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At this point, Ryker could say it with absolute confidence: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was a walking, breathing, accident-prone magnet for trouble. If chaos was a storm, then the boy was the lightning rod—always standing tall, always catching the strike, and somehow still managing to look smug about it afterward.
Even without those pesky dragon-rider friends of his—who were normally buzzing around him like flies around a honey pot—the boy could still get himself in over his skinny neck. All it took was that sharp, sassy mouth of his and those stupidly bright eyes that seemed to taunt people into wanting to strangle him.
Pretty face with a petty mouth. That was what they called him. Ryker had heard it more than once, and he couldn’t even argue. It was annoyingly accurate.
Ryker exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his beard in annoyance. Why in Thor’s name was he even here again? Right. Viggo. Viggo had tasked him with gathering supplies for their cages and traps—iron hinges, chains, the sort of thing you didn’t want a Haddock poking his nose into. And, because fate clearly had a sense of humor, look who else decided to show up in this exact gods-forsaken trading post?
One Hiccup Haddock. Alone. No dragon in sight. No friends. No safety net. Just him, his snark, and the talent to pick fights with men three times his size.
Ryker muttered under his breath, “Of course. Because why not? The gods hate me.”
He leaned against a post to watch, arms folded, his scowl deepening as he took in the scene. Hiccup, the pint-sized headache himself, was standing toe-to-toe—or more like toe-to-knee—with a group of burly, half-drunk traders. The men were swaying, their mugs sloshing, their laughter too loud, their smiles too sharp. Hiccup, in all his brilliance, was talking back.
“—No, thank you,” Hiccup was saying, voice dripping with sarcasm as he pushed away one man’s meaty hand from his shoulder. “I’ve already had the misfortune of smelling you from a distance. That’s quite enough trauma for today.”
The men roared with laughter, but not the friendly kind.
Ryker groaned, dragging a palm down his face. This kid. This actual disaster of a boy. “Seriously,” he muttered, “he could sass Odin himself and walk away thinking he won the argument.”
One of the drunkards leaned in close, grinning with yellow teeth. “C’mon, boy. Why don’t ya join us, eh? Have some fun tonight.”
“Fun?” Hiccup’s brows shot up. “Your definition of fun probably involves lice, questionable hygiene, and waking up regretting every decision of your life. Hard pass.”
The table roared again, half in outrage, half in amusement. Hiccup, however, didn’t back down. If anything, his spine stiffened, and he crossed his arms like he was a full-grown Viking warrior instead of… well… him.
Another man reached for him, fingers clamping around Hiccup’s thin wrist. “Don’t be like that, lad. We’ll show ya a good time.”
Hiccup squirmed, glaring up at him. “Oh, great. Just what I wanted. To be manhandled by a sweaty ox who smells like rotten fish.”
Ryker felt his teeth grind together. That was enough.
When the second man’s hand slid brazenly around Hiccup’s narrow waist, Ryker shoved himself off the post with a growl. “All right, that’s it,” he barked, stomping forward like a bear disturbed from hibernation. “Hands off, unless you’d like to see how well your fingers work without the rest of your hand.”
The men paused, blinking at him. Hiccup twisted in their grip, blinking as well. “Ryker?” His tone carried equal parts surprise and annoyance, like being rescued by him was somehow more insulting than being accosted by drunk strangers.
“Don’t say my name like that, Haddock,” Ryker growled, stepping into the circle. “I’m doing you a favor here.”
Hiccup sniffed, tugging at his wrist. “Oh, sure. You just happen to show up right now. What are you, my stalker?”
The men laughed again, one of them nudging the other. “Look at that. The boy’s got two suitors fighting over him.”
“What?!” Hiccup and Ryker said at the same time, both glaring daggers.
Ryker pointed a threatening finger at the drunkard. “Say that again and I’ll make sure you never walk straight.”
The man hiccupped, clearly not as sober as he wanted to look, and slowly released Hiccup’s wrist. His buddy let go of Hiccup’s waist with a sheepish grin.
