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The blacksmiths is busier than usual today, with Snoggletog around the corner people are crowding at the hatch to order new saddles, chains for pendants and all sorts of finely decorated weapons, tools and metalwork jewellery. Both Gobber and I am relieved that the new system I have put in place is working well, customers have to take a numbered token to show where they are in the line, it makes sorting out disputes about people pushing in the line much easier, otherwise it would be chaos!
I am taking my turn at taking the orders, one of my least favourite jobs in the forge, whilst Gobber is out. I would much rather be making something than watching the crowd grow bigger as the morning goes on – the line has already reached across the plaza and the sun is barely four fingers above the horizon. Looking at the next token as I take it off the hook on the wall, I shout out its number, trying to be heard over all the people.
“Twenty-seven!”
A squat women with brown braided swirls of hair over her ears rushes forward, holding the hand of her small son in one hand whilst holding a leash with a goat attached in the other.
“Good morning, Mrs Ack! What can I get you?”, I say cheerfully.
Her son, who I think might be called Leifur, jumps forward, bouncing on the heels of his feet excitedly. “A sword!”
Mrs Ack frowns slightly and shakes her head in exasperation. “No we talked about this, you’re getting a small knife”. Leifur grumbles but Mrs Ack ignores his sulking and turns to me before adding, “Something that is easy to use and doesn't break easily would be best.”
I nod, “Sure, I'll need to take some measurements of his hand to get it the right weight and size.”
So I lead them around the back, which might not have been my best idea because Leifur starts eyeing the rack of swords that are waiting to be sold. Several are decorative only, made for mantel pieces or to be worn on special occasions. Leifur eyes a particularly large one which has precious stones inlaid on it's hilt of with depictions of dragons and swirling patterns holding them in place made out of bronze and the Gronkleiron blade is like a mirror.
“Can I have one of those instead?”, Leifur asks, still looking longingly at the swords which are all taller than him. His mother looks ready to snap at him, so I kneel in front of him, blocking his view of the swords, and hold out my measuring rope.
“They’re a little big for you don't you think?”, I ask. “But if you really like them, I could make your knife look like one of them. Just pick your favourite and I'll make you a mini version of it.”
Leifur’s eyes widen and he starts his excited bouncing again. “Really?”
“Yeah. As long as your mother says so.” I look up at her and she sighs still a little exasperated, but she nods all the same.
“YES!”, Leifur yells.
“Right, hold still then, still need to take those measurements.”
But before I can start, Fishlegs charges in looking like he just tried to sprint a mile. He leans over, hands on knees, gasping for breath whilst also trying to speak. I stand up and come to his side.
“Woah! Fishlegs are you okay?”
“As-Astrid’s... pffff... in a... r-really bad mood.”
“What happened?”
“Don't... know.” Fishlegs looks at me panicking. “I think she's... on the edge of the ‘murder stage’.”
Ah, this is bad. The ‘murder stage’ is something I coined after the times Astrid almost killed both Snotlout and Throk (in different circumstances mind you), it’s when she gets so furious that no matter what you do to calm her down it only makes the situation worse – it’s the sort of situation where I consider my attempts to calm her down a success if only minor injuries are incurred. The best way to deal with the ‘murder stage' is take away all sharp and potentially deadly objects and separate her from everyone else until she is calmer.
“Where is she?”, I ask urgently.
“The training arena. Attacking a block of wood.”
“Right.” I undo the ties of my apron and hang it on a hook, then suddenly remember Mrs Ack and Leifur. “Sorry, I'll be back as soon as I can. This is urgent.”
I race out and cut through the middle of the crowd. If Astrid is in the arena that could be both good and bad. Good, because no one is using it today, as dragon training has been called off until after Snoggletog, so there are low chances of Astrid murdering anyone. Bad, because there are high chances of her using the axe against me if the wood hasn't done anything to quench her rage - I'd say my chances of coming away unscathed are somewhere between 50-50 and 90-10%. Half way I bump into Toothless, who seems to be berating some troublesome Terrible Terrors.
“Toothless!” He greats me worriedly, obviously unsettled by my intensity. I jump on to his saddle, clicking my new prosthetic into place on the new mechanism, and in one swift motion we launch into the air as I explain the situation. “We need to get to the arena now! Astrid’s in a frenzy and if anyone else walks in on her in there she's going to kill them!”
He snorts in response, almost sounding a little amused. He is probably remembering the last time I had to calm Astrid down, thinking something like that will happen again.
“Well you may find it funny, Toothless, but I don't! I don't want to end up like last time.” Last time I had to literally try to wrestle her to the ground so that she didn't chop Snotlout's head off after he had called her yaknog worse than Hel. Needless to say, I failed and it looked more like the world's most awkward hug, which only made Astrid both furious and embarrassed. Both Snotlout and I left the Great Hall dripping in yaknog and nursing a solid bruise on our foreheads. Toothless had found it hilarious, making that odd draconic sound that passes for a laugh. I do not want something like that to happen again.
