[HTTYD] Carried Off, Finn forge subplot (part 1)

Carried Off, a DreamWorks' How to Train Your Dragon fanfic by Raberba girl

"Finn and the forge" subplot, part 1 (rough draft)

 

When Finn was four years old, he discovered that the forge was a good place.

 

He had been exploring, trying to stay out of everyone's way, and because the forge was empty, he had ducked into it when a group of men passed too close to him.  Finn made himself comfortable under a table in the corner and eventually fell asleep.

 

When he awakened, he was utterly horrified to realize that the blacksmith had returned.  The fearsome old man was grumbling to himself and clanging away at a weapon.  Finn, frozen with terror, stayed in his hiding spot until the blacksmith drank too much and fell asleep.  Finn finally managed to muster up the courage to creep out and flee home.

 

Although the blacksmith himself was practically a monster as far as the little boy was concerned, Finn felt rather drawn to the forge.  It was dim and cluttered, which made it a good place to hide, and Finn soon realized that as long as he was careful to keep the blacksmith unaware of his presence, the sounds of the old man's work were strangely soothing and made Finn feel safe.

 

Finn spent hours comfortably curled up in one hiding place or another, looking at books or drawing or practicing his runes or napping or just thinking, idly listening to either the quiet stillness or the sounds of the blacksmith's work.

 

Gobber stumped or lounged around the shop at random hours, drinking more than working, keeping his curses confined to low mumbles, unrepentant about slacking off because he was the only one in the village who knew how to do this kind of work.  He was irreplaceable.  He didn't care about the complaints and he didn't care if he ever lost his livelihood, because dying wasn't any worse than living.  He did work a little, mostly because drinking and sleeping did have their limits, and he had nothing else to do.  He had long ago stopped baby-sitting the twins - he didn't have the energy to keep up with Valka, and Finn was apparently terrified of his gruff demeanor and unkempt looks.

 

A few weeks after Finn had claimed the forge as his special place, he was relaxed in his hiding spot, drawing, absorbed in his work, when he was shocked to hear his name.

 

"Oi, Finn."

 

The little boy froze, staring up at the blacksmith in horror.  The man was looking right at him.

 

"Give me that box, will you?"

 

"Wh...Wh...?"

 

"The box, Finn," Gobber snapped.  "You're sitting right in front of it, I can't reach it."

 

Finn was shaking as he slowly looked behind him and realized that he was indeed blocking a box of tools.  Whimpering, he pushed the box out into the open like a supplicant trying to appease an angry god.

 

Gobber scooped up the box, rummaged around in it for a minute, dropped the box onto the table with a heavy thud, then stumped off to resume working.

 

Finn curled up tightly for a long time, trying very hard to stay silent as he cried.  The blacksmith knew he was here, he'd lost his safe place, he could never come here again, he was lost and he had nowhere to go and the blacksmith had SEEN HIM, and...and....

 

After a while, it finally occurred to Finn that the blacksmith had not actually kicked him out.  He hadn't hurt him, either.  Cautiously, Finn shifted a tiny bit so he could look at the blacksmith, who was now just sitting on a stool, drinking.  The man had found Finn trespassing, but nothing bad had happened.  'He yelled at me....'  But that was only because Finn had been too slow to obey.  He knew better for next time now, if the blacksmith wanted something then Finn must obey immediately, and then the blacksmith wouldn't snap at him.

 

Gobber fell asleep, and Finn fled.

 

For two days after that, Finn tried to avoid the forge entirely, but it was so awful not having a place to hide.  He was trapped and vulnerable out in the open, he couldn't escape his mother if she came along and was unhappy with him, or his sister when she wanted to harass him, adults would scold him for getting in the way, the other children of the village would make fun of him for being weird and small and weak....

 

In despair, Finn waited until the next time the forge was empty, then he crept into one of his old hiding places and stayed there until he felt better.

 

The forge was still a good place when it was empty, but now Finn was constantly stressed and anxious, worrying about the blacksmith coming in.  The man probably knew he was there, if the man knew he was there then he could drag Finn out and yell at him, there was no telling what the man would do to him or make him do, Finn could still hide here but he was no longer at peace....

 

Gobber was working as Finn watched him.  The man's movements were slow and weary, and finally he gave a great sigh and stopped altogether.

 

Gobber felt too sick and weak to take a step.  "Finn," he called.

 

The little boy, already tense, went rigid.

 

"Finn," Gobber snarled, patience immediately evaporating, "get out here."

 

The boy, his breathing shallow and erratic with fear, edged out into the open and stared up at the blacksmith beseechingly.

 

Gobber softened a little.  "Be a good lad and fetch some more coal, would you?"

 

"Wh...wh...?"

 

'WHY is he so afraid of me?' Gobber thought irritably, but forced his voice to stay calm and not spook the child further.  "Over there," he said, pointing.  "Put some coal in a bucket, and bring it here.  The shovel, too."

 

Finn rushed to obey, accidentally scattering a few pieces of coal across the floor as he did so.  He gasped in dismay and dropped to his knees to shove them into the bucket.

 

"There's no hurry, lad," Gobber said, frowning.

 

Finn still ran back to offer up the bucket, his eyes wide with apprehension.

 

"I'm not a monster, you know."  By the time Gobber had built up the fire again, Finn was nowhere to be seen, having presumably whisked back into one of his hiding spots.  Gobber shook his head, returned to work for a little longer, then gave up for the day and shuffled back to bed.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

The forge never got cleaned or tidied anymore, so it became more and more of a mess.  The smaller debris scattered across the floor were the most hazardous for the one-legged man.

