The Blacksmith's Apprentice

Two: Outcasts

Two.

He was still working at dawn, his eyes deeply shadowed and face colourless with exhaustion. The pile of weapons was pretty much gone and Boarlegs' bent sword had been fixed...though Hiccup had carefully ensured the metal was weakened so the weapon would shatter the next time it was used. He really didn't care what Gobber did to him for that-because he knew the man would never throw him out, since Hiccup did almost all of the smithing in the village now. The past few years had been very hard and the losses had been difficult to take: as soon as he had had reluctantly accepted his friend's son as his full-time assistant, he had largely stepped back from smithing and everyone-especially Hiccup-knew that Gobber was more interested in drinking with his friends and complaining about his assistant. It did nothing for the young man's self-esteem, knowing that his mentor and godfather, the only person who had made an effort when he was younger now despised him so much. And honestly, Hiccup couldn't understand what he had done, what had supposedly changed but it had, ever since that horrible day when the Chief had stood in front of him and told the fifteen-year-old Hiccup that he would never be Chief and that his cousin would supplant him.

He shuddered. He had been truly hurt that his father thought so little of him, that he had dismissed him so brutally-and when he was told that he would be moved to live in the forge with Gobber so that Snotlout could take his place, Hiccup had begged his father to reconsider. All it had achieved had been to intensify the look of disappointment in Stoick's cool eyes and the boy had quietly gathered what possessions he could from his room before trudging down the hill to the forge. The only place the boy could stay was in his little workroom behind the main forge so for the past three years, he had slept on the ground, huddled to keep warm and wishing against all hope this was some horrible nightmare he would wake from. But every morning, when he opened his eyes, he was still isolated, despised and disowned.

But Astrid's axe was finished. He had spent much of the night shaping and tempering the axe head, making the edge keen and the metal strong. Gobber had taught him well and he had used every technique he knew to make the best weapon he could for the girl he really liked. It was in the freezing small hours that he had carefully etched a delicate pattern on the blade for the girl, bent over the metal by the light of a couple of candles, pouring his heart and soul into the work. It didn't matter if she even noticed: it was for Astrid and he would know he had given her his finest work.

He just prayed to Thor she would like it-and not kill him for destroying her precious axe.

He had tidied up and was working on a dented mace when Gobber lumbered into the forge, seeing the grimy and exhausted shape still working. From where he came in, the purple bruise on the boy's pale cheek was very obvious and there was a brief moment when the big man regretted his actions. He knew he was sometimes pretty mean when he was drunk but Boarface had bent his ear for almost an hour about how rude his apprentice had been and Gobber had finally broke when he saw the tall, skinny shape slip in for a well-needed break. And Gobber had known he needed the break as well because the lad was a hard worker and never shirked-but as he was on his fourth flask of mead, he had managed to silence the little voice of reason and had shouted at the boy. And being Hiccup, he had been sassy back and then-as so often recently-he had hit him. There was a pause-and then he moved forward.

"I see yer finished the work," he said awkwardly and Hiccup's eyes flicked up for a moment.

"Yeah, Gobber," he said quietly and turned back to his work.

"Er...good," the older man said, scratching his chin with his hook. "Look, lad..." Hiccup clanged his hammer down hard on the broken sword, starting to fuse the red hot metal shards together and concentrating on the work. "Yesterday..."