"So your hammer is about plus ten dexterity and plus twelve accuracy, which means you have approximately a one in fifty chance of beating an axe with plus ten dexterity, plus nine accuracy, plus twenty years experience and one hundred percent more cutting power," Fishlegs finished. I smacked him on the back of the head.
Hiccup rubbed at the back of his neck, leaving a smear of oil there. His eyes did that darting glance to his foot and he jerked them away as he always does. "Wow, 'Legs, that's really good for the old confidence there."
"Statistics are a useful source of information," said Fishlegs, rubbing his head. "You didn't need to hit me, Astrid!"
"Yes I did," I said bluntly. "Ignore that, Hiccup."
It was warm in the gloom of the old dragon-training enclosure's Zippleback cage. Though it's not a cage any longer, really. It now stores the saddles for every dragon in the village still kept here, as the Zippleback itself is in the Thorston stable.
Hiccup pulled another saddle down from the wall and grabbed the oily rag he'd been using, beginning to rub the dusty leather. "How'd you get statistics on Oglaranna anyway, 'Legs?"
"Stories, mostly," Fishlegs admitted, rubbing down the Nadder's saddle he was oiling.
"Oh, very accurate," I sniped.
The three of us, as the most advanced of the dragon riders, were responsible for the upkeep of the village dragons' riding gear. Most other villagers had too many other responsibilities, and though Snotlout and Ruff and Tuff ought to be joining in, they'd been volunteered for a winter ice-fishing haul. Ruff's pout was so big she almost tripped over it. Fishing in winter is vile.
"Are you scared, Hiccup?" Fishlegs asked in a hushed voice.
Hiccup gave a sort of half-hearted shrug, rubbing harder at the leather of the Gronkle saddle. "I'm doing everything I can about it," he said tonelessly. "Trying not to think about it too much, actually."
"Well, you're a hero though, aren't you?" Fishlegs obviously noticed Hiccup's attitude – a smidge too late in my opinion. "The gods won't let you lose!"
"Tell that to Sigurd," Hiccup grunted.
Fishlegs subsided, an apprehensive look on his face. I decided at that point to change the subject.
"So, you made all these, didn't you?" I asked Hiccup, rubbing along the smooth sweep of a Nightmare's saddle.
"Yup," he answered distractedly, working hard at a leather seam to make it flexible again. "The Gronkle ones were really tricky. Not much neck room. And the Nightmare ones have a really short shelf-life if they forget not to set themselves aflame."
"Gronkles have more strength to body mass than any other dragon," said Fishlegs loyally. Hiccup grinned at him.
"Horrorcow can't hear you, Fishy," he nudged his friend.
"She doesn't need to," sniffed Fishlegs. "Gronkles need better press."
"Hey! I'm okay with Gronkles!" I protested.
"So, you want a Gronkle then? There's a new one without a rider sleeping against Horrorcow, came in around late autumn to get at the food bowls," Fishlegs rounded on me eagerly. I held up my oily hands.
"Hey, I like 'em, but Spike would kill me." Because, you so would.
"Your Nadders are so possessive," Fishlegs complained, and went back to oiling the stiff, cold-cracked leather.
"You should see how bad Night Furies are," I murmured, and Hiccup snickered.
"No fair when he's fast asleep and can't defend himself," he said mock-sternly.
"No fair? What are we, six? Anyway, that's the only safetime," I tossed my head. Gods above, my bangs are so annoying. I have to cut them.
"So what's the difference?" Fishlegs asked, placing the Nadder saddle back on the wall and grabbing a Gronkle saddle with obvious fondness. "Between the saddles, I mean?"
"Oh! Well, each dragon is a bit different anyway," Hiccup wiped at his neck again. The golden smear of the oil made it glisten. Mmm. "I don't mean that each breed is different, though that's sort of obvious, but that every dragon is different."
He put the Gronkle saddle he'd finished back on the wall, and picked up a Zippleback's. "I made this for Nidhogg, the right head of the Svalmir family's Zippleback. He's got a kink in his neck, so the saddle can't sit as far forward as Ruff and Tuff do on Sindri and Brokk. I burn the dragon's name into the saddle, underneath, if the dragon has one, or the family name if the dragon hasn't yet okayed one. They're all different. I wouldn't ever use another Gronkle's saddle on Horrorcow, for example, Fishlegs."
Fishlegs was intrigued. "Why? Is it her back?"
"Nope. Her legs. They're shorter than even other Gronkle legs – which makes her even more sturdy!" Hiccup added hurriedly. "It's because she has such a deep chest – longer straps around her front will give her backache, so shorter and higher is better."
"How do you know all this?" I asked him, fascinated.
"Trial and error," he grimaced, rubbing at the leather straps on Frithiof's saddle. "I noticed on that first flight that Fishlegs had to sit really far forward on Horrorcow's neck, and if he leaned back it annoyed her. And then we had those first test saddles that Gobber made, remember?"
