Hey! Thank you to Steampunk Wilson, KaliAnn + Volonqarie for reviewing the last chapter.

This marks the end of the IceCaves arc. Next I think I'll go straight to the party because I'm behind already.

See chapter 1 for the disclaimer and let's crack on.

Which idiot thought it would be a good idea to bring a block of ice into the house!?

We have just spent…an hour and a half? Trying to break the thing. Because [obviously] Scrooge needs the actual sword that is INSIDE the ice, not the actual ice itself.

"Can't we just take it back with us?" Donald said, tiredly. "It'll melt on the way back if we strap it to the roof-rack."

Scrooge looked at him like he'd just suggested killing Dewey or something. "Strap it to – you know lad, sometimes I wonder what goes through tha' head o' yours."

"But-!"

"IF we stra' it to the ROOF and the ice MELTS then what'll happen? The sword will simply fall though the restraints onto the floor to be lost in the dredges o' a ditch somewhere!"

Donald opened his beak and then closed it again.

I chose this moment to butt in with a moment of womanly-wisdom. "So what you're saying is we need to break it?"

"Exactly!" Scrooge nodded at me in approval. "Now, go I'll ask Goofy if he has a flame-thrower or something."

Donald looked extremely alarmed at that. "If he has I'm using it!" He called after Scrooges re-treating back. He turned back to me with bags under his eyes. "Like I'm gonna trust Goofy with a freakin' flame-thrower…" He muttered.

I smiled at him in what I hoped was a sympathetic manner. "Sleep well?"

"To quote Mickey 'snug as a bug in a rug!'" He said, voice going high to mimic Mickey's manner. [Weird couple of words to string together]

I laughed and was still laughing when Scrooge came back in looking very annoyed. "They don't have a flame-thrower." He said, in genuine amazement. "Or a chainsaw. Or anything vaguely useful except knives."

Me and Donald looked at each other as Scrooge walked over to the nearest drawer, opened it and picked out a couple of sharp knives. "Well?" He said, seeing us staring at him. "What are you waiting for?"

So we took the knives and started chipping. You would have thought when we were packing that SOMEONE may have thought of chisellers but no. Common sense, I think it's fair to say, does not run in our family.

After about a solid forty minutes of this we had only made a couple of dents – quite sizeable dents – and our arms were exhausted.

Donald put the knife down and wiped his forehead. "I haven't done a work-out like this since I was in the navy." He said.

I looked at him. "You're telling me in the navy they got you working as ice-sculptors when you weren't being shot at?"

Donald glared at me. "Shut up." He said, maturely.

Scrooge was getting more annoyed. "There must be an easier way to do this!" He said, glaring at the ice. Then, with a squawk of annoyance and another example of the famous Duck common sense, when Scrooge picked the ice up and threw it on the floor, clearly learning nothing from Donald's experiences yesterday.

It was when our dear uncle was doing this that Goofy came in. "Gawsh." He said, doing that thing when he puts his hands up to his mouth. "What are you doing, Uncle Scrooge?"

I would have thought that would have been obvious, but apparently not.

"I want to break it!" Scrooge snapped. "That's what I'm doing!"

"Well, why don't you try melting it?" Goofy asked.

Cue the three of us looking at each other, then Doanld turned back to Goofy and went:

"…What?"

"Yeah! Hold on-" And he darted out the room.

Scrooge poked the ice and glared at it like it was his personal enemy. Which, to be fair, at that moment it pretty much was.

When Goofy came back it was with two hair-dryers. "Here you go." He said, plopping them on the table. "That might help."

So we plugged them in and me and Goofy blew the hairdryers at the ice. It was me and Goofy because by that point Scrooge was sulking and Donald was complaining his arm was numb. Mine was to! Bloody wimps…

Even with the hairdryers it took us twenty minutes but we managed it. Or rather we got it to a point where the boys found it easier to hack at it with knives.

So after an age [an ice age – hah!] we got the sword free.

"Careful!" Scrooge yelled as Donald brushed bits of ice of it with the blade of his knife.

"…Yeah, yeah – I got it." My twin muttered, expertly cleaning the sword.

He had got it as well and soon the sword looked as good at it did when Hephaestus made it.

"Gee, it looks great, Uncle Scrooge." Goofy said. "What are you going to do with it?"

Scrooge smiled and stroked the sword. "I think it'll be quite nice in my treasure room. I'll have Beakley clear a space for it."

Goofy looked confused and looked at Donald, who explained. "It's a trophy. Metaphorically of course."

So yeah. Mixed reactions between me and Donald, while we were packing to go back Donald was complaining that we risked our life so Scrooge can have another 'trophy' for his room, while I was just pleased I got to go on another adventure with my boys.

"The boys are 12." Donald pointed out. "They should be doing normal stuff instead of trawling though ice caves. Attending clubs. Watching TV. Hanging with friends."

I paused. "They don't have any friends to they? Except for Webby, of course."

Donald scrunched his beak up. "Yeah…I worry about that…"

I looked at him. "Well, don't. I mean, look at us two. For ages we just has each other didn't we? Although we had Gladstone and Feathry of course."

"Yeah. And Mickey and Goofy." Donald pointed out. "And I had Panchito and Jose."

"And Minnie and Daisy." I said. Donald flinched and I held mu hands up. Daisy's still a sore-point obviously…

So yeah. All in all a good trip. Be nice to do it again at some point.

Well, catch you next time diary!