It was our sixteenth day of training. The clearing felt like home now—mud-streaked, stick-littered, and ours.
Hiccup was finally holding his "sword" properly, and I had just taught him a basic guard stance I'd remembered from a guard's drunken demonstration outside the Great Hall.
"One more round?" I asked.
Hiccup wiped sweat from his brow, nodding despite the wobble in his legs. "You first this time."
I stepped in, feinted left, then lunged—
"Oi!"
Both of us froze mid-swing.
There, towering at the edge of the clearing, was Gobber. Behind him stood Stoick, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Hiccup squeaked and dropped his stick like it had bitten him. I stood straighter, jaw set.
"We're practicing," I said. "We didn't hurt anything. Not really."
Gobber hobbled closer, eyeing the obstacle course and the scuff marks in the dirt. "What in Thor's name have you two been doin'? Playing at being warriors?"
"We're not playing," I said. "We're getting ready. For dragons. For—whatever comes."
Stoick was silent for a long moment.
"You're five," he finally said, voice low but firm. "This is no game. Weapons aren't toys. You train when you're told. When you're ready. And never unsupervised."
"But no one's training us!" I protested. "We can't wait till we're older. We need to be strong now."
I saw Hiccup shrink back, eyes cast down. My fists clenched.
Gobber looked at Stoick, then back at us. "You've got guts, I'll give ya that."
Before Stoick could speak again, a crack echoed from the treeline.
We all turned.
A boar. Bigger than any I'd ever seen. Its tusks were sharp as blades, its eyes wide with panic and rage. Something had spooked it.
And it was charging straight at us.
"Move!" Stoick shouted, but Hiccup had frozen.
I didn't think. I grabbed his arm and shoved him behind me, gripping my stick with both hands like it was made of steel.
The boar thundered closer—too fast. Too close.
But just before it reached us, a net flew from behind—thick rope tangled its legs mid-run. The boar crashed into the dirt, squealing in fury as it thrashed.
Gobber stepped into view, grinning, another net at the ready.
Stoick was already beside us. He looked at me, then at Hiccup, who clung to my sleeve.
"You protected your brother," he said, quietly. "Even when you were scared."
I nodded.
"Good." He looked at Hiccup next. "And you trusted him."
Hiccup gave a small, trembling smile.
Stoick sighed and rubbed his forehead. "You're both reckless. And stubborn. But maybe... maybe there's something here worth guiding."
Gobber let out a cackle. "Looks like we've got ourselves two new recruits."
"Under supervision," Stoick added sharply.
I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my face. Hiccup was still shaking, but when I looked at him, he looked... taller somehow.
That night, we scratched a new mark into the training tree.
Not just for the training.
But for the first time we fought back—and someone saw.
Gobber didn't waste time.
The very next morning, he kicked open our front door with his usual flair, hollering, "Up and at 'em, twig-limbs! The battlefield waits for no babe!"
Hiccup nearly fell out of bed.
I was already dressed.
We followed him out into the morning fog, still bleary-eyed but hearts pounding. This wasn't secret training anymore. This was real.
He led us not to the usual clearing, but to the edge of the forge, where a few barrels and straw dummies had been set up. I noticed the thick smell of soot and iron still clung to the air.
"You train here now," Gobber declared. "You've got grit, but grit alone makes for a messy stew. We're gonna cook you proper."
Hiccup raised a hand meekly. "U-Um, are we actually… fighting dragons? Or just… pretending?"
Gobber chuckled. "Oh, you won't be pretending' when one's breathing' down your neck, lad. But for now—wooden swords. Dummy targets. And pain."
"Pain?" Hiccup whispered.
"Yup," I said, grinning.
Hour One: Stance
"Stand like that and a Terrible Terror'll knock you flat," Gobber barked. "Wider feet. Knees bent. Chin down. No chicken necks!"
I adjusted. Hiccup wobbled.
"Good. Now hold it."
We held.
Minutes passed.
Hiccup began trembling.
"Can we move now?" he asked.
"Can a shield move when an axe is comin' at it?" Gobber shot back.
Hiccup groaned.
I gritted my teeth and stayed still.
Hour Two: Footwork
"Left. Right. Pivot. Slide. Turn. Back. Now again!"
I slipped once.
Hiccup slipped five times.
By the end, we were dizzy and covered in dust, but something about the rhythm began to feel… right. Like our bodies were starting to remember.
Gobber watched us, one eyebrow raised. He didn't say anything, but I caught the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
Hour Three: Blunt Force
"Time to hit things."
Gobber tossed us each a blunt wooden sword, then pointed to a straw dummy with a crudely painted dragon face on it.
"Five hits. Make 'em count."
I stepped forward and swung hard. The dummy rocked.
Hiccup stepped up next.
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, swung.
The sword bounced off the dummy with a sad little thunk.
Gobber snorted. "That wasn't a hit. That was an apology."
I stepped beside my brother. "Here. Like this."
I guided his hands—tighter grip, better angle—and helped him try again.
Whack.
Better. Still weak, but better.
Hiccup blinked. "Did I… do it?"
"You made it flinch," Gobber said. "That's a start."
Break Time
We sat on a barrel, panting and sore.
Hiccup clutched his side. "I think my ribs have turned to jelly."
"You'll be fine," I said. "Pain is proof you're getting stronger."
"Easy for you to say. You're not made of twigs and nerves."
I handed him a chunk of dried meat and bumped shoulders. "You're tougher than you think."
He looked at me, quietly, and nodded.
Then he smiled.
Last Lesson: Fire
Gobber led us inside the forge for the final part. The heat hit like a wall.
"Real warriors don't just swing swords," he said, grabbing tongs. "They learn what makes 'em. How they break. How they last."
He showed us how to pump the bellows. Let us touch the cooled iron. Told us about different ores, and how dragons fear certain metals more than others.
Hiccup was enthralled. He asked a dozen questions.
Gobber didn't mind. In fact, he answered each one with a surprising amount of patience.
When the session finally ended, we were exhausted. Soot-smeared. Limbs aching.
But my heart was on fire.
We were finally learning what we needed to survive.
No—not just survive.
To win.