The Blacksmith's Apprentice

Eleven: You Can Only Try

Eleven: You Can Only Try

The clean-up over the next few days after the raid had not been as bad as usual but Hiccup had felt immensely guilty for landing Gobber with all the work on his own-even though the blacksmith had reminded the young man that he had been mending the village's weapons since long before Hiccup was born. But the implication to the young man-that he was currently useless-had meant he had helped as best he could with general labouring in the clean-up...to scant thanks and generous casual abuse. Dejected, he had returned to the forge, pumping the bellows, fetching and carrying and manning the hatch. And feeling even more worthless than he had when he was disowned.

Gobber had tried to cheer the lad up but Hiccup had been quiet for most of the time, answering with grunts and the occasional nod, completely unlike his cheerful and optimistic self. Finally, Gobber had sat him down at the back of the forge as they rested towards lunchtime and stared at him.

"Spit it out, laddie," he had urged the young man and Hiccup had sighed.

"I don't belong here," he said slowly. Gobber gaped.

"What?" he spluttered. "But this is yer home, Hiccup! Yer a Hooligan, the son of the Chief and..."

"No, I'm not," the young man said heavily. "I was disowned by my father and thrown out of my family. My Tribe treats me like dirt and mostly like a thrall. Now I'm not even able to help you with the same things I have done for years. I am just...worthless."

"That's yak dung, laddie, and yer know it!" Gobber scolded him but he shook his head wearily.

"Then what has happened to Snot and the twins?" he asked softly. "I was attacked for doing nothing but the task the Chief set me-and I was almost killed. But the people who attacked me just walk around with no censure. So either I am worthless and not worthy of justice or the Chief doesn't want to face the problem and is just ignoring it." Gobber gaped. It was a bold statement for a young man who had maintained his positive front for years. "And you know, when I was facing Thuggory, he even said he was proud of me...but it was clearly a lie." He shook his head. "I'm still his embarrassment of a former son." Gobber fished out his flask of mead and pressed it into Hiccup's hand. The young man raised an eyebrow.

"You know that doesn't solve anything," he pointed out.

"It does fer a few minutes," Gobber commented.

"And after that, my hand is still broken and I can't smith," Hiccup sighed, taking a small sip. It was Gobber's own home brew, which meant it was very rough and very alcoholic. Gobber nodded.

"Only fer a few weeks," the older man reassured him. "Then yer'll be back tae yer told self..." He paused. "But in the mean time, yer could clean out the back and sort through that junk. Maybe yer could find something that could be recycled or useful. Maybe..." He couldn't bring himself to say it. Maybe even one of yer crazy and dangerous contraptions? But Hiccup nodded absently.

"Okay," he sighed. "But can't guarantee I'm gonna find the answer to all your problems..."

I think I'm already looking at him, Gobber thought as he wearily levered himself up and headed it back.

Once the sounds of clanging and really bad singing were filling the forge once more, Hiccup began to poke around the back of the forge. No one had cleared this area for years, merely adding more stuff haphazardly to the pile. Of course, it was once Hiccup's job but since he had effectively become the blacksmith, he had spent most of his time repairing and making weapons and the rest avoiding Snotlout and just...surviving. It had been almost three years since he had looked at the pile-including his inventions. And about the same amount of time since he had invented, in no part due to Gobber's...discouragement. He sighed. The part of Hiccup that had been the inventor had been shouted at, beaten, ridiculed and had finally given up-not because it didn't exist but because it was safer and less painful not to allow it any consideration.