A/N: How to Train Your Dragon remains the property of Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks.

I am aware the concept of Hiccup not being raised on Berk has been done before but I thought I'd have a go since it presents an interesting light to explore Berk society from an outsider's viewpoint. It also gives me a chance to explore a more sympathetic Stoick than my previous takes on this character.- Enjoy

Warning: References to non-consensual sex and prostitution.

One.

It was even colder than he had expected, his breath coming in freezing clouds, and he had run out of places to shelter. He glanced up, green eyes squinting in the gloom and wrapped his arms tight around his skinny shape. He was shivering but there was nowhere he could go. His previous haven had been taken by another vagrant, a man who had beaten and kicked the boy as he had tried to share the warm little niche behind the bakery and driven him away.

The boy briefly touched his bruised cheek. He had taken far worse beatings but none had depressed him more as he realised he would be facing the cold. Last night, he had not slept at all, instead curling up in doorways until he was driven away and then walking as he got too cold. Now, he was exhausted and numb. He hadn't eaten for over two days either and his stomach felt hollow and was hurting. There was no casual labour to be had: he was penniless. He may well freeze to death before morning.

A large shape barged him aside with a mouthful of obscenities and he stumbled and slammed into the side of a shop. His hand flung out to protect himself and he hissed as a jagged edge sliced into his hand. He gripped the injury as the man barged by, ignoring the skinny boy he had jostled.

"Sorry for knocking you aside," the boy muttered sarcastically as he gripped the cut and the man turned, his bloodshot eyes angry. He advanced on the skinny shape and the boy saw him with a start and backed away. "Hey..." he protested but the man swing at him and though he caught a glancing blow, it was enough to have the boy down, his scrawny shape slamming hard against the wooden wall and knocking the breath from him. Instinctively, he curled up to protect himself, a little huddle of messy auburn hair, stained green tunic and ripped brown leggings, breathing hard in fear. The drunk kicked at him again then staggered off, leaving the boy to raise his wary green eyes and rub the hip that had taken the brunt of the kick. He gripped his hand until the blood stopped and he scrambled painfully to his feet.

He tried to slow his breathing but he was kicking himself: never annoy a drunken Viking. He reminded himself angrily. You are lucky he only kicked you. He glanced warily around-it was getting later and the ale houses by the docks would be full. He had tried them all, looking for work or warmth but he had been driven off every time. In a port teeming with people, he was very alone. And he had to be careful: if they saw his brand, they would send him back and he may never escape the chains and whips a second time.

He ducked back as a couple of guards walked by. He didn't want to be jailed again either: he guessed it would be a bit warmer but last time, he had nearly been uncovered. He watched the guards walk on with relief. And then he sighed. He could barely feel his hands now, he was dizzy from lack of food and aching from the blows. The nights were long and he didn't doubt dawn would reveal his frozen corpse if he did nothing. He had one card left to play, the one choice he had found unpalatable until death came knocking. He swallowed: Pride and Honour meant nothing to a corpse.

So he reluctantly wrapped his arms around his freezing frame and began the trudge up the hill to the whorehouse.

oOo

The building was filled with light and noise and he hesitated at the back entrance for a very long time before his teeth started chattering. And then he chastised himself savagely: he was a Viking. He feared nothing.

He pushed the door open timidly and slid into the room. The damp warmth hit him like a body blow, almost taking his breath. He shuffled forward and then stopped, waiting for the steward to notice him. The man bustled in, giving orders and gesturing to the staff. And then he turned and saw the shivering boy.

"Get out!" he snarled. The boy grimaced and jumped forward, his eyes pleading.

"Please!" he begged desperately. "It's really cold and..."

"I don't care," the steward told him coldly. "Out!"

"I-I can h-help!" he pleaded.

"Got enough helpers." The boy was breathing hard, now, his eyes desperate. The man grabbed his arm cruelly and dragged the resisting boy to the door. The cold air on the threshold hit him like a slap to the face and he struggled. After even a few minutes of warmth, the prospect of a freezing night out was unbearable.

"I-I'll do anything!" he blurted out and the steward paused fisting his hair. He dragged the boy's head back.

