Twenty-Five.

He pulled the hood up further over his head as the mists swirled around the port. The air was icy, below freezing and dank and the day was grey and close. He was constantly jostled and barged but he learned to dodge and duck through the self-absorbed and burly Vikings stomping through the muddy streets.

The Port was a vibrant trading post with a hundred shops and almost as many taverns. Ships came from all over the Viking world and beyond, bringing treasures, tales, trade and trouble. He had learned to duck his head, modulate his naturally sarcastic tongue and try to fit in. Then he rounded the corner and made the local forge, nodding to the wiry middle-aged man who owned the premises. "Morning, Harald!" he called cheerily.

"And ye, Valkan!" the wiry man called his hammer already clanging rhythmically in the sword he was making. Hiccup shed his cloak, pulled on the leather apron and waited for orders from his new boss. The man easily handed over the weapon to the boy and Hiccup eagerly turned to the task, his strokes precise and measured. Harald hadn't believed his luck in acquiring such a skilled young man who had timidly introduced himself as an apprentice looking for a new master. Harald had been on the verge of asking why he had left his previous post but the savage bruising on the boy's face and neck gave him enough information not to press the point. If this skilled boy was running from an abusive employer, Harald wouldn't complain at his own good fortune and had taken him on immediately.

In the ten days he had been in the Port, Hiccup had adopted a routine: get up before dawn, fly Toothless, hide Toothless in the cave they had found, walk into town, work, gather a few provisions and then return to his friend and spend the night sleeping against his bud. It was lonely and largely mindless but at least it occupied him while he tried to heal and work out his next step.

He felt guilty about leaving Astrid-he really did because a large part of him would have given his other leg to have her at his side on this adventure. But he knew that her leaving with him would mean no one could ever assume she was unsullied and that would irrevocably ruin her chances of a good marriage-or a marriage at all. He had flown at dusk the previous day and very cautiously gathered the extra-strong dragon nip he used from a secret site he had discovered in the north of Berk. He had only known that it was super-potent when it took Toothless the best part of a day to wake after a mistaken roll in that patch of the herb. He guessed she would look for him but he had taken precautions as well and hoped she would get the message: this was his shipwreck of a life-she didn't need to go down with him.

He'd adopted the name Valkan, after his dead mother Valka, but he had offered no family name, explaining he had been found floated out to sea-as all runts were supposed to be by Tribal Law. He had always wondered why he had avoided that fate at the hands of his rigidly traditional father but assumed it was because his father and mother had struggled for so long to have a child that even a half-sized, early one was better than none at all. Still, it had provided a plausible cover story, given his persisting lack of stature and mass. Harald had been sceptical but had been convinced by his skills, even if he had doubted his strength until Hiccup had demonstrated his ability to create weapons to the man's satisfaction.

Harald was a widower with two daughters-Liv and Elin-who shared his mousy hair and greyish eyes. They were of an age when the auburn-haired lad had caught their eye but he had kept his head down and treated them politely but cautiously, not wishing to anger his employer by seeming over familiar with his precious girls. Still, he had enjoyed the lunches they had generously brought for them both as they worked in the warm forge and had blushed beet red as he overheard their girlish chat about the young apprentice and whether he would want to go out with one of them.

The warmth, despite the chilly time of year, had been his other problem. Harald thought nothing of stripping to the waist as the forge heated up and the men grew hot from their labour, but Hiccup had a couple of very major problems: namely his brand and his whip-scars. No one who saw them could assume anything other than the fact that he was an escaped slave. He couldn't even roll up his sleeves, because he had the word 'slave' carved into the inside of his left arm and the horrible scar on the back of his left wrist where Dagur had tried to cut his hand off. So he had sweltered and suffered in the heat for fear of betraying his secret.

On Freja's Day, the forge had closed and Harald had invited his apprentice to come to the market with his family. Hiccup had gratefully accepted, glad for human company. He had changed into his better deep red tunic and had tidied himself up as best he could before walking down to town. He had washed in the nearly icy stream and in warmed water in his cave and he had been relieved that his bruises and his black eyes had faded and the swelling around his throat had gone down. He looked less like a victim-but unfortunately, he still felt like one. He was jumpy, scared to be touched and his nights had been ruptured by nightmares: sometimes it was Dagur, sometimes Savage and every other night, it was the Berk Guard. He always woke tired and sweating in fear but Toothless had curled up tighter around him and soothed his fears. Toothless didn't mind sleeping in the cave during the day, provided he got a long flight after dark and a good lap around sunrise. But Hiccup had still hugged his dragon tightly before he went into town, making sure his best friend knew how much he loved and needed him.

Harald had dressed in his best brown tunic and Liv and Elin were in matching grey dresses, their hair dressed in an intricate braids that had stirred horrible homesickness in his breast: Astrid. Just at that moment, he really missed Astrid. But he had smiled politely and complimented the girls on their appearances. Harald had watched him suspiciously, but he had raised his green eyes and shook his head, reassuring his boss that he had no interest in his daughters. The blacksmith narrowed his eyes and watched the young man carefully but he was a perfect gentleman, respectful and kind to the younger girls.