Ryker grabbed Hiccup by the scruff like a misbehaving pup, dragging him back a step. “Honestly, Haddock, can’t leave you alone for five minutes without you starting a war, can I?”
Hiccup spluttered, trying to swat his hand away. “I didn’t start this! They did!”
“You sassed them into it,” Ryker shot back.
“Well, what was I supposed to do? Compliment their fashion sense? They look like they mugged a herd of sheep!”
Ryker’s lips twitched—just barely—but he shoved down the laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re bossy,” Hiccup huffed, tugging free at last. He crossed his arms and shot the men one last withering glare. “Honestly, if this is what passes for entertainment in this place, no wonder the ale tastes like goat piss.”
The drunkards muttered curses, but none of them made another move. Not with Ryker standing there, glowering at them like a wolf daring someone to poke its cub.
Ryker sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Saving the damsel in distress wasn’t on my shopping list today, Haddock.”
Hiccup whipped around, offended. “Damsel?! Excuse you—I had the situation under control!”
“Sure,” Ryker drawled, giving him a flat look. “Looked real controlled from where I was standing. Squirming like a fish on a hook.”
“I was buying time!” Hiccup argued.
“Yeah,” Ryker said with a snort. “Buying time until someone came and pulled your scrawny hide out of the fire. Which, guess what, Haddock—was me.”
Hiccup muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Would’ve been fine without you.”
Ryker only rolled his eyes and shoved past him toward the merchant stalls. “Come on, troublemaker. If you’re done antagonizing the entire tavern, I’ve got work to do.”
Hiccup scurried after him, still fuming. “I wasn’t antagonizing them! They antagonized me!”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Ryker said, already regretting ever leaving his ship this morning.
Ryker had thought, reasonably enough, that now the “damsel” was safe, he could just walk away and return to the much more pleasant task of hunting down supplies without having to babysit Hiccup Haddock. But no—trouble had other plans. As if the universe had conspired specifically to annoy him, Hiccup was now trailing him like a shadow, and it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere.
“What the hell are you doing? Go away.” Ryker spat, keeping his eyes forward, trying to ignore the tiny human clinging to his coattail.
Hiccup shrugged nonchalantly, but there was something different in his posture now. His usual defiant, sassy shoulders—so ready to throw insults like daggers—were stiff, drawn in, almost as if he were bracing for impact. And for a fleeting moment, the brat’s entire aura of cocky bravado seemed to melt away.
“What if they come back for me…?” Hiccup mumbled, voice small, hesitant, as though admitting it made him more vulnerable than he wanted to be.
Ryker blinked at the unusual tone, one part incredulity and one part irritation. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Hiccup—Hiccup Haddock—scared? The boy practically radiated chaos and confidence in equal measure. But the tiny tremor in his words, the shift in his expression… yeah, okay, Ryker was noticing it.
For a brief, fleeting moment, he wished one of the dragon riders—or even a dragon itself—would swoop in and carry the boy off, letting him finally resume his task in peace. Instead, he got a sassy, small human shadow glued to his leg. Ryker sighed, giving in to curiosity. “Where are your stupid friends, anyway? Don’t seem like they’re here. Were you… lost?” His smirk carried just enough amusement to make the boy immediately suspicious.
Hiccup picked up the tone instantly and glared, his lips pushing out in a pout that could only be described as both petulant and infuriatingly cute. “They’re not here. I don’t want them to be here.”
Ah. So they had fought. Hiccup could apparently pick a fight with his own friends—truly remarkable. Ryker’s lips twitched as he suppressed a snicker. The boy really had no chill.
They moved on in silence for a while, the kind of silence that hinted at mutual unwillingness to admit how awkward the situation was. Ryker’s mind started calculating escape routes, ways to ditch the boy without causing a scene, when he suddenly felt a tug on his tunic.
