The Blacksmith's Apprentice

Nine: Nothing

Nine: Nothing

Astrid registered voices as she prepared for bed, her door barred against any intruder or dragon. In the privacy of her home, her hair was loose and unbraided, brushed out and hanging over her shoulders. She had shed her armour and boots but was still clothed-because it was a cold night and Viking houses didn't keep all the draughts out. She stiffened, hearing the echoes of familiar voices as they walked past her house and she moved silently to the door, listening.

"Did you see his face?" Ruff sneered.

"What was left of it," her twin sniggered.

"Useless won't forget his place now," Snotlout scoffed. "Not that he has anything left to call his own. Did you get everything?"

"Yes, Snotboss," Tuff said cheerily. "It all went in the fire. When he finally gets back-he'll find nothing."

"Great," Snotlout purred. "No one will imagine that wretch in rags is anything other than a worthless thrall. And he'll never sass me again. How could anyone think he could be the Heir? Now come on-I wonder if there's any mutton left?"

Astrid remained silent as they moved away-and then she burst into action, racing to braid her hair and cram her Kransen back on, before stamping into her boots and grabbing a sleeping fur as a cloak. Snatching her axe, she lit a torch and emerged into the freezing night, the air so cold her face felt as if she had been slapped. She closed the door to her home, then headed down the Plaza towards the forge. She could have been mistaken, could have misheard-so she ought to check that Hiccup wasn't safely asleep first. But when she ducked into the forge, there was no sign of the lean shape either in the main forge or in his workshop...but as she looked, she found his belongings had been torn to pieces, his journal ripped up, his sleeping furs fouled and his clothes...missing. She spun on her heel and walked to the fire, a horrible feeling bubbling in her stomach. And as she expected, the remains of his new and old clothes were poking out of the fire, the flames much higher from the material they had already burnt.

Her jaw tightened in rage, knowing how little he had to call his own-and angered beyond reason that even that had been destroyed. But her worry worsened as she wondered where Hiccup was. She emerged and stared at the ground, seeing a line of steps on the frosty grass-until they were suddenly obscured by another two sets of footsteps-that led to the back of the forge. She grasped her axe tighter and raised her torch-but there was no sign of anyone.

She narrowed her eyes. She had been taught tracking skills by her father and she was persistent and stubborn so she swept her gaze and saw the obvious trail on the frosted grass, heading beyond the houses and towards the cliffs. Her eyes widened.

"Dear Odin-please, no..." she breathed, unable to bear the thought that Hiccup-kind, brave, sarcastic Hiccup who loved her without any expectation-had been thrown to his death. But Snotlout's words indicated that he expected Hiccup to return and be broken by what Snotlout had done to him. And she hated herself praying for Snotlout's cowardice and cruelty to spare her friend. But as she advanced, she lifted the torch higher and there, right on the edge of the cliffs was sprawled a pale shape, motionless. Breath freezing in her throat, she dashed forward as the torch lit up tousled auburn hair, two tiny braids poking jauntily up from behind his right ear.

"Hiccup," she breathed, frozen with horror. He had been badly beaten, his face swollen with welts, lips split and mouth bloody. His hair was wild and there was blood clotted in the soft auburn locks. She gently knelt by him, seeing his red tunic torn to shreds and cut apart in places, shallow slices on his skin marking where a careless hand had cut his tunic away with scant concern for the body beneath. His torso was marked with black bruises over his chest and stomach and a hand was swollen from where someone had stamped on it. She gasped and covered her mouth, before whipping her cloak off and wrapping it around his limp, unconscious shape.