THE BLACKSMITH'S APPRENTICE

AU. Hiccup never took the shot on that fateful night. Toothless was never shot down-and the war continued. Three years later, Berk is beset by dragon raids and hostile tribes while the boy who should have saved the island is merely the assistant in the forge. Replaced as Heir and with only the beautiful Shield Maiden Astrid as his friend, fate gives Hiccup one more chance to end the war and become the hero he was meant to be. Hiccstrid.

A/N: What would have happened if Hiccup missed? Or never even took the shot? Certainly, the raids would continue, the search for the Nest would continue and the teens would grow up-with Hiccup becoming more isolated… and Berk a darker and less friendly place. I am aware others have visited this AU. Here is my version…

I don't own How To Train Your Dragon. Rights remain with Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks.

One:

The horn for the Dragon attack jerked Astrid Hofferson from sleep, azure eyes snapping open and hand automatically reaching for her axe. She stamped on her boots and charged for the door of the Great Hall, where she was sleeping during the frigid night. The recent raids had damaged a lot of homes and there was no spare room for her to stay with her neighbours so she slept in the Hall with all her worldly belongings in one modest chest. Pulling her fur-lined tunic and hood on, she tossed her sleeping furs into her chest and slammed the lid as she turned and ran for the battle. She threw the doors to the Great Hall open and dashed down the long stair, waving encouragement to the mothers shepherding their young children up the winding stair to the safety of the Hall. Ducking under a fireball, the Shield Maiden threw herself into the fray, screaming as she slammed her axe into an attacking Gronckle, hearing its desperate cry as it collapsed to the earth.

"FIRE!" she yelled and the younger teens raced forward, performing the job she herself had when she was fourteen and fifteen. Now, she was a fully-fledged warrior, the winner of Dragon Training and the finest young warrior in Berk. Ducking aside, she raced with the rest of the adults towards the food stores, fighting off the dragons.

"Get those Nadders away!" came the bellow of Chief Stoick the Vast, roaring above the sounds of dragons and fire and combat. Astrid nodded, running forward with Snotlout Jorgensen and Hoark. Automatically, Astrid dodged into the dragon's blind spot, weaved from side to side and swung the axe, taking the dragon down. Beside her, she could hear Snotlout killing his foe and the rest of the village fought back. But when the dragons finally retreated, four more houses were fire-damaged, one store house was emptied and there were more casualties-though no deaths, this time. Astrid, who was supervising the fire crew as well as fighting, walked forward with the other teens and the senior warriors to take the Chief's orders.

"Four houses damaged but only two are unfit for habitation," Ack reported.

"The fourth store-house has been raided and almost everything taken," Fishlegs Ingerman added.

"No major damage elsewhere and all fires under control," Astrid added. Stoick's cool glance flicked to her and he nodded, a small look of pride in his face. The Chief had been very kind and supportive when her parents died and her house was destroyed, acting like a kindly uncle rather than the leader of the village. Of course, he couldn't replace her family entirely but he protected her as much as he could and she was very grateful to him and unyieldingly loyal.

"Astrid-organise the teens to help clean up," he commanded. "Then can you help find lodgings for those who have lost homes?"

"I'll try my best, Chief," she said firmly, "but pretty much everyone is doubling up already." He nodded, his eyes sympathetic.

"Do your best, lass," he said warmly then scanned the crowd. "Where's my Heir?"

"Here, Chief!" Snotlout said casually.

"You're with me," Stoick told him, his massive shape still straight and tall. His braided flaming red beard was grizzled now and there were more lines around his cool grey-green eyes. His fur cloak billowed as he walked and the much shorter, stockier shape of Snotlout scurried alongside, his blue eyes facing up to his Uncle. It had been inevitable that Stoick would adopt his nephew as his Heir, even though Snotlout was arrogant, mutton-headed and oblivious to anyone's feelings but his own. Casting a scornful glare at the young man, who was already whining about being tired, Astrid turned to the fire crew and faced them thoughtfully. Gustav Larson, Hilda Forfang, Else Jorgensen, Tiril Gunnarson and Yaklegs Ingerman were all fourteen or fifteen, three or four years younger than Astrid but they all looked up to her. She smiled thinly and walked back and forth along the line, seeing them smudged with ashes, tired but not hurt.

"You heard the Chief," she said. "Help the Solbergs and the Halvardsons rescue what they can from their homes and make them weatherproof and I'll see what I can to do to find beds for the Elofsons and the Dagmars."

