The Blacksmith's Apprentice

Seven: Single Combat

Seven: Single Combat

The entire village was buzzing with the prospect of a fight between their supposed-but-not-really Heir, Hiccup, and the Meathead Heir Thuggory. Snotlout and the twins were already taking wagers while Fishlegs was trying to find out everything he could about the Meathead Heir's fighting style, ostensibly to help Snotlout organise the betting but also to inform Astrid, who had threatened to axe his legs off if he don't comply. Hiccup was in a flat panic, sitting in 'his' bedroom and staring at the floor, expecting to be killed. Stoick had blanked him so he guessed he was in serious trouble and he didn't look up when footsteps ascended the stairs, though he glanced up with relief through his bangs when he saw Astrid walk in.

"The twins are offering three to one that you'll be killed in the first two minutes," she told him cheerfully. He looked up glumly.

"Those are good odds," he murmured. "Maybe I should put a bet on myself." She walked forward and sat on the bed next to him, seeing him look dejected.

"Nah-if I had any money, I'd put it on you to win," she told him cheerfully and he groaned.

"Thor, that would be another guilt to carry with me to Valhalla," he groaned then looked up with a small smile. "Hmm...at least I would get into Valhalla, dying in combat rather than ending up somewhere else because I was accidentally pushed off a cliff for being useless..." She nudged agains him.

"Hiccup, they think you're still that clumsy, self-conscious, scrawny fifteen year old boy," she told him gently. "Snotlout and the village dismissed you years ago. But you haven't given up, Hiccup. You have worked hard, doing your duty to the village and you have been practising with the sword, haven't you?" He nodded.

"Um, mostly on my own," he admitted. She elbowed him.

"Cut that out," she scolded him. "I've fought with you, Hiccup and you're good. You've got a good eye and you have quick reflexes..."

"Need them to duck whenever someone decides Useless deserves a cuff around the head," he murmured and he hunched forward a little more. She took his hand.

"Hiccup...you're risking your life to stop me being forced to go to Meathead," she murmured. "And I have no idea what will happen when you win..."

"If..." he mumbled.

"When," she said sternly. "I mean-will we be engaged? Or promised?" A horrible thought struck her. "Or will I be promised to the Heir, meaning Snotlout, once those idiots leave?" He sighed and glanced up at her, his hands clasped together.

"Maybe you could consider....saying that you choose...whoever you chose by name, not status," he murmured. "So that if there is any argument, you will have named the person you want to be with, not just 'the Heir' because hey-we know how confusing that is..." He paused. "Of course, if it all goes to plan, you won't have to marry anyone...you can continue to be the Shield Maiden you always wanted to be, Astrid." He offered a small smile, though his heart was aching at the thought. Marrying Astrid would be his dearest wish but though he loved her, he knew she didn't feel the same. That she was sitting by him now was a miracle and he savoured her smile.

"Come on," she said and patted his knee. He glanced up, perplexed.

"Um...where?" he asked. She smiled and grabbed his hand.

"I think we need to see Gobber," she told him. His emerald eyes widened comically as he stared at her.

"Okay-I guess I should apologise to him for getting killed and leaving him with a big backlog of repairs..." he shrugged but she scowled at him and rolled her eyes.

"No, mutton-head!" she scolded him. "Gobber is a canny old warrior and he can give you some guidance on dirty tricks and ploys to gain an advantage..." Grimacing, Hiccup nervously ran his hand through his hair.