#*|| prose

   “Before you say ANYTHING, just”—the small viking claimed a large breath, filling his lungs to the whole of their capacity, and released it on the tail of his statement while he cast his friend a hesitant glance—“D-DON’T… say anything—?”

   He had, after all, been making some EFFORT to slink away entirely unnoticed—village in shambles (not the worst it had been, however), its people PEEVED, and a father and mentor even MORE so, the looks they gave him all but permanent in his mind—but there was Sundira, of everyone. Always hot on Hiccup’s tail when he knew he was up to something, which… well, was more or less ALL THE TIME.

   Though the foreigner (sort of; he was kinda CONSIDERED that in comparison to the families who had been here for generations beyond count) seemed not nearly as IMPOSING orhostile as a cranky viking chief would be in the face of his son’s disobedience, Hiccup couldn’t help all but FLINCHING at his blocking his path. Caught in the act, literally. He gave him something of a pout (eyebrows knitting and lips pursing tight), before fiddling with the dagger tucked in his belt.

   —All the while not thinking a tiny knife wouldn’t be enough to kill the dragon he downed.

    He was tired. No, an UNDERSTATEMENT: exhausted better described it, and yet remained a word he refused to apply in direct comparison to the dragon currently SHARING his cage. Her cage, rather; it had been designed for HER. Big enough. Strong enough. The hunters could have just as well locked him in shackles and tossed him to the ground—been done with him—but they must have recognized their own strength in fortified bars meant to contain the most POWERFUL of creatures. So, waste not. Less of an endeavor. No RISK of their resident dragon rider freeing his legs and running off.

    So, why then, had they put the spindleback in chains as WELL as a cage?

    “Niamh, please.” He stared at her from his SAFETY on the shoreline, seated comfortably—as manageable—atop one of the jagged rocks. “You realize you’re adding years to both mine and Magna’s life? I mean, look at her.” Which was a fair assessment, considering the small slithersong was pacing ever so RESTLESSLY back and forth right at the water’s edge, a series of disgruntled, almost FRETFUL noises rising in her throat. Toothless was the one who, well... didn’t have much a CLUE what was going on; he was rather more interested in some very appealing scent, were his nose practically shoved into the ground any indication.

    Hiccup SHUDDERED while he watched his friend glide harmoniously through the gentle waves. “I-it’s really not... It’s not WARM out, y’know.” Then again, by Berk standards, it was better than it COULD be, but... nothing had yet swayed the viking into desiring a DIP. He crossed his arms over his chest, brought one knee up along with them to better contain his own warmth.

    Just IMAGINING it made him COLD.

    Hiccup hadn’t actually thought any place could be colder than Berk. Or at least close to colder. He was dramatic like that. No matter how accustomed he was to the CONSTANT chill in the air and frigidity of his fingertips, he was overcome with a persistent shivering as he trudged through (what appeared to be) a fresh layer of SNOW in this new uncharted land. Not much help was his slipping down a fair HILL of it earlier—something about the metal of his peg leg meeting any form of ice had him ending up on his back in most cases—but he had at least cleared the FREEZING substance off his nape.

    Much of it had already melted against his skin when it burrowed beneath his leather attire; maybe that was to blame.

    He walked with his hands cupped to his mouth, now, breathing HOT exhales to better warm them as dusk spread a nip in the atmosphere. Some manner of civilization—a few spots of CANDLELIGHT in the neutral tones—steered him toward a destination. But he would come across a young woman, first, trekking down the path in front of him with an ARMFUL of supplies looking almost to be a STRUGGLE.

    His own dragon had been (rightly or not) AVOIDING him most of the morning, now. Having witnessed the inventive rider tweaking new ADDITIONS to the flightsuit seemingly never quite finished, Toothless had slunk off at first opportunity—something Hiccup couldn’t (or otherwise wouldn’t) understand. Disregarding the amount of times they nearly INJURED themselves for his “crazy” antics, it had always been FUN. But, enough wasted minutes trying to hunt down his GRUMPY companion, Hiccup had been on the verge of borrowing someone else’s—

    Which made it AWFULLY convenient the instant a certain stormcutter prowled into view.

    “Cloudjumper! Hey, bud!” He waved a hand in the air to harness the dragon’s attention before breaching the distance between them (with some fumbling as he adjusted a few straps on his suit). “I was looking for you.” Sort of. “Think you can give me a lift? Just— It won’t be very long, promise. Toothless is... BUSY, and, uhh—” Hiccup brushed out crinkles in his sleeve, thereafter meeting Cloudjumper’s gaze.

    He didn’t think she was that disappointed—or, well, if Hiccup’s prowess in READING people remained true, that’d be the case—and so, why in Thor’s name was it bothering him so much?

    Their flight back to the Edge had been without incident, save for the few well-needed REST stops here and there for both themselves and their dragons; even when the gang sat around the warmth of a campfire, they were in good spirits. None of them showed any sign of distress (not counting Snotlout, still HUMBLED by their impromptu adventure with these so-called Wingmaidens). But it had been during one of these nights when Hiccup caught wind of what had been offered to his friends: what they, despite everything, ended up DECLINING.

    Only back on the Edge did their designated “leader” finally take it upon himself to APPROACH Rapunzel. Though casual he tried to RETAIN his demeanor, his hands fidgeted (constant movement from his hips, to a fold of his arms, back) while gathering up the proper words to EXPRESS some semblance of concern. “Hey, uhh”—finally, Hiccup settled with crossing his arms and pinning his fingers down—“a-about the whole... well, we were kinda in a RUSH when it all happened and didn’t really get the chance to, ahh... TALK about it.”

    This. This was something he was NOT used to. In fact, it was what he spent most of his time running away from, and, whether he recognized it or not, one of the many reasons Hiccup stayed FAR from Berk whenever he felt rather a “disturbance” in the air and knew his father would bestow upon him one of his “talks.” Give him an isle of untrained dragons, he barely held his BREATH. Place him in a setting begging utmost FORMALITY and ability to properly converse without incessantly TRIPPING over his tongue?

    That all kind of spoke for itself.

    Granted, his current situation was, well... his fault. Many a day away from Berk now on a much-needed VACATION from responsibilities his father tried to ease onto him, the kingdom had, for all intents and purposes, been STUMBLED upon. And now? Was this a... princess? Queen? Was she OLD enough to be considered Queen? Odin, if he only knew as to not seem so ILL-INFORMED.