She was out of his league. More than any woman who ever caught Hiccup’s fancy.
Daenerys’ wealth and beauty were of fairytales. Her youth and power of legends. Her dragons were of dreams.
She was a queen.
Even if Hiccup retained his stature on Berk, even if he someday accepted the title of Chief… a chief is nothing to a queen.
So he ignored the looks she fixed on his profile and the way her hand would linger on his. He wouldn’t read into the ease in her eyes when she stood near him, how she could stride into a room, fabrics billowing, and then truly smile at him–weariness and irritation melting from her features. He would suppress his reactions to her. Like how the smell of her hair would leave him with a clenched stomach and breathless.
She was a queen and he was a Viking, and if he let his guard down, if he indulged in his heart, he would never go back. Daenerys Stormborn had become his home without Hiccup ever realizing it and it scared him.