The Blacksmith's Apprentice

Twenty Eight: The Deal

Twenty Eight: The Deal

"I want you to become the Heir to Berk once more."

Hiccup stared, wide-eyed, at the huge form of Stoick the Vast, the Chief of Berk and his father as he announced the decision he had almost certainly bludgeoned through the Council of Elders. The Chief was looking proud and satisfied with his words, a confident smile filling his big face. His massive braided red beard moved as he spoke and then he looked expectantly at the young man before him, awaiting his answer. He could hear the slight squeak of leather as Astrid moved beside him and her fingers curled around his, sensing his reticence.

"Come on, boy!" Spitelout scowled at him, his pallid blue eyes narrow. "It's not that difficult a question!"

"Really?" Hiccup asked him sharply. "Isn't it?"

"No-all you have to do is accept and become the Heir once more!" Spitelout growled.

"Are you sure?" Hiccup asked pointedly, waving his arm in the direction of the doors. "Because there was almost a riot out there when they were even discussing who may be the new Heir. Mildew has managed to persuade them that I am still the useless, destructive, hopeless boy you disowned. I think you may find that they don't want me!"

"And they can't have Snotlout," Stoick mused as Spitelout scowled even more.

"Actually, only Mildew wanted him-the rest were very unenthusiastic," Astrid revealed, earning herself an even colder glare from the exiled boy's father.

"And why would I want to step forward when I'm not wanted either, Dad?" Hiccup asked him directly, his emerald eyes candid. "I'm the same person a few months ago who was completely despised and abused by the entire village-except Astrid. I'm not any stronger or braver or anything."

"But you have proven yourself..." Silent Sven began and Hiccup focussed his glare on him.

"Really? I fought to save the woman I love from being handed over like a thrall to the Meatheads," Hiccup told him sharply. "My reward was being almost killed by your Heir-an attack that was never properly acknowledged. He and his cronies continued to hound me and Astrid until...well, the attack on her."

"You rescued the lass from a dragon," Ulric the Wide offered. He was a very round Viking with a flamboyant helmet with five horns on each side.

"Really? Mildew has them all disbelieving that as well," Hiccup said. Then he turned his gaze on his father. "No one has spoken to them. No one has countered what he has said. No one has apologised. And everyone believes what Snotlout said."

"Hiccup-the Tribe needs an Heir-and there is no one else," Stoick told him sternly. "You are my son and I am proud how you have developed. Of how you protected Astrid and the Tribe. Of how you faced Thuggory and Dagur like a true Heir." He paused and took a deep breath. "We were wrong. I was wrong, son. I shouldn't have let them persuade me. I shouldn't have removed you as Heir. I should never have disowned you and hurt you. I could not be more proud." He took a few paces forward. "Forgive me, son?"

Hiccup stared at him, seeing genuine desire to apologise. Memories flooded back of when he was very small, when his father had still liked him and harboured hopes that his only child would grow and fulfil has father's proud expectations. For a second, he saw Stoick grinning, hugging him, reading him stories, looking after him when he was ill...but the images were superimposed on later images of the disappointed visage of his father, of the man turning away from him, of Stoick chewing him out in front of the entire village...of the horrific day when he was disowned...

"You hurt me more than I thought was possible, Dad," he said in a pained voice.

"Son..." Stoick asked but his son took a pace forward.