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He’s been like this for hours.
The boy just sits there, hands folded in his lap, staring placidly around the room. One hand is curled protectively over the other and his eyebrows are relaxed as his gaze glides over the warriors surrounding him. They set him in a chair upon his arrival, and he looks ridiculous: plainly dressed in what is probably pajamas, a gangly teen king set in a stocky wood chair.
The leader of these men— a formidable old warrior named Skegg- stands, glowering at the teenager, his hands planted on the war table and his gray beard trembling with annoyance. The boy should look afraid, he should be pleading for mercy. Teenagers don’t even respect adults enough to plead for mercy when they should anymore. Impudence.
“Would you mind telling me when this fort was built?” Hiccup speaks up, his eyes scanning the ceiling. “I can’t place the architectural style.”
One of the warriors clears her throat as if she’s about to answer him, but Skegg lets out a growl and she clamps her mouth shut.
Hiccup’s eyes land on the man’s shadowy face at last.
“Do you know the architecture style? I can’t tell; the arches look Roman, but the imagery—“ he is interrupted by Skegg slamming his hand down on the table with enough force to slosh some of the liquid from his tankard and topple a candlestick, sending it rolling and trailing wax across the maps. The warriors in the room flinch; one of them hurries to extinguish the still-burning candle. Hiccup’s eyebrows raise, as if to say “okay, rude” but he does not continue his sentence.
“No one will come for you, you know.” Skegg says, purely in an attempt to glean some sort of reaction from the teen.
“Oh, sorry, but that’s not true.” Hiccup corrects him politely.
“How would they even know you’re missing? It’s only been a few hours.”
Hiccup does not respond for a moment, looking Skegg over. The old man is armored, drumming his massive fingers against the surface of the table.
“You do not believe that a king would be missed by the people who surround him on a daily basis? The amount of people I had meetings scheduled with before breakfast today was honestly ridiculous.”
“Perhaps the stress of ruling was too much for you; perhaps you fled before dawn,” Skegg posits, taking two strides towards the narrow windows. Hiccup’s gaze follows him.
“If I was going to break under pressure, I have had plenty of occasions on which to do so,” the boy places his words carefully. “A relatively calm Tuesday morning wouldn’t be the most pressing of times.”
Skegg hums, and the sound reverberates around the room. It is true, the boy has even handled his capture with a surprising amount of tact. Skegg spares a glance over his shoulder at where Hiccup holds his hands in his lap, one still curled protectively other. Skegg’s right-hand-man had broken it himself, having heard of the King’s prowess with a sword and decided it was too risky to leave the hand in tact. It looks wrong, swollen and bent funny in the fingers, but Hiccup’s face betrays very little of the pain, only bearing tension in the way he holds his lips and refuses to look in the hand’s direction.
“By the time your people can rally, they won’t know where to start looking. You are beyond their reach,” Skegg says.
Hiccup sucks in his cheeks thoughtfully, his gaze jumping around the walls to the sconces there.
“Have nothing to say?” Skegg asks. One of the warriors posted by the door shifts awkwardly on his feet when Hiccup’s gaze slides over him.
“I suppose you won’t answer my questions about the sconces?”
“Why are you pretending to be so unbothered by this?” Skegg demands, irate.
“Because anything I have that you want is safely out of your reach, because I have seen this all before, because I was set to meet one of my warriors- the captain of my guard— this morning for sword fighting practice, and she has contingency plans for this sort of occasion. Because when she notices that I’m not just trying to oversleep, she—“
“I shot her down this morning.” Skegg interrupts.
The king’s head snaps around to face Skegg, a sharpness sparking behind his eyes.
“Tiny, stout blonde young lady?” Skegg asks. He is met with a blank stare. “Yes. I shot her down off her dragon this morning.”
“You shot Camicazi.” Hiccup says flatly, more a statement than a question, like he’s processing this information. His posture has changed, his spine straightened like he’s just been jabbed in the back by a hot poker, his hand is no longer protecting his injured one, is instead gripping the arm of the chair with white knuckles.
Skegg grins a wide, malicious grin. Gotcha. He thinks. Hiccup continues to stare him down, to watch him as he answers:
“I did.”
“Yourself?” asks Hiccup.
“Yes. I shot her myself, and imagine she’s having a terrible time where she is right now. ”
The king sits back, more tense than he’s looked all morning, but appearing to be semi-relieved that Skegg’s statement has let him know Camicazi still lives.
“You will regret this,” the king promises, his voice quavering.
His face remains impassive, but his blue eyes blaze as Skegg laughs and turns to the man beside him.
“Go make sure the little warrior hasn’t bled out, will you? I fear the king misunderstands why I kept her alive.”
