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Gobber arrived at the forge early one chilly morning to find Hiccup already there. He stood at the anvil, apron on, hammering away at a thin metal rod, brows furrowed in concentration. His dragon curled up by his feet like a great, scaly black cat, its large lichen eyes watching every move its human made with a kind of gentle curiosity that tugged at Gobber’s heart in a way he’d never thought possible. Dragons and Vikings, living in harmony. Who would’ve believed it?
Gobber also noticed that Hiccup favored his right leg this morning. That wasn’t unusual in and of itself; it had only been a couple of months since he’d lost the leg, just below the knee. Getting used to a peg leg was tricky business — learning how to balance instead of just tipping forward or backward, redistributing your weight as you tried to adjust to your new stance and gait, dealing with all the pressure and pain in your back and hips and the way your stump, especially one still so new and tender, pressed against the false leg and set your nerves alight with pain… Gobber still had bad days on his peg leg, and he sure as Hel wouldn’t want to go back to those early days.
No, it wasn’t just the way his apprentice leaned heavily on his right leg that made Gobber pause. He found himself more concerned with the fact that Hiccup had come to the workshop at first light instead of taking to the sky on his beloved Night Fury.
Gobber voiced none of his questions or concerns, however, and merely grunted, “Mornin’. You’re here early.”
“Yep.”
Okay, so something was definitely bothering Hiccup. One-word responses from Hiccup, Gobber had learned over the years looking after the lad, were an omen of doom and woe, maybe even portents of Ragnarok itself. But he also knew from past experience that trying to pry answers out of a stewing Hiccup was akin to wrestling a tusk from a wild boar. You had to approach him cautiously, skirt around the issue, not let the boy know that you suspected anything amiss, and then slowly coax it out of him.
“Workin’ on anything in particular?” he asked as he clumped his way over to the forge, already lit and crackling merrily.
“Had an idea for Toothless’s tail. Drew up the plans last night.”
“Couldn’t sleep, eh?”
Hiccup shrugged. “I slept a little.”
Gobber didn’t speak for a long moment. He just stood and listened to the village wake up around him — the creaks of wagon wheels, the gentle murmur of voices mingling with the growls and squawks and snorts of dragons, chickens cooing and the slosh of water spilling over the side of a bucket, the crunch of a crust of fresh bread breaking. Hiccup seemed to be listening too; at any rate, he stopped his banging and eyed Gobber with a tentative expression.
Finally, Gobber spoke: “Nice mornin’ for flyin’, I suppose.”
Hiccup averted his eyes and resumed his work. “Yeah.”
Back to one word. Wonderful.
“You thinkin’ of takin’ to the skies anytime soon? What time do you have to be at the Academy?”
Hiccup started at the question and Gobber narrowed his eyes — next to flying, the boy loved running the Dragon Academy more than anything. If that responsibility had slipped his mind, he must really be in a bad way.
“Uh. An hour or so? I’ve got time.”
“And what about flyin’ Toothless?”
“I will… I just, uh…” Hiccup paused to swipe his arm across his sweaty forehead.
“You didn’t happen to want to talk to me about somethin’, did you lad?”
Gobber got his answer when Hiccup’s face, already flushed from exertion and the heat of the forge, turned red enough to match his hair. “Nothing comes to mind,” Hiccup answered stiffly. At his feet, Toothless crooned.
“Seems your dragon doesn’t believe that either, Hiccup. So. What’s on your mind?”
Gobber saw the conflict brewing in Hiccup’s eyes, saw him consider lying, brushing off his questions, slinking out with his tail between his legs. But then he saw the resignation take over and knew he was about to get his answer.
Hiccup limped over to the closest chair and collapsed into it. Toothless rose and padded over to him, once more curling around his feet, protecting. Gobber resisted the very real urge to fill the uneasy silence with idle chatter and waited.
His patience paid off when Hiccup stammered, “Did you… I mean, when you—” He broke off, looking very pointedly between Gobber’s peg leg and hook hand. “I mean, did it, you know, hurt?”
For a moment, Gobber stared, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding me, right, Hiccup?” he guffawed. “‘Did it hurt?’ Did hurt when a great scaly monster bit off my limbs and ate them for breakfast? — no offense,” he tacked on for Toothless’s benefit. Toothless just yawned. Apparently the dragon had no issue with Gobber calling his kin monsters.
Hiccup’s face turned an even deeper red. “That’s not what I — oh, never mind. Forget it, this is stupid.”
Gobber forced himself to stop chuckling and stopped Hiccup from rising with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “I’m sorry I laughed, lad. I know you know it hurts.” A beat. “Hurting more than usual lately?”
Hiccup nodded, but his gaze roved a thousand miles away. So it wasn’t the physical pain that had him all knotted up, then.
“Are you missin’ your leg?” Gobber asked softly.
Tears welled up in Hiccup’s eyes and he angrily swiped them away. “It’s… been hurting so much lately. Like, my, my stump, yes, but also —” Hiccup faltered, clutching at his heart like he wanted to rip it out of his chest. He heaved a deep, shaky breath. “This is so stupid. I shouldn’t — shouldn’t be feeling this way. It shouldn’t make me hurt so much, shouldn’t feel like I’ve, like I’ve lost a friend or something.” He laughed, a high-pitched and frantic sound that set Gobber’s nerves on edge. Toothless cooed worriedly.
Gobber didn’t say anything for a long moment, and when he did speak, he didn’t tell Hiccup that what he felt was wrong. He simply asked, “And why do you think you shouldn’t be grieving your leg? The leg that was a part of you that you lost?”