"Oh yeah! I wondered why we weren't keeping those," Fishlegs polished industriously at a metal buckle. "They were okay. Weren't they? I thought they were okay."
"They were okay," Hiccup conceded grudgingly. "But I saw different problems for different dragons. Gobber helped with some of the fitting work, but I'm sure he thought I was being crazy, fitting each saddle."
I thought of your saddle, sitting in the dark a few doors down. "I should get Spike's saddle," I said then, surprising even myself with the suddenness of it. But I hadn't really realised he'd put so much effort into it all, sweetheart… and besides, it's always nice to crawl in beside you in the gloom and talk like this.
"Spike's down here?" Fishlegs looked horrified. I shot him an evil look.
"Not all of us have a big house or barn, 'Legs," I said, and I really did try not to snap. But I'm afraid I did. A bit.
"She still in the Nadder enclosure?" Hiccup asked, and I nodded reluctantly. I didn't really want anyone to come with me – talking to you is special, Spike.
"She likes it, it's home to her," I defended you. Hiccup held up his hands.
"Whatever she likes," he said placatingly. "Go get her saddle, then."
So I crept in here, girl, and tiptoed past you towards your saddle. It was on the shelf I'd made (badly) to keep things on for you. Your neck-spikes were getting a bit dull, so I also grabbed the cloth I'd put there for you. I know how vain you are, and you'd be furious with me if you woke up in less than perfect condition.
I like taking care of you, sweetie. It's certainly easier when you're so asleep, too. You're such a fidgeter. So I didn't realise I'd been taking so long, humming to myself and polishing your spines.
"Astrid? I sent 'Legs home, we've finished all the others, are you…"
Hiccup? Oh great, he would come after me.
"Shh!" I hissed, and I could only just make out the shape of him outlined in the open doorway.
"Sorry," he whispered. "We're done with the rest, you got her saddle?"
"Yes," I whispered back, and heard the soft click-thump of his footsteps as he carefully made his way into the gloom. "Just a bit of routine beauty maintenance."
"Nadders, so vain," Hiccup chuckled, and I felt rather than saw him sit down with me next to your head. "Although I admit it's always so much easier to clean Toothless' teeth when he's asleep."
I rubbed the cloth down the last spike of your lovely, deadly collar. "Oh, I hear that loud and clear. She's usually shifting about from leg to leg when I do this, or trying to groom her tail-darts. She never keeps still."
Hiccup's whisper was unconsciously, unbearably sexy in the almost-darkness. "Have you tried getting the tail-rig on that black idiot when he's in a mood? Impossible."
"So, you clean his teeth?" I stood to hide my shiver. The feel of the boy's breath against my neck brought me out in goosebumps. "With what?"
"Chalk or charcoal, if I can find enough," Hiccup replied. "Of course, when he's awake, he retracts them just to be difficult. Or because he hates the taste, not sure which. Maybe both, knowing him."
I smiled unseen as I folded the polishing cloth and put it back on the shelf by feel.
"Her scales and spines feel beautiful. So smooth and clean," Hiccup said after a moment. "Did you do all that just then?"
"Ah," I was embarrassed at being caught out. Not embarrassed of you, girl! But, like I said, our time, me babbling here at you in your sleep, it's… special. "I'm down here a lot, actually. It's warm, and… and I, well, I like talking to her."
"While she's hibernating?" Hiccup's hushed voice was amused. "That desperate for decent conversation, huh?"
"Shut up," I grumped, and picked up your saddle again. "It's nice."
"Hey, I haven't got my judgemental pants on today, it's okay. Actually, I'm not sure I even own judgemental pants, so pretty much anything you do is always great. I mean, er, great with me." I heard the click as he stood to follow me back out into the freezing air.
"If you ever did, they don't fit anymore," I teased him, and then was incredibly grateful he didn't see my blush. Oh, thinking about pants and Hiccup makes me think about long, long legs, closely followed by filthy, wicked things.
"Oh, don't remind me," he grumbled. "Besides, talking to a sleeping dragon can't even begin to compare with some of the weird stunts I've pulled."
"Thank you for making me seem comparatively normal," I said solemnly as we re-entered the old Zippleback cage.
He grinned that crooked little grin that makes my chest tighten. "My pleasure. Shall we get to this saddle?"
Your saddle looks lovely, my girl.
Today I found out that other people in this village have noticed Hiccup's self-esteem issues. Also, I'm not the only one who has a problem with Ruffnut.
"Lass!"
I was on my way through the village towards Toothless' Cove in the freezing morning air, when I heard the hiss from between shadowed buildings.
"Lass! Psst!"
I peered. "Gobber?"
"Aye, keep yer voice down!" Gobber huddled out from between the smithy, where he slept, and the watchtower. "Don't want Hiccup to spot me."
