Four.

Gobber sighed and stared around the forge. Even though recently Hiccup had only been intermittent in his assistance, the old blacksmith missed him. The boy had been like his son and the betrayal had hit him almost as hard as Stoick. In fact, the Chief would not even permit Hiccup's name to be spoken in his hearing. Toothless was inconsolable and Gobber couldn't believe a boy so loving and caring towards his dragon and his friend could be a cold-blooded killer.

He ambled slowly into the little space that served as Hiccup's workroom and gazed aimlessly at the detritus strewn over the table. The boy had a couple of tiny prototypes, a new design for his saddle and a sketch of Astrid pinned to the wall and the blacksmith felt a twinge of pity there. He had recognised that the boy carried a torch for Astrid long before Hiccup had but that was never to be either. He casually flipped open his sketch book and a folded sheet of parchment slid loose. Gobber frowned and unfolded it. A tangle of runes faced him and he felt dismay curl his stomach.

"Brother, I am excited that you have finalised your plans to retire Stoick. I knew that you were in two minds when we talked on Dragon island but I knew that you would eventually come to see that you were meant to rule. Your plan sounds deliciously clever and I feel all tingly when I read about the Night Fury. Give the signal as soon as he is dead and my Armada will come to support your ascension. Then we can truly stand shoulder to shoulder...well, shoulder to chest...as Chiefs. Dagur, High Chief of the Berserker Tribe."

Gobber rubbed his forehead and sighed. He really didn't want to believe that Hiccup was a traitor but the evidence just kept on coming.

And then he paused. Hiccup was by nature a loner, a young man firmly dismissed and scorned by his peers until Dragon Training. He had lived most of his life alone, recording his thoughts and impressions in his sketches and brave-but frequently amazingly foolhardy-actions. The boy loved his father dearly and was afraid of Dagur. And he was meticulous in his ability to keep secrets. He hadn't betrayed Toothless: the dragon had come to his rescue. Why would he be so careless to just leave evidence lying around? And Hiccup would never befriend Dagur because the man threatened his beloved dragon.

Gobber turned to the door and scowled. Stoick, Toothless and Astrid were Hiccup's nearest and dearest and the boy had risked himself time and again for them. Something was very wrong.

oOo

This time when Hiccup woke, he didn't even try to open his eyes. He just lay still and waited for the pain to assault him. After a blissful second, the onslaught hit and he gritted his teeth tight as tears leaked from his eyes. He could barely breathe and his breath shuddered agonisingly through his brutalised shape. He bit his lip hard to keep the sobs in but they shook through him all the same and he tried to bury his face into the rocky floor to hide his misery.

Berk did not use physical punishment on its people though it was clear the outcasts enjoyed hurting their own. Hiccup had been shouted at, grounded and disowned but never beaten. Now, he was afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe and of the pain those simple actions would cost him. He knew he wasn't a coward, wasn't afraid of pain-hey, he had crashed while defeating a giant dragon and lost his leg. He had fallen off Toothless more times than he could count and had always gotten back up. He was no coward.

"My name is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third," he murmured quietly, his bruised and bleeding lips moving as he tried to convince himself of his worth. His full name was nothing to be proud of but now it was really important that he clung onto that identity. "I am the son of Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk. I am the Head of the Dragon Training Academy and the Rider of Toothless the Night Fury. I am a Viking of Berk. I am not a traitor..."

A pain like nothing he had ever felt suddenly gripped his chest. His throat was almost too thick to breathe through and tears slithered down his battered face. He pressed his eyelids closed tighter but the tears continued to leak down his skin. His memory flew back to the dock, to the bewildered green gaze of his dragon, to the despairing roars that had echoed long after the boy had vanished from sight. 'I-I'm s-sorry, bud," he sobbed. "You-you d-don't understand why I left you. D-dad won't let you fly again. You-you're being punished for me..."

Dad. The pain intensified even further and Hiccup wondered if he would die of it-he could barely think for the tearing pain in his chest. His Dad had been the one constant in his life and the boy had loved him desperately though his father was stern, frequently disapproving and often disappointed with his clumsy son. He would never have hurt his father and the fact that his father would accept any evidence over his knowledge of his son's love had completely devastated the boy.

"You are not my son. You are no longer a Viking of Berk. You are an Outcast."