"You can rely on us, Astrid!" Gustav Larson said, his grey eyes cheekily meeting hers. His short jet hair was styled like Snotlout's and he modelled his cockiness on the Heir as well, even imagining that he stood a chance with the Shield Maiden. As if. Suppressing a roll of the eyes, she folded her arms and stared stonily at the boy until he looked away self-consciously and headed out to his task. Sighing, she turned away to the village and stared calculatingly down the homes, trying to find a couple of families who would be willing to take in the displaced.

The sun had risen and the grey and dreary morning bathed Berk in icy drizzle as Astrid finally escorted the last of the displaced families to their new lodgings. People in Berk were generally very generous and they had made every effort to house the displaced families-which made the fact she was sleeping in the Great Hall all the harder to swallow. She forced a smile onto her face as she waved the relieved Dagmars goodbye and then turned away, flicking her braid over her left shoulder and hefting her axe across her back. She paused and then sighed: she had finished her chores and the clean-up was in full swing. With a sigh, she went to get her axe sharpened, knowing the edge had been dulled in the fight.

The forge was set to the lower end of the Plaza, a familiar location and the clang of metal on metal was sounding rhythmically from within as they dealt with the aftermath of the raid. Astrid saw a stream of vikings head to the hatch, drop off weapons that were all the single most important in the village and then stomp away, scowling and grumbling. Gobber the Belch, the blacksmith, was tossing the bent metal on the growing pile as his assistant continued to hammer another sword back into shape. The large man grinned broadly, scratching his chin with the hook that replaced his left hand and winking indiscreetly at her. Astrid smiled back because she had always gotten on well with Gobber since she had won Dragon Training back when they had been fifteen. The final had been abandoned due to a particularly disastrous raid and Astrid had slain a Monstrous Nightmare during the raid, being declared the champion without killing the penned dragon in the Arena.

"Yer axe need sharpening again, lass?" he called and she sighed.

"I can come back if you're busy," she admitted but Gobber motioned her in.

"I need ter see the Chief anyway," he said gruffly. "The lad will look after yer." And with that, he swaggered out and ambled up the hill. For a long moment, she watched him limp away and then walked confidently into the forge, her eyes fixed on the tall shape at the anvil, his back to her as he continued to pound on the sword.

The blacksmith's assistant was tall and lean with messy, tousled dark auburn hair which was sticking in tendrils to his sweat soaked neck and face. His shoulders were a little broader than would be expected from looking at the rest of him and his grubby green tunic was sticking to him as he continued to work. Finally, he laid down the hammer in his left hand and ran his dexterous fingers very gently along the reshaped blade. With a sigh, he swiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and stuck the blade back into the fire, before he turned enough to glimpse her and his emerald green eyes widened, starting in shock before a smile warmed his features. He turned to face her and nodded.

"Hi, Astrid," he said cheerfully, taking a hesitant step towards her. "How-how can I help you?"

"Hi, Hiccup," she replied, allowing herself to smile. Hiccup Haddock was her age, the son of Stoick the Vast and former Heir but after the debacle of Dragon Training, his father had finally decided that his scrawny runt of a son was never going to make the grade as a Viking Heir and had adopted his much more Viking-like nephew in Hiccup's place. The boy's aptitude at blacksmithing had meant he was formally apprenticed to Gobber and had been quietly shuffled aside and while everyone treated Snotlout as if he was Stoick's son, his real son was generally despised, ignored or-worse-intermittently bullied by his peers. And though time had meant Hiccup had finally grown, topping all his peers, he remained skinny and awkward though he did everything in his power to remain cheerful and helpful. He always smiled at Astrid and never turned her down, no matter how busy he was. He walked a little closer and she saw the pleasure in his handsome, sharp-jawed face. His quick eyes flicked to her and he smirked.

"I take it your axe needs servicing, Milady?" he asked her cheerfully. Her eyes sparkled and she nodded, unstrapping the weapon and handing it to him. No longer a runt, he hefted the familiar weapon confidently and inspected the edge keenly then sighed. "What have you been using it on?" he asked with a groan.

"Gronckles," she admitted with a small smile. "Thick hide and…" He nodded, his fingers gently stroking the edge.

"You know you're approaching your sharpening limit with this axe?" he murmured gently and her eyes widened but she nodded. She grimaced.

"Just do your best, Hiccup," she sighed. "I can't afford another…" His eyes lingered on her proud shape, the faint slump of her armoured shoulders betraying her embarrassment at the admission and his hands tightened reassuringly on the haft of her precious weapon.

