Chapter Twenty Five
"Sorry." Comes Shadow's quiet voice a moment later, the sound barely above a choked whisper. And at the statement all the fight and flight tension suddenly goes out of Hiccup's frame, sending the boy slumping weakly back to sit, exhausted, on the bed with a mumbled;
"Me too." The tiny voice is full of tired shame and exasperation, and Hiccup runs a lightly shaking hand through his hair.
There's another long moment of silence in which Shadow stares down at him, this boy, this child who's... seen so, so much, who battled...
"Did you really kill the Red Death? That was actually you?"
Because of course Shadow had heard about it, every Outcast had, the mighty warrior who slew the beast was renowned and incredible and...
Was this boy. This skinny, ridiculous little boy. It's confirmed by the small, tired nod of the young Viking's head.
Hiccup really was the Dragon Conqueror. And, of course, somewhere in his subconscious Shadow had known that. Of course he had. He must of. But the boy was just such a twig of a thing he'd never really thought about what it meant.
The kid was a hero.
A hero to every Viking the entire Barbaric Archipelago.
And that, Shadow supposes, is what makes Hiccup very, very different from himself. Shadow frowns bitterly and runs a hand over his face.
Maybe they're not as alike as he'd thought.
"Shadow?" The boy's small voice jerks him out of his thoughts, and his head snaps round to look at Hiccup, pale and tired sitting on the bed. Hiccup reaches out a lightly trembling hand and his fingers curl around Shadow's forearm and he has to admire the strength still in those little fingers. "You ok?"
Shadow looks at the boy a moment more and then a smile works its way onto Shadow's lips. So perhaps the boy wasn't the mini-self-clone he'd assumed him to be, that that was a notion he'd pressed on the boy in his loneliness. But he was young and clever and brilliant, and needing to get home so very desperately. A home where perhaps even Shadow himself can be welcomed.
The boy is resilient and strong in character and mindset, but he's been badly hurt and is terribly weak.
And, hero or not, Hiccup needs him.
Just as much as Shadow needs Hiccup. Because the Outcast likes it or not, he cares for the boy like a brother.
He grips Hiccup's hand tightly where it rests on his arm and grins.
"Let's go get this leg of yours made then." And Hiccup grins back flawlessly.
...
On the way over, sneaking stealthily through the shadow's like they're made up of the very black smudges they hide in; behind rocks and makeshift Outcast walls. Stealth, after all, is Shadow's forte, and it more than makes up for the curious way he flinches and shrinks away when a Zippleback's head pokes itself up over a cliff top for a moment before disappearing again. Hiccup himself is being half held up by Shadow and is just sort of managing to hop along on one foot. The young dragon rider can't help but scuff his toes in the dirt and wish to every god he can think of, from Loki to Odin himself, that he were at home, on Berk, on his way to Gobber's forge, rather than here, on Outcast Isle, with, you know, Outcasts and...
Hiccup heaves a heavy sigh.
He's more than a little Homesick.
He thinks about his Dad and his friends and Gobber and everyone on the island. Old Wrinkly and Gothi and Astrid and the gang; even his uncle Spitelout.
He wonders if they're coming for him.
It's there, in that moment, that he swears to himself that he'll escape. Somehow, he'll escape. Him and Shadow.
Determination sets his brow and his hobbled hopping steps speed up.
He'll be home soon.
Just you wait and see.
He'll be home soon.
...
The heat of the forge is thick and stifling; Shadows throat dries up making him swallow heavily against the tangible oppression of the air. His eyes sting in the dry, heavy heat and he gasps, wiping sticky perspiration away from his brow.
Hiccup himself appears to be irritatingly unaffected by the unrelenting temperature; the only obvious sign of the effect the merciless heat is having is the two pink splodges of colour high on the boy's pale cheeks. Shadow surmises he must look like a boiled lobster in comparison, and he's not sure whether to chalk Hiccup's own complexion up to experience in the forge's heat or the illness and injuries that still wrack his small body. The boy stands motionless at his side for a long moment, eyes darting around the room, taking in the thick racks of tools and makeshift iron bars that are almost prison-like in the way they are latticed and draped with thick reams of leathery hides to create four walls.
