Dust tickled her nose, and Astrid sneezed. Gobber told her to get inside the forge and she'd done it. She had no idea why she was there, but hoped she was getting a weapon. She wanted an axe of her own. She was ten and it wasn't impossible—improbable, but not impossible.
Away from the hatch it was dim, within the only real light coming from the forge and a large oven. The surfaces wore a fine layer of grit, and the acrid smell of coal hung in the air. Maces hung from the ceiling, several barrels held spears and staves, and custom-made racks supported hammers and axes. Sharpened
blades—longswords, short swords, and daggers—surrounded her, while bows occupied the walls.
She had never seen such a lethal room in her life.
"Astrid." She startled; Hiccup appeared and held out an apron. "Put this on." When she didn't move, Hiccup gestured to the battered one he wore, and stated, "You have to wear an apron here. It's one of the rules for being inside the forge." She accepted it and tied it on, only to have him undo the knot and recasted it to his satisfaction. "There. That's secure." Hiccup pointed to a corner. "I put your stool there. It's the safest place in the smithy, so you can watch things without getting hurt or having to stand." She sat. Huccup looked determined, and she hadn't won the apron argument, so she'd do what he wanted, for now.
"Are you done bossing me around?" She teased him, and he flushed.
"There's rules for being in the forge. It can be dangerous if you're not used to it, and if I didn't let you know, Gobber would kill me. The stool-in-the-corner thing is his idea."
"Fine, I won't bug you about it. Don't get pushy, though—I'm good at fighting and this place is full of weapons."
"Okay, okay." He paused. "So, why are you inside?"
Good question. "I don't know. Gobber told me to come in."
"What does your dad need from Gobber?"
"I don't know that, either. He didn't tell me."
Hiccup looked at the hatch. "It doesn't look like they're done. Gobber can talk all morning and he's brought out the mead. Great—now we both get to do nothing."
"You've got work to do, like sharpening stuff and doing chores, right?"
"Nope. Gobber told me to stop what I was doing. Until he tells me 'back ta work, laddie,' I have to wait around."
"Oh." It was a good Gobber impression; for a walking freckle, Hiccup was funny. "Can't you do anything?"
"I drew water, brought coal, hung up Gobber's hands, and checked the scrap stockpile. He lowered his voice. "Watch. Once he stops talking to your dad, Gobber will say, 'Hiccup, why aren't you working? You haveta do your tasks, not laze about. Get on with it.' Then he mutters about irresponsible apprentices not getting the job done."
"Does he tell you the same stuff over and over?" Astrid's mother did.
"Oh, yeah. It's never anything good, either. 'You took long enough. Get moving, the day doesn't last forever.'"
"Does he say it when he doesn't need to?"
"Yeah, like I'm gonna forget things he's told me for years."
"I get it. My mom does the same thing. It's like an occasional 'good job' kills her. Instead, I get 'Take some notice.' That's fun to hear."
"Gobber has a lot of those sayings. What about your mom?"
"She's got a ton. It's like she doesn't know any other words."
"I guarantee you, Gobber has more of those phrases than anyone on the island."
"Not more than my mom. Freya's cats, it's annoying."
"Are you sure?" Hiccup's expression held a challenge.
"What?"
"Prove it." He adopted a brogue. 'Pay attention to yer work.'"
Aha. Game on, Hiccup.
"'Heed me, Astrid.'"
"'Ye need to listen.'"
"'Concentrate, child.'"
"'Focus, Hiccup.'" She'd sped up her answers, but he matched her pace.
"'Don't dawdle.'"
"'Get yer head out of the clouds.'"
"'Mind your tongue.'"
"'Stop yakking.'"
"'Daughter, sit still." She had a fist on her hip.
"'They're weapons, not toys.'" He deepened the accent, and she knew if she laughed, he'd win.
"'You're too impatient."
"'Quit your foolishness.'" His voice was curt.
"'You know better.'"
"'Yer mind wandered off.'" He thrust out his chin.
"'Ri-dic-ulous girl." She gave a long, irritated frown.
"'Why are ye my apprentice?'" Hiccup looked upward and rolled his eyes, and Astrid held back a laugh.
"'What were you thinking?'" She crossed her arms and looked exasperated.
"Ye're not even trying.'"
"'Have some sense.'" She was out and he knew it. Well, Hiccup?
He folded his arms, adopted an annoyed expression, and raised his brows.
"'I'm not gonna be the one to explain to yer father when ye come down with a serious case of dead.'"
Astrid released a giggle and Hiccup snickered. She lost, but Hiccup had beaten her twice, and she wasn't going to be a poor sport.
"Did Gobber really say that?" She whispered.
"Aye, lass, that he did." It was a perfect impression, down to the burr, and she wondered if he could imitate his dad. "I hear it in my sleep. Hey." His face lit up. "I can show you around the forge. You can see the weapons and handle some. I've watched you train—you're amazing with your shield—and if Gobber complains, I'll say you want a new weapon."
"Make it an axe."
"Do you have any ideas?"
"I know what I want. I'll have it picked out in three minutes."
"There's a lot to choose from, Astrid. Are you certain?" Hiccup gave her a sly smile, and she returned a wolfish grin.
"Is that a challenge?"