The Blacksmith's Apprentice

Seventeen: That Dragon Is Mine

Seventeen: That Dragon is Mine

Despite a pounding head and near-terminal hangover, Hiccup headed straight down to the forge with Astrid in tow, bringing a flask of mint tea and bread and jerky. Gobber was asleep up at Stoick's house, as he often did after a heavy night at the Hall. Dagur's flagship was still moored at the harbour, the guards looking alert and fierce looking-even from the top of the cliffs. As she watched, Hiccup pumped the bellows and began to rifle through the drawers under the work surface, his quick eyes searching for components he recalled from years working in the forge and a few he had tinkered with behind Gobber's back. She perched on the stool, sipping the tea, as he grabbed a scrap of parchment, found a sliver of charcoal and deftly sketched a design.

"What is it, babe?" she asked as the young man paused, closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, fighting nausea.

"Watching how the panels of your skirt hang from the waist band gave me the idea how to fix Toothless's tail," he tried to explain. "The rods in his tail that support the broken bones are already growing in, becoming covered in membrane. There are small loops in the ends-which I can use to attach to a device that matches their movement to the remaining fin." He frowned. "All it needs is a supporting rod, a stabilising strut, some internal gearing and..." Astrid raised her hands in surrender.

"You lost me at stabilising strut!" she laughed. "Can you really build that?" He nodded cautiously.

"Yeah," he admitted roughly, accepting the mint tea and taking a small sip. Thoughtfully, he turned his bandaged left hand over and back and nodded. "Not gonna be comfortable-and I may need to pull an all-nighter...but yes." He sagged. "The machines I built to fight dragons were a lot more complicated...in fact..." His eyes widened and he grinned, then scurried to the back. The wreckage of the disasters was still neatly piled there for Gobber to recycle from Hiccup's clean-up. He began to rummage. "I can repurpose some of the components to reduce build time..." Astrid watched him become engrossed in the project, his enthusiasm warming his pallid face and eyes sparkling with excitement. She got to her feet and smiled.

"I'm off training, babe," she told him. "Take care!" He glanced up and grinned: the carefree, enthusiastic smile she had missed for far too long.

"And you, Milady," he replied as she swung from the forge. "Try not to kill the entire forest!"

Once he had sorted through the back and assembled most of the components he needed, he made moulds based on the existing cogs and screws and melted some scrap metal from a shattered axe and dagger to pour into the moulds. Quietly, he poured the bubbling white-hot liquid into the moulds and used the remainder to fill a small dagger mould. Sitting back, he cast around the forge for something easy he could repair while he waited for the remaining components to cool-and he saw a very bent plough share. Frowning, he lifted it and saw the metal was worn, the edge pitted and it was starting to rust: there was only one person who would cling to such an appalling old piece of rubbish.

"Mildew," he murmured and shoved the plough into the fire, pumping the bellows. There were a couple of swords that needed straightening so he dipped them into the fire as well, then pulled on his leather apron, used the tongs to put the plough in a vice and tightened it. Staring at his bandaged hand, he grabbed the hammer in his right hand, stared at the red hot metal and gave a cautious blow. Grimacing, he lined up and began to hammer the distorted metal straight.

"Ere-yer won't mend me plough just tappin' it like a girl!" an unfamiliar and snide voice sneered. Taking a shuddering breath-because the rhythmic clanging of the hammer was worsening his headache-Hiccup's head slowly lifted and he sighed as he saw the scrawny, unpleasant shape of Mildew, the man's mean eyes narrowed and straggly moustache and whiskers moving gently in the cold wind.