The forge-master, a great hulking Outcast by the name of Hauk the Horrible, is as blessedly absent as Shadow had hoped he'd be. The young Outcast had predicted the man would be on a break; as Hauk takes from working every day at around the same time and Shadow knows he won't return for another few candle marks yet; desperately hoping to Odin the Aldafadr that they'll be done by then. He doesn't exactly fancy explaining to Hauk what he and the prisoner are doing in his forge.
"You be careful." Shadow warns as sternly as he can while trying to keep the concern from this voice and not call the boy a child again. The boy takes a few steps towards the forge, picking up a pair of far-too big leather Gauntlets and pulls them over his fingers.
"Oooh, right, sure." Hiccup rolls his eyes at him with a light grin. "I'll just be..." Hiccup nods his head to the side and points generally over his shoulder at the work bench area, in a vague awkward gesture of 'over there somewhere or something'. Shadow notes how the boy's eyes still glance anxiously around and how Hiccup's frame is taught with tension in the manner of a coiled spring.
Shadow can't say he feels much better about being here; it's ridiculously dangerous if they're caught, and the heat has started to make him light headed. Something Hiccup perhaps notices, as the boy is quick to hand him the water-skein that hangs by the furnace and leaves the skinny Outcast to take long thin gulps of water from it. Shadow's vision stops blurring and the Outcast wonders when it had started.
Hiccup scatters a series of odd-shaped metal-working tools that Shadow neither knows nor comprehends onto the marred surface of the solid oaken workbench. The aged wood has been bowed slightly inwards by the intense heat, the surface old and pitted and cracked; scarred by memories of a lifetime's worth of craftsmen labouring away at it. Furrows run deep into the ancient wood and its surface has been burnt and blackened by years upon year's worth of hot metal being placed upon its surface. Leaving thick black welts amongst the scratches. The bench has been well loved and well used; Hiccup mumbles words to that effect aloud with a small smile tugging at his lips, running his fingers fondly over the old wood like he was reaching out to an old friend. He probably hadn't intended Shadow to hear him, and the Outcast looks away sheepishly.
There's a heavy smell in the air, like charcoal and hot ash mixed with the sharp tang of molten metal. It's sulphurous and thick and makes his eyes sting painfully. The hot coals of the forge fire glow dimly, flames flickering between them in the containment square wooden hearth and Shadow watches intently as Hiccup pushes a series of long, flat metal rods into heart of the hot coals, burying them into the centre of the fuel, where it's hottest, by moving the coals around with his gloved hand and piling them on top of the metal; ignoring Shadow's heart attack as he sees the boy reach out and touch the burning coals. The gauntlets seem to do their job though and protect the boy's little fingers. Seeing the metal settled, hiccup scrambles over to the bellows and the poor kid has to use the weight of his whole skinny body to force the bellows together, sending a heavy puff of hot air at the fire like dragon breathing on her eggs. The flames rear up and dance, sparking and flickering across the coals with every breath from the bellow's great lungs. After two or three Hiccup's clearly exhausted, the dark circles under the boy's eyes more pronounced in the deep orange of the flickering fire light.
Wordlessly, Shadow strides over, ignoring the almost painful increase in the heat in the air as he gets closer to it. He's so close, in fact, to the flames that the heat hangs heavily in the air, as if the very oxygen he's breathing has caught fire, singing his skin and making his eyes sting even more. He can see the heat in Hiccup's cheeks and the perspiration on his brow; and it's telling of the illness and exhaustion that wears away at the boy in itself.
Slowly, Shadow extracts the boy from where he's slumped over the bellows and rolls up his sleeves with a hushed;
"Say when." As he begins to pump the bellows for the boy.