The market had a myriad of stalls, selling sturdy wool and leather goods to carvings, cookware, offertory items and jewellery. There had been snacks and sweetmeats, roasting oxen and mutton, cured hams, stuffed birds, cider and ale and mead, apples and pears and cloudberries and honey. A dozen breads had assailed the nose as the raucous cries of the traders deafened the ears. Hiccup had inspected every stall politely as the girls had dragged their father back and forth, gushing and complaining and whining and begging-mainly with success. Hiccup had leaned close over a simple rope of azure beads, beautifully smoothed and carried all the way from the far south. They reminded him very much of Astrid's eyes and for a long moment, he felt unable to breathe, his eyes beginning to burn with misery. He blinked.

"That is a unique piece," the trader told him as an opening gambit. "Very rare. You only get that stone far to the south of here." Hiccup nodded: he knew exactly where the stones came from.

"They remind me of...someone's eyes," he admitted. The trader gave a slow grin, stroking his greyish beard.

"A fair maiden?" he pressed. Hiccup automatically nodded. "And lost?" Hiccup sighed.

"Lost to me," he murmured. The trader sighed.

"A shame," he mourned. "I would have given a discount for such a sad tale..." The boy's eyes narrowed.

"How much?"

"Fourteen."

"Six."

"Young sir, you drive a hard bargain. Thirteen."

"Six."

"I'm not sure you understand the concept of bargaining. Twelve."

"Six."

"No, I'm supposed to say 'eleven' and then you are supposed to counter with..."

"Six."

"Now, I'm not sure I can allow my price to slide so far while still making in a modicum of profit. Ten."

"Six."

"Are you going to make a better offer? Say...nine?"

"No. Will you take six?"

"Yes," the Trader sighed and accepted the coins, handing the necklace over to the boy, who stowed it on his pouch. Gobber had given him a handful of coins-most of what he had on hand-to keep the boy going and the necklace had taken much of that store, but he knew he had to have it. If nothing else because he could stare at the beads and recall the exact colour of her eyes. "If I may ask, young man, where did you learn to haggle like that?" Hiccup raised his green eyes and gave a small smile.

"Berk," he murmured. "We had to deal with Trader Johan." The man nodded in understanding, then turned to a-hopefully-more profitable customer. Hiccup turned away-to meet Harald's gaze. The blacksmith frowned at his purchase, suspecting his motives. But Hiccup shook his head. "I'm no threat to your daughters, sir," he told Harald firmly. "Back home...I had a girl. I had to leave...but this..." and he gestured to his pouch, "...was the colour of her eyes. I hope one day, I can get it to her...to say I am sorry."

Harald relaxed, seeming to accept his words-because Hiccup's eyes told him they were the truth. One day, he would give Astrid the necklace-and accept whatever penalty she exacted. He had no doubt it would be painful because she wasn't prone to just accepting a quick apology and forgiving anyone. So the boy had rejoined his party as they reached the far end of the stalls and found tanners selling skins and weavers and clothmen touting bales of wool, linen and silks. The girls had fixed their hearts on a bolt of stormy blue wool that would be suitable for dresses and skirts and while they bartered, Hiccup drifted along-until he saw something that made his heart freeze. It was a skin...but not from any animal. His hands began to tremble and he felt his heart race.

It was the skin of a Hideous Zippleback.

oOo

"Any sign of him?"

"Nothing. We've searched every island between here and Outcast Island."

"And you're sure he didn't go back there?"

Stoick gave Magnus such a glare that the man recoiled in terror. That was the kind of glare a man didn't get back up from and he never wanted to anger his Chief that much again.

"Absolutely," was the sub-zero reply.

"He wouldn't go that way anyway," Fishlegs said quietly. The Council of Elders looked at him: though Snotlout was the Heir, Fishlegs was the only option to take over the Academy. "He was never going to Dagur. he never would. He wouldn't go north because winter is coming. West is Dragon Island and then just tiny islets. He would know you could get every Chief in the Archipelago to hand him back. So he will head away from home completely."

"The Mainland?"

"I suspect, sir. But it's a big place. There are a hundred or more towns and ports he could hide in. His Night Fury is built for stealth. We could search for a year and not find a trace."

"Any news from Astrid?"

"Nothing, sir. But I pity Hiccup if she gets her hands on him!"

oOo

"News, your Derangedness!" Savage bowed low and avoided the mace that Dagur threw at him. The Berserker Chief had definitely been out of sorts since his slave and bedmate had been taken from him. Dagur missed Hiccup, missed the feeling of power and triumph he had every time he saw the boy in his clutches, missed his whimpering as Dagur hurt him, missed his cries and tears as Dagur forced him. Dagur just plain missed him. And despite the way he had been disposed of, he wanted him back.

"This had better be good, Savage!" the Berserker sneered, lifting a hammer and weighing it in his hands. He twirled in menacingly.

"Our sources in Berk inform us that the boy has gone!"

"WHAT?"