Dad, I never meant to disappoint you or shame you. Please don't believe this of me.

And Astrid...

He dared not even think of her. He had loved her forever and he had thought...hoped...that perhaps one day she would see him as more than a useless runt and troublemaker. At least she was talking to him, joking with him, flying with him... He stopped himself. That was gone as well. Angrily, he slid his hands under his chest and shoved himself to his knees, hissing in pain. He blinked more tears back and sat back on his heels and stared at the floor. He felt drained and utterly empty.

He had to get to Toothless. That was all he had left.

No one came. Slowly, painfully, he mastered his sobs, forced the desperate pain back down and raised his damp face. He wasn't even scared of anyone seeing him now because if anyone came, he was dead. He had to get out of the cell.

His mind flew back to the last time he had been on Outcast Island, a prisoner of Alvin and threatened with execution. He had tricked an Outcast guard into letting him out of his cell and had tried to knock him witless with his prosthetic leg. It had failed spectacularly and he had faced a savage beating-until Mildew had intervened. Mildew the Unpleasant. Mildew the Dragon-Hater. Mildew the Traitor.

A surge of hatred rose suddenly in Hiccup's throat. He hated Mildew because the man had betrayed Berk to Alvin. And he cringed inwardly because he knew most of his fellow Berkians now felt the same about him. He levered himself painfully to his feet, a gentle hiss of pain escaping as he limped to the door of the cell. He paused, listening carefully, then stretched his hand round and gently exploring the lock. It was sturdy but simple and he leaned against the rough stone wall and unstrapped his prosthetic leg. There was a bolt that he had meant to be attending to, a little loose and possible to ease out. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, balanced on his real leg and set to work of the bolt.

It was dull, repetitive and fiddly but it allowed him to concentrate his mind in the task, numbing his painful confusion at his exile. Every creak and drip had him flinching, terrified-yes, terrified that Savage or Dagur would come along and he would be tortured by them once more. He flinched at the distant roar of a dragon and then the bolt came free. But he couldn't relax and he stared at the metal for a long moment before he grabbed his courage once more. He wound his hand round and began fiddling with the lock, the clicks loud in the grim dungeon. Finally, he felt the lock give and the door give an inch.

He froze. Finally, he unstiffened and leaned achingly down, then lifted his prosthetic leg and a flat rock. He used the rock to hammer the bolt back into place and swiftly strapped his leg back on, then inched to the door. His heart was pounding so loud he thought that Dagur would hear in his throne room. But he quietly limped out of the door, pushed it closed and scrambled for the shadows. He heard steps and cringed behind an outcrop but the outcast guards ambled past, grumbling gently between themselves. Hiccup felt his throat thick with fear and had to dig his nails into his palm to focus himself.

The side door was unguarded and he slid out then dashed out on the lava plains urgently. His body was screaming pain with every jolt and he had to stop when his chest scorched with the effort. He bent forward and sucked in air, straightening up long before he was recovered. He scrambled down into a gulley, hoping he would be less conspicuous. His stomach was gnawing with hunger, his throat parchment dry with thirst and his head pounding with exhaustion. But he knew he needed to find a dragon. Find a dragon, train the dragon, fly to Berk, get Toothless and leave forever...

"My name is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. I am not a traitor. I am the rider of Toothless, the son of Stoick the Vast and a Viking of Berk. And, by Thor, this isn't fair." His voice had cracked and he leaned against the rocky wall, shuddering with sobs once more. He had thought that he had run out of tears but every time he thought of Berk, of Stoick, it seemed the supply was replenished. Though how, he wasn't sure. He was so thirsty...

He pushed himself up, feeling a flash of pain across his back. He hadn't been whipped before and it was definitely something he didn't want to revisit. He forced himself to walk on. Outcast Island had indigenous dragons-he had trained a Deadly Nadder on his last visit and Astrid had befriended a Monstrous Nightmare prior to that. There should be some dragons he could approach, he could train But first he needed water.

