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."
