Branches of Our Tree

Chapter Six: Tell Me, But Only If Ye Want To

Merida

"Mm." The bottom ridges of my teeth tore open the thin, flaky crust of the tart, shattering the fragile breaded exterior into a million tiny crumbs that instantly dissolved into a gooey, warm substance on my tongue. As soon as I was able to swallow the first bite I had taken, the tip of my tongue scooped in a delicious new layer of something sweet. "Oh no," I moaned, the sound slightly muffled due to the food in my mouth. "Don't say it's--"

Beside me, Hiccup's lips lifted in an amused smirk, his fingers still wrapped tightly around his own tart. "Yep. It's cherry filling."

I let out a laugh, shoveling the entire pastry directly into my mouth. Hiccup's own laughter joined in with my grunts of approval, adding a rich baritone harmony to my light tone of voice.

"Man, that was good," I finally managed to say, after the entire platter of treats had been devoured. " Yer dad's an amazin' cook." I leaned back on the bed, my arms splaying out to support me as the lazy emotion of eating too much consumed me. I glanced towards Hiccup's bedroom door, which was pushed open enough to see the gleaming, polished surface of the Haddocks' wooden staircase. Mr. Haddock's hearty, heavily-accented drawl was currently being belted out to the tune of "What Does the Fox Say?", in sync with the radio that was playing that song. Smiling, I nodded towards the doorway. "Apparently, he's an amazin' singer as well."

Hiccup laughed, embarrassment creeping up on him in the form of a bright pink blush on his cheeks. "Yeah," he muttered, shaking his head. "A real pop star."

Silence trailed behind our final words, parading around the sun kissed room so that eventually even Mr. Haddock's singing faded away. The air conditioning must have followed the noise's departure, because I was beginning to feel the heat from my trek to Hiccup's house again. Soon enough, the tart residue I was happily tasting in my mouth turned into a bland mush, the desire for a frosty drink overpowering my love of treats.

Hiccup must have been thirsty as well. He rose to his feet, releasing the pressure of his body from the bed, and began to head for the open bedroom door. "I'll get some lemona--"

"Hiccup!" One moment, he was traipsing gracefully away from me, causing me to marvel at the change in my friends once more, because the boy I had grown up with had been unbelievably clumsy.Then, the rounded toe of his thick, clunky left boot managed to find its way underneath the plush rug on his hardwood floor. Now, he laid, dazed from the suddenness of it all, with his eyes trained on me. It took me a moment to realize why he was looking at me, of all places. His pant leg had lifted just a tiny bit from getting caught on the fuzzy surface of the rug, this being enough to reveal the alarming, silver glint of a metal prosthetic leg.

Still, he watched me. He waited to see how I would react.

A normal girl would've screamed, shedding emotional tears at the sight of such a thing. I mean, didn't only soldiers return home from a bruising, battering war as amputees?

She would've fallen to her knees, her finger quivering inches above Hiccup's leg-no-more, the debate of whether they should touch him or not evident on their tear-stricken faces.

She would've begged for details, for the truth and nothing but the truth.

I didn't do anything of that sort.

Grim-faced, I held out my hand, grasping his own with a firm grip. Once he was standing, I refused to relinquish my hold. Our gazes were fused together, green on top of blue, so that it seemed the rest of the world had frozen to see the outcome.

Hiccup's lips parted to speak, sorrow clouding his expression. His head dropped, shame radiating off of him for who knows what reason. "I don't really--"