"How old are you?" he asked. The boy was thin and small. "Twelve?" The boy lifted his chin.

"Fifteen!" he said with some pride. The steward inspected him closer. Scrawny and thin, with messy auburn hair chopped haphazardly above the shoulders, bright forest green eyes and a pale face with a smattering of freckles and a nasty bruise to the cheek. The boy's expression was desperate and the man frowned: he recognised him.

"You look younger," he sneered. "You were here…what, six, nine months back? You asked for work then but thought you were too good to work here!"

"I'm sorry," the boy said urgently, his accent from the Archipelago. "I-I was wrong. Please…I will do anything! Just-just don't throw me out!" The steward pulled his head back further, watching the boy's thin throat working.

"Only people who work can stay here," the steward hissed. "Are you ready, boy?" The boy winced and nodded. The steward shoved him back into the room and he urgently scooted over to the fire, hugging his body close to the flames and trying to allow the heat to permeate his chilled shape. The steward nodded to a blonde woman. "Thora-see to him." The woman nodded as the steward went back to the main room and turned to the shivering shape. She planted her fists on her hips and inspected him closely with an unimpressed look.

"Guess you won't be stealing any of my customers," she told him brusquely. The boy glanced up and his cheeks flushed. She hoisted an eyebrow in surprise: was he blushing? She moved closer, her movements predatory, her hips rolling seductively. She was well-endowed, her top low-cut, skirt swishing enticingly round her ankles and her expression knowing. Her thick blonde hair was braided over a shoulder and her deep blue eyes were hard. "You look young,"she began. His eyes widened and he shook his head.

"Fifteen," he murmured. She frowned.

"Small for it," she noted. "You look nervous. Sundby will only keep you if work." The emphasis on the word made him realise sweeping the floor wasn't an option they considered work. He stared at the fire.

"Hopefully, there won't be many…customers…" His tone was shy. She frowned.

"You been with a man before?" she asked directly. He inspected the floor furiously and blushed. There was a tiny shake of the head. Her eyes narrowed. "A woman?" Another shake. "You're a virgin?" she asked him directly. He lifted his eyes and then gave a little nod. She stared him up and down. "Why?"

He looked up. The truth was that he was all out of options. Since his escape, he had used every talent he possessed. His abilities to read and write, his skills in speaking several languages, his talent at drawing, his blacksmithing experience…but there had been an issue when it came to physical ability. No one had been fooled when they clapped eyes on the boy that he would be any good at heavy manual work. So the ships had refused him as crew, the docks turned him down to unload boats, the shops and warehouses had laughed at him as he begged for work. And there was no one left who would employ him or who needed his skills. The only thing he had left to sell was his body.

"That or starving," he admitted slowly. He shrugged and she inspected him.

"Love, you don't want your first time to be with one of the drunken louts here," she suggested, a little more warmth entering her tone. "You're a shy lad, aren't you?" He gave a little nod, almost ashamed. She finally smiled. "Be careful. Let the girls look after you. There aren't that many who seek boys so you may be lucky." He gave a wary swallow.

"Hopefully," he murmured. She beckoned him and he reluctantly left his place by the fire. "What do I call you?" she asked. He gave an embarrassed shrug.

"Hiccup," he admitted. The woman burst out laughing and two others-both blonde and busty, looked over to her.

"HICCUP?" she guffawed. "You realise that means…?"

"The runt of the litter," he finished dryly. "I may have been told once or twice. And that I suit the name." He sighed. Thora controlled herself and rummaged at the back, findings a lukewarm bowl of mutton soup and a hunk of black rye bread. She handed them to the boy.

"Get that down your neck," she told him and he took the food eagerly, his glorious green eyes lighting with hunger. He crouched by the fire and began wolfing the food, making her realise just how starving he was. The sounds of the wooden spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl sounded too quickly and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, suddenly feeling more human. Now he was warm and fed, he was starting to feel sleepy-but before his eyelids could grow heavy, he was handed a broom.

