Hiccup’s Day

On Berk, there are rare perfect days in the summer, and those days are an impromptu holiday. Children are freed from their chores, apprentices are released from their work, and shops close early. Bonfires are lit and children stay up past their normal bedtime. There is a party atmosphere, and the typical irritations and ongoing enmities are gone.

What would Hiccup do with such a day? Swim? Hike? Test an invention? Attempt to see Stoick? Maybe try to see Stoick, get blown off, and test an invention. The test might fail spectacularly and get him in trouble with Stoick and the tribe. Worse, it works during the initial test, witnessed by no one, but fails during the demonstration.

He might practice becoming a better Viking. Setting snares, only to discover he can’t kill an animal. He might be able to, if he’d been given proper lessons in hunting, but no one worked with him that long. Afi Hofferson taught him a few things when he was little, but not enough for his current age. He can tie knots and creates nets to trap animals to study, not kill them.




Hiccup’s hair crackled with static. It stood on end again, and he reached for a handful of water. “I’m already too small to notice. I don’t want people seeing me because I look stupid,” Hiccup thought, wetting his head. “That would actually be worse.”

Hiccup tugged on his boots and yanked his fur vest straight—well, straighter—and strode through the open door. Striding was his latest experiment in being a Viking. Vikings were strong and daring. They sailed great distances, discovered foreign lands, and charged into battle against impossible odds. They didn’t hesitate, didn’t hunch over, and didn’t trip over their own feet.

Hiccup was, unfortunately, practiced at all three of those. He wasn’t going to conquer distant nations or fight sea monsters, he knew. He wasn’t going to discover new lands, win the acclaim of kings, or become a champion. Hiccup was aware of all these things. After all, they were on his list.

Hiccup made lists. They helped him learn counting and writing when he was younger, and reminded him of things as he grew older. Most recently, though, he’d used them to sort out who he was. He hoped the lists would reveal something he could use in his quest to be a real Viking. A list led to a plan, and Hiccup could map out the things he needed to become more Viking-like.

The first list named everything Hiccup wouldn’t do. Hed never be called Hiccup the Valiant, Hiccup the Wise, or even Hiccup the Capable. He’d never inspire sagas with his actions. He wasn’t going to crush mountains, level forests, or tame seas. He couldn’t even tame his own hair, for Thor’s sake. But if he subtracted everything he couldn’t do, there had to be something left.

Next came the list of things he might do. Hiccup might get stronger if he worked in the forge for long enough. He might get tall enough to stare his father in the chin. Currently, talking to Stoick the Vast was like conversing with a mountain, except mountains let you get a word in edgewise. Yeah, one day Hiccup even might get Stoick to listen. Maybe.

Then there was the list of things he could do. As the son of the Chief, Hiccup could write and read and figure. Hiccup listened when people spoke and learned everything he could. If he was going to be Chief after Stoick, he needed to know everything. He studied Viking law and knew every clan on the island. He’d mapped Berk’s forest when he was nine. He discovered all his studies of other trades were going to be solitary. He’d dropped too much lumber and tangled too many fishing nets before the village united against his attempts to work at their trades. As one villager told Stoick, “ We need to get our work done, not clean up your son’s messes.” An exasperated Stoick made Hiccup stay in the forge and focus on smithing.

Hiccup loved the smithy. He could draw and design things. As Gobber’s apprentice, he learned a lot about blacksmithing. Gobber...well, Gobber let him try things. Gobber made certain he knew all the weapons well first, and allowed him to ask questions about them. He encouraged Hiccup to think about what to do with a mace or an axe to make it stronger or a better fit, and listened to his ideas for altering and improving them. Sometimes Gobber even used his ideas for something. Gobber trained him in the more delicate work in the forge, because his fingers will small and nimble. Hiccup now did most of that work. He even had a workroom in the forge and sketched his ideas there. Hiccup could take pride in his skill as a smith.

But as much as he lived to make things, to design and to craft and to shape nothing into something, he loved Gobber more. Gobber was patient with him when he began and never expected perfection from a scrawny, gangly child who seems to court disaster. He accepted that having Hiccup apprenticed to him was hazardous for everyone involved. Gobber would give him chores to do until he became accustomed to the forge. Hiccup would sweep and Gobber would teach him to always wear his apron. Hiccup would haul wood and Gobber would explain how much room to keep between himself and the lit forge. Hiccup would clean the tools and Gobber would make Hiccup learn their shapes and sizes. After four months of this, Gobber began letting him handle tools. He got through studying his first tool—the punch—before injuring himself. After that, Gobber handed Hiccup the broom and told him, “Start sweeping. We’ll try this again when you’re done slicing yourself open.”

Three months later, Hiccup had progressed enough to learn the hammer, anvil, and quench tub. He still swept floors and hauled wood, but Gobber had succeeded where others failed. Hiccup could focus on his work and begin hammering. Hiccup learned the rhythm of swinging the hammer, the force needed to punch holes, and the best stance for working at the anvil. The more control Hiccup gained, the better his work grew. None of the metal was hot, but he was hammering. Each blow, each strike, was an accomplishment for him, proof that if he tried, he would succeed.

Gobber stunned him one day with an apron. “It’s new. No more wearing the old one; it don’t fit, and a smith needs an apron that fits. Ye can hang it on that hook ye made yesterday and keep it here in the forge. “

Hiccup stared at Gobber, wide-eyed. His first real project with Gobber was a hook. His first completed work, to hang his first apron, because Gobber said he was a smith. A smith.

Gobber hid a smile. “Well, don’t just stand there gawping at me. Ye’re a good lad, ye worked hard, and ye earned it. Now put it on and fetch plenty of wood. Today I’m teaching the whetstone, and I need my apprentice here all day.”