Hiccup Haddock Imagines

The Sea Calls 4

You fully intend on staying in Berk for a while. You do not want to leave, nor do you have any reason to go. Hiccup wants you here, and you want to stay. It could be perfect, you know. A chance to rest. You aren't putting down the mantle of goddess of the seas, and you don't want to, either. All you want is to live, and sometimes that means slipping from an immortal's palace to walk with the mortals every now and then. These mortals in particular happen to be very important to you.

You intended on staying, but others did not intend the same for you. With a couple days of your arrival on the mainland, you start to hear whispers from the other villagers, asking why someone like you would remain here for so long. Eventually, your brother realizes that you won't be leaving, and speaks to you alone. The conversation happens just before dawn, when no one else is around to stop it.

Thor says that this is wrong, that you cannot hide your immortal roots no matter how much you wish. Thor says that this is not your place. Hiccup extends the invitation now, but he will not mean it later. All mortals must grow, and when you don't, you will hold them back. What's more, your father will hear of this soon enough, and Odin does not permit the gods to cast off their immortality to live like mortals, least of all his children.

Thor asks a question of you. Remember what became of Loki, who betrayed the Allfather? He was bound for all eternity in a cave no god dares enter, doomed to suffer as snake venom constantly drips into his eyes.

You think one thing to yourself: at least Loki has his wife, Sigyn, to catch most of the venom before it fell. You will have nobody, no friends, no husband. It will be you and the tides, and neither are particularly known for their friendliness.

Thor is right, though, as much as you would love to deny it. You know Odin's beliefs on the roles of gods and mortals; separate, that is, and in no way meant to mix. You were tempting fate by staying on this island once you had done your job and found out about the existence of the Dragon Conqueror, and by remaining, you stray from the destined golden path of one of the Allfather's children. You would love to delude yourself into thinking that you could stay here, but you cannot.

Eventually, Thor takes pity on you, ceasing his parade of reasoning to lay one muscular hand gently on your shoulder. He does not do this to hurt you, he says, but to save you. You know that he has nothing but pure purpose, but that does not make the blade sting any less as it slices your heart from your chest. Broken pieces are left behind, no matter how well-intentioned the blow.

Hiccup does not understand as you did, but he tries. You speak to him as the first threads of dawn come down from the sky, and leave before the sun has fully risen. It is just bright enough to see the tears that he just manages to keep at bay. You promised him the world and have now taken it back. He has every reason to hate you.

Yet, for some reason, there is no hatred in Hiccup, not for you. Sure, the villagers mutter under their breaths about how women truly are as fickle as the sea, that your coming and going will only erode this place faster from its sturdy stone shores. They keep their voices low to make sure they're not overheard, but it doesn't matter. You can hear anything spoken over the sea, and Hiccup is numb, not angry. That's the best you can hope to see.

You try not to look at Berk anymore. In looking, you remember what you left, and that hurts too much. It's strange, isn't it? You have lived for centuries, and seen countless crops of humans grow old and die, or be slaughtered before they could even surpass their fathers. Grief is not foreign to you, yet this pain is devastating.

You fully expect to never step foot on Berk again, at least not for another couple of decades, once the pain starts to wear away once more. However, barely a few years later, you sense someone approaching your waters, someone starting to pray to you. Few pray to the goddess of the seas without some sort of intent, a hope for safe passage or a blessing upon their coastal towns.