Hiccup loved the forge. The smoke that rose around him as he worked, burning his eyes and clinging to his clothes, hair, the inside of his nose, even in his mouth. The salty taste of the sweat that pooled under his arms and in his thick auburn hair, coating his skin in a glassy sheen and running in rivulets down his jaw. The rush of air as he expertly manipulated the bellows of the forge, manually heating the flames to the perfect temperature. The sparks that flew as he, muscles straining and burning, lifted large hunks of metal, melting, molding, pounding, grinding, carefully and deliberately pulling every imperfection out of his work. The satisfaction that came when, hot, panting, and utterly exhausted, Hiccup could finally take a step back and appraise the beautiful, flawless, glimmering tool he'd created, a small piece of himself to be carried for years and years by its new owner. He loved presenting a customer with their masterpiece, watching the way their eyes would light up, face breaking into a smile. The compliments- balanced, level, lightweight, sharp, deadly. A beautiful piece of work, from the tip of its shining iron blade to the hand carved ornate handle. Every such compliment had the man grinning like mad for the rest of the day. Seeing his work around the village- the HHH3 symbol on the sheath of a glinting dagger, on a sword hanging on the mantle of a family home, on the axes of the lumberjacks that brought the forge's weekly supply of alder and birch. When he could hold the glinting tip of an axe to the sun and wonder what this tool's legacy would be- perhaps it would slay some great beast, bring down a dragon hunter in battle, supply the village with wood or even food for the winter, chop the trees away from a fire line… perhaps it could someday be a gift for a warrior headed to the afterlife, or even a wedding gift handed from generation to generation. A legacy. His legacy.
Yes, Hiccup loved the forge.
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Finn loved working in the forge. He loved the sparks flying, the danger of practically living next the untamable, insatiable beast known as flame, harnessing it to his use. The smoke that burned his eyes and nose. The little burst of adrenaline that never faded as he plunged a gloved hand deep into burning embers or carried a glowing, molten rod to the table to be pounded. The sharp, deadly weapons that could chop a finger or toe off with ease. The powerful way his muscles flexed under his sweat-soaked tunic. Burning and straining though they were, the way they allowed him to by sheer will bend the most unflinching, solid material on Midgard to his whim and will. The pride when he handed those weapons to his warriors who would take those weapons and use them to defend the tribe with him at their head. When he could hold a glinting broadsword up to the light and wonder if this could be the sword that would lop the head off- figuratively or literally, he didn't care- of the disgusting, reprehensible, evil slave empire encroaching on his tribe and people. It would be his Fortis insignia on the sword.
Yes, Finn loved the forge.
A/N: This is a thank-you to KatieMarie999 and EmmerZK for their GUH series- go check it out! It starts with Unexpected. You guys are awesome, and this is just a descriptive piece highlighting the similarities and differences between Finn and Hiccup… it's kind of scary! I just want you guys to know how awesome and inspiring you are :)