The Blacksmith's Apprentice

Five: The Acting Heir

Five.

The ships approached the docks slowly, sails trimmed as they readied the ropes for mooring. Stoick the Vast stood massive and proud at the head of his welcoming party, flanked by his best friend, his brother, his nephew-and his son.

Astrid could see Hiccup was incredibly tense, his shoulders taut as he stood to the side of his father, playing the role of Heir. He was carefully as far from Snotlout as he could manage, a new deep red tunic and deep olive leggings clothing his tall shape. A new belt was tight around his narrow waist, his old knife comfortably sitting on one hip-and a well-worn sword borrowed from the armoury sat on the other. She smiled: he had bathed carefully and she had volunteered to cut his hair, though he had briefly wondered if he should just braid it like most of the Hooligans.

"I mean, the Chief has his hair completely braided and..." he argued but she had sat by him in the forge, her fingers combing through his soft, auburn locks and she had smiled.

"I can't imagine you with long braids," she murmured. "Kind of always see you with shorter hair." His lips curled up in a small smile that froze as she grabbed her axe.

"Um...Astrid? May need my head for the visit..." he said nervously but she smiled and gently began to use the extremely sharp blade to trim the auburn mess.

"Keep still," she murmured and he hardly dared breathe as she carefully sliced away until she was satisfied, ensuring his hair was above his shoulders, cut wispily to frame his face. He gave a wry smile as she finally moved the axe away and warily checked his head.

"Thank Thor-still there," he sighed and she swatted his shoulder.

"Were you implying I may not be perfectly accurate with my axe, Haddock?" she teased him and his eyes widened comically.

"Implying nothing, Milady!" he said hurriedly as she grinned, then snagged a hank of hair behind his right ear. "Ow!" he yelped.

"Hold still," she ordered him and tugged harder.

"Ow...I'm trying..." he protested as she worked swiftly, deft fingers winding the hair into a small braid. His emerald eyes widened as she smiled and concentrated on making a second small braid by the first. When she had finished, she had smiled triumphantly.

"There! You look just like a Hooligan Heir should!" she said and regretted the words as she saw the flash of hurt in his eyes before it was replaced by a smile at the compliment.

"Why thank you, Milady," he murmured softly. She looked him up and down.

"Hmm...red looks good on you," she added and was rewarded by a blush. His emerald gaze flicked up, seeing the warmth in her eyes and his heart briefly soared.

"Thanks," he murmured. "Though I'd rather be several islands away from Snotlout during this. He's not going to be happy." She leaned against him as they stared into the fire down in the forge.

"Just remember that fathead will get us all killed and that Stoick had to swallow his pride and ask you to save us, Hiccup," she reminded him. "I have faith in you."

She saw him lift his head as the gangplank slammed onto the dock. Stoick stood up straighter as the Meathead delegation walked wont to meet them. Mogadon, Chief of Meathead, was a large, brutal-looking man who was renowned for being rude, aggressive and violent: in other words, a perfect Viking. His son Thuggory was tall, buff and handsome with dark hair, dark eyes and a smug, calculating face.

"Greeting, Stoick, you old bastard!" the Meathead Chief announced loudly. "Not dead yet?"

"I could say the same for you!" Stoick replied in his booming voice and the two men instantly clasped hands, the gesture of friendship still edged with the keen rivalry. Thuggory eyed Hiccup calculatingly, his dark eyes mocking.