Those Eyes

A/N: This story was based off Evanescence's song "Snow White Queen". I've been wanting to write something based off of it for awhile, and I rewatched the Night and the Fury yesterday, which offered me the perfect opportunity. I honestly believe that Dagur wants Hiccup, in this manner, and no, not romantically. I mean like in a sick way. Even if Dagur did canonically do this, he's still such a fascinating character to me. He's mentally unstable, he's bloodthirsty and insane, and yet he's smart enough to be a threat. He's selfish and childish, and often runs on pure impulse, much like Hiccup, and like Hiccup, his pride and emotions get in the way of making the right choice. He is so fascinating to me, and he remains my favorite character that Dreamworks introduced in the show. Even though Alvin inspired angsty fanfiction, and Heather was awesome and Mildew is the absolute best for comic relief, Dagur is still the best because he actually feels threatening to me. With Heather and Alvin and Mildew, I know things are going to end okay, because they don't feel dangerous to me. But Dagur? He could have really done something like this.

Warning, rape and sexual abuse implied.

I didn't understand it when I was younger. All I knew was that it was scary, and ugly and he was bigger than me, so I couldn't defend myself when he started to undress me. All I knew was that I screamed and cried that time, that first time that it ever happened. I was horrified and scared, and I couldn't figure out what was going on, only that it was something that felt shameful and dirty. I knew I'd done something wrong, but I couldn't figure out what.

So I kept quiet about it.

But no matter how much I tried not to think about it, even though I told myself lies and slowly forgot the way his hands touched me, the way he looked as he towered over me, the way he sneered at me when I started crying and begging him to stop…even though I could forget all that, I couldn't forget those eyes, green and very dark, so dark they gave me a chill. Green eyes, constantly watching me.

When Dad told me that they were coming again, I didn't really register what he'd said. All I knew was that those eyes were traveling across the miles of ocean that separated us, the miles of ocean that made it possible for me to sleep at night, because I knew he couldn't get to me. Those hands were going to come back and undress me again, and then touch me in the way that I hated. He was going to tower over me again.

I wanted to prevent it. I didn't want to do anything wrong again, so I tried to stay out of his way. But he found me. Those green eyes found me again, and he made sure we were out on the deserted beach, the haunted beach, the one place that no Vikings on the island ever went. He made sure we were completely alone, and that the spot was isolated, before he touched me again. And this time, when I started crying, he told me he would run me through with his knife if I ever cried like that again.

He left on the boat with his father, and I stood beside my own, feeling his green eyes upon me, warning me to keep quiet until the next time it happened. Because I knew then that there would be a next time, and that there would keep being a next time until I did something about it. And that wasn't an option.

I learned to take it in silence. I learned not to cry, or scream, because crying made him angry and screaming might attract attention. Those first few times, I felt a little bit like maybe I wanted attention. Even if the Viking who found us would judge me when they saw what was happening, their judgment couldn't be any worse than his green eyes, his cold touch, his cruel hands all over me.

Then I knew I never wanted attention, I never wanted anybody to know about it. I learned to keep my head down, mostly. I just…withstood it, I guess. But this time, this time, things were going to be different. Toothless and I never went anywhere without each other. He wouldn't be able to get me on my own this time. Toothless wouldn't allow that. I didn't like the feeling of knowing I would be in close proximity with him, but I trusted Toothless so absolutely to keep me safe that I wasn't that worked up about it.

Until Dad told me to hide the dragons.

I tried to convince him otherwise. I begged him to let me show Osvald the truth about them, but he didn't listen. He just barked at me to do as he said, and it was just like old times, before I'd killed the dragon queen and made him proud of me. He was mad at me again, and even though what those green eyes and those cold hands did to me was a thousand times worse than my father's anger, I allowed it to happen. I led Toothless to the cove. I struggled not to cry as I walked away from him, because I knew I was walking away from my only semblance of safety and facing this horrible event, once again.

And Toothless would know something was wrong, and when he tried to ask, I would end up crying, and then he'd definitely know something was wrong. I gritted my teeth. I was not going to cry in front of him. I could tell him anything, and I knew that, but I had never told him about this. How could I? Even with him, I didn't feel completely, one hundred percent safe when thinking about him. But alone, facing those green eyes alone? I was a wreck when I made it to the docks, my hands shaking, every muscle in my body stretched taut, ready for the moment when my clothes would come off.

He would comment about my leg, maybe. Ask who had taken it. I wouldn't have an answer, and he didn't like it when I didn't answer.

Dad glanced sideways at me, and opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, but the moment passed, the boats reached our docks, and my violator was in front of me again. I swallowed, pressing myself closer to my father. His steady, strong arm wasn't the warm comfort I wanted from Toothless, but it was enough to keep me standing there, at least.

And then he stepped off the ship. Him. Dagur. Those green eyes…watching me. Time and distance couldn't take the edge off a gaze like that, and even though it had been a year, his gaze told me everything I needed to know: he had come back for me again, and he would keep coming back for me until he was dead, or I was, or until I told. And that last one wasn't happening. Not today. Not ever.

He was holding a knife in one hand, casually, easily. That was the knife he'd threatened to run me through with when I started crying. I swallowed. He lifted his gaze to mine just for a second, a smile spreading slowly across his painted face. Those green eyes were still watching me.