The morning was dull and cloudy in Milliana; quiet in a peaceful way but not in the peaceful way that a certain someone would enjoy.
The houses were a bright and sturdy bunch, cone-shaped roofs and a few floors and stairs and balconies all made of stone and wood; some silver and grey, others brown and black. But there is one house in particular that should be catching your attention; and it stands nearest to the cliff, the smallest house of all but the most welcoming. The house of Beale.
In this house, there lived an old man by the name of Mr Beale. He was a lovely old man indeed, his long, belt-length, white beard tied in a braid, fluffy but smooth and soft to show he took care of his facial pride, his big round nose like a red tomato and his wrinkled face always bent to show the lines which proved he always smiled underneath his bushy white eyebrows. He always wore an apron because he was a toy-maker and blacksmith; mostly for small things like knives for self-defence and training but the toys for all the small children of the native tribe.
One day, the Elder of the tribe, otherwise known as Father Byril, stopped by the old workshop. "And a good morning, me laddie." he beckoned to Mr Beale. "How are you today, Mr Beale?" Father Byril was a very tall and lean man, around seven feet tall, but he did have a little belly hidden underneath his robes, his beard was much shorter but still groomed and well-presented. His smile was warm but not in the same way as Mr Beale; from said whose smile enlightened the hearts of all the children.
Mr Beale smiled like a little boy on his birthday after being given many presents. "Oh, the usual! All is well in little Milliana. The new batch of toys are a huge hit! And I am very proud of me work. Seeing all those children smiling after thanking me-self for them... Aye, it is a heart-warming gift."
Father Byril nodded. "Aye, and that is the problem."
Mr Beale caught on to what he said immediately and glared into the eyes of the Elder. "And what do ye mean by that, Father Byril?"
Father Byril sighed gently, "I mean that, ever since your wife passed on along with your little ones; you haven't even TRIED to raise another child on your own. Why don't you try, laddie? It'll be good for you."
Mr Beale instantly stood full height, though only up to the Elder's chin, and stared him down; making him appear larger and stronger though he was old and withered from his many years in the tribe. "I'll have ye know, 'laddie', that me business is me own. I don't wish for yer banties and cussin' to take place in me workshop. Do ye understand that, 'laddie'?"
Father Byril glared in return. "The people are talkin', Beale. They want to know when the great Mr Beale will raise a child again. It has been discussed by them to see if you will have one in your embrace once more. If not, they will seek to remove you."
Mr Beale's eyes widened. "What? But after everything I have done to see that their little tykes are happy, which makes me-self happy more than anything, why would they say that?"
Father Byril smirked. "Because I made the new rule, laddie... If, within the next month, you don't find a child and raise him or her as your own... you shall be permanently removed; and I shall see to it myself that it be done quickly and effortlessly." And he left, laughing softly under his breath.
Even though Mr Beale was old and lived alone, that didn't stop a young boy from coming inside. "Good morning, Mr Beale!" The little boy was scrawny with buck teeth and chocolate hair, hundreds and freckles and a very toothy side-way grin. He was a sarcastic member of the bunch.
"Aye, good morning to ye as well, Hiccup." Now, I know what you are all thinking, how is Hiccup here? Well, it's actually the very FIRST Hiccup of the Haddock bloodline, also very scrawny and very much like the third of himself. No, he is not a Viking because he was a native of Milliana; but you shall see how his great descendants in the future bring about the first of training dragons. "Does ye feel any better? I remember ye old man telling me how ye got messed up with a beating or two by a branch."
"Ah, no! Me?! No I'm WAY to muscular!" he demonstrated using his bony arms to try and flex his very IN-visible little bulks on his sixteen-year-old self. "How can they beat me with all... this." His tone, somehow very familiar, was beyond the limit of sarcastic that Mr Beale couldn't disguise his warm chuckle that escaped his furry lips.
"Aye, keep telling me that, laddie. Can ye make me a nice cup of my favourite herb, the Mint one laddie."
"Yes sir." he replied and immediately placed the fire on. "What was Father Byril doing here, anyway? I thought he was too old and tall to use a walker on his own."
Mr Beale couldn't contain himself and immediately burst out laughing, a deep smooth laugh that made Hiccup laugh along with him in delight. "Ah, he was just warnin' me about something."
"And what was that?" he asked. When Mr Beale sighed, Hiccup knew straight away that it was important. Hiccup crossed his arms, leant on his side slightly and tapped his foot. "Tell me, now."
"Do I have to, laddie?" Mr Beale groaned when he received the trade-mark Haddock look; the one that said 'Don't even try it'.
"Fine... I'm possibly leaving, Hiccup... Permanently."
Hiccup's eyes widened in shock; total and utter disbelief. "What? But they-they... they can't just do that!"
Mr Beale nodded sadly, "Aye. They can, laddie. Father Byril came by to say that if I don't adopt a child as my own within the next month; I am to wander elsewhere and find somewhere new to stay."
"What?!" Hiccup's jaw physically dropped. "Why?!"
Mr Beale shook his head, and stared out of the window. "I don't know, laddie. I don't know."