"Leave it with me, Milady," he promised. "It'll be fine this time-but I'll see what I can do-what metal I can scrounge to repair it…" She stared at him: he had almost nothing. Even his room in his childhood home had been given away to the new Heir but he never faltered and here he was, trying to help her. She smiled then lunged forward, rising onto her toes to peck a brief kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Hiccup," she said in a soft voice. "That means a lot to me: I mean it!" His head dipped slightly and his faintly freckled cheeks blushed fiercely.

"Um-you're welcome. Really," he said honestly. She smiled and turned away. "I'll bring it to you," he promised as she waved farewell and headed up towards the Great Hall to get some food. Hiccup sighed as she rounded the corner and vanished.

oOo

Hiccup waited until she had vanished before he collapsed back against the wall of the forge and allowed his exhaustion to wash over him. He had been up since the middle of the night, issuing weapons, mending swords and axes and feeding the fire, working his ass off. Gobber had gone out to join the fighting, leaving his assistant to mind the shop, and when he had finally returned, he had taken over the hatch, leaving Hiccup mending everything. And there was still a huge pile to be dealt with.

He straightened up, rolling his cramped shoulders and walking tiredly to the anvil. He shoved a couple more twisted swords into the fire to soften while he reverently lifted Astrid's axe and carefully fixed it, before he started to cautiously sharpen the edge. His experienced eyes read an axe that would take maybe two more sharpenings, meaning he would have to work hard to get the metal together to build a new axe for Astrid before the axe head broke. Carefully, a small smile playing over his lips, he polished the head and the haft-just as a large shape arrived at the hatch.

"Hey!" a rough voice growled and Hiccup looked up, his face folding into a smile.

"Can I help?" he asked pleasantly as the bulky, pig-faced Viking leaned through and grabbed him.

"Where's my sword?" he snarled and for a moment, Hiccup glanced guiltily at the fire, guessing it was probably one of the ones still to be repaired.

"It's being attended to," he said quickly but the Viking wasn't listening, the sweet smell of mead wafting on his generally foul breath. Swiftly, he punched Hiccup hard, the impact slamming the young man back and impacting him into the work-table. Astrid's axe spun from the table and landed hard directly on the blade. It shattered and Hiccup stared at it in horror, blinking at the punch and breathing hard.

"I want it NOW!" the man bellowed and Hiccup stared for a long moment, gently collecting up the pieces of the shattered axe and laying them tenderly on the table. Then he quietly lifted the Viking's bent sword from the fire and stared at it.

"Here you go," he said and flung it from the hatch. The Viking's meaty fist shot forward and grabbed Hiccup's tunic, lifting the lanky young Viking from the floor.

"I want it fixed!" the man snarled, hauled him very close.

"Then put me down," Hiccup said evenly. "Or you can mend it yourself." He was expecting the punch but as he crashed to the floor, he glanced up with a defiant look. "And attacking me won't get you any help."

"I tell Gobber and he'll kick your scrawny ass!" the Viking menaced.

"Oh joy-I can barely wait," Hiccup shot back sarcastically. With a mouthful of abuse, the Viking moved off and the younger man grimaced then slowly got up, shaking his head and carefully inspecting the axe head. Being hit was something he had got used to-though it wasn't something he enjoyed. But between Vikings-who were not known for their patience, his so-called peers and a drunken mentor, he had become adept at ducking or picking himself up with a sarcastic or sassy come-back…because that was all he had. People who treated him well were few and far between, so Astrid was especially precious. He had nursed a secret and completely unrequited crush on her since he was about ten-but as a beautiful, brave, fierce, accomplished young woman, she was so far out of his reach that he just treasured every time she spoke to him…because it was the closest he would ever get to being her boyfriend. Even with the death of her family and her impoverishment, she was still respected and he knew she would marry well…or not at all, as a Shield Maiden. But she was always kind to him…so he knew he couldn't go to her and tell her that he had let her axe be destroyed, no matter how accidentally…because that would lose him the only person he counted as a friend.

Gently, he lifted the largest piece of her axe and stared at it with a shuddering breath. It had been his finest work, created when he was about ten and recently apprenticed with Gobber. In fact, the blacksmith had overseen his efforts in creating the magnificent axe for the girl of his dreams-though she had never known he was the creator. Now he was eight years older and more skilled-and he couldn't fail her, no matter how difficult it may be. With a sudden burst of determination, he made a mould and found a crucible, then unbound the remains of the axe head from the haft and put in the pieces of the axe head, locating some high quality iron and adding it to the mix. Carefully putting it on the fire, he pumped the bellows and watched the metal soften and blur, brows furrowed as he concentrated on the design that Astrid had carved into her beloved axe. Quietly, he turned back to the red-hot swords as the metal slowly melted, occasionally pumping the bellows to boost the fire between hammering the bent and twisted swords straight once more.