The lava plains were arid, jagged and precipitous, difficult to scramble across at the best of times but torture now he was battered and beaten. He froze every time he heard the sound of stone falling or twigs snapping and finally he found a small pool of water that didn't seem too tainted. Wearily, he dropped to his knees and dipped a grimy hand into the water then drank. Thirsty, exhausted and frightened, he drank on until finally he was sated. Then he sat back on his heels and stared dully at the black rocky ground,

"I need to get away," he repeated softly. "I am not a coward. I am not a traitor." Then he painfully clambered to his feet and began to limp along the jagged gulley. The sky overhead was darkening and the thick bank of clouds would cut out any starlight. The temperature was dropping and he could feel himself beginning to shiver. He walked on until he could se the light was almost gone, then scanned the shallow canyon walls for anywhere to hide. Finally, he saw a shallow cave, little more than a scrape behind a fallen chunk of rock and squirmed into the meagre shelter.

He curled up as small as he could make himself, ignoring the pain from his wounds and hugged his knees tight against his chest. He buried his face in his knees and felt sobs begin again.

"I am Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third," he murmured. "I am a Viking of Berk, the rider of Toothless, Head of the Dragon Training Academy. I am the son of Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk. I am not a traitor, not a coward. I am innocent..." he sobbed, over and over. And finally, alone in the cold and dark, he cried himself to sleep.

He awoke cold and shivering. It was still dark though he could see the pinkish purple blush of dawn warming the sky and the clouds had broken, revealing fading stars. His teeth were chattering and his hands freezing. He had to get moving.

He found he had stiffened up during the night, his bruises aching and back... He closed his eyes and groaned softly as he fought his way to his feet. He breathed hard as he stumbled along the uneven base of the canyon. He had forgotten how many there actually were, an endless knot of gulleys and canyons that dithered across the shattered volcanic landscape. Occasionally, he could see the twisted and menacing shape of Loki trees, leaning gloomily over the lips of the sheer walls and he shuddered. Even the vegetation on Outcast Island was sinister.

He found another shallow pool of water and wetted his mouth but it tasted foul and he spat it out hurriedly. His stomach was hurting ferociously with hunger and he cast around for anything to eat but all he could see were a handful of berries on a lopsided thicket. Recalling what they had done to Snotlout when they had been marooned on Outcast Island, he left them.

Abruptly, he faced it a blank wall and he stared up in despair. The gulley had ended and he would have to look for another way out. He was uncomfortably aware that dawn had broken and he was sure his escape would have been noted. He flinched at the scrape of stone and turned to see a small Gronckle chewing a chunk of basalt a dozen yards away. He gave a slight smile.

"Hey there, fella," he said gently,betraying to keep his voice calm. "How ya doing today?" He gave a wider smile and inched forward, his oft hand extended slightly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna be friends..."

The dragon saw him, gave a tightened shriek and took off at a speed Hiccup had never seen in a Gronckle before. He felt a sudden wave of dismay wash over him. "Wait!" he cried after the retreating dragon but he knew it was no good. Dragon training begins and ends with trust. And somehow, that dragon didn't trust him. He stared into the grey sky. Wrong. It didn't trust any Vikings.

"Dagur-what have you been doing?" he whispered. But his spirits-such as they were-plummeted even further. If the Outcast Island dragons were terrified of the sight of Hiccup, he stood no chance whatsoever of training one and getting home. Then he walked more purposefully along a side- branch and found himself facing a shallow slope. Determinedly, he scrambled up and fell flat on his face. He bit down on the groan though he had scraped his chin and winded himself. He wearily and painfully pushed himself up to his knees.

He knew he was clumsy-in fact, most people on Berk had made a point of commenting on it. He was the despair of his father and the butt of Snotlout's and Tuffnut's jokes and taunts for years. Despite his exploits, it had only gotten worse since he had lost his leg. He was taunted mercilessly and though they no longer beat him up, he was still grimly aware he was slower and less stable than any other teen. But only on his own feet: on Toothless's back, he was peerless. He caught his breath and scrambled more cautiously to his feet. Even so, he still stumbled and fell twice more as he finally reached the plateau. He leaned forward, catching his breath and walked forward-and then he gasped in utter horror.

Dead dragons were littered across the black rocks like discarded toys, their hacked shapes in varying states of decay. Hiccup swallowed convulsively, suddenly tasting vomit in the back of his throat. He had seen plenty of dragons killed, of course, because he had been raised during the war between Vikings and dragons, but he had not seen one slaughtered since he had befriended Toothless. He limped slowly to stand by a dead Monstrous Nightmare, is paws curled gently under it as if sleeping. But the spears sticking out of its corpse ruined the impression. Hiccup brushed the rough scales gently then grasped his hand around the spear and peered at the markings: Berserker.

