Seven.

Hiccup dreamed...

He was back on Berk but everything had changed: even the weather was unrealistically warm. He limped slowly up the hill and found himself in the a plaza, face to face with his father. But Stoick was smiling proudly, his arm draped paternally round Snotlout's shoulder and his booming voice announcing his pride to the whole village in a way he had never done for Hiccup.

"That's my boy!" he boomed. "A fitting heir for village-a real Viking to be proud of. Far better then my previous heir..."

He didn't even say son, Hiccup thought with a stab of pain. Stoick had finally got the son he wanted- big, brash, brawny, all those 'B' words that Hiccup was so useless at. Snotlout gave a smug grin and waved.

"Hey, babe!" he cried as Astrid flung herself into his arms and shared a long and far too intimate kiss. Hiccup felt his stomach jolt with dismay. This was even worse than he had guessed.

"Hiya, babe!" she replied sparkily, her eyes glittering with affection. She nuzzled against him again and then he nudged her, as if noticing Hiccup for the first time. She turned her head to spy the exile-and then she devastatingly turned away.

Hiccup felt himself cringe, his stomach curling in shame at the dismissal. There was no emotion in her eyes except mild disgust.

"A-Astrid?" he breathed in a voice hoarse with shock. "What...what...?" She gave an exaggerated sigh and turned to face him.

"I would hardly go out its a traitor!" she spat angrily. "Once you were Cast Out, I decided to accept Snotlout's suit. After all, he is everything a Viking should be-and he's never betrayed Berk!" Hiccup flinched at the insults as if they were blows from the lash. He shrank back, his eyes downcast. If he stared at her beautiful face, twisted with disgust and hatred for him, he would shatter.

"And...Toothless?" he begged. "At least tell me where he is?" Her pause was too long and he looked up, his heart suddenly wrapped in ice.

"He died," she said in a slightly softer tone. "When you betrayed us, when you left him, he wouldn't eat and wouldn't fly. He pined to death for you."

His legs gave way and a scream of agony burst from his throat. "NO!" He felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest, the pain shrouding him like a cloak of fire. He shook his head, tears running down his face. "No! No...Toothless...I'm so sorry, bud..."

"If you had got here sooner, maybe he could have hung on, Hiccup," Astrid told him in her relentless accusing tone. "But you have been gone months. I don't know why you bothered to show up now. It's clear you haven't exactly been suffering!" His head snapped up, the tears still glistening on his cheeks. She gestured to him and, for the first time, he realised he was in Berserker armour, hand-stitched leather and polished metal, a thick golden collar around his skinny neck. He looked rich and well cared-for and though his terrible scars from the whip and his other torments were concealed, he realised with horror what the uniform, the rich, almost Royal clothing implied. Dagur.

Pathetically, he threw his arms up in front of his head. He was shaking his head desperately, wishing, praying it wasn't true. "No, no, no, no," he moaned. "If you only knew what I suffered, what I had to do just to survive...please, Astrid...I'm not a traitor...I never gave in..."

"Hiccup!" The voice caused him to flinch and cringe away, his shoulders starting to shudder. "Come here, brother..."

"Odin, please, help me," Hiccup breathed as the Berserker Chief strode up the hill, a phalanx of his close guard at his shoulders. They saw Hiccup at once and hauled him to his feet, then Dagur closed the distance between them and hooked his arm around the boy's skinny waist. Hiccup stiffened, his eyes looking trapped as the Berserker pulled him closer.

"What's the matter, brother?" Dagur asked him loudly, oblivious to the rigid shape in his embrace. He pulled the resisting boy tighter and leaned close enough to whisper cruelly in his ear.

"Have you forgotten what we agreed? I leave Berk alone if you...are mine. Whenever and however I desire." Hiccup shook his head slightly, his green eyes dark with fear and shame. He hadn't forgotten a second: the helplessness, the casual brutality the man meted to him whenever he desired, the repeated pain of the hated act, the condemnation of his submission from every eye, the utter feeling of worthlessness every hour of every day.