"Hiccup has run away from Berk-on the dragon, of course," Savage said, bowing low as he saw the hammer flying toward him as well.

"Oh, brother!" Dagur cried in his sing-song voice. "You just couldn't keep away from me, could you? So you want to lead your brother in a joyous chase. So we will set our hounds to chase you down, my little slave. Every island, every trading post, every port! Offer his weight in silver. They will seek for you and bring you back to me, back to my bed, where you belong!" Savage watched him cautiously.

"Sir...I mean, your Derangedness...what description should we give of Hiccup?" he asked. Dagur rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on!" he whined. "Surely you can do that?" Savage looked carefully blank. "Okay-short, dark red hair, cute little freckles, soft pink lips that quiver as you ravage them, glorious, expressive emerald green eyes that just beg you to fuck him, pert little ass that can handle any..."

"Erm, I'll go for short, auburn, green eyes, one leg, Night Fury and Berserker brand on the shoulder with whipped back," Savage said, seeing the Berserk Chief drift off into a pleasant daydream of raping the resisting boy once more. He turned quietly to the door-and he was still quick enough to miss the axe Dagur flung at his head.

oOo

Hiccup inspected the stall with mounting horror: almost every item there was made from a dragon. As well as Zippleback hides and items made from the hide, there were Nadder spikes and scales, cured Gronckle meat, Monstrous Nightmare bone ornaments, Terror liver tablets, Flightmare gel, Skrill-skin armour and every possible variety of dragon tooth. He literally felt sick at the sight of the stall. He backed away, his eyes wide as the man turned to look at his customer.

"Are...are these...?" he stammered and the smallholder gave a wink.

"Aye, lad-they're all made from dragons!" His tone oozed seduction, trying to sell the exotic nature of his good as if they weren't the abhorrence they were to the Dragon Rider. Hiccup swallowed and tried to force himself to look impressed.

"Er, wow," he managed in a tiny voice, swallowing hard against the nausea. "Where-where would you get such amazing things?" The smallholder winked.

"I have my sources," he said coyly. Hiccup forced his eyes to look pleading. he knew he looked smaller and younger than his years and hoped the man would buy the excited young teen act.

"C-cool. How would I go around catching a dragon?" he asked in a soft voice, forcing himself to stare at a Monstrous Nightmare skull. He was trying really hard not to think of Hookfang, Snotlout's Nightmare-a powerful, strong-willed and prank-prone dragon that Hiccup liked greatly. The man leaned forward and ruffled his hair.

"If you eat your meat and drink your mead, you may grow up big and strong enough to become a Dragon Trapper!" he encouraged the boy. He looked at the man and his eyes widened.

"Really?" he asked, forcing himself not to tremble. His love of dragons was-just-overcoming his fear of exposing himself this openly to someone he didn't know and allowing him to touch him. Unsolicited touching was still off-limits. The man winked.

"Their ship will be moored for another day or so as they take on provisions and take shore leave," he assured the boy. "It's the big one with the white sail and what looks like a smaller boat attached to the side." Hiccup nodded in thanks and turned to run towards the docks, grateful to get away from the stall and the whole situation. Once he was round the corner, he stopped, bent forward and swallowed hard against the nausea and the panic. It took him a few long minutes to regain control and finally, he straightened up and set off for the docks, focussed on his mission.

The ship was easy to find, far larger than any longboat moored and unique in its configuration. The white sail flapped against the skeins of mist with its unfamiliar device which Hiccup committed to memory. Then he cautiously approached the ship and peered up the gangplank. The deck seemed empty as the crew were probably on the shore. But he could hear the scrabbling of claws and the croaking cry of a dragon in distress. Looking around, he ducked and scampered up onto the ship.

Once on board, he glanced around fearfully and pressed against the hull until he got his bearings. The huge mast dominated the centre of the deck while the deck itself was huge. A hatch to one side led below decks while the stern was dominated by cabins. Hiccup reckoned the ship was at least twice as large as the biggest longboat in the Berkian fleet. But on the deck, there were several cages and all contained dragons in various states of distress. The one which had made the noise was a Nadder in pale blue. Hiccup stilled and his eyes widened but as he looked at her, he saw it wasn't Stormfly.

"Thank Thor," he breathed and cautiously sneaked over to the dragon, crouching by the lock and stretching his hand through to reassure the dragon. He swiftly calmed his breathing, turned his head away and felt the beaky muzzle press into his outstretched hand. Then he turned to her and stroked her tenderly. "Easy, girl," he murmured. "It'll be okay. Let me get you out of here. I just need to see to this lock and then I can take you to meet Toothless. Now won't that be great, hmm?" The dragon gave a little croon as he turned his attention to the lock-a surprisingly complex and sturdy device for a cage. Then Hiccup ran his hands over the metal and realised it felt denser and different to anything he was used to and he leaned closer to the lock, wondering how he could pick this one.

Then a huge hand grabbed his collar and he was wrenched up. A brutal cuff collided with his cheek, snapping his head back and he hissed in pain. A large and menacing man loomed over him, his fist raised.

"What the Hel are you doing with that dragon?"