To his horror, Hiccup was gripping his shirt tightly, one hand curling around the fabric like it was a lifeline. His other hand was obediently at his side, but his eyes, fixed straight ahead, refused to meet Ryker’s. Yet the blush creeping up his cheeks betrayed a little embarrassment.
“And what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Let go.” Ryker growled, instinctively trying to free himself.
But before he could act, Hiccup’s tone softened, a small, almost desperate sound slipping past his lips. “Please.”
Ryker froze mid-motion. Pleading. That… that was new. Somehow, the boy’s earlier sass, the bravado, the wide-mouth insults—they’d all vanished in the face of… this. The tiny, vulnerable plea of someone scared and alone. It wasn’t just the drunkards earlier; it was the feeling of being utterly, painfully alone without his dragons, without his friends. If Ryker hadn’t intervened, Hiccup would have been assaulted. The thought made his jaw tighten.
With a heavy sigh, Ryker stopped struggling, letting the boy cling to him. His shoulder tensed, ready to haul Hiccup away at the slightest trouble, but he said nothing, letting the human’s grip be.
“Fine,” he said finally, voice rough but subdued. “But you shut your trap. I’ve got shopping to do, and I already wasted half my day saving your little backside. Viggo won’t be pleased.”
Hiccup, for his part, gave him a shy, small smile, one that was almost apologetic and almost triumphant all at once. Ryker almost… almost frowned at the ridiculous charm of it. He shook his head. Ridiculous. Annoying. Infuriating. But also, maybe… cute.
Ryker thought today would be simple. March through the market, grab what Viggo wanted, and leave. Fast. Quiet. Efficient.
But with Hiccup tagging along? Of course not.
“Okay, what’s next on your list?” Hiccup asked, bouncing on his heels, craning his neck to peek at the parchment in Ryker’s hand.
Ryker yanked it away before the boy could snatch it. “Bars. Iron ones. Reinforcement for cages.”
“Cages,” Hiccup repeated with mock seriousness, then grinned. “Let me guess—so your dragons don’t eat you in your sleep?”
Ryker gave him a flat look. “So my dragons don’t eat you in your sleep.”
Hiccup snorted. “Please. They’d choke on the leather before they got to me.”
Rolling his eyes, Ryker grabbed an iron bar from a rack and tested its weight. Before he could put it back, Hiccup snatched the other end and nearly toppled over.
“Careful,” Ryker barked, steadying him by the elbow.
Hiccup grinned up at him, unbothered. “Wow, this is heavy. You just carry these around all day?”
“Yes,” Ryker said, deadpan. “Because unlike you, I actually have muscle.”
“Oh, right. Big scary Ryker,” Hiccup teased, flexing his skinny arms with exaggerated effort. “Watch out, I might outmatch you someday.”
“Keep talking and I’ll add rope to the list,” Ryker muttered, setting the bar back before moving down the stall.
Hiccup scampered after him. “What’s next? Nails? Screws? Ooooh, hinges!” He darted ahead and poked at a display. “Why are these so twisty?”
Ryker pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because they’re hinges. That’s literally how they work.”
“You don’t say,” Hiccup said with mock awe, picking one up and turning it in his hands. “So you just… nail it in?”
Ryker took it from him before he could drop it. “You hammer it in. And no, you don’t get to try it.”
Hiccup tilted his head, eyes glittering mischievously. “What, don’t trust me with sharp objects?”
“Not unless I want my fingers gone.”
“Fair,” Hiccup said, then leaned over Ryker’s shoulder as he checked off the hinge. “What else is on the list? Chains?”
Ryker glanced at him. “Yes. For cages.”
“Ooooh, shiny,” Hiccup said, running his hand down the length of one. “How do you even carry this?”
“By being stronger than you,” Ryker shot back.
“Wow, you must be fun at parties,” Hiccup muttered, but his grin gave him away.