We land outside the arena's entrance and the sounds of frustrated battle cries coming from the direction of the arena confirm my worst suspicions; Astrid really is feeling murderous. What on Midgard could have made her this wound up? I would bet Snotlout has something to do with it, like last time. Being cautious I peak around the entrance, it’s always wise to do this when Astrid is in a mood, to check what you might be getting yourself into. She stands in the middle of the arena, battle axe gripped tightly in her hands, bearing down on a helpless block of wood – which is now littered with deep notches and spraying splinters on the stone floor. Okay, she’s at the mauling stage. But, by the looks of that poor block of wood she should be more approachable, having let off some of her steam. I turn to Toothless standing patiently behind me and gesture for him to sit and wait there. I walk through the short entrance tunnel, down its gentle slope, not bothering to quieten the echoing sounds my metal foot makes on the stone floor. It would be best for Astrid to know of my arrival rather than for me to give her a surprise – I rather like having a head to be honest.
Astrid turns around as she hears me enter, even from a distance of a couple dozen meters I can almost see the lightning of rage crackle in her bright blue eyes. At the sight of me standing calmly to the side Astrid gives one last vicious swing at the block, slicing it in half, before putting her axe in its hold and stomping over to a bench against the wall of the arena. When I sit next to her, not too close to give her space, she avoids looking at me, opting to get her axe out again and sharpen it.
“So...”, I begin cautiously. “What’s happened?”
With an annoyed huff she stops sharpening her axe. “Whatever Gobber told you, it’s wrong.”
Now I am curious. Gobber? And there I was assuming it was Snotlout that had done something like use her axe again without asking. Then that thought leads on to another; what did she think Gobber has said to me?
“Well, I can give you some good news there, Gobber hasn’t told me anything.”
Astrid gives me a confused look. “So why are you here?”
“A rather nervous Fishlegs may have tipped me off that you were beating up a defenceless block of wood in the arena. I thought I should probably save it from complete destruction.” I match my words by standing up and walking over to the now thoroughly decimated block, picking the two halves up delicately and placing them to the side in a box. “There. All safe.” Astrid stifles a small grin, trying to stay angry. I take my place by her side again and give her a reproachful look.
“So, that leads me back to my question. What happened, why were you hacking it to pieces?”
With a reluctant sigh she looks me in the eyes, I can see the remnants of her anger in her own, but mixed with a sense of guilt. “I may have over reacted. About – something.”
“Something?”, I ask raising an eyebrow.
Another reluctant sigh. “I haven’t been having a particularly great day to be honest. All these little things kept bugging me, it all built up I guess, so that when I was talking to him earlier about y... errr – something, and he made a joke... I just exploded.”
Astrid dips her head a red blush racing up her neck to her cheeks. Now this is surprising. Not the fact that Astrid got into a killing spree over a comment Gobber has made, that’s pretty standard. But Astrid feeling embarrassed in front of me, that hasn't happened in years. What could honestly have made her act like this? She is always the confident one, never feeling embarrassed about anything, always being unapologetically herself. The last time I can remember her acting like this was when there was a thunderstorm at the Edge. It wasn't long after the disastrous lightning storm that destroyed both the dragon stables and Astrid's sight, and she was absolutely terrified, terrified of losing her sight again, of being helpless. It had taken hours for me and Stormfly to calm her down, and afterwards she wouldn't talk to me for a whole day in embarrassment – which I told her was stupid because everyone is scared of something and it's nothing to feel embarrassed about. I sit there quietly for a moment until an idea pops into my head, which could end in one of two ways, either Astrid forgets about her anger or I don't leave this arena whole – which isn't my preference. I stand up swinging my arms.
“Well, that is nowhere near as bad a day as I am having!”
“And whys that?”, she demands snappishly, annoyed no doubt. I take up my usual story telling stance standing in front of Astrid, with my arms loose prepared for lots of gesturing.
“Your gonna love this. So, today a pretty girl came up to me and asked how I was doing.”
She raises an eyebrow, probably wandering where this is going to go. Knowing people like that always make me nervous, including her – in fact especially her.
“And I couldn't decide whether to say ‘I'm good’ or ‘I'm okay'.” I move my hands from side to side as showing her the two sides to my ‘dilemma’.
“So you see my problem?”
“Hiccup...”, Astrid’s tone is bordering on exasperation.
“So of course I freaked out! And my words got all muddled – so, you know what I said?”
Astrid just rolls her eyes in response.
“I'm gay.”
That catches her off guard. For a moment she freezes. This is it, I could have just saved all of Berk from being murdered or I could have volunteered myself as her first victim. To my relief though I can see her face working, trying to hold back the laughter. But it’s too much and, like a dam being broken, Astrid bursts out laughing, bent over clutching her stomach in complete mirth. I stand there and play the part of ‘awkward guy who can’t even say hello properly to a girl”, looking down at the ground and fiddling with my arm bracers. After a while she runs out of breath and sits back on the bench, a grin spread over her face.
“Did that actually happen or did you just make that up to make me feel better?”
“No. True story. Gobber was there as well, couldn't get him to be quiet for ages after that.”
I take my spot on the bench next to her again. For several minutes we sit quietly side by side as Astrid's giggles subside.
“You've gone and done it again.”
“Done what?”, I ask, still a little on edge that Astrid could blow up again at any moment if I so much as sneeze, so far I'm surprised I haven't even gotten a bruise.
Astrid smiles. “Don't look so scared.”
“Me? Scared? No! Of course not!”
She chuckles and gently punches my shoulder.
“I was going to say that you always somehow manage to make me feel better.”
“Isn't that my job?”, I tease.
“Mmmm... Come on I should go apologise to Gobber.”
Together, we left the training arena. One Astrid appeased, no murders or even any maiming in sight, albeit at the expense of one block of wood. Astrid’s hand finds mine and gives it a warm squeeze, that's all I need in the way of thanks.