed. For a moment she looked away and her eyes shone with despair. "And Dagur..." He leaned closer.

"What does he do?" he asked her gently and she blinked.

"Whatever he wants," she said tonelessly and he felt his stomach tighten with anger. Then she blinked and stared into his face. "It's not your business anyway..." He masked the flinch her words caused and shrugged as she began to wind crisp bandages around the wounds.

"I reckon not," he managed, "though you're not the only one he traps. When he missed that damned dragon, he put my debt up by five thousand. No matter what I do, I reckon he'll keep adding stuff on so I'll never be free of him." She swung her gaze back to him. He managed a slightly twisted smile. "Unless I shoot him first," he added. She pulled the bandage tight and he hissed.

"That kind of talk could get you killed!" she advised him.

"Staying here will probably get me killed anyway," he told her calmly. "A professional job. Thanks, Milady..." She caught his hand and she felt his fingers briefly tighten around hers.

"Ryder isn't your real name, is it?" she said suddenly. Meeting her blue gaze and seeing the faint despondency in her beautiful eyes, he sighed.

"No shit," he murmured. He paused for a second. "It's Hiccup. Great, I know. Good old traditional name..."

"For scaring away gnomes and trolls," she smiled, reading the vague embarrassment in his face. He found himself wanting to see the expression more.

"Touché...Miss Divine Beauty..." he riposted. She lowered her head and the smile warmed her face for a second longer.

"I won't betray your secret...Hiccup..." she murmured gently. He blinked: why had he done that? After he lost...her...he had sworn never to let anyone get close, never risk himself by exposing his heart to anyone...but she was as trapped as he had been, almost as abused as...she...had been...and with as little hope of rescue as he had, five years ago. He pulled his shirt on with a small hiss and fumbled the buttons closed, peering at her face. There was just a little light in her eyes that hadn't been there before, a tiny spark of hope that had ignited from speaking to someone who treated her like a human being, not a possession.

"Hey, works for me...Milady Astrid," he teased her softly, his green eyes sparkling. "And if I get any chance to get you out of here...I will..." She stared up at him for a moment, then bowed her head.

"Thanks," she said, her voice low again. She dully gathered up her bandages then sighed.

"We both know that won't happen...but thanks," she murmured, putting her head down and walking out of the room. Easing his waistcoat on, he ruffled his dark auburn hair and stared after her.

"I promise you, before I leave this place, I will get you free," he muttered. "Because when we were in your place, there was no one to help..."

oOo

He sneaked out after sunset because he had duties as well and walked confidently across the plaza to the hostel. There were lamps on in the saloon and as he walked in, he came face to face with Gobber...and Stoick. He froze, his hand hovering over his gun and breathed hard, then took a step back.

"Evening, Gobber-see I fail the weight minimum for this evening," he said automatically, his emerald gaze sweeping across the two very hefty shapes seated at the table by two plates of whatever disgusting mess Gobber had whipped up with his non-existent culinary skills and a bottle of his certifiably lethal rotgut. "And I'll pass on the mead."

"Laddie..." Gobber said, his eyes wary, flicking a look to his friend. The Sheriff remained motionless, his black clothed shape stiff and his expression angry.

"I won't intrude 'cause-hey, I know the Sheriff there ain't my biggest fan," Ryder said with a small smile. "I'll just sneak into the stable before Dagur realises I've gone..." And with that he strode rapidly through the kitchen and out into the yard, grabbing a small lamp on the way. Gobber sighed and rose, though Stoick grabbed his arm.

"Leave him," he growled but Gobber shook him off and lumbered to his feet. "He's just another stone-hearted killer." His blue eyes inspected his friend before he turned after the younger man.

"He's not stone-hearted," Gobber said with conviction, "but he is very damaged. He's smart, sarcastic and very fast with a gun...not a great combination...and he's only with Dagur to pay the debt he incurred to try to treat his dragon..." Stoick glanced up at him.

"Try?" he murmured.

Ryder wrestled the door of the stable open, grimacing at the pressure on his bandaged burn and slid in, lifting his lamp and smiling as he turned...to see nothing.

He froze. There was no sound, no warmth, no dragon. He cast around, seeing a handful of scales in the stall where he had left Red, dully red and brown and black. His heart in his throat, he crouched down and lifted them up, turning them over in his hand and then pocketing them automatically. He turned to the door and out into the cold plaza...to meet Gobber.

"Where is he?" he asked directly. "Has Fishlegs moved him to another stable?"

"I'm sorry, laddie," the old blacksmith said. Ryder stared at him.

"S-sorry?" he echoed, his heart missing a beat. "No..."

"He went yesterday afternoon," the old blacksmith told him as the young gunslinger shook his head in denial, terrible hurt showing briefly in his luminous green eyes.

"No..." he murmured as he closed his eyes. "Where is he?" He swallowed and suddenly vulnerable eyes stared at the older man, a desperate plea very briefly visible.

"He's safe, laddie," Gobber reassured him. "The twins and Gustav buried him last night. Admittedly, they were up most o' the night in digging the hole, but I knew ye wouldnae wish him cut up by merchants..." Ryder nodded dumbly.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked tonelessly. Gobber patted his shoulder kindly with his real hand, his breath coming in little clouds in the frosty night.

"Nothing, lad," he reassured him. Ryder's face twisted into a grim smile and he reached his hand into his vest, drawing out another fifty dollars, pressing them determinedly into the old man's hand.

"Everything has its price," he murmured. "And I'm paying a high one for the last chance to save my friend. So take this..." He shoved the money harder into the older man's hand. "Give it to the twins or use it to light a cheroot for all I care!" He turned away. "Thank you for looking after him," he added as he slid through the gate in the fence and headed back to the Berserker Compound. Gobber stared after him, his own throat thick with sympathy.

"I'm sorry, laddie," he murmured. "Because I fear now, you ha' no one at all."