"No, master-I haven't forgotten," he breathed in a low voice. Dagur gave a smile and pulled him close.

"Good," he said and pressed a hard kiss on Hiccup's mouth...

oOo

...Hiccup woke with a scream. He screamed again and again until his eyes focused on the wretched cold cell and he realised his clothing was the grimy and bloodstained clothes he had worn from Berk and he was Outcast Island. And he wasn't Dagur's.

He raised a shaking hand to his face, feeling fresh tears and grateful he could shed them. He was still alive. He suddenly sagged forward, supporting himself with one hand and swiping away the tears. He was still a prisoner and he ached all over. His stomach was growling with hunger and he felt thirsty and lightheaded.

"I am Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third" he said wearily. "I am a Viking of Berk and the son of Stoick the Vast. I am the rider of Toothless and Head of the Berk Dragon Training Academy. I am not a traitor. Oh gods, I am not a traitor." His voice cracked. His shoulders shuddered with sobs as a wave of misery overwhelmed him. "Please don't let me become a traitor. Please don't let him..." His voice became unintelligible and he wrapped his arms around his battered body. "Please don't let me break," he whispered.

"On yer feet!" Mildew snapped and he cuffed his tears away, then looked up. And froze. Savage and Dagur were standing behind the old man and Hiccup felt his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing accelerating close to panic. The taunts and threats from the previous day instantly rolled around his memory. He scrambled to his feet and back-pedalled until he hit the back wall of the cell. The door creaked as the three men walked in. Dagur's eyes were calculating, a peculiar smile twisting his face. His fist was clenching and unclenching and Hiccup swallowed nervously. The last images of his nightmare flashed back.

"Hiccup!" Dagur said in a thoughtful voice. "Not looking so frisky now?" He shook his head silently.

"Hospitality needs some work, Dagur," he said quietly, testing the man. The fists clenched and Dagur's face fell into a deeply unpleasant scowl. Hiccup pressed himself harder again the wall, ignoring the pain from his welts.

"And your attitude still needs some work," Savage sneered. His smile was even less reassuring. Hiccup gave a wary shrug, aware he was completely vulnerable: skinny, small, beaten, his eyes still red and swollen from weeping.

"Sorry, I'll try to fit it into my diary," he murmured. Savage lurched forward and Hiccup stiffened, his eyes widened. Mildew was quicker, whacking the boy hard with his staff. Hiccup yelped and grasped that he arm that had born the brunt of the blow. He cast the old man a vaguely defiant look and Mildew raised his staff again, but Dagur raised his hand.

"I am disappointed," he said softly. "I always knew you as bright." Hiccup offered an apologetic smile.

"What can I say?" he replied, his voice wavering. His stomach was roiling with anxiety. "Guess I just won't fit in here. You should just let me go..."

Then Dagur lunged forward and grabbed him by the throat. Hiccup gasped, choking, his hands clawing at the ferocious grip. He lifted the boy abruptly so his foot hung a foot above the floor.

"Never!" he roared and the boy flinched. "I've wanted you for a long time, Hiccup. And you will learn to obey me!" Hiccup tightened his hands round the choking grip. His vision was greying.

"Choking...me..." he rasped. Dagur stared at him then slammed him to the floor, kicking him cruelly. He curled up, throwing his hands over his hand and waited for the rest of the beating. Dagur stood fiercely over him, breathing hard. Then he snatched the boy's tunic and dragged the boy from the cell.

"Come with me!" he snarled and Hiccup suddenly began resisting frantically.

"No!" he screamed so Dagur paused, turned and hit him hard. His painful cry echoed through the cell and he had stopped resisting when Dagur resumed his furious stomp from the room, the limp shape dragging behind him. Mildew stared after the stunned boy and sighed. He wondered if he would be collecting his bet soon.

"Should've learned to keep yer mouth shut," he muttered as he pulled the cell door closed behind him.

oOo

After a lot of arguing among the teen riders-mainly over who wouldn't go- Astrid and Snotlout visited the Village Elder, Gothi, in her little house on the edge of the village. No one except the Chief and people seeking her medical expertise visited her, though she tended to pop up unexpectedly at all sorts of village events. She had not been there for Hiccup's trial and exile.