"Hey-you can sweep up back here for starters," a dark-haired girl told him. She looked about twenty with the easy confidence of an experienced whore. He grabbed the broom and began methodically sweeping the room. Once he had completed the room, he was dispatched out front to gather used goblets to wash and take round pitchers of ale. He kept his head down and answered all queries politely, even though he was feeling exhausted. A couple of Vikings nudged him and he dinked away, swiftly withdrawing to the back room with his empty pitchers and dirty goblets, deftly avoiding any encounters with prospective clients. Somehow, he managed to get through unmolested by closing time and he was allowed to sleep in the back room, by the fire. The girls were still coming down to get a drink and relax when they found him, curled by the fire, fast asleep.

oOo

The next morning, Hiccup woke early, his eyes wide and silently inspecting his surroundings until he recalled where he was. Silently, he sat up and looked around, then stared at the fire, which was nearly out. He stretched, stood up and looked for the wood pile to feed the fire. Once that was done, he swept the floor and timidly walked into the main front room.

The room had a wide fireplace, several tables with impressive carved chairs to each man felt like a Chief and benches for the whores to sell themselves to the customers. The floor was sticky with beer, the place was still littered with discarded goblets and there was an overturned table. The boy sighed: he really didn't want to join the staff and was far happier acting as a serf and dogsbody. So he was careful to clean out and relay the fire, take out the rubbish, wipe the tables and wash the floor. It was hard work but it needed doing and he hoped it would buy him another few hours or day of warmth and food.

When the women came downstairs, the main room was warm and clean and there was water warming over the fire in the back room for washing. The boy had fetched more wood and was sitting, waiting for orders. Thora and her blowsy, dark haired friend-who introduced herself as Ingrid-smiled at the boy and sat by him as he offered a wan smile. His bruised face was wary.

"Any suggestions what I can do?" he asked softly. Thora shrugged and helped herself to a mug of ale.

"Keep your head down, don't annoy Sundby and hope no one wants a boy," she advised. He sighed. He had realised from the last night that he was the only male 'employee' and so was in a vulnerable position. He gave a wan smile as the women who cooked for the whorehouse came in and began to prepare food. He stared at them politely: they were allowed to come and go but he strongly suspected he may not be granted the latitude. But at the moment, he had nowhere else to go and he had been on the brink of death. He would have to deal with the consequences when they arose-and pray to Thor they wouldn''t hurt too much. He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Oh-and have a bath," Thora suggested. "Sundby won't want a grimy worker." Hiccup sighed and nodded-and then the steward arrived. He threw some obscenities at the women, barked at the cooks and then cast his eye on the boy.

"You didn't do any work last night," he accused the boy. Hiccup grimaced.

"No-no one was actually interested," he replied, his tone guarded. "So I did some tidying up as well." Sundby gave him an unimpressed look.

"If I wanted someone to tidy, I'd get a thrall!" he snapped. Hiccup flinched and bowed his head. The words were worrying him.

"I'm sorry, I just thought I should do anything to earn my food," he explained quickly. The man grabbed his stained tunic and looked at him with a sneer.

"No one will want to screw a dirty little urchin!" he sneered and ran his fingers through the dishevelled hair. "Though you may be pretty enough to get some interest with a scrub!" Hiccup swallowed nervously. He really wasn't keen at all in any interest of the sort Sundby wanted.

"Is-is there somewhere I can have a bath?" he asked tentatively. The steward scowled at him for a long minute, then gestured to a small room off the back room. Hiccup felt himself shoved in-to find a tub, soap and a thin towel. The steward cast him a disparaging look.

"You have to bring your own water," he snapped and swept out. Hiccup turned warily back to the backroom and put another the pot of water over the fire to heat. Then he sat down by the fire, clutching his knees to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. The older whores stared at the boy and an older woman with brassy blonde hair and dark brown eyes flicked her gaze over the boy.

"Has he been broken in?" she asked directly. Thora looked at the boy and saw him close his eyes.

"Not yet," she admitted. "Sundby will see to him after he's cleaned up." Hiccup's eyes flicked up and his face adopted a horrified expression. She stared at him mockingly. "You think Sundby can't spot you're green as a new bride?" she taunted him. He rolled his eyes and stared at the ground.

"Great," he muttered. She frowned. There was enough spirit in him to work with but he seemed very shy and still a little innocent. She cringed inwardly because that residual innocence wouldn't survive.