His stomach was growling with hunger and his head thumping with a headache from dehydration but he ignored the pain, pushing on and pouring the melted iron into the mould, carefully laying it aside to cool and turning to mend a few more weapons. Finally, exhausted, he broke off as dusk fell and headed up to the Great Hall to snatch a bite. He hadn't eaten since the previous evening and he was feeling lightheaded-but he knew the axe-head would be cooled enough for him to start to shape and temper it soon. Carefully shutting up the shop and banking the forge, he headed up the long stair and pulled the large doors open, absently sliding through and dragging his grimy and exhausted shape up to grab a plate of yak meat and bread and sitting in the furthest corner, sipping his cup of water and desperately cramming in his food. He could feel eyes on him and guessed, with a sinking feeling, that he wouldn't get a quiet meal.

His plate was nearly cleaned when the ugly Viking from earlier lumbered up-with an angry-looking Gobber alongside. The big blacksmith's piercing blue eyes were slightly hazed from mead and he was scowling at his assistant. Recognising the signs, the younger man continued eating quietly until his mentor shoved Hiccup's shoulder as he sat at the table.

"What're yer doing here?" the two-limbed blacksmith demanded, his words slightly slurred and his accent thicker. Hiccup swallowed his mouthful and stared up, green eyes defensive.

"Eating," he explained truthfully. "I've been in the forge all day and most of last night and I needed to eat something!"

"There are still weapons ter be fixed!" Gobber told him shortly.

"And they can wait," Hiccup replied evenly. "There's only one of me and I am about to fall over. I need some food and then I'll head back and…"

"And what do yer think yer doin', cheeking me customers?" Gobber growled. Hiccup's eyes drifted treacherously to the smug man beside his mentor. "Yeah-I see yer recognise Boarface…"

"Really? Honestly, I thought this village had plumbed the depths of naming but naming that guy that name…harsh!" he commented. Boarface the Unpleasant twisted his unfortunately- and very aptly-named features into a furious scowl as Gobber didn't hesitate and slapped the young man hard across the face.

There was a sudden silence in the hall as every eye fell on the blacksmith at the echo of the blow. Hiccup stared at him in utter shock, green eyes wide with a look almost of betrayal.

"Yer don't insult my customers and you mend every damned weapon in order!" he ordered his assistant.

"Why? You don't!" Hiccup retorted. Gobber's second slap was even harder and Hiccup felt as if his cheek was on fire.

"It's my shop and I can do what I want!" the blacksmith roared at him.

"As the only person in there actually working, I was in charge and when he grabbed me and said he wanted his weapon back, all I did was give it to him," Hiccup replied, his scarlet cheek obvious. Gobber slapped him again and his head snapped round, a flinch of pain flashing over his features.

"Yer a disgrace!" Gobber condemned him and he gave a shuddering sigh.

"Yeah, so not news," he retorted. "Hey, I've been disowned by my Dad and family-are you gonna join the crowd?" Gobber leaned close.

"Get back to work or I'll throw yer out!" he snapped and with one final betrayed look, Hiccup slowly got to his feet. His knees wobbled a bit from the impacts that had only worsened his headache but he crammed the last mouthful of his dinner in and turned away without another word. Gobber grabbed his arm roughly. "Aren't yer forgettin' something?" he asked and jerked Hiccup back, shoving the twisted sword into his hand. "Mend that or Gods help you!" he threatened and Hiccup turned away, wordlessly staring ahead and trying to ignore the looks of contempt and disgust at his very public dressing-down. He really wouldn't have been more harshly treated if he had been a thrall-which is what he felt like, most of the time. The hubbub of voices immediately restarted as he reached the door and he stared at the wood, then pulled it open and slipped out before he said something he knew he would regret. It was only once he was out in the cold night, the frost already edging the grass and turning his breath into clouds, that he allowed himself to gently touch his cheek. It was already swelling and he knew the bruise would be obvious the next morning. And though he was no stranger to bruises, this was a much more obvious mark of shame.

Not that anyone cares, he thought bitterly. My Dad moved me out once he decided I couldn't be the son he wanted and from that day on, everyone feels they can treat me like a slave. Some days, I wish he'd let that Monstrous Nightmare kill me…

But he took a shuddering breath and continued his aching way down the stairs and back to the forge. At least he knew Gobber would be in the Hall for the rest of the night, drinking mead and bemoaning his useless apprentice-so Hiccup would have ample time to finish Astrid's axe.