Ryker exhaled slowly, his irritation fraying at the edges. The kid was impossible—loud, nosy, forever poking at things he shouldn’t. But the banter flowed so naturally that before he realized it, he was actually answering the boy’s endless questions instead of shutting him down.
When Hiccup spotted a bolt and held it up like it was a rare treasure, Ryker groaned.
“Don’t even ask.”
“But if I did—”
“You hit it with a hammer. Hard. That’s it.”
Hiccup grinned like Ryker had just revealed the secrets of the universe. “See? You are fun at parties.”
Ryker smothered the twitch at the corner of his mouth, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, Haddock.”
“Thanks,” Hiccup said cheerfully, as if it were the highest compliment.
The bags were heavy, Ryker’s arms were aching, and his patience was just about as thin as a knife’s edge. Dust clung to his clothes, his hair, even his beard. Meanwhile, the boy at his side looked like he’d just won a prize, practically skipping along, still buzzing from the endless questions and pointless chatter that had followed them all through the market.
“You know,” Hiccup said, brushing at the dirt on his tunic as though he wasn’t the one who’d dragged Ryker through half the stalls in town, “this was fun. Really fun. And hey, look—I didn’t get eaten, or kidnapped, or robbed. Well, not badly, anyway.” His grin was wide, mischievous, like he knew Ryker was already grinding his teeth.
Ryker narrowed his eyes, hefting the sack on his shoulder higher. “Congratulations. You survived shopping. Truly heroic.”
“Don’t be jealous,” Hiccup shot back, eyes sparkling as he leaned just close enough to make Ryker tense. “You’re just mad because I made it look easy.”
Ryker let out a rough snort. “Easy? You whined about the prices, nearly got flattened by a cart, and then tried to pet a guard’s horse like it was your pet dragon.”
“Details,” Hiccup said breezily, ignoring the jab. Then, with that sudden flash of boldness that always caught Ryker off guard, he tilted his head up and said, “Actually… you deserve something for putting up with me.”
Ryker slowed, suspicious. “That sounds dangerous.”
“No, no,” Hiccup grinned, pointing down a narrow street toward a crooked sign swinging in the wind: The Rusty Tankard. “That! My treat. Food, drinks, the works. You’ve earned it.”
Ryker froze, scowling. “You’re joking.”
“I never joke about food,” Hiccup teased, eyes glinting. “And besides, what’s the worst that could happen? You, me, a tavern, a couple mugs of ale…” He waggled his brows. “Romantic, huh?”
Ryker nearly choked on air. “Romantic? Gods, boy, do you even hear yourself?”
“Loud and clear,” Hiccup quipped, smirking like he’d just won a battle.
Ryker pinched the bridge of his nose. His instincts were screaming: bad idea, horrible idea, worst idea. But the thought of strong ale and hot food—it had been too long. And if he was honest with himself, he didn’t exactly trust the boy to survive a tavern without him.
“Fine,” Ryker growled, though there was more amusement in it than true anger. “But you don’t leave my sight. One step away and I’ll chain you to the damn chair.”
“Promise?” Hiccup shot back instantly, a wicked glint in his eyes.
Ryker’s jaw worked. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet…” Hiccup walked backwards in front of him, grinning like the devil himself. “You’re still following me. Must be my charm.”
Ryker huffed a laugh despite himself, shaking his head as they neared the tavern’s door. “Charm, he says. More like a curse.”
“You’ll see,” Hiccup said, bouncing on his heels. “By the end of the night, you’ll be thanking me. You’re my hero today, after all.”
Ryker muttered something low and sharp, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with the smallest smirk.
Ryker coughed, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into his chest. Hero. He didn’t do hero. He didn’t do soft. He didn’t do fond. And yet… here he was, letting the little chaos of a boy drag him into a tavern.
He followed.
Inside, the tavern smelled of stale ale, smoke, and something vaguely offensive that he didn’t want to identify. Laughter and shouting filled the room, men and women who’d clearly had one too many drinks wobbling on their feet, elbows jostling for space, coins dropping, mugs spilling. And right at the center of the chaos, Hiccup’s bright, curious eyes were scanning everything with awe.