The old woman was grumpy but she listened to Astrid's questions and scratched her answers on the floor. Gobber had consulted her over Stoick's sickness and she confirmed it had been poison. But her diagnosis was more perplexing than the blacksmith's: the poison-Dawnstar Root-would not have been fatal. It was designed to make the Chief sick, not dead.

Astrid and Snotlout shared a glance.

"Why would anyone try to poison someone not to kill them?" the boy asked with a confused scowl. He wasn't the sharpest axe in the armoury, but he knew it made no sense. Astrid paused.

"To make it look like someone was trying to kill him," she murmured."Snotlout, have you ever seen Toothless miss anything he aimed at?"

Snotlout snorted in derision. "Er...duh! He's a Night Fury! He never misses!" he scoffed. She gave a slight smile.

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. She leaned close to Gothi. "Gothi, I have last question for you. Could you make this poison from any ingredients or it would have be from you?" The old woman rolled here eyes and scratched a long answer on the floor. Astrid peered.

"The poison can be used as a cure for certain problems...but can be very bad if taken in too great a quantity!" Astrid murmured. Snotlout folded his arms.

"So did anyone have this...medicine recently?" he asked. Gothi looked at him with a small smile, as if he had passed a very difficult test. Then she nodded slowly, paused and then scratched one word on the floor.

oOo

The world had just about stopped spinning when Hiccup was dropped on the floor in Dagur's main hall. He lay still for a long moment before warily lifting his eyes slightly. His hair had flopped across his face and he knew he was breathing hard with fear. He could hear Dagur pacing slowly around him and he took a shuddering breath. He had never trusted the Berserker and knew how cruel, calculated and sadistic he could be. And he had never felt comfortable with the crazed Berserker Chief: the taunts of the guards only alarmed him even more.

He knew he was small and weaker than the other teens. He was clumsy-Odin, how he was clumsy! He had caused more mayhem and chaos in the village than some of the dragon raids in his desperation to fight the ravaging reptiles. And he had been punished for his efforts: teased, ignored, ostracised, beaten up by the bullies and repeatedly scorned and rejected by his father. He also had only one leg now, the prosthesis clicking as he slowly pushed himself to his hands and knees. He stood precisely no chance of defending himself against the Berserker.

But he wasn't a coward-of that he was certain. He was foolhardy and determined, often reckless with his own safety when trying to make his Dad and his Tribe proud of him. He had faced the Red Death on Toothless and had destroyed the enormous dragon because it was going to annihilate his Tribe. He was fearless on his dragon, taking the greatest risks and chancing the most hazardous tricks. And he wasn't afraid of pain because his leg always hurt him now and the pain of rejection had been so awful that he would have died rather than face that again.

But then there was the whip. He shuddered again. His back was still excruciatingly tender and he knew-with shame and also with certainty-he would beg if Dagur showed him the whip again. But the alternative was possibly even worse. Dagur was thought to want to... He swallowed and lifted his bruised face, his eyes dark with fear. If the Berserker chose to abuse him, to whip him or even to kill him, there was scant little he could do in his defence. What would happen would happen. And then he took a jagged breath, his throat thick with fear.

He didn't want to die.

Dagur paced around the small shape, huddled on the floor. If possible, the runt looked even smaller, his shoulders hunched as if he was trying to shrink away. His clothes were stained with his blood and the sight made Dagur thrill with excitement. It was Hiccup's own fault, of course: he shouldn't have lied to Dagur or tried to conceal the dragon. And he certainly should have handed over the beast when Dagur demanded. Instead, he had resisted, even fought against Dagur and his treacherous lizard had blindsided Dagur when the Berserker should have finished him.