"Why?" I was tired, and grouchy, and blunt. It had been a horrible night. I'd dreamed about the chop of the sawbones' axe right after the battle at the dragon's nest. The screams and whimpers that had escaped his unconsciousness. I haven't had that dream in two years.
"Because he'll guess what I'm up to, an' I don't want that," he dragged me by the arm back to the smithy. "Hurry now!"
I shrugged. Oh well.
The smithy was still warm. I felt myself uncoiling in the close, leather-smelling cosiness, a place and smell that evoked Hiccup immediately in my mind. "Gobber, what's this about?"
He looked at me with some approval. "Heard your little spat with the Thorston girl t'other night."
My jaw tightened. "And?"
"An' I know something about what the lad has been through," Gobber said pointedly. "Ye did good, Astrid. But I'm sure you have more questions. An' they can only be answered by a man wi' one leg, am I right?"
I was taken aback, I admit. "Why would you answer them? Why can't he?"
"He's no' ready yet," Gobber lurched over to his bench, and drew up his truncated leg with his one good hand. "Ye'll understand, it took me nigh on six years to accept that my hand and leg were ne'er coming back. I make jokes now, oh yes, but then, I believed I was somehow… not myself anymore. Not even a man anymore."
My brows knitted automatically. "But you've always been so…!"
"Aye, well, it were a long time ago. You weren't even an idea in yer parent's heads then." Gobber was unwrapping the leather cord that wound around his thigh and kept his peg from clattering off. "It ain't pretty, what fire and dragon-teeth do. An' mine's a damn sight prettier than his, it's older and more healed."
I clenched my jaw. "I don't care."
"Ye should," Gobber pulled the cup of the peg from his stump gently, and then the lambswool-filled sock underneath. "It's part o' him." He swung to face me.
I made myself look at it. It wasn't so bad, really. Silvery crisscrossed lines of scar tissue, creating strange crevasses all over the leg. "That's not so bad," I accused.
"Like I said, older and more healed. His is still red." Gobber took a cloth and wiped down the strange scar-valleys of his leg, before continuing in a more conversational tone. It almost felt like he was teaching me again.
"Now then, the scars ache in cold weather, which is pretty much all the time, an' sometimes I can feel my leg still, prickling and stinging. No idea how a leg that isn't there can hurt so damn much. The skin's got bugger-all sensation left, because there's too much scar tissue. Pulls funny on the normal skin sometimes. Hiccup's got even more scar tissue than me. An', worse thing is," he looked up with a grave expression and continued heavily, "the toothmarks on him are Toothless'. No doubt about it."
My breath caught in my throat. "Toothless saved him," I said weakly.
"Aye, and a hard decision to make, human or dragon. Toothless couldnae grab him, he's got no thumbs after all. Toothless had to bite him to catch him. To save him." Gobber carefully refitted the lambswool sock. "Hiccup's never told a soul, but then, he didn't have to tell me. I knew."
"He knows?" I sat down heavily in Hiccup's chair. Oh Hiccup. Oh Toothless.
Gobber snorted. "Like those two could ever lie to each other. Hah!" He started wrapping the leather cords around his thigh again. "Now Astrid, I show you these things and I tell you these things not to have you feel sorry for him or me," he said sternly.
I nodded blankly. I was still thinking of Toothless, and Hiccup falling, and that frantic flight into the flames that I could barely see.
"I tell you because I see you looking at Hiccup, at the handsome lad he is now," Gobber grinned suddenly, "and you have to admit, he caught us all by surprise there. His mother was a damn fine-lookin' woman, though."
I realised I knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about Hiccup's mother, not even her name.
"Still," Gobber grunted and put his peg back onto the floor. It made the wooden clack I've associated with him for what seems like forever. "Ye have to remember there's more to the boy than his handsome face. An' this bit," he pointed to his leg, "this bit is going to need time, space an' work. An' some of it has to come from you."
"Me?" I croaked. My head was full of feet and dragons and dives to the death.
"Well, it's you or Ruffnut," Gobber shrugged, "an' after that night, I like your way better. After all, he's always been able to sew, never been afraid o' making something."
Gobber peered at me then, and his stone tooth and braided moustache didn't seem quite so comical in the pre-dawn light. "Always been afraid of fighting, though, hasn't he? Until now."
I nodded, back straightening.
"Better get a move on, Astrid. He'll be there before you, at this rate," Gobber began to whistle as he turned to start the forge for the day. I wanted to thank him, to say something.
Then he threw a wink over his shoulder at me.
I didn't need to say anything, after all. I grinned at him until my face hurt, and was still grinning as I ran through the village and crashed into the forest.
Hiccup didn't show me his foot this morning either. But I taught him my favourite chokehold, and the balance of his hammer was perfect.
All in all, a better day.