Ryker muttered a quiet growl. This is going to be a long night.
He guided the boy by the shoulder, weaving through the throng of stumbling patrons until they reached a corner table far from the main crowd. Ryker planted himself on the edge, eyeing every drunken face, every hand that lingered too long on a mug or a chair. “Stay put,” he growled. “I’m going to order our food. Don’t move, don’t talk to anyone, don’t breathe wrong.”
Hiccup’s usual sass softened into a polite, almost shy smile. “Yes, sir,” he said, and then, to Ryker’s mild surprise, fished a few coins from his pocket. “Here. You get the food. I’m good with just a pie. And… I’d like a drink too.”
Ryker froze, his eyes narrowing. A drink? He hadn’t pegged the boy as a drinker. Not that it mattered. Hiccup was an adult; he could handle himself… hopefully. He snatched the coins from Hiccup’s hand with a grunt, muttering, “Fine. One pie, one drink. Don’t choke.”
Hiccup beamed at him, then settled into the corner, hands folded neatly on the table, eyes bright as he watched Ryker leave. Ryker’s footsteps faded as he strode to the counter, and for a moment, Hiccup was alone.
And that was when trouble arrived.
At first, it was subtle. Three men, drunken and smirking, sidled over to Hiccup’s table. He groaned audibly, rolling his eyes. Really? Again? His hands tightened in his lap. “Do you ever get bored, or do you just enjoy harassing strangers?” he drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm.
The men laughed, leaning in, clearly taking his tone as a challenge. “Oi, lad,” one slurred, “we’re just tryin’ to be friendly.”
Hiccup snorted. “Friendly? You smell like spilled ale and regret. Hard pass.”
Ryker, still at the counter, didn’t notice yet—but the boy was holding his own verbally, for now. He’d never been one to cower; sass was his first line of defense.
But then one of the men grew bolder. He reached over, brushing a hand along Hiccup’s arm, and Hiccup recoiled, stepping back instinctively. “Don’t—don’t touch me!” he spat.
The other two men closed in, forming a semicircle around him. Hiccup’s back pressed against the corner wall, giving him nowhere to run. Their hands lingered—too close, too familiar, sliding across his shoulders, his waist, his arms. Hiccup’s stomach twisted, his breath catching. He was trying to fight it with words, his sassy mouth working overtime, but the fear was starting to creep in.
“Hey, now, don’t get snappy,” one said, leaning close enough that Hiccup could smell the stale alcohol on his breath.
“I—“ Hiccup tried to shout, but a dagger suddenly pressed against his throat, warm and sharp. His heart slammed into his ribs. The world narrowed. The rowdy laughter of the tavern, the clinking mugs, even the smell of fried meat—all of it disappeared.
His only thought, the only lifeline he could cling to, was Ryker.
Ryker. Ryker. Where the hell was Ryker?
Hiccup froze completely, eyes wide and darting, stomach churning with panic. The three men were now more confident, pressing closer, hands roaming, fingers brushing too intimately. Hiccup tried to push them away, tried to speak, but the dagger silenced him instantly.
“Stay still, pretty boy,” one hissed, his voice low, possessive. “We just want to have some fun…”
Hiccup’s mind raced, heart hammering like a war drum. There was no way he could get out of this on his own. His breath hitched, and every instinct screamed the same thing: Ryker.
He wasn’t going to get hurt if Ryker got here. Ryker had never failed him before.
And so, frozen, shaking, the boy’s wide, terrified eyes scanned the room for the one person who could save him from the very real, very immediate danger that had materialized in the form of three drunken, predatory men and one very sharp dagger.