Except Dagur had never meant to kill Hiccup. He would have to be punished, cowed, his spirit broken and his sarcastic tongue curbed. Dagur had almost been panting with excitement at the last whipping, watching the boy bravely defy him as the lash had done him terrible harm. But he was scared: the flash of fear in the boy's enticing green eyes was a suitable reward for Dagur's efforts. Though he saw Hiccup alter his expression through sheer force of will and try to look brave. But Dagur knew.

His gaze lingered on the scrawny shape, the skinny arms and legs shaking. The boy was very pale, his little smattering of freckles the only real colour apart from the eyes and that mop of dark auburn hair. His frail little hands and the missing leg made him look vulnerable. He wasn't a real Viking, wasn't a warrior by any stretch of the imagination. He couldn't possibly imagine he deserved to be treated like a man, like any creature of worth. Dagur wanted the boy as his slave, subservient, skipping to his lazy commands, trembling in fear of his displeasure. He imagined him kneeling before Dagur with his head bowed, his naked shape still and awaiting his orders. Awaiting Dagur's touch.

And then he recalled the desperate, frantic struggles the boy had made as Dagur had begun hauling him here. The terrified scream. The pathetic look of disgust and horror in his face. And Dagur face fell into a cruel scowl. The runt would learn that he had to do what Dagur ordered. No matter how much it may hurt.

Hiccup saw Dagur inspecting him so closely he felt a flush rise in his cheeks. The look in the man's eyes was unfathomable and very unsettling. He suddenly felt dirty, ashamed and he felt himself begin to tremble. Dagur was very difficult to predict, suddenly flipping from calm to enraged and super-violent. The men reckoned that he was planning to abuse Hiccup and the boy was pretty sure they were right. He recalled the images from his nightmare and he swallowed vomit from his throat. He was pretty sure he'd barf if it happened but knew that would just make Dagur more mad.

"You know I'll get that dragon, one way or the other," Dagur said, standing in front of the boy. Hiccup lifted his chin, the brave facade back in place. The Berserker could see the tremble in his hands, the shiver in his battered shape and the red welts down his neck from his grip, the fingerprints visible on the pale flesh.

"No," Hiccup said simply.

"I can make you help me," Dagur said menacingly.

"You can try," Hiccup said softly. "Dagur, I won't hand Toothless over. He's my best friend. He's safe on Berk and I will give anything to keep him safe."

"I want that Night Fury!" Dagur raged.

"I want a nice fish stew and a ship back to Berk," Hiccup replied, though he flinched at the shout. Dagur jerked his hand and Savage strode forward, grabbing the boy by the hair and wrenching him to his feet. He grabbed the hem of his tunic and dragged it up over the boy's head. Hiccup gave a low cry in sudden anxiety and tried to pull away and Savage instantly snared his wrist brutally. Hiccup began to hyperventilate and began to try to twist his arm free but Savage grabbed the other one cruelly and the boy gasped in pain.

Dagur stared at Hiccup and his eyes roved carefully over the scrawny shape. He was even less impressive in the flesh, his toast rack chest and skinny arms with very small muscles only. There were a nice crop of bruises over his sides and chest from the various kicks and punches he had endured and his shoulders and back were scored with the angry red weals from the whip. He tried to cringe away from the inspection, flushing. As a rule, Vikings weren't especially self-conscious: in fact, most were completely unconcerned. But Hiccup was clearly extremely uncomfortable. Maybe the runt had suffered from so many taunts and scorning that he hated his own appearance. And maybe, maybe, he was scared of Dagur's hungry gaze.

Then he drew his knife. Hiccup's eyes widened and he tried even more desperately to pull away but his left hand was pressed down onto the table, his fingers splayed They flinched and his eyes stared up pleadingly at the Berserker. Dagur pressed the blade onto his wrist.

"How will you manage with one hand?" he asked matter-of-factly. Hiccup struggled more desperately. He was left-handed. He shook his head hopelessly.

"Please, Dagur...don't do this," he begged. "I-I will be of so little use to you if you take my hand. Please..." He was trembling all over and his voice was shaking. The Berserker sawed into the skin and Hiccup felt a line of fire across the wrist. He cried out in pain and saw the flash of red. There was blood on the blade. "PLEASE!"

