The Blacksmith's Apprentice

Eight: Reversal

"Then depart as allies, Mogadon, Thuggory," Stoick announced, the edge to his tone adding I know what you were planning. The Meatheads filed onto their longship and waved and then they pushed off from the dock, furled their sails and pulled away as the wind took them home. Stoick snorted and turned to Gobber.

"Thank Thor that's done," the blacksmith commented in relief.

"And they are some of our closest allies," Stoick added. He turned to his son. "Well done, Hiccup. Excellent work." The young man smiled thinly but realised that this was effectively his dismissal.

"Always happy to help, Chief," he said, biting his lip against the urge to call the man 'Dad'. For a few brief minutes the previous night, he had felt closer to his father than he had since he was very small...but he could already see Spitelout moving towards the Chief, reminding him that Spitelout's son, not Stoick's was the official Heir-and Hiccup had to go back to being nothing and no one. "I'll go fetch my things from your house." Stoick nodded as Spitelout leaned closer and with a brief look where his emerald eyes betrayed the desperate hope his father would ask him to stay, he turned away.

Snotlout's eyes were already trailing him as he limped up the village, narrowing as they watched the occasional villager greet the auburn-haired young man with a smile or nod.

"Don't get used to it, Useless," he muttered under his breath. "There's only room for one Heir in Berk."

oOo

He remained in the forge for the rest of the day, his things moved back into the workshop. Astrid's trunk and possessions were gone, relocated to her new home, but their absence made the small space look even more desolate. Gobber made him sit and man the hatch while the older man put his energies into hammering away at the heated metal, singing 'I'm a Viking through and through..." really badly. Hiccup managed a smile, even though the singing was dreadful, because for once, Gobber was cheerful, in a good mood and sober.

"Well, I've got my axe and I've got my bludgeon and there's a dozen Outcasts locked in me dungeon, I'm a Viking through and through..." Gobber yodelled and Hiccup winced. "Ah-ye think yer can sing better than old Gobber, laddie?" There was a twinkle in the blue eyes and Hiccup grinned painfully.

"Um, never even though that Gobber-but my head is pounding from where I was trying to wear Thuggery's fists out with my face," he admitted with a shrug.

"Oh, a critic are we?" Gobber teased him. Hiccup grimaced.

"I believe there are dragons howling on neighbouring islands at the singing, Gobber," he replied and the blacksmith sighed, hammering the iron once more. The he paused.

"You know he has to do this, lad," he said more gently and Hiccup glanced up, frowning.

"What?" he asked softly.

"Go back to how things were," Gobber told his apprentice sympathetically. "He can't become the father he should be to you. He can't keep you in his home. He can't call you 'son' or express his pride in how well you acted. The choices he made lost you all of that." Hiccup stared at him.

"But why?" he asked breathlessly.

"Hiccup-you aren't his son-not any more," he said in an embarrassed voice. "He can't throw everything into chaos just because you...."

"Because I wasn't useless," Hiccup said in a dead voice. "So no matter what I do, I can never be forgiven. He's given away everything...and though he acted like my father...the moment they leave, he drops the act and I'm nothing again? Gods, Gobber-even Mildew gets more respect around here than me-and I am his son. No matter what some stupid declaration says, I am his son. I look like my dead mother. I'm a stubborn as he is. I recall all he told me on Chiefing. And he even said he was proud of me." He screwed his eyes closed. "I agreed to help him because it protected all of you...but to go back after being treated like a normal person for a few days is no thanks. In fact, it's...cruel." Gobber turned round and limped over to him, wrapping an arm around the shoulders and squeezing.