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Stoick investigates a complaint against Gobber, and finds something he never imagined. |
AN: This is a work of fan fiction based on How to Train Your Dragon. The rights to How to Train Your Dragon remain with Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks. Only the plot is mine. Iâm sorry, but itâs true. § § § Stoick the Vast scowled, exasperated; the people on Berk were driving him mad. Rising early, he sacrificed time with his seven-year-old son, Hiccup, hoping to accomplish something worthwhile. Stoick took his responsibilities as Chief seriously; his priorities were feeding, protecting, and prospering the tribe. The people of Berk understood and expected this diligence in their chief. Fewer realized he duty was to run the tribe, and he was beleaguered by people expecting him to respond to everything. Stoickâs duties didnât include controlling the weather, improving ale quality, or listening to accounts of mermaid sightings. Then there were the chronic complainers. When Hoark arrived, bellyaching that the forge hadnât opened, he told the man to talk to Gobber the blacksmith. Dissatisfied with the answer, Hoark accused his chief of unfairness. âThe forge is run by your best friend, and his apprentice is your son. Heâs in the wrong, not opening today.â Hoark leaned forward, pitching his voice to carry. âIâve come here with a legitimate problem, and you ignore me. You clearly favor Gobber in this.â Now Stoick was trampling down undergrowth, his massive frame breaking through the trees as their branches tried to tangle themselves in his beard. Stoick wished he could laugh off the claim, but people had heard and he couldnât let that rumor spread. Hoark may be insufferable, but he knew how to manipulate people. He let his irritation subside as he spotted the rear wall of the forge. The smithy was where he could find his boy Hiccup. If he resolved this mess quickly, there would be time to visit with Gobber and his son. The closed building allowed him a momentâs peace and Gobber would be happy to let him stay awhile. Thor help him, he needed the break. As Stoick reached for the door, it opened, and Gobber gestured him inside. The one-armed smith said, âMorning, Stoick; Iâve been expecting you. Hoark came grumbling, did he?â âYes, Gobber, Hoark caught me and insisted I speak with you. He said you were practicing ââmistreatment of a citizen and fellow member of the tribe.ââ Stoick grimaced. âHe accused me of taking your side because of our friendship.â âAye, and backed you into a corner.â Gobber rolled his eyes. âWell, itâs a simple enough answer. Iâm working on something with Hiccup this morning, and we canât be interrupted. Thereâs nothing urgent waiting, Stoick, and Iâm not letting Hiccup getting hurt more than necessary.â âI prefer an uninjured son,â Stoick said dryly, âbut I need to know more than that. What are you doing with Hiccup?â âI need to teach him how to handle molten metal. This is his first time learning the steps, and the lad will have questions. He needs to focus. I canât be waiting on customers and do this.â âYou plan to let him pour molten metal? Heâs only seven, Gobber—heâs too young for that.â Gobber gave him a exasperated look, and Stoick waited for it, the same words Gobber always used. Look, Stoick, Iâm not... â...going to kill your son. You have to trust me and stop worrying so much.â To Stoickâs relief, Gobber said, âBesides, Iâm not letting him pour metal, just showing him what to do and how to do it. For the next few weeks, Iâll pound those steps into his head. The lad will be tired of reciting them within days.â Stoick glanced around the shop. âWhere is Hiccup, Gobber? I have not seen him yet, and I hoped to talk to him.â Usually, his son was eager to see Stoick, rushing forward to greet him and tell his father everythingâwhat he was doing and seeing and discovering at his job. Apprenticing Hiccup to Gobber steadied his boy, and Hiccup took his work seriously, but his mouth still moved faster than a river. âOh, heâs fine. Come see for yourself. â Gobber hobbled to the back room and Stoick followed. He entered and found Hiccup sitting, his head bent downwards. A lone tear track glistened on his cheek, and his arms clutched his sides. âHeâs fine, Gobber? Look at the state heâs in. The boyâs a mess and I would know why.â âStoick, relax a bit. Talk to the lad yourself; thereâs nothing wrong with him.â Gobber was insistent, and he chided himself. Gobber loved Hiccup almost as much as Stoick did. His boy would be fine. He addressed his son. âHello, son. I stopped by to see Gobber.â Stoick paused. âWhy are you upset?â âDad...I canât tell you.â His small frame trembled and he choked out, âAsk Gobber...please, ask Gobber.â Puzzled and a little alarmed, Stoick turned to his friend. âGobber, heâs a wreck. He will not talk to me, and he never stops talking. If you might explain this,â Stoick rumbled, âI would be happier. Gobber grinned at his Chief. âHiccupâs right when he says he canât talk to you. If I were him, I couldnât either. C'mon, I want to show you something.â Gobber led him outside, to the front of the forge. Gobberâs wall was in place. It was composed of split, planed logs nailed into a solid piece. Gobber made a new mold to make the nails for it thicker and longer; as incentive, he provided the carpenters with twenty extra pounds of these for their own use, and free axe maintenance for six months. The carpenters built the wall long, wide, and thick enough to block the entire hatch, and Stoick believed it could withstand anything up to concentrated dragon fire. When it was in place, the forge was closed and Gobber would not open for anyone. Today, it hadnât been enough to satisfy Hoark. While Hoark sought his Chief, Gobber found his own solution. Stoick stared at the once-blank wall; reading the large block runes, he marveled at his friendâs audacity. Gobberâs list of rules: 1. If the forge is closed, go away. 2. If you yell or bang, Gobber will ignore you. 3. More yelling and banging means your weapon goes to the bottom of the pile. 4. If you donât like this, leave Berk and see another smith. 