Hiccup was waiting.
Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third was waiting for a lot of things: to grow stronger, to be allowed out on the battlefield, to kill a dragon, to shoot down a Night Fury, to finally be allowed out of that damn forge…
Oh, don't misunderstand him.
He loved Gobber. He loved his mentor, and the smells, sights and sounds: the metal grinding against the stone, the smell of burnt wood, the heat of the fire on his back, uncomfortably hot even through his apron.
And sometimes he would have the sheer luck to be alone in the forge when Astrid wanted her axe sharpened, and they'd end up talking.
Those days, he was on cloud nine, presumably because Gobber wasn't there to embarrass him.
That was another thing he was waiting for: the guts to finally tell Astrid how he felt.
They weren't on very friendly terms at all. Their mothers had been friends, and then both of their mothers had died.
Astrid had comforted Hiccup at the funeral.
He still remembered her warm hands on his back. "You'll be okay, Hiccup…"
The tears had been so hot on his face.
Hiccup was waiting for the day when he did something he finally felt his mother would be proud of.
He knew she would be looking down with such affection in her eyes, and he wanted to do something to please her.
And so he waited.
Hiccup was waiting for another thing: when his father would finally look at him.
And not look at him the way the rest of the village did, as the village screw-up, just an interesting sideshow that could easily be laughed off when he hadn't caused too much trouble.
He wanted his father to look at him and see someone he loved, not someone with whom he was constantly disappointed.
And so he waited, ever so patiently.
But sometimes even he grew impatient.