The Brothers

The council meeting ended early and Gobber wondered why. Stoick listened to his people and they made an effort to give him plenty to hear. These meetings dragged past their allotted time so often that they’d given up on setting an end time unless there was cause. Time meant to focus on the needs of the villagers became time to listen to their grousing. Stoick ground his teeth and paid heed and the tribe never grasped that they wasted precious time with their pettiness, because Stoick was a chief, not a tyrant. Gobber could have enjoyed a little tyranny if it ended these sessions earlier.

Stoick had no patience for it today. He kept his time with his people short, and his words even shorter. The line of people diminished as Stoick introduced his people to reality. He refused to settle quarrels, listen to griping, debate wedding arrangements, or consider enlarging the Mead Hall. He wasn’t discussing anything if it wasn’t urgent, and those claiming urgency were told to talk to Spitelout. Spitelout’s stare when he gave you his full attention was unnerving, and there were no takers.

That was another strange thing; Spitelout and Stoick worked to get this meeting finished as if they’d practiced it first. While Stoick dismissed people, Spitelout shuffled more to the front of the line, scowling and muttering words like “foolishness” and “idiots.” Some peeled away to avoid Spitelout’s displeasure, and the remainder were shunted to Stoick. Then they realized they were facing the highest authority on Berk, an exasperated man whose patience was about to snap. Gobber saw several people read the weather in the room and turn around, wanting no part of a displeased Spitelout and a fed up Stoick. When the last supplicant departed, the door closed firmly and didn’t open again.

The meeting ran similarly. Some concerns were valid, and Stoick said he’d think about it and to find him tomorrow. Other matters were vital and the efficiency settling those sped them forward. The councilors weren’t balking Stoick, but cooperating. Gobber kept people on the subject; Spitelout drummed his fingers, impatient to conclude and the message was clear—let’s finish and be done with it.

Gobber was the only one left except the brothers; Hiccup had taken over the stall and said Gobber needn’t hurry back, because he had nothing to do until afternoon. He seemed preoccupied, and Gobber was happy to leave his apprentice to run the forge while he endured another long meeting, with the hope of free time afterward. He adjusted his prosthetic, and noticed Stoick and Spitelout hadn’t left. They’d almost shoved people out of the room and now were lingering. There was a story in here somewhere, and Gobber wasn’t going to miss it. Having the freshest gossip on Berk was Gobber’s avocation, and anything between those two would worth telling. He needed to get just a little closer.

“Gobber.”

“What is it, Stoick? Need some help, do you?”

“No, Gobber, I need you to get back to the forge and open.”

“Ah, never worry about that. Hiccup said he’d mind things for me, so I’ve time.” He could get away with this; Stoick might want him to leave, but ignoring him usually worked. Gobber fiddled with some blank papers and told the man, “I’m going to design a new saddle, see if I can add a bit more storage. Hiccup planned to stay late, any road, and I’ve charcoal and paper right here.”

“Gobber, I want you to leave now.”

He would have argued, but Stoick strode toward him and turned him to face the door. Spitelout held it open, and his friend said, “Go to the forge, Gobber.” He wasn’t going to fight both of them, not when they’d ganged up on him, but he planned to listen in anyway. This had gone from worthwhile to juicy and he had to know.

“Alright, I’ll go. If you don’t have confidence in your own son to run the place after ten years as apprentice, there’s nothing I can do about it.” He left, muttering about stubborn chieftains who didn’t trust anyone to know his job, and pulled the door shut behind him.

No one was around; he took up station outside and plucked the listening device from inside his waistband. He’d convinced Hiccup he needed such a thing, and Hiccup obliged him “just as long as you don’t tell Dad.” Hah. He didn’t plan on letting his Chief know about this device. It kept Gobber up-to-date on the village and he shared much of what he learned to his friend. That was a gift to Stoick.

Who was he kidding—he wanted fresh gossip, and Stoick could stuff it.

He placed the cone against the door and listened. There was some rustling, and the creak of a chair. He waited for the conversation to begin, and heard Spitelout’s voice.

“Stoick.”

“Spitelout. Good to see you.”

“Aye. How’s that lunatic son of yours?”

“Fine. I saw him last night, for a change. How’s my nephew?”

“Haven’t killed him yet.”

“Good.”

Gobber wished they’d get talking more. Stoick only spoke if he wanted to, and Spitelout always kept his words few. If they could talk in gestures, Spitelout might never use his voice again. Worse, they were making small talk. Gobber wasn’t getting any younger, and his back would start complaining soon.

“Hiccup had an idea. Did Snotlout tell you about it?”

“He did, last night. How,” Spitelout asked, “did your boyo come up with that one?”

“I have no idea. He kept saying it was a good plan, and the more he spoke the more it made sense. Did you agree to it when Snotlout asked?”

“It’s a ridiculous idea. Hiccup trains my son to do his job? What’s wrong with using me or Gobber or Hoark as a replacement?”

“Hiccup wants people his age to work with. As he pointed out, I have you and Gobber; why not have Snotlout working with him?”

“Snotlout said Hiccup’s idea was crazy, and it is, Stoick.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Did you agree to it? I’d like to know how many boys I’m feeding.”

Spitelout snorted. “I agreed to it. That boy of yours has a point about weapons training. He needs more than what he has, and has the smarts to ask me to train him.”

“That boy always has a point; it wears me out, the things he comes up with. Still, when I looked at his reasoning, it made sense, Spite. All of it was practical and I have to let him try.”

“Aye. My boyo needs a shove to do something else, and Hiccup’s good at provoking him. Must get it from you, brother.”

Stoick chortled. “So, Snotlout moves in today. Have you thought about this, Spite?”

“What d’you mean, Stoick? We’ve heard the plan and agreed—what else is there?”

“Snotlout’s the only son you have, and he’s used to sisters. Hiccup’s an only child. Now they’re going to be living under one roof, just as we did.”

“Thor Almighty!” Spitelout exploded. “They’ll be brothers.”

“Aye, they will. They will see each other all the time. Hiccup expects you to drag your son to his training sessions. Breakfast, bed, patrols, training—they will never be shut of each other.”

“Hiccup thinks this is a good idea, and my son agreed.” Gobber heard a rumbling noise and realized Spitelout was laughing. “They asked us for this.”

“They did, brother. Snotlout agreed to Hiccup training him, and Hiccup spent ages trying to find a way to convince me.”

“I cannot believe it. Those muttonheads are going to drive one another crazy.”

“Would you make me a deal, Spite?”

“That’s an evil grin you have, Stoick. What deal?”

“Tell me everything that happens on your end, and I’ll do the same. I’m sure Snotlout doesn’t expect to share a room with Toothless. That alone will be comical to see.”












{/size3.5}