He stared at it and felt anger scald his throat. Dagur killed dragons for sport, while Alvin had left them be because he had wanted them trusting and ready for training. And while he could not claim that he had not tried to kill dragons, the truth was that the only dragon he had ever killed was the Red Death. He had failed miserably on Berk, causing fires, loss of food, and destruction of homes. He had been a disaster. But he had lost the desire to kill a dragon when he realised that his father had been right: he was no killer. Slowly, he turned away and walked across the shattered rocks, his eyes scanning the jagged landscape. He needed to find a living dragon.

After another hour of stumbling awkwardly across the slippery and rocky ground, he caught sight of a small pink and gold Nadder rooting under a bush. She looked thin and wary but Hiccup gave a gentle croon and slowly approached the young dragon. She looked up and alarmed, her spines rising but he gently spoke to her.

"Easy, girl," he soothed her, slowly closing. She gave a croak and half-furled her wings but Hiccup had almost reached her and then gently turned his head away, praying the dragon would trust him. He knew that he smelled of dragons, of Toothless and that was an advantage he hoped would still help him. He almost gasped a sigh of relief as he felt the muzzle press against his hand. He glanced up at the face and saw the pupils wide and trusting and he gratefully raised his other had to rub the horn firmly, smiling. "Hey, girl," he murmured. "Nice to meet you. You look almost as hungry as I feel!"

The dragon gave a little croak and he spat on his hand, managing to muster a tiny mouthful of saliva to rub into the dry skin to soothe the edgy dragon. Against his will, he found a smile gently tilting his bruised lips. Since the horrible nightmare that his life had abruptly become, this was the first moment he had felt himself. He stroked the dragon, oblivious to anything but the smell, sight and sound of her, feeling the vibration of her croon through his hands.

"Trust me," he murmured. "We'll get out of here and I'll get you a nice meal of cod, hmm? How's that sound?"

A metallic whistling sound suddenly approached and Hiccup ducked, a scream tearing from his throat as the metallic razor-edged bola sliced deeply into her gently curved neck. She gave an appalling shriek of pain and desperation.

"NO!" he screamed, turning to see a second and third bola whirl at her. "No...please..." he added in horror as blood exploded from the wounds. The Deadly Nadder gave a weak little croak as her legs collapsed and she lay bleeding on the ground. He ran to stroke her head, seeing mortal wounds. It wasn't fair. She had done nothing but give him friendship and trust.

She gave a frightened little croon, then her eyes dulled and she lay still. Hiccup felt his throat tighten in grief, the sudden death so shocking that, for a moment, he forgot what it implied. And then hands grabbed his arms and he was wrenched back from the dead dragon.

"You didn't have to do that!" he shouted angrily as he was hauled back. For a brief moment, his anger at the killing overwhelmed his fear at his recapture but as Savage wrenched him up, his stomach clutched with fear.

"You led us over half the island," the Outcast growled. "I want to know how you got out of that cell and then we can teach you not to do it again."

"You didn't need to kill that dragon!" Hiccup shouted at him. Savage tightened his hand ferociously round the boy's skinny neck and he gasped.

"Vikings hunt dragons," he sneered. Hiccup swallowed fearfully and then locked his bright green eyes on the man's cruel face.

"Ask Dagur if he'd even hunt a Skrill," he gasped. Savage frowned for a moment, realising the trap the boy had laid-and then his eyes narrowed. He raised his arm and hit Hiccup without hesitation. The blow slammed the boy to the ground and he hit limply, stunned, his vision greyed with impending unconsciousness. Savage kicked him brutally in the ribs and the pain jerked him back to his senses. He groaned as Savage snatched a handful of hair and dragged the boy to his feet. Fierce grasps tightened around his arms and he ducked his head, his senses still spinning.

"Say that to him and he'll cut your guts out," Savage sneered at him. He raised his hand again and the boy flinched. "Good. You'll learn." Hiccup jerked his eyes up and they flashed with a hint of defiance.

"I-I think I'll pass," he muttered thickly. "Better things to do with my time."

The next blow slammed him to the ground and he lay completely still, his senses deserting him as he heard Savage begin to laugh.