Hiccup’s resolve broke. Fuck it. If words wouldn’t work, then maybe a scream would. He drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide, fists clenching…
“Ry—”
Before he could even finish, one of the men lunged, driving a fist into his gut so hard the air rushed from his lungs. Stars erupted behind his eyes, his vision swimming in a dizzy haze. Pain exploded in his stomach, sharp and humiliating. For a long, panicked moment, all he could think, all he could hope, was the one name that anchored him in this nightmare:
“Ryker…”
The word slipped out, trembling, almost a whisper. He doubled over, knees weak, feeling utterly helpless. The three men closed in, grinning, their drunken confidence palpable, and Hiccup’s heart pounded in terror.
It felt hopeless. He’d been cornered, violated, and utterly overpowered. There was no way out of this… not alone. His mind raced, trying to plan some kind of escape, but his body refused to cooperate. He was frozen in fear, and every instinct screamed: this is it. This is the end. They’re going to—
And then… nothing.
The men vanished. Just like that, their looming figures gone. Hiccup blinked, disoriented, barely believing it. He staggered back, eyes searching wildly. And that’s when he saw him.
Ryker.
The tavern had become a blur of chaos around him: overturned stools, spilled mugs, cursing drunkards ducking for cover. And in the middle of it all, Ryker was a whirlwind of controlled fury, fists, and fury-driven kicks landing with precision. Bloodied and staggering, the three men scrambled to escape, clearly regretting ever laying hands on the boy.
Hiccup’s legs gave way beneath him, relief flooding through him in a tidal wave. He barely registered Ryker stepping toward him, looming, imposing, hands large enough to lift Hiccup like he weighed nothing at all. Those familiar, solid hands wrapped around him instantly, lifting him clear of the floor.
“Shit,” Ryker growled, voice low and harsh, eyes scanning him for injury. “Are you okay? Those fucking bastards—if we weren’t in this tavern, I’d have fucking killed them.”
Hiccup’s entire body relaxed slightly, but only slightly, as his face buried itself against Ryker’s chest. The familiar scent of leather, ale, and something distinctly Ryker calmed him in a way he didn’t even know he needed.
Ryker’s big hands didn’t loosen, holding him firm as he carried him over to the nearest table, cluttered with their recently ordered pie and drinks. Hiccup’s arms wrapped instinctively around Ryker’s neck, clinging like his life depended on it. And maybe it did.
“You’re not touching a goddamn thing without my say-so, got it?” Ryker growled, setting him down gently but keeping his hands hovering, ready to strike again if needed. “You okay? Tell me exactly where it hurts. Don’t lie.”
Hiccup nodded, his voice small, still trembling from the fear and adrenaline. “I… I think so. Just… scared.”
Ryker’s jaw tightened, eyes scanning the corners of the tavern, scanning every drunken face, making sure no one else dared touch him. “Scared? Fucking right you were. And if anyone tries that shit again, they won’t even make it to the door.”
Hiccup clung tighter, eyes closing, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. Safe. For the first time in what felt like forever, truly safe.
Ryker muttered something under his breath, a low, guttural sound that could have been irritation—or worry, Hiccup wasn’t sure. “Damn it… you’re impossible, Haddock.”
Hiccup’s small lips curved into a tiny, grateful smile, resting his forehead against Ryker’s chest. Maybe he was impossible. But right now, he didn’t care. Right now, he was alive. Right now, he was safe.
And Ryker… well, Ryker was exactly where he needed him.
The commotion of the fight behind them slowly faded into background noise as Ryker set Hiccup carefully on the bench at their corner table. The boy’s grip on him lingered for a moment, hesitant to let go, before he finally slid down into the seat, cheeks still flushed from fear and adrenaline. Ryker flopped into the seat across from him, arms crossing over his chest, eyes narrowing at the mess of food and drinks in front of them.
“All right,” he growled, voice rough but quieter now. “Eat. Drink. Try not to get us killed again.”
Hiccup’s face brightened immediately, and he picked up the pie with hands that shook slightly—not from fear this time, but pure excitement. “Mmm! Thank you! This smells amazing!” He tore into it like a starving child, eyes wide with delight, crumbs falling onto the table and, unfortunately, Ryker’s arm.