Dagur stared at the ashen face, the terror satisfyingly bright in the boy's eyes. Savage was almost holding him up and his breath as starting to shudder through him. He could slice the hand off easily-Hiccup's wrists were so bony and narrow that Dagur reckoned he would only need to put his weight through the knife to take the hand off. But the prisoner was almost sobbing in terror now and tears slid down his face. He took the blade away. A deep slice was bleeding but the hand was still intact.

"I will be making use of you, runt, and if you use that hand as an excuse, it's gone!" Dagur hissed. Hiccup was trembling so hard he couldn't speak but Dagur nodded and Savage brutally turned the hand over, exposing the soft inner arm. Panicking, Hiccup struggled again and Dagur gave a nasty grin, his hand tightening around the cold flesh. Hiccup froze as the Berserker pushed his blade into the skin and Hiccup gave a satisfying scream as the knife moved, the tip flicking as the blade moved. Hiccup whimpered and gave a groan as the blood trickled from the vicious wound. The big stole a look at it: Dagur had carved the word 'slave' on his skin. He gave a choking sob.

But Dagur hadn't finished and with a nasty smile, he laid his knife down, then walked slowly over the the fire. Hiccup became abruptly aware there were swords and other pieces of metal sticking out of the flames. He swallowed fearfully and shook his head slightly. Dagur pulled on a thick leather gauntlet and grasped one.

"Looks like the little traitor is going to have something to belong to after all!" Savage sneered as Dagur deliberately walked over, the heated end glowing white-hot. Hiccup eyed the metal speechlessly. He had been apprenticed as a blacksmith since just after his eighth birthday and knew all about hot metal, burns and dealing with accidents. But this wasn't an accident. The shape Dagur was holding in front of him in white-hot metal was the Skrill, the Berserker tribe symbol.

"No!" he gasped. "Dagur-please! I am a Hooligan! You-you can't..."

"You are my slave," Dagur roared at him, his face suddenly menacing. "And like any beast, you should be branded by your owner." Hiccup gave a final, despairing struggle and then Savage held him still. Dagur held the brand close to his face and he went rigid, feeling the heat scorching his skin. He was trembling so hard that Savage had to dig his fingers harder into the boy's arms to keep him still.

"I am making you my brother as well," Dagur breathed, staring into the terrified face. Hiccup swallowed.

"You will never be my brother," he whispered.

Dagur slammed the brand onto his left shoulder. Hiccup screamed, his entire body going stiff at the pain. The sizzle and smell of burning flesh suddenly washed around the boy but his eyes were screwed shut, tears leaking down his agonised face. He was shuddering and still screaming. Finally, as he began to sag and his head was lolling, Dagur ripped the brand away and turned back to the fire.

Hiccup clawed at unconsciousness, wishing he could mercifully pass out, but the horrible sensations continued bombarding his shattered senses. The brand was gone but the pain remained, hideously burning and overwhelming everything else. He could tasted acid in his throat and he vomited, but Savage cruelly held him still, watching his pathetic heaves. He was shaking like a leaf. Savage finally dropped him and he folded to his knees, groaning,

"D-Doesn't...make...a d-difference," he breathed. "I am a Viking of Berk..." Dagur grabbed his hair and wrenched his head up, staring into the pinched face.

"Wrong! You are a slave and possession of the Berserker Tribe. Your tribe expelled you for treason. You tried to kill your father!" Dagur's words were screamed in his face and he flinched at each word, as if it were a blow. "You are MINE!" Hiccup lifted his chin slightly, shivering hard and shook his head.

"I will n-never be yours," he said quietly. "You-you can brand every inch of m-my b-body but I w-will never be a B-berserker!" And through the terror and dull, utter hopelessness, Dagur read the final shreds of his defiance. He had tortured him, he had threatened him, he had branded him-but he wasn't broken. He spun and punched the boy across the face, slamming him limply to the floor.

"But you belong to one," he growled to the unconscious shape.