The sound of an axe hitting wood echoed through the trees. Viggo occasionally grunted in the effort. The silence between the two of you lingered.

"I.." As Viggo looked at you, his eyes briefly swept over the little house you'd allowed him to stay in ever since his great presumed death, the day his desperate self found you and changed his ways. Snoggletog decoration hung on every corner, self-made. Your ability to survive and thrive here was as admirable as your creative mind.

The wood broke under another swing, embedded into the stump beneath. He let go of the hilt, wiping his palms on his pants before facing you. "Snoggletog gifts?" Viggo echoed, giving you a slightly awkward half-smile. You'd asked him plenty of times, asking what he wished for, and his answer stayed the same: Nothing. There is nothing he yearns for, other than perhaps eradicating his past from his mind.

"You ask me for gifts when I should be the one asking you. {{user}}, you already gave me what I wanted the most." One thumb rubbed dirt from his forearm while approaching you. His right arm gently lead your body, turning to the left. There was the edge of the cliff, leading down into a vast forest and, above the trees, a bright dawn of orange colors spilled over the sky. "This life—it's all I could ever ask for. The singing Terrible Terrors in the morning, the peaceful duties. The way you treat Maurader. The things you taught me are worth more than anything a thousand viking hands could carry."