“Watch your crumbs, Haddock,” Ryker grunted, swiping the table. “I’m not cleaning up after you again today.”
Hiccup laughed, crumbs still sticking to his tunic. “It’s fine! You’re too serious all the time. You need a break.”
Ryker scowled, muttering, “I don’t do breaks.”
But he didn’t push further. Instead, he ordered them both a drink, lifting a mug for himself first. Hiccup’s small one came steaming, the amber liquid sloshing enticingly, and the boy picked it up with a bright, almost ceremonial excitement.
“To safety,” Hiccup said, tilting his mug. “And… and thank you, Ryker. For everything.”
Ryker blinked, slightly caught off guard. “Yeah… yeah, sure,” he muttered, clinking his mug against Hiccup’s.
The first sip went down easily enough for Hiccup, and Ryker watched him carefully, expecting maybe a grimace or a cough. Instead, the boy’s eyes lit up with a strange kind of glee. “Oh! That’s… that’s actually nice! Like… fire, but warm fire!”
Ryker grunted. “Yeah. That’s called alcohol.”
“Oh! I like it!” Hiccup said, finishing a surprisingly large gulp. He blinked at Ryker, then tilted his mug again, ready for another.
Hiccup waved him off with a grin. “I can handle it. I’m—uh—an adult!”
Ryker snorted. “Adult, huh? Sure. One sip, and you’re already acting like you’ve wrestled three trolls. Slow. Down.”
Hiccup, ignoring Ryker’s warning, lifted the mug again with exaggerated ceremony. “One more,” he slurred, wagging a finger. “For… science.” He downed it in messy gulps, slammed it on the table, and grinned at Ryker like he’d just won a battle.
His cheeks glowed pink, his eyes bright as embers. “See? Totally fine. Not even—hic—drunk.”
Ryker leaned back, arms crossed. “You’re drunker than a sheep on fermented apples.”
“Pfft,” Hiccup waved a hand, nearly tipping sideways. Ryker caught him by the shoulder before he slid off the bench. “Thanks,” Hiccup said, then leaned in closer, narrowing his eyes. “Big, bad Ryker… you know you’ve got really nice eyes, right? Don’t glare, you’ll ruin it.”
Ryker blinked. “What.”
“Just saying,” Hiccup smirked, poking Ryker’s chest with one finger. “All broad shoulders and broody scowls. It’s unfair, really. You’re supposed to be the enemy, but here I am thinking… maybe enemies shouldn’t look that good. Bad strategy.” He smirked, head wobbling as though he was proud of himself.
Ryker growled low in his throat, more unsettled than he cared to admit. “Drink’s turned your brain to mush.”
Hiccup gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Ryker, you wound me. I am a visionary. An intellectual. And a—” he hiccupped—“a terrible lightweight. But visionary nonetheless.”
Ryker muttered something under his breath, steadying the boy again when he swayed too far. “You’re a damned headache, that’s what you are.”
Hiccup tilted his head, lips curling into a lazy grin. “Oh, so I’m your headache now?” His words were teasing, singsong, but the way he slumped against Ryker’s shoulder made them softer than he probably meant.
Ryker should have shoved him off, should have put space between them—but he didn’t.
The tavern blurred around them into a haze of noise and firelight. Hiccup, entirely gone by now, draped himself across Ryker’s lap without hesitation, fingers idly fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “Warm,” he murmured, smirking at his own boldness. “Bet you didn’t think I’d end up here, huh?”
Ryker huffed, jaw tight. “No. Can’t say I did.”
“Mm,” Hiccup hummed. Then, with zero warning, he leaned up, eyes half-lidded and mischievous, and pressed a quick, clumsy kiss to Ryker’s lips. A peck—soft, unsteady, fleeting—but deliberate.
