wandering hearts | hiccup haddock iii

ii

An agitated groan echoed out of the blacksmith shop, escaping into the peaceful night, something few and far between for the Hooligan Tribe.

Unlike the surrounding houses of the village, the workshop glowed with warmth, still up and at it even if the sun had drowned in the depths long ago.

Frustrated with the slow, yet ongoing process, Hiccup continued to tinker with his latest contraption. He was confident that this one would bring him some inkling of glory, but, then again, he'd thought the exact same thing of all the other failed attempts.

Nonetheless, the scrawny Viking kept his head held high, worn hands fiddling with the spring mechanism so it wouldn't escape the clutch for the tenth time. He had worked himself raw many a time, so exhaustion had become something of an annoying itch instead of a natural warning. He didn't think about how tense his posture had become nor how difficult it was to just curl his fingers. All he could focus on was finishing.

He had it all planned out; the image of a dragon being shot out of the sky eminent.

Almost done , he kept telling himself. One more try and it'll work.

"Need a hand?"

The voice ripped him out of his trance, setting his pressure on the spring lose. The metal coil sprung like a predator that had pounced, flying through the air before coming into contact with the edge of his desk a few feet away. A hollow clang sounded as it hit the floor, rolling away from the weapon it was meant to reside within.

Hiccup sighed, hanging his head in defeat as he raised a hand to rub at the knots in his neck. He didn't have to look to know who was standing in the doorway of the blacksmith at such a late hour. It could have only been one of three individuals, and the other two would have been a whole lot louder and a whole lot more callous.

"Why're you up?" he groused, falling back into a more comfortable position than laying atop his bent knees. He had just come to notice that they had fallen asleep from the lack of disuse. The feeling made him grit his teeth.

"I saw the light from my porch," she said, [color] skin aglow in the candle light. "I couldn't sleep."

"Doesn't Gothi have something for that?"

"I built up an immunity to it."

Hiccup finally paid her a glance, finding her leaning against the frame of the entryway. Her eyes were already on him, wide and attentive.

"Maybe try a smaller spring?" she offered, lips pulling up into a grin as she pushed away from the entrance. The grubby curtain flapped into place behind her.

"It has to be able to launch the net far enough and fast enough to hit a flying dragon," Hiccup stated, clearly unamused by her cheeky comment. "A smaller spring won't do either of those."

"Maybe you just need another pair of hands," she rebutted, holding hers up for emphasis. She shouldered her hair out of the way, the feather entwined within it drowning in her strands. "I also hear I have the magic touch." She wiggled her fingers for good measure, eyebrows bouncing knowingly.

A tired laugh crawled its way up Hiccup's throat but by the time it left his lips it was only a breath of amusement. The stress crowding him dispersed just like that and he wondered how she did it so effortlessly. They both could be on their deathbeds and she'd find some way to lighten the mood. But she had always been that wa. It was easy for him to disregard it, as if everyone was capable of doing that.