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“What are you doing out here, Vili Hemmingson?” Halfdan asks as Vili approaches his position, sitting on the edge of the snow-capped longhouse roof with his legs dangling off the side.
“I’ve come to push you off,” Vili responds, sitting down next to him. “And usurp your positon as jarl of Jorvik.”
“You can try.”
Vili huffs, breath fogging in the crisp night air. The sky had cleared a little, peering back at him with a thousand-thousand glinting eyes set in the fathomless black. It is never as cold here as back home, but he is grateful for both the fur around his shoulders and the warmth of Halfdan’s body beside him.
“I wouldn’t know what to do with it,” Vili says, gesturing at the city beyond, glowing with warmth and raucous with Yule cheer.
“You would,” Halfdan says. “You have the makings of a king.”
Vili huffs again, another cloud of his breath streaming out in front of him, like dragon’s smoke.
“Give me a few years yet,” he says.
“I mean to,” Halfdan responds, his fingers clenching around the edge of the roof. He, too, is looking up at the stars. “But then it will be your turn. You should be inside, with the others.”
“So should you.”
Halfdan glances at him, eyes glinting in the scant moonlight. In the dark, his beard may as well be black, and his face unlined. Vili sees him only in profile, the profile he stamps on his coins. The profile of a real king. Someone born into it. Someone who has never doubted their right to rule, their ability to lead.
“I’m old, Vili,” Halfdan says. “You waste your time.”
“There is more wisdom in your head than there is in all the halls of England. I am taking advantage of having it all to myself.”
“Have I said anything wise?”
Vili shrugs. “You said I should go inside. It’s freezing out here, and we could both fall to our deaths. You’re probably right about that.”
Halfdan snorts. “And yet you fail to heed me.”
“You’re the one with the wisdom,” Vili says, smiling to himself and turning his attention back to the sky. “I am the one who wants a moment with you.”
“There are—”
“—many other people in the world, yes,” Vili interrupts. “I am aware. None of them are you, old man.”
“Careful who you’re calling old man,” Halfdan warns.
Vili laughs, leaning over to press a hard kiss to Halfdan’s bearded cheek.
“What are you going to do about it?” Vili asks, smirking against Halfdan’s skin. “Old man.”