The Night Rider: Book Three

Chapter 28: Conversation

THE NIGHT RIDERS POV.

The small room was almost entirely dark, and there was a coldness that hung still in the air. All the window shutters were closed tight, only a few candles burned, and he stood off in a far corner, watching, leaned up against an old wooden shelf.

Heather stood in the middle of the room beside a rectangular table, and her fingers were extended outward enough to where the pads of them could rub gently against its wooden face. Dagurs corpse laid motionless on the table, his wounds sewn up, and Heather stared down blankly at her brother's expressionless, pale features.

Dagurs clothes had been swapped from his bloodied and torn garments that he had died in, to beautiful woven black and gold lined clothing that Throc had given to Heather for him. He had said it was used by the Defenders during "the burying of great warriors."

Around Dagur's body and on the table top, different colors and species of flowers surrounded him. There were some candles that burned dimly, illuminating his pale skin, stitched skin, and there were other small bundles of herbs and sweet smelling incense amongst the foliage.

The Defenders, at Mala's command, had been kind enough to complete this for Heather, Thor knows she couldn't do it herself. After they had emerged from the cave, Windshear had snatched up the Berserkers body from amongst the slaughter and the group flew back in silence. There was debate on where to go, whether that be Berk or Berserker Island, but he ended up heading the group for the Defenders of the Wing Isle because he figured it'd be the safest. When they arrived, around midday, the Defenders quickly took away Dagur and Heather went with them, and he spoke with Mala about all the events that had unfolded, especially with the Light Fury. After the brief explanation, she sent him off to clean himself up and get some rest. But, since it was still so early in the day, even though he was exhausted, he couldn't get a wink of sleep. After their arrival he hadn't seen much of Astrid, and if he was to be honest with himself, he was avoiding her. So, instead, he went looking for Heather—he didn't even know why—and he found her in a small building on the far side of the village, watching over her brother's body. When he entered neither of them said a word, they hardly glanced in one another's direction.

He had no idea what to say to Heather, if anything. He didn't care Dagur was dead, no part of him was sad. Dagur had always been his enemy, he had played a vital part in the death of his father and the near destruction of Berk. Dagur had murdered dozens of people and hundreds of dragons for Viggo, and never showed any remorse. Sure, his final act was selfless, but it didn't nothing to mend the years of suffering he'd dealt out to him and others.

"I'm sorry." He said, somewhat abruptly, shattering the silence that the two of them had grown comfortable in.

Heather was silent, she didn't even look over in his direction. Her eyes remained fixed on Dagur's body.

"I'm sorry that you're going through this."

"Stop." She said, her voice meek but firm. "I know you hated him, please don't fake your sympathy." Heathers eyes still didn't come off of Dagur, but he could see tears well up in her eyes.

"You're right, I did hate him. But, nevertheless, I know how it feels to lose someone you love, and for that I'm sorry."

The tears spilled down her face, and she sniffled as she breathed. She muttered out a, "Thank you." Trying her best to remain composed.

He gave her a nod and pushed himself off of the shelf  and headed for the door, his steps echoing around the room and mixing with Heather's sniffles. As he reached the exit and his hand touched the handle, she spoke.

"Hiccup."

He didn't turn back to face her, although he could feel her eyes burning in the back of his helmet.