Chapter Text
Contrary to what people might think, Hiccup was actually a pretty good apprentice to have. Sure, he lacked the usual Viking strength and his focus was either blade-sharp or nowhere to be found, and yes, he was prone to outlandish ideas which he usually somehow saw through, and which more often than not resulted in mild to moderate disaster, so, yeah, he had his issues, but, but—Gobber couldn't stress this enough—he also possessed certain qualities, like his tenacity and that crazy, brilliant mind of his, that more than made up for his shortcomings.
And also, and this must be said, loud and clear, he was entertaining to be around.
It wasn't just his dry wit and the fact that he was all too easy to rile up, but that given that Hiccup'd been his apprentice since before he could see over the counter, Gobber'd had a front row seat to the boy going from "girls are yuck" to "girls are actually fascinating" to "Astrid"—the name invariably accompanied by dreamy stares and longing sighs and (eventually) something broken.
The lad had it bad, and it was fun to watch—a little pathetic, yes, but mostly fun (at least for such an outside observer as Gobber). This little infatuation made Hiccup stutter and stumble and act stupider than usual in general whenever that girl happened to come around, and it never failed to amuse the old smith. And if he egged Hiccup on a little, if he teased him a bit about this crush of his… well, sue him. Everyone needs a hobby.
The only thing that put a damper on the whole situation was that Astrid being the epitome of what a Viking should be, with convictions and temper to match, and Hiccup being, well… Hiccup, Gobber saw about as much chance for the lass giving him the time of day as for Baldur descending from Asgard to have a pint with him. So near zero. Practically impossible.
But then Hiccup went and excelled at dragon training, and tamed and ridden a Night Fury—a Night Fury—, and slayed a dragon the size of a mountain, so, really, it was high time for Gobber to adjust his measure of impossible.
His plate clattered on the table as Gobber sat with a groan, burying his face in his remaining palm for a moment before of getting started on his breakfast—or lunch. Or dinner. Or whatever. Honestly, he wasn't even sure what time of day it was anymore.
It'd been a little over a day (or less; time ceased to have meaning after a certain point) since he'd been back from the battle at the nest, and he hadn't had more than a wink of sleep since before they sailed out—the bone-deep exhaustion reigning over him was making even his missing limbs lead-heavy.
Once the dust, both literal and proverbial, had settled, they found a total of two ships in seaworthy state—not that they were undamaged, just far enough from falling apart and sinking to ferry home the wounded, the kids (well, there was some talk of them flying home on dragonback, but a line had to be drawn, and even hotheaded Viking teenagers had more sense than to try arguing with Stoick in the state he was in), and one oddly sheepish, but very much protective, downed Night Fury that refused to leave Hiccup's side.
And then the real work started: first and foremost, they had to organize and carry out bringing home the warriors stranded on dragon island, and then there was the issue of the… dragons. Maybe two or three dozen of them (so far) that for some reason just decided to follow them home to Berk and now were just hanging around the village, eyeing the Vikings with languid, and disconcertingly nonthreatening, curiosity. Which understandably unnerved certain people. Who then had to be kept from attacking said dragons. Lest said dragons attack them back. So there was a lot to do—and with Stoick firmly anchored by Hiccup's bedside, all of it was mostly left to Gobber and Spitelout, that insufferable muttonhead, to manage.
Hence why Gobber wasn't even sure about the time of day anymore and was maybe about to fall asleep in the middle of the Great Hall.
Giving one last weary half-sigh, half-groan, he was just about to finally, finally, get started on his breakfast, dipping his spoon (his actual spoon, held in his actual hand, because Odin knew where his spoon attachment was at the moment) into his porridge—he could already feel its creamy taste on his tongue, sweetened to perfection with just a drizzle of honey, its warmth spreading through his body as it slipped down his throat…
"Gobber."
Gobber startled, jumping slightly (slightly) off the bench, flinging his spoonful of porridge into the air in the process. The glob landed on the table a moment later, missing the bowl just by an inch or two. Because of course, he thought as he gave his wasted food a mournful look before glancing up at whoever disturbed him.
"Ah, Astrid."
The girl in front of him seemed to be in a better—or at least more rested—state than him, but only by a slim margin. She had bathed and changed clothes since their return—or more likely was made to bathe and change clothes by her fretting mother, based on the fact that she'd made a shoddy job of it, and Astrid was a lot of things, but shoddy she was not: her hair, barely brushed, was just haphazardly tied back, there was still a spot of soot under her left ear, and her skirt sat askew on her hips.
But even more alarming than her lack of care was the fact that she looked shy. And Astrid Hofferson, the prime example of Viking bravado and fearlessness did not do shy.
"I just wanted to ask," she started, brushing her overgrown bangs behind her ear and avoiding looking into his eyes, "if you had any news about Hiccup. Has he woken up yet?"
Gobber softened in an instant. She was worried, of course she was. Everyone was worried. Hiccup'd been stable enough, everything considered, and the healers were optimistic that he'd recover just fine, but every battle-hardened Viking worth their salt knew that these kinds of injuries were unpredictable. Some seemed fine for a while, only to bleed out later with no outside wound. Others were taken by infections and fevers. Some simply didn't wake. So he wasn't out of the woods just yet—no matter how well he might have seemed now, he could take a turn for the worst any moment—and no-one in that big house would stop pleading the gods and be completely relieved until he was up and alert and causing mayhem again.