"You knew this was going to happen," she reminded him gently.

"Kinda hoping it wouldn't," he admitted softly. His green eyes were definitely scared.

"Hiccup, you came here of your own accord and promised to do anything to stay," Thora reminded him flatly. "He will hold you to that. You run and he won't ever let you go. He'll send his runners for you and he'll bring you back. Cross him and he will never let you go." The boy looked up, his gaze horrified.

"What?" he asked in shock.

"You work, you earn tips and if you're good enough, you'll earn enough to leave…if you want," Ingrid added, twirling a stray lock of her dark hair around a finger. "At least here, there is warmth and food. None of us will get good marriages..or any at all. We're not here because we have a family that cares. And Sundby makes sure we are properly treated by the customers."

Hiccup stared at the floor, clasping his left hand in his right. Both were trembling. That reassurance gave him no comfort.

"So I have to…or he'll drag me back and…anyway?" he said slowly. "How-how is that allowed?" Thora nodded.

"Look, lad-he'll take care of you, as long as you keep up your part of the bargain," she said soothingly. The boy grimaced.

"Don't remember making a bargain," he muttered.

"You promised to do anything," Thora reminded him sharply. "He could have thrown you out to starve." The boy sagged.

"That has its appeals suddenly," he murmured. Ingrid rolled her eyes.

"Quit your whining, boy," she snapped. "You guys seem to get to like it and have a lot more fun once you get going!"

"Not really a fun person," Hiccup noted tonelessly. "But how-how did it suddenly become a prison?" Ingrid stared at him.

"It isn't, he just…protects his investments," she told him tartly. He frowned.

"And just what has he invested in me?" he asked sarcastically. "I've done enough menial work to earn a bowl of soup and a corner for the night." Thora have a grim smile.

"It's what he will invest in you," she told him evenly. "The effort he'll put into training you."

"I'm prepared to make that sacrifice," he managed but she scowled.

"I'd lose the smart mouth," she advised him quickly. "He doesn't appreciate sarcasm, cheek or back-talk. He'll break your hide if you answer him back!" Hiccup winced: he was naturally sarcastic.

"The gods hate me," he clipped him round the head, seeing the steam coil above the pot.

"Get into the bath!" she snapped, nudging the boy with her boot. Miserably, he clambered up and grabbed the bucket of boiling water, a larger bucket of cold water and filled the bath until he achieved a comfortable temperature. Making sure the partition was closed, he stripped out of his filthy clothes and hopped into the water. When he was back at home, he had bathed every day and he had missed the feeling of being clean. But he was feeling very worried as he slid into the water and soaped his body.

He sighed and worked quickly. He was very self-conscious that he was thin and scrawny, that his back was scarred with whip marks and his chest had a brand that marked him as a slave. He scrubbed harder, trying to allow the warmth to seep into his bones and remove the chill of fear. And he couldn't come up with any sort of a plan. He couldn't get out of the port because no one would take him on their ship and he had signally failed to find a patron or employer in almost nine months. He really was on his last legs and his desperation had brought him to this. He scrubbed his face and ducked under, washing his hair quickly. He didn't need to be spotless, just remove as much of the grime as he could without giving Sundby the chance to see him naked. He knew his appearance wasn't actually going to drive anyone wild but the sight of his brand would condemn him to being either handed over to the guards or-worse-adopted as a slave by his current master. And Sundby didn't look like a sympathetic owner. He sighed then grabbed his tunic and leggings and washed them quickly, wringing them out and dragging the damp garments on after he had towelled his body dry. It wasn't the most sensible idea but he knew he would dry if he stayed close to the fire.

"You took your time."

He yipped and spun, seeing the steward eyeing him hungrily. The man was probably in his forties, his pale blond hair thinning and straggly, his face almost clean shaven with the tiniest tuft of a beard on his chin. His disconcerting eyes were a deep brown and he hooked his thumbs in the wide, shiny leather belt around his solid waist. His tunic was richly stitched and deep red and his boots were expensive and shiny. He was eyeing Hiccup scarily. The boy swallowed, running his fingers through his drying auburn hair and combing it off his face.

