wandering hearts | hiccup haddock iii

i

The thundering of waves wasn't far off, and, if he focused, he could pick up on the heavy scent of sea mist as it sprayed over the rocky cliffs far below.

It was his favorite time of day, where the sun was beginning to droop past the horizon, bathing his home in rich golds and passion-filled purples. The isle of Berk had never seen such peace and the sights and sounds made him lethargic, green eyes weighed down by fluttering eyelids—a reasonable reaction to Aegir and Sól's ancient work.

A sigh perforating nature's lullaby moments later. He could feel it against his ear, warm and thoughtful just like the person it originated from.

"I wish it could always be like this," she whispered and he glanced at her soft, blurred features shining in the clement rays of the setting sun.

Though he wanted to, he didn't reply, opting for silence as to not ruin the tranquility around the two of them. He was perfectly fine with just sitting there on those sturdy, wooden boards, both their legs dangling precariously. Nothing but a contempt existence.

"What if we didn't live here?" she asked suddenly, rendering the silence option null and void. "What if we were born across the sea on a whole other island?"

He grunted, raising a hand to scratch at where his jaw met his ear. "Then you'd be asking the same thing, just over there," he joked, soft in his humor. She jostled his shoulder in response, laughing a gentle laugh. His hand fell as he smiled.

"Maybe," she murmured and it was a weak thing, that word. So quiet, so unsure. "Things over there could've turned out differently."

"Tomorrow might not be as bad as we think," he offered, doing his best to remain optimistic. It was his first assumption to come in reply to her statement—that she was worrying over the tournament. "I'll figure something out and then—"

"And then it'll all go to Hel." She chuckled, but there wasn't an ounce of amusement to it. "It always does. Another 'Viking way,' I guess."

"You say that like you're not one." He chaffed to try and lighten the mood but when he looked at her, he couldn't make out her expression. Yet, somehow, he knew it wasn't a happy one.

"Maybe I'm not supposed to be."

Her response made his chest hurt in a way he'd never felt in his lifetime, but he wondered if he'd already become used to it outside of this scene. It felt like an old foe come to smite him, to steal him of this final repose.

"You've wanted to be one, to prove you're one for so long... But things are different now. You can't be a Viking and a dragon rider, Hiccup. Sometimes, you have to choose."

He'd heard this before, hadn't he?

"I know, I know." A sigh blew from his lips, puerile in the way he tried to brush the topic off his shoulder and down into the depths at their feet. Having caught sight of the retreating light of the day, he gave in as there wasn't much time left. There never was. "I thought we came out here to avoid thinking about it."

She huffed, leaning out of his peripheral view. "We were never out here in the first place."

His eyebrows drew together in confusion and, then, a sense of dread surfaced. He turned to look at her, but she was already gone. That was it? That was all he he would see of her?

Getting to both of his feet—something he hadn't fully been capable of in years—he called out her name, but with the ever-growing darkness, everything was becoming distant. Cold. The sunset had long since faded to gray, the dock's planks had alternated to those of his home's. Walls were closing in on him.