The man hurries to follow orders, and Skegg rifles through a few sheets of parchment on the table.
“We’ll send a ransom note of course, but we’ll wait a day or two,” he begins. He can feel the teenager’s glower boring into him and shifts on his feet. “You—“
There is a shout from the hallway, the sound of running feet. Skegg scowls, glancing at the king, whose functioning hand is now curled into a fist, whose furious eyes are still trained on him.
“Go see what’s going on,” Skegg orders another of his warriors gruffly.
More commotion from the hallway, more shouting.
“What is this?” Skegg asks Hiccup, his voice deadly and even.
The boy does not respond, but the corners of his mouth twitch as the door opens and a panicked, winded warrior stumbles in.
“Sir — It’s—“
“Don’t tell me you let her escape!” Skegg shouts. He had ordered them to triple the usual amount of security for the injured bog-burglar. Even with an arrow in the side, he has heard enough about her in the last couple years to know—
“It’s not her— it’s worse—“
“Worse?” Skegg roars.
The boy-king hums thoughtfully from his place in the chair as an actual roar reverberates through the chamber, almost making the ground shake. A dragon. A big dragon.
“Well, they’ve arrived. They’re very adept at tracking me; it was once kind of their thing,” says the King.
“What are you talking about?” Spits (quite literally) Skegg.
“The Deadly Shadow of course.”
“Deadly Shadow?” Skegg whirls to his second-in-command. “I have not heard of a Deadly Shadow.” This detail introduces a whole new set of variables that had not been considered. “Why have I not heard of a Deadly Shadow?!”
Another crash from the hallway, followed by a roar of anger, this one from a human.
“It’s the poet,” gasps the still wheezing warrior.
Skegg pales and whirls back to the king, whose mouth is now fixed in a grim smile. The overall expression is— unnerving.
The door slams open a second time, held open by a teenager with a crazed look in his eyes and a sword clutched in one bloodied hand.
“Hi, Fishlegs,” says the king without looking to see who it is.
Fishlegs does not respond, just blinks around the room until his eyes fix on Skegg, who is frozen. A commotion still echoes from the hallway, meaning this young man has backup beyond a Deadly Shadow.
“You,” he spits as if it’s a curse, stepping forward.
“Fishlegs,” says the king. “Camicazi— is she—“
“Alive,” says Fishlegs, for the first time acknowledging Hiccup’s presence. Tension releases from Hiccup’s shoulders. “But you.” Fishlegs hisses, stalking towards Skegg and sheathing his sword.
Skegg laughs, honestly laughs about the gall of this weedy teenager storming up to him unarmed— until he gets socked across the face.
He touches his cheek, confused when his fingers come away bloody. The teenager’s fist, drawn back up like he’s ready to strike again, is sporting rings that pack more of a punch than his knuckles do. More So than that, both his hands are covered in partially coagulated blood.
“Fishlegs,” Hiccup says quietly.
“He had her shot- he—“ Fishlegs turns, seeming shaken from his state by Hiccup’s voice. His eyes catch on Hiccup’s curled, injured hand and then flick back to Skegg, absolutely livid. Several of his backup forces have entered the room, large, serious-looking warriors. Skegg is furious that none of his people seem to be putting up a fight, though he doesn’t look as ready to fight as he did before he heard there was a Deadly Shadow involved.
“I’m fine, ‘legs.” Hiccup rises from his seat, speaking before his friend can start punching again. He has far more presence in the room than he should as he sweeps around the table, taking his sword from where it has been stored in a cupboard and gripping it tightly in one hand as he comes up beside his friend. “Is Camicazi going to be okay? How is she?”
“She’s assured me that she’ll be fine, but the arrow caught above her hip. From what I could tell, it didn’t hit anything important, but— it’ll take time to heal.”
“For Thor’s sake,” Hiccup mutters, then his eyes flicker up to Skegg’s motionless face once more. “Do you want to know something?” he asks, low and serious.
Skegg cannot seem to force a response from his mouth as he stares down at the child whose eyes burn with the embers of something ancient. Something ages old lives on in the boy, and it has rooted the old warrior to the spot.
“Your people broke the wrong hand.” And he cracks Skegg on the forehead with the butt of his sword with all the force and rage he can muster.
The man crumples to his knees, and then the two boys step backwards as he face plants to the floor. Hiccup turns to Fishlegs, who has snapped out of his fervor, still splotchy-faced, teary, and a little wheezy, fists still clenched.
“How is she?” Hiccup sheaths his sword.
“Not up for a fight.” Fishlegs answers grimly, which makes the breath catch in Hiccup’s throat. Camicazi’s perpetual state was ‘ready for a fight,’ even when injured.