It proves a far harder task than he'd imagined. Now Shadow's not just all skin and bones, but every single one of the lithe little muscles that wriggle under his skin are forced into action as he works, stretching and straining them repeatedly over and over. The bellows are large and old and heavy, and require much force against the air resistance in them to expel the gas from their great billowing lungs. He manages though, more or less, even if the effort leaves him wondering how in the name of the Hroptatyr the boy could manage this at all. Perspiration drips in the Outcast's eyes and the heat chaps his lips, but he soldiers on, keeping the bellows moving at a slow steady speed. Hiccup has the grace to look impressed just as it begins to occur to Shadow why exactly Hauk the Horrible is such a ridiculously huge guy.
The small cry of "when" from Hiccup comes after what feels like forever and, as Shadow stumbles exhaustedly away from the bellows, he's glad to see Hiccup's looking a bit better than he did a few minutes ago, the little rest having done wonders for him. There's a eager expression on the boy's face as he darts towards the metal work, and Shadow has to resist the urge to cry out and prevent him from going near the dangerously hot metal, gloves or no gloves. He pushes the feeling down and finds he's also pleased to see the coals of the forge glowing away; bright white and painfully hot with the metal Hiccup had placed there, and is now turning over, glowing similarly. At least his efforts at the bellows weren't fruitless, Shadow smiles slightly, wincing as the action tugs at his lightly chapped lips.
Sighing, Shadow leans back onto the bench and stares up at the makeshift roof, noting the little shafts of light that tumble down into the darkness of the forge. He takes a long, thin drink from the water-skein and rubs at his heat-irritated eyes. Exhaustion is heavy and palpable on him, like someone's draped his whole frame in a huge heavy blanket, but he figures he'll be fine after a rest. He'd be better off outside, away from the all encompassing heat, he knows, but he doesn't want to leave the boy here by himself. Odin knows what would happen if he did. Shadow takes another long drink and sighs; the cool feeling of the cold water wonderful against his dry, parched throat. His tired, stinging eyes slip closed and he takes a moment to relax out all his tightly wound limbs in the soft, cool breeze that blows in from the door.
The sharp, sudden clang of a hammer on metal jerks Shadow abruptly from his thoughts; sending the Outcast whirling round and nearly tripping over his own feet in his effort to look round to find the source of the sound. Shadow's heart is a sudden wild drum in his chest and adrenalin thrums quickly though his veins. But then he takes in Hiccup, just Hiccup; small in stature but ridiculously strong in spirit, standing at the anvil, the hot metal held between tongs in one of his hands, and a hammer in the other. He must have retrieved the white-hot metal from the fire and brought it over to the anvil. He exchanges a sheepish glance with Shadow and then goes back to beating the metal it into shape with precise, hard strokes of the little hammer. Shadow can see the thin muscles in his arms bulging and stretching with the force of it in a way that almost looks painful, but the boy's expression is concentrated and content. He's at home in his element, and very, very skilled with the metal.
As he strikes the surface of the metal, a shower of tiny, perfect sparks fly out from the surface where the hammer touched the metal, like tiny golden red fireflies that dance and flicker in the dim light. Shadow can physically see the heat rising in great clouds from the metal and it occurs to the Outcast that Hiccup is humming a strange sounding tune under his breath.
Somehow the boy crafts the metal together, reheating the metal in the furnace every few minutes and beating the hard metal into shape; a decidedly difficult task that Hiccup seems to excel at.
He forms an odd pair of straights which he attaches firmly either side of a piece that forms the sole, which curves back and round and down to form a flat platform for standing on. He attaches these to a sort of padded wooden stump and creates the main body of the foot, which contains a long thin piece of tightly coiled length of wiry metal that acts as a sort of spring; pulling itself back into shape between his fingers as he alleviates the pressure he's applying to it to check it works. The spring-mechanism is designed to give a little when walked on, in that hopes that this will make the action easier for the boy than a simple peg like or the like would.
