22. An Axe to Grind

It was raining.

It had been raining for the last week. The cloudy sky was locked into an oppressive grey, blanketing the village in a perpetually gloomy shade. Dampening everyone’s already low spirits.

Pleasant weather, by Berk standards.

A girl stepped out of her house and into the moist air. She was a teenager. Fifteen, nearly sixteen years of age. And she was already shaping up to be one of the strongest warriors in the village.

She stood on her porch, firmly gripping her trusty axe. After blowing a tuft of blonde hair out of her blue eyes, she surveyed the damage.

Last night’s raid was particularly rough. Almost half of their livestock was taken, and over half of their village was burned to cinders. She turned to look at her own house, thankful that it was still mostly intact. Yes, the roof was destroyed, but the rest of the building still stood. She still had a home.

Others weren’t so lucky.

She watched as various Vikings were assessing the damage. Salvaging what they could and already preparing to build new huts. If Berkians were efficient at anything, besides dragon killing of course, it was building new houses.

She scowled, the smell of burnt wood assaulting her nostrils. There had been four raids this past month, one every week. The dragons always attacked, they have for generations, but never this frequently. They were taking even more food than usual, as well.

If those monsters kept going at this rate, The Island of Berk would be reduced to ashes and its people would starve to death.

Her grip on her axe tightened as fury overtook her.

“Not on my watch…” She vehemently thought. “I will personally ensure that every dragon Is wiped off the face of the earth. Only then will they know a fraction of the pain they’ve caused us. Only then can we finally live in peace…”

But exterminating a species would have to wait. For now, her axe needed sharpening.

Astrid set off for the partially destroyed village square, in search of the local blacksmith.

If he was even there.

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She trudged her way through the village, taking care to not trip over fallen pieces of charred wood. She pushed through the crowd of stony-faced Vikings, some of them on their way to assist with rebuilding homes, some of them on their way to get blackout drunk on a Tuesday morning.

Berk was never the happiest place on earth, but recently the general population’s mood has been increasingly dour. Not only because of the more frequent raids, or the food shortages. But also because of the chief.

The chief…hasn’t been himself lately.

As Astrid arrived at the forge, she peered inside to see no one was present. No one was sharpening swords, or rebalancing axes, or anything. Astrid figured he may be in the back.

“Gobber? Gobber!?” She called out to the blacksmith, hoping he’d appear. But it was no use.

He wasn’t here.

Again.

The blonde girl released a groan of frustration. For the past month, Gobber had been shirking his responsibilities as the village’s blacksmith. Opting to stay holed up in his house, and whenever he deigned to actually come to the forge his work was of poor quality.

He was hostile. Not his natural, playful crankiness. He was outright belligerent to anyone who spoke to him. Especially when people asked him to work. Though sometimes, only for a moment, he looked miserable. With a hollow, vacant look in his eyes. Everyone knew what he was thinking about, who he was thinking about.

Astrid felt her eyes narrow as her thoughts turned to the former heir of Berk. That traitor, who’d been a thorn in the village’s side for as long as she could remember, had sided with the dragons. He betrayed his own people for those monsters, he must’ve been insane.

After hearing his shocking secret, she was happy to learn he’d left. “Good. We don’t need traitors on Berk. Take your demon and don’t come back!” She’d thought to herself at the time.

She wasn’t alone in thinking that. The entire village, while stunned to learn he’d go so far as to side with the dragons, was positively ecstatic over the fact that he was gone. Snotlout had even tried to organize a “Goodbye, Useless!” party.

The island was in good spirits. Yes, the dragons were still attacking. But with that nuisance and the Night Fury out of the picture, it seemed like things would start looking up from there.

But then the raids got worse, the dragons would be back before they’d even finished the repairs. And then they had to eat smaller meals, or sometimes go full days without food. Their weapons weren’t as good anymore, thanks to Gobber. And the chief…wasn’t helping.

It’d been like this for over a month, with no sign of stopping. Morale was terribly low.

A creaking brought her attention back to reality. She looked down to the axe in her hands, and saw the blade…

Swivel.

Her axe, her beloved axe, the weapon she trusted with her life more than most people…had its blade swiveling around the wooden handle like a deadly pinwheel.

She seethed with rage. That was it! She was marching over to Gobber’s right now and forcing him to fix her axe.

Or else she’d make his right hand match his left.

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She clomped her way up to Gobber’s hut. A small, but cozy abode decorated with detailed carvings of horrible serpents. Like every other hut on Berk. He was one of the lucky few who’s house wasn’t destroyed.

Good for him.

She arrived at his front door, knocked, and waited.

Nothing.

She knocked louder.

No answer.

She knocked even louder, while shouting. “Gobber! Gobber you get out here right now!”

Zilch.

Fine then, she supposed she’d have to break down his door.

She got into a battle stance, busted axe at the ready. She mentally counted down from three, muscles tense, as she prepared her assault.

3…

2…

“Hi, Astrid!”

She quickly pivoted behind her, pointing her axe at a very chubby neck.

A very large boy with disproportionately small feet yelped with fear, raising his arms up in surrender while sweating profusely. “Sorry! SORRY! I-I’m sorry for scaring you!” He gulped, eyeing the blade pointed at his throat with unease.

Astrid relaxed, just a bit. Fishlegs wasn’t a threat. Though she didn’t feel bad for frightening him, that’s what he got for sneaking up on her.