He pulled back with a grin, eyes slipping shut as he dropped his head onto Ryker’s chest. “Knew you’d taste better than the ale,” he mumbled before drifting into incoherent babble.
Ryker froze, heat creeping up his neck despite the haze of his own drink. The boy was already half-asleep, oblivious, clinging to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And Ryker—damn him—didn’t move him away.
They stayed like that until it was time to leave. Hiccup had passed into a stupor of heavy-lidded dreams and soft murmurs, completely oblivious to the world. Ryker tried shaking him lightly, nudging his shoulder, muttering sharp curses under his breath. Nothing worked.
Finally, with a resigned sigh, Ryker hoisted the boy carefully into his arms. “Fine, Haddock. You’re spending the night in my room below the deck. Don’t make a mess.”
The door swung open, and Ryker froze mid-step. Outside, the night air was filled with frantic voices, the unmistakable sound of wings flapping. The rest of the dragon riders had arrived, their dragons circling overhead, snouts and claws aimed toward Ryker and the boy in his arms.
“Ryker!” Astrid’s voice rang out, sharp with panic. “Hiccup!”
Ryker’s lips quirked into a smirk, but his hands tensed as the riders and dragons lunged. With practiced precision, he dodged, stepped aside, and managed to keep the boy safe. “Easy! Everyone, calm down! He’s fine!” he barked.
Fishlegs, eyes wide and frantic, immediately snatched Hiccup from Ryker’s arms. The boy stirred slightly, muttering something incomprehensible, half-hiccuped words, but safe now in Fishlegs’ grasp.
Ryker exhaled, muscles relaxing, though he refused to admit the hollow pang in his chest at the loss of the boy’s warmth. “Here’s what happened,” he said, voice steady. “The tavern. He got cornered. Three men. Very bad men. I took care of it. He’s unharmed now.”
He went on, recounting everything from the moment he met Hiccup, their banter through the market, the drinks, and yes, even the… incident in the tavern. The riders’ expressions shifted from frantic fear to anger, then to relief, their voices rising in a chorus of frustration and gratitude.
“We’re glad you were here,” Snotlout grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “If anyone else had tried…”
Ryker shrugged, brushing dust off his sleeves, hiding the faint ache of missing Hiccup’s presence already. “He’s tougher than he looks. And I told you—he’s safe.”
Fishlegs, still holding the small, sleepy bundle, turned toward the group. Hiccup’s muffled, drunken voice cut through the night, barely audible:
“Ryker… don’t… go…”
Ryker smirked at that, his chest tightening in a way he refused to name. He waved casually. “Relax, Haddock. You’ll see me again sooner than you think.”
With that, he stepped away, letting the riders and their dragons guide the boy safely back toward the Edge. Behind him, he could still hear the soft, hiccuped murmur of Hiccup’s voice in Fishlegs’ arms.
Ryker’s smirk lingered, sharp and teasing. They’ll meet again. Very soon.
Morning sunlight filtered weakly through the small porthole of the cabin below the deck, painting the room in warm, hazy streaks. Hiccup’s head throbbed like a war drum, his mouth dry, and his limbs tangled in blankets that didn’t quite make sense. He stirred, groaning, trying to piece together the blurry, fragmented memories of the previous night.
Pie. Ale. The tavern. Ryker.
His stomach churned at the memory of the drinks and the chaos of the tavern, and then—oh. That other thing.
Hiccup’s eyes flew open. He bolted upright, hands clutching at his head as if that could somehow shove the memory back into oblivion.
“Oh my gods!” he gasped, voice high and panicked. “I… I kissed Ryker!”
The words barely left his mouth before the cabin exploded into chaos.
“YOU DID WHAT?!”
As the chaos of his friends scrambling to pounce on him reached its peak, Hiccup froze for a moment, a strange, dizzying clarity cutting through the panic.
And then it hit him.
He wasn’t bothered that he kissed Ryker.
Not at all.
In fact… if given the chance?
He’d absolutely do it again.