“We need to go to her—“ he says, catching sight of someone as he turns. “Ah- yes, thank you for coming, would you mind taking these warriors into custody? I would like to speak to them later, but Fishlegs and I have to go check—”
Thuggory nods knowingly.
“Go. I’m glad to see you’re okay.”
“Thank you for coming with him,” Hiccup thanks him again and presses one palm sincerely over his heart in gratitude. “Fishlegs, we should—“ Fishlegs doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence, just ushers him from the room, nodding gratefully to Thuggory.
“Are you okay?” Hiccup asks as they rush down the corridor.
Fishlegs barks out a teary laugh.
“I was so worried about you when Camicazi said you didn’t show up to practice, and she calmed me down about it like she always does— but then Fig came back without her and her safety tie had been severed and—“ Hiccup nods, Camicazi probably hadn’t wanted Fig (the dragon who had agreed to take her around the island during their stay) to get hurt trying to go after her. Had probably asked her to go back to Fishlegs so he could send for assistance. “I just got this horrible mental picture and she wasn’t there to calm me down anymore, and you were still gone, Hiccup.” Fishlegs’ voice has gone quite squeaky and he has both hands squeezing his temples, hiding his face from view. “I just— got this horrible mental picture.” He repeats.
“I know, I got the same one.”
And Fishlegs knows he did. The exact same image, just from a different angle.
They are both quiet for a moment, sharing in the horror of that memory. Gently, Hiccup pulls Fishlegs aside in the busy corridor to give him a chance to collect himself, holding onto his sleeve.
After a few moments, Fishlegs takes a long breath, angrily wiping his face and then gives Hiccup a shaky nod. His eyes catch on the way Hiccup is cradling his broken hand against his body, but he doesn’t mention it just yet. Instead, they start down the hall again without speaking.
“Thank you for bringing backup,” Hiccup says, following his friend around a corner.
“I know the contingency plans,” Fishlegs says absently, but he smiles a little. His smile fades a second later as he slows before an open doorway.
“Cami?” He calls, poking his head in the empty room. Hiccup feels his heart sink to the soles of his feet as he registers a bloodstained patch of stone.
“Excuse me—“ Hiccup whirls to a passing warrior, his voice cracking with panic. The warrior just smiles wearily and points down a corridor that branches off to the right, already knowing what he is going to ask. “Thank you,”
Camicazi is laid out on a bedroll, which is immediately worrisome as she isn’t up shrieking for justice.
Hiccup swears quietly under his breath and breaks into a hurried jog, Fishlegs at his heels.
“I very clearly instructed Fishlegs to tell you I was fine.” She scowls as Hiccup sinks to her side.
“And I did,” Fishlegs defends, easing himself down beside them.
“How come I don’t believe you?” she squints suspiciously at him, then swats Hiccup away, as he’s started smoothing her perpetually tangled hair away from her bruised face with his uninjured hand. She must’ve hit hard on the fall. “Cut that out, and stop acting like I’m dying. I’m okay. Just a flesh wound is all.”
“Most wounds tend to be flesh wounds.” Hiccup says crossly.
“You know what I mean,” Camicazi grins. “I’ll be okay— the benefit of having some heft on these bones is that Fishlegs says it didn’t hit anything important— it’s why I try to get you boys to eat more, honestly, gotta get you some padding— but anyways, the arrow caught me from an angle. I’m fine. I’ll just have to rest.”
“The fact that you aren’t complaining about the rest is what has me worried,” admits Hiccup.
“I can complain some if you want,” Camicazi says brightly. “Oh, let’s see… Fishlegs practically wrenched the arrow out of me. So like a boy to be so dramatic about it.”
Hiccup kisses her forehead and sits back, easing up on the affection before she swats at him again or worse- tries to get up.
“Fine, I’ll leave the arrow in you next time then,” Fishlegs shoots back, “Honestly, Hiccup, she acts like she didn’t demand I be the one to it because she didn’t trust any of Thuggory’s people.”
“Well, I don’t.” Camicazi smiles, a little color returning to her cheeks. The fact that Fishlegs seems up to bantering with her is cheering her. “But this boy rips the arrow out of me and then immediately disappears to go check on you, leaving me alone with this lot, which makes me feel very special.” One of the warriors smiles over at the friends and Camicazi spares her a small, ginger wave.
“You told me to leave and go check on him, and Tora is a healer!” Fishlegs’ voice isn’t trembling like it had been before. She’s cheering him up too.
Hiccup leans back against Fishlegs, who automatically shifts to accommodate him and braces one arm around him, resting his chin on his shoulder.
“This is what I get for letting you go out on your own,” Camicazi pats Hiccup’s knee.