"I-I haven't bathed for a while," he admitted. "No real chance…" Sundby closed and grasped his arm and the boy stiffened, his skinny frame suddenly tense. The man's dark eyes inspected the scared face and leaned close, his beard brushing Hiccup's freckled cheek.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" he murmured. The boy gave a false little laugh.

"Wha…? Me? I-I've been fighting them off…" He paused. "How could anyone resist all this raw Vikingness?" The man roughly caressed his ass and the boy froze, his eyes widening.

"So if I bent you forward and had you now, you'd know what to do and won't scream like a bride on her wedding night?" he sneered.

"I'm not saying I…with a man…erm…" Hiccup murmured, his mouth dry. Sundby grasped him tighter.

"Come with me," he said menacingly and the boy almost ran but the man's hand tightened his grip painfully. "Try to run and I'll have you brought back here and you will regret ever being born!" He boy's slender throat bobbed and his green eyes flickered with a hint of his old spirit.

"Y'know, some days I already do," he murmured as he was dragged away.

oOo

Thora was chatting with Ingrid and the brassy blonde-Gerda-when he finally returned. She didn't want to admit it, but she had been getting concerned: the boy had been gone over an hour and the stewards room, while secluded, had been noisy. Hilde and Agnes had both reported hearing noises and Thora, who had discovered her heart wasn't quite as hard as she had imagined, worried at what the boy had endured. They all knew Sundby was cruel and deliberate and he had ruthlessly broken in every whore in the place. Thora knew that he enjoyed the honour, though she was yet to find a worker who had. She just prayed the boy hadn't been hurt too much. But her heart sank as she watched him enter the back room. He was alone and his steps were very uneven and painful. They watched him slink painfully into the corner by the fire, his head down and breathing ragged. He found the smallest corner and sank down to sit with his legs clutched hard against his chest, buried his head in his knees and breathed raggedly. Gerda made a crude comment and Thora watched the boy's shoulders freeze, then start to jerk in a slow, rhythmic motion: he was sobbing. Ingrid joined in the ribbing and Thora felt herself wince at the words.

"I see Sundby rode him hard," Ingrid added.

"Always does. He likes his boys loose and compliant."

"Ulrika said she could hear the boy begging."

"Hope it was for more. Sundby always enjoys mornings more than any other time. Always has more energy and staying power. If you know what I mean."

"Meaning the boy is open for business?"

"Hah! Sundby would have sold him last night if anyone had asked, virgin or no. As long as they pay and they don't kill or maim or run over time, they can do what they want."

Hiccup lifted his tear-streaked face, his wide green eyes filled with pain and fear.

"You were wrong," he said quietly to Thora. "Wasn't fun." He swallowed painfully. As she looked, she saw a developing bruise on his cheek and the fear in his eyes.

"You'll get used to it, love," she told him gently, ignoring the continuing taunts of her friends.

"I hope not," he murmured into his knees.

"It gets easier with time," she assured him. "You learn to treat it like a job, not…a special act." He wrapped his arms harder around his legs.

"Wanted it to be special," he murmured, feeling that dream slip away from his worthless fingers, as all the others had. "And with a girl. Not as some old man's…toy." Then he flicked his gaze up and stiffened in fear as Sundby walked cheerfully in. "Or his," he added fearfully. The steward walked up to the boy, grabbed his hair and dragged him to his feet. The boy desperately grasped his hand to ease the agonising pull on his scalp and he felt himself almost pulled to tip-toes. The steward roughly began to stroke the boy's waist and then dropped his hand to the boy's ass. Hiccup tried to jerk away but the steward tugged harder and he whimpered.

"Keep still!" Sundby sneered. The boy froze and his eyes looked trapped. "If you don't do some work this evening, I will be unhappy and if I get unhappy, I'll make damned sure you feel as unhappy as I do." Hiccup swallowed and gave a tiny nod.

"I-I understand," he whispered. "I-I'll try." Sundby shoved him back and glared at him, then snarled at the boy to get some more water from the well. And, sore as he was, Hiccup hastened to obey him because he would have done almost anything to get away from the man at that moment. But as the cold air hit him and he dragged the empty bucket to the well in the yard, he knew one thing for certain: he was going to do his damnedest to avoid the kind of work Sundby expected.