5. No using the forge to fix it yourself. 6. Complaining to Stoick will piss him off. But you can try. As it all sank in, Stoick almost erupted in laughter. Hoark had a great amount of misery in his future. The forge was in the plaza, and the tale would spread quickly. Gossip was Berkâs largest source of entertainment, and Hoarkâs idiocy was an irresistible cause for talk. Gobberâs common sense and good nature made him popular; the retaliation on Gobberâs behalf promised to be swift, thorough, and painful. The girls in the Meade hall would spill his ale, the women would gossip and criticize loudly, and their husbands would avoid him. He would be a laughingstock. The Chief of Berk could stand back and watch the uproar. The results of this would be spectacular, unforgettable, and all Hoarkâs fault. Gobber looked at Stoickâs struggle to remain dignified and grinned. âGet inside before you explode, Stoick. You can laugh there.â Stoick managed to get inside and shut the door. He restrained himself for an instant, before seeing Gobberâs twinkling eyes. His friendâs merriment broke Stoickâs control and the serious, hard-working Chief of Berk abandoned all decorum. Deep belly laughs echoed through the forge, as Gobber guffawed and snorted behind him. Hearing his friend give over to the mirth made him laugh harder. Stoick felt like he would never stop. Framed in the doorway, Stoick spotted a giggling Hiccup, and understood why Gobber wasnât concerned about his son. Hiccup had read the rules. He was convulsing with laughter, and could barely breathe, never mind talk. His son, who wanted to excel as an apprentice, who worked to learn every task, and who focused on getting things just right at the forge, was having his most unserious moment in months. Stoickâs incessant roaring infected the boy, and the giggles turned into whooping at his father. This was priceless; the two Haddocks, father and son, collapsed in uncontrollable laughter. âDad,â Hiccup choked out, âGobber said...said I had to res...respect the adults...â Hiccup lost control, finally getting out, âeven when they...they have...â Hiccup surrendered to more laughter, unable to finish. Stoick looked at Gobber, questioning. Gobberâs eyes twinkled. âDonât laugh in front of the adults. You have to respect them, even when they havenât the brains of a chicken.â Stoick had no idea how long he held his belly and roared, but Hiccup and Gobber were no calmer. He found it helped to turn his back on the others: looking at them only set him off again. Finally, Stoick regained enough composure to speak again. He felt as if a great weight had been removed from his back. His duties, his responsibilities, and all his frustrations drained away, and Stoick realized he was happy. He presided over glad eventsâ weddings, baby namings, harvest celebrationsâ but none of them were solely for him. He felt pleased for others or with others, but for himself...no. Not until now. Stoick recognized he was more than happy; here with his son and his best friend, there was camaraderie. Gobber chortled now, refusing to stop until the laughter ran out. The rafters shook hard enough to dislodge dirt and coal dust, and Stoick wore a coating of both. Hiccup had developed, well, hiccups from the hilarity. His son, wiping away tears with grimy hands, radiated a delight equal to his fatherâs. Stoick realized this moment was unique. He and Hiccup shared a rapport they never knew before. This idiocy of Hoarkâs provided a time where they were united in dereliction of duty, and it was so glorious that Stoick wanted it to continue. An idea struck him, and he turned to Gobber, mischief on his face. âGobber, is there any chance you will let Hiccup go? I think his concentration is lost to you.â Gobber looked at Stoick and remarked, âWell, Stoick, youâre right. Teaching him anything today is useless, so Iâm willing to let the lad off. Did you have plans for him?â Hiccup watched the two men as Stoick said, âI need to teach Hiccup some woodsmanship. Fishing, building campfires, making snares, if heâs interested.â Hiccupâs eyes widened. Stoick continued, âSpitelout can see to the village. Heâs taken time for his son before, and he will not object. My brother dislikes Hoark as much as we do. Watching that ass get a comeuppance, wellâI am giving Spitelout a gift, Gobber.â Then he added, âBesides, I cannot look at Hoark and stay serious. Itâs impossible.â Gobber snorted. âThen go. Iâll let you know what happens later.â âTell me tomorrow, Gobber. Right now, I have other things to do.â He turned to Hiccup. âWell, what do you think? Should I take a day off from Chiefing?â He saw the look on his sonâs face transform from shock to wonder. Stoick had little spare time to give Hiccup. Being the Chief never stopped. Hiccup was disappointed but understood, most of the time. Today, he would spend the rest of the day with his dad, skipping work together to learn how to live outdoors; his father, the Chief, was shirking for him. âYes, Dad. Please.â âGood. You wash off the smudges, and when I finish talking to Uncle Spitelout, we can set out. But,â Stoick eyed Hiccup seriously, âwe are not having fun. Being Chief is a great responsibility, and this is training, Hiccup. Remember, these skills will help you when, â Stoick grinned, â you need to escape those who have not the brains of a chicken.â Once again, the forge rang with laughter. |