“Wh—“ Hiccup scowls, but his eyes are already closing as he leans against the side of Fishlegs’ head. “That’s not fair, I was headed to the latrines. What are you going to do? Start having people follow me to the bathroom?” He and Fishlegs had only just managed to get her sleeping a reasonable amount of time per night. If she stays up to manage constant guard shifts, she’ll never get rest again.
Camicazi snorts on a laugh and then shouts in pain. Fishlegs reaches to steady her, his hand gently on her shoulder.
“You got kidnapped while going to the bathroom, that’s so embarrassing.” Camicazi wheezes.
“Not going to the bathroom, headed in the direction of the bathroom.” Hiccup corrects pointedly, though he mostly does so because he knows she will enjoy it much more if he tries to defend himself. He winces, but doesn’t open his eyes as Fishlegs’ chin digs a little more into his shoulder. He’s got the sneaking suspicion that he’s trying to peek at his hand where it’s still curled by his ribs, but he supposes he’s put off the inevitable for as long as he can.
“So uh,” Camicazi starts, a little stilted. Hiccup knows that Fishlegs has just given her the ‘keep him talking’ gesture, but he can’t bring himself to care, just tries to relax and brace himself as Camicazi keeps on: “What did you guys talk about in that big spooky war room?”
“Nothing interesting. The usual-” Hiccup says, one side of his face screwing up with pain as Fishlegs takes his broken hand in both of his. “-A lot of the ‘we liked things before you were king,’ a little of the ‘where’s the dragon jewel’ ‘bite me’ back-and-forth, and no one answering my very relevant questions about architecture, which is a shame— ow, ow, ow, easy, please.” He hisses on a wince.
Fishlegs mutters a soft apology, but doesn’t stop working to uncurl Hiccup’s bruised fingers.
“Which is a shame,” Hiccup starts again, a little more pinched this time, “Because I had some followup questions about sconces.”
“They didn’t even care about sconces? What barbarians.” Camicazi says, and Hiccup can hear the smile in her voice. That’s one of her favorite jokes.
“I bet they don’t even care about seasoning their food properly either,” Fishlegs says sarcastically.
“They probably don’t,” Hiccup agrees, “Or about not holding an instrument by the strings when they pick it up.”
“Curb your tongue.” Fishlegs trembles a little with a chuckle.
“Do you think I’ll be able to eat any time soon?” Camicazi asks, though she sounds distant again.
“You should if you feel up to it,” says Fishlegs flatly.
Hiccup is about to chime in that he wants the breakfast he never got to eat when Camicazi pinches him on the left arm, hard.
“Hey! What was—“ but Fishlegs sets one of his broken fingers with a crack and his vision goes white, the sound of the shifting bone practically reverberating in his skull.
“You can forgo the pinch next time,” he croaks when he feels like he’s returned to his body. “It didn’t really drown anything out.”
“What if I just wanted to pinch you for making me worry because you got kidnapped in the bathroom?”
Hiccup doesn’t have the brain capacity to banter with her anymore, and she seems to know this because she doesn’t pinch him again, just puts her hand on his knee and keeps it there, the warmth of her palm comforting.
Hiccup doesn’t open his eyes, doesn't want to look at his hand to know which bones need setting and which ones are just broken. He’s avoided looking at it all day for this express purpose, doesn’t want to know how much he has to dread.
There’s another presence by him, and he suspects it’s Tora (even though he has no idea when she sat beside them,) because Fishlegs suddenly has the supplies to make a splint, and the extra hands to make sure the bone stays in place while it's fitted correctly.
Fishlegs doesn't apologize, not for setting this bone or the next three. And by the time Hiccup wakes up again, Tora is gone, the hallway has calmed, and only a dull murmur hums around the stone corridor.
“You okay?” Camicazi asks from his right.
Hiccup nods, confused because he can’t remember laying down, but he’s directly beside her now. The pain seems to be limited to just his hand instead of radiating up his arm like it’s been all morning. It’s a relief. He glances to his left and Fishlegs gives him a tired smile.
“You two are going to give me heart failure,” Fishlegs says, resting his hand on Hiccup’s clammy forehead and offering him a water skin.
“I admit, things seem to fall to chaos when any of us go out on our own,” Camicazi picks at one of her bandages and Fishlegs swats at her with a snapped “stop that.” She grins at him.
“We’ll just have to stay together then,” says Hiccup after finishing a long sip of water.
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Fishlegs agrees, reaching for Hiccup’s functioning hand. Camicazi bumps her fist against Hiccup’s arm to finish the chain and signal that she’s in accord, and the three sink into a weary, comfortable silence.
They don’t speak again until Thuggory comes around the corner to get them half an hour later, he and the other warriors ready to escort them back to their lodgings two islands over.
Despite their separate rooms, they stay together that night, laughing into the late hours.