Hiccup sat inside the cell, stretching out the stiffness that always came with the shift. Having his bones break and reconfigure into new shapes tended to leave him feeling like he'd been trampled by a pack of Gronckles.
"What a day," he muttered to himself, leaning his head back against the stone.
He'd never thought he'd have to fight in that arena, much less as the dragon target. Yet, his life had taken such a spiral in recent years that it seemed fate itself was determined to surprise him wherever it could.
Like being target practice for his childhood crush. That was a new one.
There was a small part of him that was elated to have seen his father, mentor and peers up close again. He'd never dared get close enough to risk being seen before, so he'd learned to accept faraway glimpses as the best he was ever going to get.
Today had proved different, giving him a chance to study each face in clear detail. He'd been surprised to see a few gray strands peppered across his father's thick beard and a multitude of thin lines etched into Gobber's face. It was a stark reminder of the time he had lost with them. Time he'd never get back.
His peers had looked shockingly mature. He could hardly believe that Fishlegs had facial hair now, remembering the blonde as the most baby-faced of the bunch.
Astrid had been…startling. She was just as terrifying now as she'd been in his teens, axe raised like a valkyrie. Yet, that unrivaled passion and strength still made him weak in the knees. Not to mention, she'd somehow gotten even more beautiful with age – a feat his fifteen-year-old self would have sworn was impossible.
She'd looked at him with hate and suspicion, of course, as she'd seen nothing more than another dragon to destroy. He didn't let it phase him too much – he'd been on the receiving end of Astrid's wrath on more than one occasion in the past. This time at least, he felt like he had the upper hand…it was kind of thrilling, getting to spar with her in a way where he didn't feel like the prey.
He didn't risk anything that could hurt her, keeping his claws low to the ground and plasma blasts contained. Berk may want to harm him, but he had no desire to hurt his tribesmen.
Especially not Astrid.
He groaned, banging his head against the wall in frustration. Why did the gods hate him so much?
Enough self-pity, he scolded himself, it's time to get out of here.
The discomfort of the shift had passed and he found that he felt reenergized as he stood. He brushed a finger to his temple, noting that the skin was whole once more. He was certain that if he could see his reflection, it would have faded to a thin white scar by now.
There were a few perks of his condition, and rapid healing was by far the most useful. Though he had no idea how it worked, he was always just grateful that it did.
Hiccup surveyed the metal door, this time looking for gaps or hinges. He'd had a hand in helping Gobber craft half the mechanics used across Berk, as everything had to be replaced so frequently. His short years in the forge had given him more experience than he suspected most blacksmith apprentices saw in their entire tutelage.
Much to his dismay, this particular door design did not look familiar. If there was a failsafe hidden somewhere, he was not privy to it.
Hiccup jammed the fingers of his right hand in the gap between metal and stone, feeling around for any sort of loose gear or catch in the metal. If he could just find a small weakness, he could leverage that spot to unbalance the door.
His search turned up little more than dust, and he grimaced as he wiped his dirty hand on his tunic. A few shallow cuts were now scattered across his palm, stinging from where they'd caught on jagged metal. He paid them little mind, as he could already see them beginning to close.
He eyed his left hand, wondering if it would be any luckier. He tried not to look at his dominant hand much these days, as it served as a visual reminder of his cursed status. Proof that he couldn't escape it even when he was back in his own skin.
That he'd never truly be human again.
Black scales covered his left hand, continuing up his arm and over his shoulder. He knew they extended beneath his tunic, branching off like lightning strikes and only tapering off once they'd reached his heart. His fingers ended in sharp black claws, significantly shorter but otherwise not unlike that of his Night Fury form.
It was the same hand he'd used that night when he'd tried and failed to shoot the dragon down. A permanent reminder that he'd more than failed. He curled his fingers into a fist, wrapping his normal hand over it as if hiding the truth from view would erase it.
If only it were that simple.
Hiccup paced within the small cage, feeling as if the space was shrinking in on itself. The only light illuminating the pen came from a small hole above, created only for airflow. He guessed it was a finger or two wide, nothing he could leverage for an escape.
I'm going to die here. He thought, a grim certainty settling over him. This was Berk's kill ring – there was no chance in Hel they'd release a dragon from its walls.
Not unless that dragon was dead.
Even then, he remembered having to scrub the cages in his teens. He'd never forget opening the door to a cage that was supposed to be empty, only to find a rotting Nadder, which appeared to have been left unaddressed for weeks based on the state of decay.
Hiccup lurched to the side, heaving at the mental image that surfaced. It had been bad enough at the time, now it was nothing short of chilling. He felt a cold sweat break out across his brow, wiping the sleeve of his tunic shakily across his lips.
He would be killed in the village where he was born, by the very people who had raised him.
Not for the first time, he wished he could go back in time to stop his younger self from ever taking that fateful shot. If he hadn't been so desperate to prove himself that night, he'd still have a family.
He'd still have a home.
He half-heartedly banged his fist once against the metal door, before collapsing against it and sliding dejectedly down to the floor.
It was hopeless, he was trapped.
Dawn broke, setting fire to his bones once more.
At one time, the shift felt like an eternity. Now it passed in the blink of an eye. One moment he was slumped against the door, the next he was stretched out on all fours, wingtips brushing the edges of his prison.