Not that Astrid needed to hear that. She most likely knew, but that didn't mean she needed to hear it.
"Not yet, lass," he said softly, in the most reassuring cadence he could muster. "He won't be waking for some time yet—that was a mighty blow he got to the noggin', and with the other… stuff—" he saw Astrid stiffen and hiss, because of course the girl had seen the mangled mess that the boy's left leg had become "—it's best if he's out of it for a few days. Just until he heals up a little."
Astrid looked crestfallen.
"Oh. Okay," was all the she said, in such a small voice that it all but made Gobber's heart break.
At this point, Gobber thought that she'd leave—that she'd toss him some half-hearted goodbye and scurry away to mime doing whatever chore she'd been give or, and that was more likely, steal off to the woods to repeatedly throw her axe at some innocent tree to work out her fears and frustration. But no—still looking shy, avoiding his gaze and shifting her weight awkwardly from one foot to another, Astrid lingered. Like she still had something to say, but couldn't decide if she was brave enough to say it.
Unfortunately, after the events of the last few days, Gobber had zero patience for this.
"Alright," he said in his most authoritative voice, letting his prosthetic fall on the table with a soft thud. "Sit down and out with it."
Astrid, to her credit, didn't even try to argue. She sat on the bench with one leg pulled up, her chin resting on her bent knee as she stared at not Gobber, but at the bit of wasted porridge on the table. Gobber counted six breaths before she spoke.
"It's just… I named my dragon. The Nadder," she said quietly, scratching at a grain in the table's wood absently.
Gobber cocked an eyebrow at her. "It's your dragon now, eh, lass?"
That, at least, earned him a flash of her gaze and half a smile.
"Yeah, she is," she stated, straightening up a bit, her shoulders pulled back, chest puffed out. The message was clear: anyone trying to take that dragon away from her now would have to face the wrath of the gods. "She is really rather sweet, you know. Eager to please. Despite… despite everything we have done to her."
Despite being kept in a dark cage for months. Despite being used as a training dummy. Despite—until very recently—never knowing anything but danger and violence and cruelty from humans. If a dragon could be rather sweet and eager to please after all that, then they really had been in the dark about these creatures.
They had a lot to learn now.
"Well, that's nice," he said in what he meant as an encouraging tone, making sure that he had a small smile on his face, so she'd know he supported her adopting this dragon, not matter how crazy that sounded. "And what did you name it—her?"
The change in her was instant. Terrifyingly so. Every single line of her body tensed. Her brows pulled low. Her hand clenched into a fist. Wrath poured from every single pore of her body.
"You don't get to ask that!" she yelled, jumping from the bench. "You don't! How can you be so… so cruel and unfeeling and-and-and—A monster!"
Gobber blinked. He could feel eyes on them as more and more people in the hall turned towards them, hearing her—arguably unprovoked—outburst.
Conflicting emotions warred in him—on the one hand, she had no business talking to him, her elder, her teacher, like that. That was unacceptable. Deserving a good whack on the ear. On the other hand? The girl was still shocked and scared senseless, and there got to be more to this.
So Gobber put his spoon back in the bowl, took a deep breath, and reigned his anger in.
"Alright," he said, purposefully keeping his voice soft. "Cut this out now. Sit back down, take a breather, and tell me what the real problem is."
Astrid just stood there for a moment longer, slightly trembling from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers. Then she didn't sit.
She collapsed.
And the next moment she was crying.
That kind of ugly crying, with whole body shakes and choking sobs and snot running from her nose.
Gobber heaved a sighed—there we go—, pushed up from the bench with a groan, rounded the table and sat down beside her, slightly surprised when Astrid let him pull her close, patting her arm reassuringly.
"There, there. Let it all out." He pulled the rag he used to wipe his face and hands in the forge from his waistband—it was a smaller miracle he still had it—and handed it over to her. "And then use your words."
Astrid blew her nose loudly, leaving smudges of soot on her face, then, still sniffing a little, pulled away. There was a limit to what her pride could take, and apparently being comforted by the old blacksmith after having a mini-breakdown in public was toeing that line.
"I was the first one to know about Toothless. I found them in the woods, and Hiccup… I was the first one he introduced Toothless to," she admitted in a small voice, stubbornly not looking at Gobber. And yeah, that was a story he'd like to hear, in detail—someday. "He'd had him there for weeks, and then I was the first one to know him, to know his name, and…" Another sniff. "I want Hiccup to be the first one to know my dragon's name."
Gobber exhaled softly. There was a logic to this, he could see it now—a wretched one, but logic nonetheless. In her mind, the Nadder's name was reserved for Hiccup, and so when Gobber asked about it, to her it felt like he was saying that she might as well reveal it to him, because Hiccup wouldn't be around to hear it.
And that's what caused her outburst.
The fear that he wouldn't make it.
"Don't you worry, lass," he patted Astrid's shoulder awkwardly. "He'll be just fine, up and about before you know it. And then you can tell him all about your Nadder."
To his surprise, Astrid leaned against him. "You think so?"
"Of course! He's too stubborn to let the Valkyries lead him to Valhalla." He glanced down at her, a hidden smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Especially since he already has one waiting for him here."