#hellooooo!!!!!

the forge begins to smoulder in the thin hour before sunrise, its heat no longer raging but enduring— coals shift with soft, molten sighs, as warmth clings stubbornly to stone and skin alike. it's less like a place of making now, and more of an aftermath. outside, the sea mutters against the cliffs, but inside, there's only will, and the stubborn, aching persistence of a boy who refused to let tradition fail those he loved. and so, with that in mind, hiccup haddock worked all through the night. rather, he'd toiled, hunched and intent, a silhouette cut from flame, movements uneven yet unyielding. a hammer rose and fell, and each strike scattered constellations of sparks which rested briefly on his tunic, in his hair, his skin... tiny stars that died before they burned as bright as his determination. three fingers on his left hand are blistered raw, red and angry beneath the grime. he noticed when it happened, distantly, like one notes the weather changing.

in the corner, toothless lay coiled like a shadow unwilling to fully dissolve. his tail thumps once. twice. a low, gravelly sound rumbles from his chest, hovering somewhere between complaint and concern. eyes slitted with the long-suffering air of a creature denied several very crucial hours of rest. "i know," hiccup replies, not pausing. "i hear you, bud, loud and clear! sleep is important. bed is important. not turning your hands into something resembling overcooked fish is also, apparently, important. all valid points." clang. "but... important cultural moment—" clang. "emotional significance." clang. "—very fragile human feelings on the line!" toothless huffs, unimpressed. "and i don't recall the part where i said you couldn't go home." hiccup grins despite himself, breath catching slightly as he sets the hammer down at last. because in the glow, laid carefully upon the anvil between strikes, something beautiful has finally taken shape.

it's a delicate procedure— far more than most things created here. not something meant to conquer or defend, quite the opposite, in fact. this is intentional in a different way; each curve had meaning, each crevice the intention of someone who just wanted to do good. he picks up his creation and lets it rest in his palm; two dragons, wrought in gleaming metal stare up at him. a death song, elegant form captured mid-arc, body flowing like music made visible, and a razorwhip, sharply precise, spikes honed into graceful lethality. hymn and steel. their tails curl inward, threading with careful symmetry until, at their meeting point, they formed something fine but unmistakable: initials. that of a sister he never had, and a mother he always wanted. "toothless, come take a look. tell me what you think." though the dragon is barely on his feet before approaching footsteps announce a visitor.

the irony isn't lost on him as @dontretreat steps inside the forge. she doesn't speak, (perhaps attempting another sneaky glance at his project, as she did two nights prior) nor is she granted the opportunity, for hiccup spins on instinct, carrying the restless, electric awareness that he'd been found out. she'd been circling this mystery for days, sharp-eyed and sceptical, noticing every late night, every evasive excuse, every smudge of soot he'd failed to fully hide. how snotlout and astrid had temporarily taken over certain duties while hiccup snuck away under a cloud of intrigue. his reaction breaks free before he has a chance to compose himself: "perfect timing!" the words burst out gleefully, cutting cleanly through the quiet.

nancy blinks, train of thought clearly dissolving into startled silence. "i was just about to find you," he rushes, a little breathless now, energy spilling over itself. "because you've been so—" he gestures vaguely at her face, "—this about it. you know… suspicious. very obvious, by the way. anyone ever tell you it's fun waiting for surprises?" toothless chirps in agreement, and hiccup, without a lick of warning, sings, "ta-daaa!" and holds the medallion into her line of sight, (still warm to the touch) presenting her with a solid answer regarding her curiosity. however, his grin, for all its enthusiasm, falters a little, excitement dwindling just-so as he realises this is the moment, his secret revealed. he shifts his weight, suddenly conscious of the rawness in his left hand, the dirt streaking his skin; the possibility that he might have gotten this all wrong.

he dials it back a tad, "i've been making this," he continues and shrugs, as if it's no big deal. "for you. both of you. it's a betrothal gift, because, y'know tradition, and berk, and—" he had a whole speech planned... this is not how it went. "if you don't like it— that's okay!" he quickly adds, words tripping out in a stream. "can always make some tweaks, a little update here and there. change the size, the design, or just scrap it all together." his fingers tremble slightly where they hovered, unbandaged and forgotten. he remembered placing his own betrothal gift around astrid's neck, the weight of it, the way it said everything words could not. then he thinks of nancy, who has been ripped from her lineage like a branch deemed too strange to keep. who stood now with no inheritance to pass forward, no blessing wrapped in history.

"whatever you want, i'll do." he finishes, softer. he wanted to give her something. or at the very least, offer it. "i know i'm not— not family. that these things are supposed to come from where you come from." he glances at the gift, then back to her, a small, crooked smile tugging at one side of his mouth; half self-aware, half trying to soften the weight of what he just said. "but," he nudges her lightly with his shoulder, the gesture familiar and automatic, "being chief's gotta count for something, right?" the attempt at humor is gentle, teasing, but active with a subtle, hopeful edge. "like, officially endorsed sentimental value? that definitely feels like a thing i can declare. pretty sure i have the authority."

To whom it may concern,

    Hello Calico, a particular piece of information that may be of use to you has recently been discovered by my associates, and I suspect it’d be in both of our best interests that I pass it onto you.

    It seems that, as of late, the O’Driscolls have made a home of sorts deep in Cumberland Forest- I doubt they found said cabin abandoned, considering the state of things and their history. From a quick glance it is obviously well hidden… Which is to their advantage, but also yours, for if you approach from the trees at night, I doubt you’d have a hard time taking them by surprise. And force them out of it, and I suspect they’ll have at least a slightly more difficult time keeping their foothold in the region. But do be warned, last I was in the area there were over half a dozen men holed out there, and for all I know there could be more.

    I’ve included a rough map of where you can find that camp in this letter; whether you chose to pursue them or not is up to you, of course… But we both know the law would refuse to do a thing, as unfortunate as it is.

Good luck,

A Friend

What’s that? A letter? For me…? Well, I’ll be. Let me take a look, here…

O’Driscolls…this close to town…? Damn, they’re gettin’ bold. I should’ve known, though, considerin’. They may not pose a threat to Valentine, but they sure as hell ain’t welcome. I’ll definitely need to try handlin’ this soon…

I wonder, though…who’s givin’ me this information, and how trustworthy is it? For all I know, this could be some kinda trap, coulda been sent by one o’ their own. Guess it’s worth stakin’ out to see, though—especially if it turns out they are indeed stationed there.

Lord help me…I got enough stress on my back, I don’t want to have to worry about this, too…takin’ these men out won’t be an issue, but the questionable authenticity is really gettin’ to me.

Hmph. It’s settled. I’ll head out there come dawn-break ’, see what they’ve got goin’ on. Smoke’ll tell me there’s breakfast, breakfast lets me know there’re people, “people” could mean O’Driscolls.

Thank you, “friend”. Whoever you may be.