His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since his capture. He sorted through his memories, trying to recall when Gobber used to feed the dragons – and how often. Spending so much time in the forge came with the unexpected advantage of knowing the blacksmith's schedule almost better than the man did himself.
It was early, he knew that much. He'd often arrive at the forge for work, only to discover Gobber hadn't returned from the task quite yet. If that schedule hadn't changed, he shouldn't have to wait too long.
Hiccup turned around, tucking in his tail as he twisted in the cramped quarters. He sat, focusing his attention on the door ahead.
As if on cue, a slat opened up in the door. It revealed a small, barred window. Hiccup wondered how he hadn't noticed it before, but filed away the information for later use. Perhaps he could leverage that to his advantage.
He'd been expecting Gobber, but instead it was Astrid who was staring back at him. She held his gaze for a few moments, blue eyes squinted as if she were trying to puzzle something out.
He blinked back slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. If she was his meal ticket, he didn't want to risk scaring her off. He knew her well enough to assume that she'd likely leave him to starve out of spite if she felt the least bit threatened.
Astrid lifted a few fish up onto the window ledge, shoving them through the bars unceremoniously. They fell to the dirt floor with a squelching sound that made Hiccup's stomach turn.
Right. He'd be expected to eat raw fish while he was here. Like a proper dragon. Something he'd managed to carefully avoid since his first transformation.
Maybe he could roast it with a plasma blast? He'd been getting better at controlling the intensity, though he really should have practiced more.
"Well?" Astrid asked sharply, gesturing towards the heap of fish.
He couldn't risk a blast if she was going to be watching, especially at this range.
Oh gods , he realized, mortified. Astrid was going to watch him choke down the slimy fish. He took a hesitant step closer to the fish, inner disgust warring with the Night Fury's innate senses that approved of the salty offering.
He picked a fish up in his teeth, tossing it upwards and swallowing it as quickly as he could. To his horror, it didn't taste that bad. If anything, all he caught was a bit of salt on his tongue.
I cannot believe I've fallen this far, he thought before repeating the process with the remaining fish.
His stomach was sated, but a part of him wondered what any traces of the meal would do to his human stomach when he shifted back. There was a reason vikings cooked their fish.
Astrid pursed her lips, but seemed satisfied. "Good dragon," she said, before sliding the metal panel into place, leaving him once more in darkness.
Good dragon?
At that moment, he wished the gods would just strike him down. He'd never felt more humiliated.
Life in the arena fell into a sort of rhythm. Hiccup would start his day with a visit from Astrid, where he'd be forced to choke down whatever raw meal she'd provided that day. He'd thought fish was bad, but the day she brought the rabbit ? He'd considered going hungry.
He'd spend most of the day lying in his cage, hearing the sounds of his peers as they faced off against the other dragon inhabitants of the arena. Gobber's reprimands were one of the few highlights of his day, as the man never held back his criticism.
Hiccup liked to imagine the faces of the others as they bore the brunt of that feedback. While Ruff and Tuff may not even realize they'd been scolded, he liked to picture Snotlout turning red with embarrassment.
Sometimes he liked to imagine what it would be like if his life had taken a different turn, and he'd been there beside them. He'd probably have been the worst of the bunch, never having been too talented with weaponry or combat training. Though perhaps he could have improved in those five years, enough that he'd have had a chance to succeed when they were finally old enough for training.
Regardless, it would have been nice to finally be one of them.
Instead, he was one of the dragons. As he listened to the sounds of fighting, he found himself feeling sympathetic towards the others. Though he couldn't make sense of their shrieks and moans, the general feeling behind them was clear. He didn't like the idea of any creature feeling trapped and afraid, especially now that he could relate to their suffering.
Once the typical training had wrapped up for the day, he'd be let out into the ring with Astrid. Sometimes, only Gobber would be watching the session. Other times, he'd see his father gazing down. Those days rattled him the most, as the coldness in the chief's eyes made him feel empty inside.
He was used to seeing Stoick look at him with disappointment, but meeting his eyes and seeing no recognition was much worse.
Hiccup used the sessions to stretch his muscles, which ached from their time wedged into the small pen. His wings in particular, needed to be shaken out to rid himself of the pins and needles sensation that tended to creep over them by midday.
He'd flare them behind him, stretching them as far as he dared but never risking flight. There wasn't anywhere to go, and he saw no reason to give his captors the satisfaction of seeing him struggle to maneuver in the tight space.
He also knew, as well as any Berkian, just how little information the vikings had collected on Night Furies. The thought struck him that they may be studying him, and for that reason he knew it was best to hold back. The slower they gleaned information, the longer they'd keep him alive.
Probably.
Hopefully.
The end of the session was always marked with Gobber charging in, aggressively slamming metal objects together to disorient him. It was effective, but he wished he could just tell the man it wasn't necessary. He'd already taken to making a swift retreat to his cell whenever the banging started. Couldn't they try some other signal that didn't make his head pound? He was confident he'd proven he wasn't an idiot by now.
Sunset would bring the inevitable shift, and Hiccup would relish the extra space it afforded him within his quarters. He'd sprawl out against the ground, stretching his limbs out as far as possible.
He'd given up on the door entirely. Not even his claws could get a hold of the window mechanism from this side.
Sometimes, Gobber was too good at his craft.