soul of a dragon

Hiccup thought he could handle heat. He worked in a forge, he lived near a volcano, he had a perpetually cuddly portable furnace, and yet he was wrong. He was dying. Whether literally or not, he wasn't sure; he certainly wished that his suffering would end soon.

After they'd caught him and dragged him across the camp, ignoring how he kicked and struggled, they'd bound his hands tightly behind him with the pole against his back. It had been overkill to wrap more ropes around his torso, but they wouldn't have listened if he'd said it. He did anyway, and received a smack for his trouble. A few others had piled on since he couldn't fight back. Those injuries just added onto the agony.

Now, he was alone in the center of this encampment, alone in the center of his misery.

The sun. A life-giver that his people honored every day. The source of all things good in spring and summer. A distant memory in winter. And a most efficient torturer.

The hunters were lying low in this devilish heat, this unseasonal and unheard-of onslaught of never-ending fire from the sky. Hiccup and the others had tried to persevere through the blazing days and muggy nights, but the others were back on the Edge. They were lying low too, but Hiccup had seen an opportunity to scout while the hunters were presumably also resting.

Hiccup's head pounded in time with his heart. It was so bright that he kept his eyes closed; the light made his head worse. His mouth hung open slightly and he couldn't make the effort to close it. His lips and tongue felt like sun-baked leather. When he inhaled, he couldn't breathe deeply because of the ropes around his chest. The air was hot and dusty.

Gods, how long would Viggo leave him here? If this went on for much longer, he'd be interrogating a corpse. Hiccup's tunic was drenched with sweat along his back. His armor was a cocoon, and one rivet that rested on his skin was surely leaving a neat little burn. His leg was throbbing in time with his head and his heart as well. It felt like it was swollen, pressing against its binding and the support straps of his prosthetic.

It was agony. And Hel. And living death. When would it end? How would it end? Would it ever end?

"Ah, Hiccup." That voice meant that he was indeed in Hel. Why else would Viggo be here? Taunting him while he was burning alive seemed like the kind of thing Viggo would do.

Hiccup didn't flinch when a hand tilted his chin up. It was Hel, after all. That was why the touch made his skin crawl. His eyes were still closed and his vision glowed red as the sun shone against his face.

"I'm sure you would like some water." The voice was so smooth, so syrupy. Sticky sweet, like the sticky sweat that clung to every inch of Hiccup. Water. Water! His mind screamed for it, but something pulled him back.

The idea of Viggo’s hands cupping his face, twining in his hair to pull his head up, gently and lovingly helping him drink... it would have made him shudder, if not for the ropes and the suffocating heat. He managed to pull his chin out of Viggo’s hands and his head sagged down again. The back of his neck stung as the burnt skin there stretched.

"Too stubborn for your own good, as usual," Viggo said. He sounded annoyed. "Really, my dear boy," Viggo continued, "I should think you would have your own survival on your mind. Are you really going to refuse water until you die of heatstroke?"

I don't want you to touch me again, Hiccup wanted to say.

Viggo sighed. "Very well. You've forced my hand." Above him, Hiccup heard a blade being drawn. A moment later, the ropes around his torso fell away and he could breathe. He hardly noticed as the ones around his wrists were cut too, and he slumped to the ground. The blade was sheathed and Hiccup heard Viggo crouch with a quiet grunt. "Though I respect your resolve, I cannot have you dying in my company."

Hiccup couldn't shout out as arms scooped him up. He could barely whimper as his head lolled and his limbs dragged. Viggo gathered him into his arms easily and stood, pausing to heft him more securely. If he could have, Hiccup would have writhed and twisted away, then attacked Viggo. But he could barely stay awake as his enemy carried him to gods knew where.

He must have passed out at some point. When he came back to himself, he was lying on tightly stretched canvas; a cot of some kind. Hands were tugging at his armor.

"N—" Hiccup tried to protest but coughed. His throat felt full of sand.

"We must lower your temperature," Viggo’s voice said. "Can't have you fainting again." The buckles on his pauldrons were undone deftly. The side-fastenings of his hauberk were unclasped, and then the armor drawn up over his head. His boot was taken; he tried to struggle when he felt hands on his left leg but fell still at the spike of pain from the swollen stump. It was a relief for the leg to be removed. Even his bracers were unbuckled and taken away.

He was left in his sweat-soaked tunic and trousers, feeling as naked as if they weren't there. To be without his armor around Viggo Grimborn was not a pleasing prospect. It worsened as a hand coasted through his damp hair.

"Hiccup, Hiccup," Viggo murmured, entirely too familiarly. "What does one do with you?"

With extreme effort, Hiccup muttered back, "Stop touching, first."

Viggo chuckled. "Half-dead, and still feisty. How very like you, my dear."

Once again, Hiccup wished he could convulse in disgust as arms slipped under him to pick him up. He had a little more control this time and half-twisted, but the arms merely tightened around him. A moment later, the arm shifted to bring one of Hiccup's arms around Viggo’s neck. The usual spiked pauldrons were absent, and so was the dragon-scale armor, replaced by soft linen. Viggo let Hiccup's legs down and Hiccup gasped as his right foot slid into cool water.

"There we go," Viggo said quietly. "This will help." He continued lowering Hiccup into the bath until he was half-submerged, sitting on the wood tub's bottom. Hiccup couldn't help but to relax as the heat leached out of his body. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, and even the knowledge that it was Viggo Grimborn who had given him this relief didn't diminish it.

He winced, however, as a wet cloth was brushed over his face. Viggo was wiping the sweat from his brow. He tried to turn his head, but the other hand took his chin and stopped him from moving.

"Bruising already," Viggo muttered, annoyed. "I'll have words with Ryker about the treatment of prisoners."

Smacking me around is over the line, but leaving me to die in the sun isn't? Hiccup thought. Incomprehensible priorities.

"You may rest here until you are refreshed," Viggo said. He laid the cloth over the back of Hiccup’s neck. "After which I will provide you with some new garments and we will discuss the terms of your surrender."

"Didn’t surrender," Hiccup managed.