“You didn’t scare me. Nothing scares me.” She replied coolly, before retracting her axe.

He breathed a sigh of relief, though he still looked anxious. “Right, of course! Heh…” He tried to ease the tension with an awkward laugh. It didn’t work. “I just wanted to tell you that if you’re looking for Gobber, he isn’t here. I saw him heading for the chief’s house.”

“Hm…” Was the only noise she made, before she set off for the Haddock House. “You’re welcome…” Fishlegs meekly called out to her.

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Her footsteps splashed on the wet ground as she climbed the hill leading to the chief’s residence, the biggest house on Berk. Intersecting serpents marked the doorway, and the building was topped with a winged carving of a Monstrous Nightmare head.

Before she could knock on the doors, they burst open. And a very aggravated Gobber hobbled his way out of the building.

Sputtering, she tried to catch up to the surprisingly fast man. “Wait, Gobber! You’ve got to fix my axe!”

“I ain’t fixin’ nothing!” He grumbled, without stopping or turning to address her.

She felt rage bubbling up from within her, and she released it with a roar of frustration. “What is your problem?” She shouted after him. “The raids are getting even worse! We’re starving! We need weapons to defend ourselves, and you’re acting like you don’t even care! What the heck is going on, Gobber?”

As she panted, winded from her tirade, Gobber stopped. Slowly, he turned. He looked down on her with glassy, tired eyes. And spoke softly. “If any of you knew what my problem was, I wouldn’t have this problem at all…” And then, he was gone.

Huffing with anger, she was about to shout again. To question why he cared so much about that traitor. She was about to talk about him.

Until she heard the door behind her creak open. She quickly straightened her posture as chief Stoick the Vast exited his home.

“Morning, Astrid.” He greeted, jovially.

“G-Good morning, Chief.” She stammered out. “Um, Chief? Gobber’s been acting strange- “

“Gobber’s fine.” He dismissed her concerns as he stomped down the hill. She scrambled to follow him.

“No Chief, he’s…” Her disagreement fizzled out, she knew she wouldn’t get anywhere on this point. She tried something else. “Chief, the raids have been horrible recently- “

“The dragon’s always attack.” He replied.

“Not like this!” She argued. “They’ve been way more frequent, and way more aggressive. If they keep attacking the way they’ve been, we may not be able to keep up with the damages! We’re already having to ration food-”

“The dragon’s always attack. We’ll get by like we always have.” With another dismissal, he clomped into the village.

Astrid released a deep sigh. He’d been like this ever since that runt turned his back on his people and flew off into the night.

He acted as if it was business as usual on Berk, every day. No matter what was happening.

He wasn’t totally distant, he still attended to his chiefly duties. But it felt more like he was going through the motions. All with that vacant look on his face.

But that was preferable to whenever his son was mentioned.

A few weeks ago, when the heir to Berk’s departure was still recent. Snotlout was leisurely strolling through the village, a skip in his step. As he arrived at the village square, he spotted the twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut. Debating whether or not they could eat raw food, swallow fire, and cook the food in their stomachs.

“Ruff, Tuff! It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” He asked, smiling widely and smugly.

The twins looked around them, taking note of the grey, cold, horribly foggy weather.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Tuffnut shrugged.

The stout boy rolled his eyes. “Not the weather, Yak-brains! It’s the one-week anniversary of Hiccup leaving! Isn’t that great?”

What Snotlout didn’t realize, was that Stoick was standing near. And he’d heard what the teen had said.

Astrid had seen the chief angry before. She’d seen him in raids, during emergencies, she’d even seen him reacting to a death.

She had never, ever seen him lose it like he did then.

She couldn’t even make out words, just an incomprehensible barrage of furious screaming. After a seemingly eternal five minutes passed, he stormed off somewhere else. Leaving a very shaken Snotlout in his wake.

This wasn’t the only instance of this.

Whenever his son was mentioned, in any way, by anyone. He’d fly off the handle. And considering how large he was, it was very hard to get him to stop.

He never seemed to recall these moments, or what he’d said during them. No one could tell what he was saying either, so his words during these times remained a mystery.

Considering how volatile the chief was, a secret meeting was held by the entire village to discuss what to do about the situation. Gobber didn’t attend.

Eventually, they all came to an agreement. Even Snotlout, who really wanted to gloat some more.

We do not, for any reason, speak of the former heir to Berk.

We don’t talk about Hiccup.

Back in the present, Astrid sighed. Now in a very sour mood. She slowly made her way back to her own home, the dilemmas her village was facing at the forefront of her mind.

As she walked through the village, glaring at the wrecked buildings. The starving people. The uncooperative Blacksmith. And the despondent chief…she prayed.

She prayed to the gods for help. To help her village, her people.

“Please…if there’s a way for us to end the war with dragons…show us how…”

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Night had fallen.

Stoick the Vast sat in front of the fire.

A horned helmet in his hands. One half of a breastplate.

And he asked why.

He asked to any God that would listen.

Why hadn’t he seen the signs?

Why did his son side with the dragons?

Why hadn’t he stood up for his son, supported his son, been there for his son?

Why had they seen fit to take both his wife and his son from him?

He asked these questions, and a million others, over and over again.

Every single night.

For the last month.

He never received an answer.