He turn it this way and that, checking it over as the heat rapidly seeps from the metal which now glows a weaker cherry red than its previous more pliable white-hot colouring.
Shadow, however, can only watch in awe as the boy finishes up with a last strike or two of the hammer, and he sets the metal to one side to cool and completely harden naturally (dousing it in water would only make it brittle and likely to break easily, Hiccup explains with a fond smile at his work).
After this, Hiccup scavenges together strips of leather and creates a sort of buckling mechanism to hold the whole lot in shape, and, after double checking its cool enough, he then further pads out the top to stop it chafing against the remains of his leg, before sitting down, attaching the leather straps, and buckling it on. He looks it over, turning it this way and that; a strange, glinting metal thing at the end of his leg.
Eventually, taking a deep breath, Hiccup places his metal foot against the floor and grimaces as the spring squeaks slightly as he puts weight on it. The boy winces as if the action hurts a little; but the foot holds and he grips the sides of his chair, pulling himself into a standing position. He takes a small limping step forward, wobbling and almost toppling into the arms Shadow has been holding out towards him just encase. A small, shaking hand slowly reaches out and grips Shadow's hand, right at the junction between his thumb and fingers and the Outcast curls his own hand tight around the smaller one. Trying not to lean too much weight on it, Hiccup limps slowly around the room, gradually getting steadier and more used to the new foot, and relying less and less on Shadow as he goes.
"It's different, but it'll do in a pinch, and it's better than a peg leg." The last is accompanied by a shudder and a short, humourless laugh, and Shadow finds he doesn't particularly want to know what Hiccup's past experience with peg legs entails.
They tidy up the forge together, leaving the fire to burn out by itself. Shadow considered aloud dousing it with fire, but Hiccup said that would be more noticeable to the forge's smith than fluttering flames that would have probably died out without their presence. Hiccup says it'll probably be ok, and makes sure the doors propped open in the idea that a good strong breeze could have kept the fire going.
"You're very talented." Shadow compliments, looking over the shining metal-work and Hiccup grins and him, a blush alighting his cheeks as he mumbles out his thanks, evidently unused to praise.
They grin at each other for a long moment before Shadow reaches out a hand to clap on the boy's shoulder, grin still fixed in place and a laugh on his lips as he's just about to suggest they leave.
But its right then that a gravelly "Well, well, well, what 'av' we 'ere?" stops their hearts and turns their blood to ice.
Alvin.
...
A/N: Look friends! 'Tis I! I am not dead! I am sure you are relived to know! And look! I have brought you a glorious long chapter that I have worked really hard on! (I seriously did a ridiculous amount of research on Viking forges) *expires*
But no, I must really apologize for leaving you all hanging like that. I came back to Uni after a holiday of writing, and found I had a sudden tonne of course work I had to do (I'm a fine Art student; it's ridiculous), and I have been non-stop busy ever since (so yes, a two week gap). XP
I also didn't have time to read through all the reviews and reply this time, so again, sorry! Love and hugs to you all, your all wonderful and brilliant and I'll do my best to get back to you in the future where I can! Thanks also to all the anonymous reviewers! You lot are angels! For the poor ones of you who were trying so hard to message me here; it's also sometimes easier to get me through my Deviantart or Tumblr (links are on my profile page I think). Sorry again! *Sheepish smile*
But yes, anyway; never fear, this story shall never be abandoned or anything! EVER. I know how annoying that is, and how irritating the gap must have been. But here is the new chapter, terribly late, but it's here! And hopefully you enjoyed it. *fingers crossed*
I really hope you liked it, and if you did please drop me a review? They really encourage a girl to write more and make me ridiculously happy.
*Hugs and charred cookies all around in further apology*
I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible... but yeah... cliifffhannggerrr...
I'm really just inherently evil, sorry about that. :P
- Lenle G
P.S. Glaze also got left in Norfolk while I'm at Uni (he's a little un-transportable and he hurred at me grumpily for not taking him), so you can blame the little bit of writers block I got when coming back to this on him.