The Blacksmith's Apprentice

One: Gobber's Assistant

One:

The horn for the Dragon attack jerked Astrid Hofferson from sleep, azure eyes snapping open and hand automatically reaching for her axe. She stamped on her boots and charged for the door of the Great Hall, where she was sleeping during the frigid night. The recent raids had damaged a lot of homes and there was no spare room for her to stay with her neighbours so she slept in the Hall with all her worldly belongings in one modest chest. Pulling her fur-lined tunic and hood on, she tossed her sleeping furs into her chest and slammed the lid as she turned and ran for the battle. She threw the doors to the Great Hall open and dashed down the long stair, waving encouragement to the mothers shepherding their young children up the winding stair to the safety of the Hall. Ducking under a fireball, the Shield Maiden threw herself into the fray, screaming as she slammed her axe into an attacking Gronckle, hearing its desperate cry as it collapsed to the earth.

"FIRE!" she yelled and the younger teens raced forward, performing the job she herself had when she was fourteen and fifteen. Now, she was a fully-fledged warrior, the winner of Dragon Training and the finest young warrior in Berk. Ducking aside, she raced with the rest of the adults towards the food stores, fighting off the dragons.

"Get those Nadders away!" came the bellow of Chief Stoick the Vast, roaring above the sounds of dragons and fire and combat. Astrid nodded, running forward with Snotlout Jorgensen and Hoark. Automatically, Astrid dodged into the dragon's blind spot, weaved from side to side and swung the axe, taking the dragon down. Beside her, she could hear Snotlout killing his foe and the rest of the village fought back. But when the dragons finally retreated, four more houses were fire-damaged, one store house was emptied and there were more casualties-though no deaths, this time. Astrid, who was supervising the fire crew as well as fighting, walked forward with the other teens and the senior warriors to take the Chief's orders.

"Four houses damaged but only two are unfit for habitation," Ack reported.

"The fourth store-house has been raided and almost everything taken," Fishlegs Ingerman added.

"No major damage elsewhere and all fires under control," Astrid added. Stoick's cool glance flicked to her and he nodded, a small look of pride in his face. The Chief had been very kind and supportive when her parents died and her house was destroyed, acting like a kindly uncle rather than the leader of the village. Of course, he couldn't replace her family entirely but he protected her as much as he could and she was very grateful to him and unyieldingly loyal.

"Astrid-organise the teens to help clean up," he commanded. "Then can you help find lodgings for those who have lost homes?"

"I'll try my best, Chief," she said firmly, "but pretty much everyone is doubling up already." He nodded, his eyes sympathetic.

"Do your best, lass," he said warmly then scanned the crowd. "Where's my Heir?"

"Here, Chief!" Snotlout said casually.

"You're with me," Stoick told him, his massive shape still straight and tall. His braided flaming red beard was grizzled now and there were more lines around his cool grey-green eyes. His fur cloak billowed as he walked and the much shorter, stockier shape of Snotlout scurried alongside, his blue eyes facing up to his Uncle. It had been inevitable that Stoick would adopt his nephew as his Heir, even though Snotlout was arrogant, mutton-headed and oblivious to anyone's feelings but his own. Casting a scornful glare at the young man, who was already whining about being tired, Astrid turned to the fire crew and faced them thoughtfully. Gustav Larson, Hilda Forfang, Else Jorgensen, Tiril Gunnarson and Yaklegs Ingerman were all fourteen or fifteen, three or four years younger than Astrid but they all looked up to her. She smiled thinly and walked back and forth along the line, seeing them smudged with ashes, tired but not hurt.