The Blacksmith's Apprentice

One: Gobber's Assistant

"You heard the Chief," she said. "Help the Solbergs and the Halvardsons rescue what they can from their homes and make them weatherproof and I'll see what I can to do to find beds for the Elofsons and the Dagmars."

"You can rely on us, Astrid!" Gustav Larson said, his grey eyes cheekily meeting hers. His short jet hair was styled like Snotlout's and he modelled his cockiness on the Heir as well, even imagining that he stood a chance with the Shield Maiden. As if. Suppressing a roll of the eyes, she folded her arms and stared stonily at the boy until he looked away self-consciously and headed out to his task. Sighing, she turned away to the village and stared calculatingly down the homes, trying to find a couple of families who would be willing to take in the displaced.

The sun had risen and the grey and dreary morning bathed Berk in icy drizzle as Astrid finally escorted the last of the displaced families to their new lodgings. People in Berk were generally very generous and they had made every effort to house the displaced families-which made the fact she was sleeping in the Great Hall all the harder to swallow. She forced a smile onto her face as she waved the relieved Dagmars goodbye and then turned away, flicking her braid over her left shoulder and hefting her axe across her back. She paused and then sighed: she had finished her chores and the clean-up was in full swing. With a sigh, she went to get her axe sharpened, knowing the edge had been dulled in the fight.

The forge was set to the lower end of the Plaza, a familiar location and the clang of metal on metal was sounding rhythmically from within as they dealt with the aftermath of the raid. Astrid saw a stream of vikings head to the hatch, drop off weapons that were all the single most important in the village and then stomp away, scowling and grumbling. Gobber the Belch, the blacksmith, was tossing the bent metal on the growing pile as his assistant continued to hammer another sword back into shape. The large man grinned broadly, scratching his chin with the hook that replaced his left hand and winking indiscreetly at her. Astrid smiled back because she had always gotten on well with Gobber since she had won Dragon Training back when they had been fifteen. The final had been abandoned due to a particularly disastrous raid and Astrid had slain a Monstrous Nightmare during the raid, being declared the champion without killing the penned dragon in the Arena.

"Yer axe need sharpening again, lass?" he called and she sighed.

"I can come back if you're busy," she admitted but Gobber motioned her in.

"I need ter see the Chief anyway," he said gruffly. "The lad will look after yer." And with that, he swaggered out and ambled up the hill. For a long moment, she watched him limp away and then walked confidently into the forge, her eyes fixed on the tall shape at the anvil, his back to her as he continued to pound on the sword.

The blacksmith's assistant was tall and lean with messy, tousled dark auburn hair which was sticking in tendrils to his sweat soaked neck and face. His shoulders were a little broader than would be expected from looking at the rest of him and his grubby green tunic was sticking to him as he continued to work. Finally, he laid down the hammer in his left hand and ran his dexterous fingers very gently along the reshaped blade. With a sigh, he swiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and stuck the blade back into the fire, before he turned enough to glimpse her and his emerald green eyes widened, starting in shock before a smile warmed his features. He turned to face her and nodded.

"Hi, Astrid," he said cheerfully, taking a hesitant step towards her. "How-how can I help you?"

"Hi, Hiccup," she replied, allowing herself to smile. Hiccup Haddock was her age, the son of Stoick the Vast and former Heir but after the debacle of Dragon Training, his father had finally decided that his scrawny runt of a son was never going to make the grade as a Viking Heir and had adopted his much more Viking-like nephew in Hiccup's place. The boy's aptitude at blacksmithing had meant he was formally apprenticed to Gobber and had been quietly shuffled aside and while everyone treated Snotlout as if he was Stoick's son, his real son was generally despised, ignored or-worse-intermittently bullied by his peers. And though time had meant Hiccup had finally grown, topping all his peers, he remained skinny and awkward though he did everything in his power to remain cheerful and helpful. He always smiled at Astrid and never turned her down, no matter how busy he was. He walked a little closer and she saw the pleasure in his handsome, sharp-jawed face. His quick eyes flicked to her and he smirked.