Hiccup’s mouth opened but he didn’t speak. He just stared at Gobber like he’d never seen him before. “Grieving?” he finally asked in a small voice.
Keeping his tone purposefully light, Gobber shrugged and said, “Well, yeah. You lost a part of yourself, lad. No peg leg, no matter how fancy, is gonna ever be able to replace that. Just like you grieved your grandad when he died, you’ve gotta grieve your lost limb “
Hiccup murmured, as if in a trance, “Mourn my leg… like I mourned Old Wrinkly?” Hiccup had been such a wee one, just seven winters old, when his beloved grandfather, his mother’s father, had passed away, but Gobber knew the lad still missed the old coot every day.
“Yep.”
“But that — I can’t. I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Hiccup floundered for a moment, then rose in a fit of agitation, wincing when he put weight on his prosthetic and waving his arms as he talked. “Because… what gives me the right to sulk and mope about losing my leg when so many Vikings have lost the same or more than me?” His eyes darted between Gobber’s prosthetics again. “We’re Vikings; it’s an occupational hazard! I should be moving on with my life, Gobber, like you all have! Giving in to these feelings is just more confirmation that I’m — that I’m weak. Not like you guys. Not strong enough.”
Gobber’s heart twisted in his chest, and for one wild moment, he wanted to gather the lad into his arms and embrace him. Instead, he blinked rapidly, breathed deeply, and then said, slowly and deliberately, “Yes, Hiccup, I moved on with my life after losin’ my leg, and my hand. So did Bucket. So did Mulch. So did every other Viking in this village who lost a part of themselves.”
Hiccup lowered his gaze, shame settling on his features like a shroud, and Gobber tilted his chin up with the curve of his hook so their eyes met. “But you know what we did first, lad? We grieved. Bucket cried on and off for weeks after losing his hand. Hel, I had a little funeral for my hand when I lost it to that Monstrous Nightmare.”
Hiccup lowered himself gingerly back into his chair, the premonition of a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t.”
“I most certainly did!” Gobber exclaimed, affronted. “It was your dad’s idea, actually. I kept havin’ nightmares, barely slept. Hardly ate. Felt like I had a great hole in my chest.” Hiccup’s hand unconsciously rose to his own heart. “I was a mess. So eventually your father sat me down and said, ‘Gobber, this has gone on long enough. You keep pretendin’ you’re fine, but you’re fallin’ apart at the seams. You need closure.’”
“So Stoick carved an effigy of my lost hand, and we put it in a wee boat and set it out to sea. We each said somethin’ nice about it — your dad was a bit uncomfortable for that bit, but he’s a good friend and said somethin’ about all the amazing things that hand had made. And we lit our arrows and the little boat burned and…” He trailed off, lost in remembering.
“And what?” Hiccup prompted, quite literally at the edge of his seat.
“And then, it hit me, really hit me, what I’d lost. How hard, how different, things were gonna be now. The things I’d have to relearn how to do in a whole new way. My hands were my work, and one was just… gone.”
Hiccup’s lower lip trembled, and his hand ran across his dragon’s sleek scales in a calming, automatic motion. Back and forth, back and forth. Back and forth. The dragon melted into the touch.
After a moment of silence, Gobber cleared his throat and said, voice hoarse, “I cried, Hiccup. I cried on your father’s shoulder, and he didn’t judge me, didn’t laugh at me, didn’t call me weak. He was just… there. And you know what I did next?”
Hiccup’s voice was breathless: “What?”
“I picked myself up, I began to adapt, and I still grieved some days, but it got better with time. I moved on with my life. But even now I still have my bad days. And that’s okay, lad. You’re young and stubborn. You killed the Red Death, for Thor’s sake, and ended the feud between dragons and Vikings! You’ll get better at life with a false leg. You’ll adapt, you’ll ‘move on’ and live your life. But first, you gotta let yourself mourn what you lost.”
At these words, the dam broke. Hiccup went from sitting ramrod straight, eyes unusually bright but void of tears, to surging forward and collapsing into his mentor’s arms, sobs wracking his small body. Toothless rose and began to pace, keening alongside his rider.
Gobber stood frozen for a moment, then slowly wrapped his arms around the boy and patted him on the back. “That’s it, lad,” he said gruffly. “Let it out.” He didn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t. But it would be. Hiccup, despite his small frame, had proven to be the strongest and most stubborn Viking he’d ever met. He’d be fine. It would just take time.
Finally, the tears subsided and Hiccup carefully extricated himself from Gobber’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, face flushed and wet with tears.
“Don’t be,” Gobber said simply.
Hiccup wiped his face with his sleeve and turned to reassure his agitated dragon, who warbled and nudged the boy back over to the chair. Hiccup sat carefully, exhaustion radiating from every pore, but he seemed calmer. More himself. This wouldn’t be the last time something like this happened. This was a process, but Gobber hadn’t been lying — it did get easier with time.
Gobber scrubbed his hand over his face. “Just remember, lad — losin’ your leg doesn’t make you any less of a Viking, and neither does grieving what you lost.” He paused, eyed Hiccup’s metal leg, and backtracked. “Well. Technically, there is less of you now, but you’re no less of a Viking. Uh. You know what I mean.”
“Gobber!” Hiccup exclaimed incredulously, but the blacksmith was pleased to see the tiniest spark of good humor back in his eyes.
“Too soon?”
Hiccup spluttered indignantly and Toothless settled back in beside him, and Gobber watched the two with a smile. Odin, it would be tough, but Hiccup would make it through this, stronger than he’d ever been before.