 

This was not at all the first time Gobber had slipped on a nail and fallen heavily to the floor, but this was the first time he was so angry about it.  He shouted and cursed without his usual consideration for the hiding child's ears; he snatched up the closest satisfyingly large enough item and hurled it.  It was difficult to adjust his wrenched prosthetic and he couldn't reach the ale he'd dropped, and he was too tired and frustrated and worn down to try.  He almost felt like weeping.

 

"...Finn," he finally gasped out.  "Finn."  The boy approached cautiously.  "The flask...pass it over...."

 

Finn hesitantly picked up the flask, which had fallen and spilled some of its contents.  As soon as it was in his hand, Gobber polished off the rest, then tossed the flask aside and rolled over to fall asleep right there on the floor.

 

Finn stared, his back prickling a little at the sound of the man's snores.  Then he looked around.  For the first time, he realized just now many bits of scrap metal and other hazards littered the dirty floor, and now he rather wondered how Gobber had managed to get around at all without falling down every five seconds.

 

Finn picked up a few pieces of debris and studied them for a minute.  Then he picked up a few more, and a few more, and by then it was a project.  He worked diligently until the whole center of the floor was clear.  He was too tired by then to work on the edges of the room or to fish out the small pieces that were hidden under larger piles of clutter, so he curled up in one of his hiding places and went to sleep.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Finn had a job now.  No one had ever said anything about it, but he woke up early every morning and went to work just like a grown-up, because someone needed him and he was the only one willing to do such work, and he liked how it made him feel important.

 

He even got paid.  The first time, he wasn't expecting it; he was so focused on sorting items into neat piles that he jumped and yelped when he suddenly found Gobber looming over him.

 

"You're a Viking, boy, not a rabbit," Gobber grumbled.  "Grow a spine."

 

"I'm sorry," Finn said by reflex.

 

"Hold out your hand."

 

After a moment's hesitation, Finn obeyed, trying his hardest to keep from crying.  He was astonished when, instead of some sort of punishment descending on him, a coin was dropped into his palm.  He stared at it.

 

"You're a bit young yet for drinking and whoring, but I'm sure you can think of some use for that."  Gobber shuffled off, exhausted from his latest expenditure of energy.

 

Slowly, Finn curled his fingers around the coin.  He had no idea what to spend it on, but that didn't matter.  Things like this, this piece of cold metal in his hand, they were for grown-ups.  For adults.  He was a man now.  He would save this important adult thing until he knew what to do with it, and in the meantime, he would work hard because he wanted to be good at being a man.

 

Finn came faithfully to work every day, unless the weather was too bad for anyone to venture outside.  At first, the little boy simply kept the floor tidy and was given a coin every week.  When the floor was clear enough for him to finish his work too quickly and get bored, he started noticing other messes, like the heaps of junk piled all over the shelves and counters and table.  Hesitantly, he started picking at those, too, climbing so he could reach and moving things around until he had worked out a system for organizing them.

 

Once, while trying to remove things from a shelf, he brought the entire mass of junk down with a huge crash.  Utterly horrified, he curled up tightly on the floor with his arms over his head, waiting to be shouted at or hit.  He waited for a long time, then finally dared to raise his head, only to see Gobber going about his business as if the man hadn't even noticed Finn's terrible mistake.

 

The little boy finally rose to his feet and started cleaning up the mess, crying softly, his shoulders hunched in shame.  He was astonished when, at the end of the day, Gobber paid him as usual and even added a compliment:  "Good work."  Had he not even noticed how badly his stupid little assistant had screwed up...?!

 

By the time Finn had been working in the forge for three months, he'd learned that Gobber pretty much didn't care what he did as long as the boy did not get between the blacksmith and his drink.  The one time Finn accidentally spilled half a flask of ale, Gobber grabbed him and shook him and shouted at him.  Finn, feeling like pond scum, cried himself to sleep that night and was too miserable to get out of bed the entire next day, faking illness so that his mother wouldn't force him to get up.

 

The day after that, when he tried to do the same thing, Gobber came stomping into the house around lunchtime, seized Finn by the collar, dragged him to the forge, and ordered him to get to work.

 

"I'm sorry," Finn begged, "I'm sorry for spilling the--"

 

"YOU ARE THE GRANDSON OF STOICK THE VAST," Gobber roared.  "YOU ARE THE SON OF A MAN WHO COULD BEWITCH DRAGONS.  ACT LIKE IT, BOY."

 

Finn stared, quivering and silent.

 

Gobber pointed severely.  "I'm a worthless old drunk.  You are a chieftain's son.  Never apologize to me."

 

How could Finn not apologize when he'd done something wrong?  "I don't know what to do to make you like me," he burst out in despair.  Then he couldn't hold the tears back anymore.  Standing before the looming blacksmith with his shame completely bared, Finn hid his face in his hands and sobbed.

 

He was shocked when he felt the old man's arms come around him in something like an embrace.  Gobber lifted him up, and Finn was startled into meeting his eyes.

 

"Lad," Gobber said softly, "I hope you haven't been doing all this for me."

 

"I keep messing up," Finn whispered.  "I can't do anything right."

 

He couldn't understand why a small smile touched Gobber's face then.  Gobber looked...a lot better with a smile.  "You do well enough.  Just don't touch my ale, that's all."

 

A couple of fresh tears spilled out of Finn's eyes.  "If I don't touch the flask, can I still work here?"

 

"Why do you think I brought you back?"  Gobber swung him down and gave him a little shove toward a pile of junk.  "Get going.  I can't run this place without you."

 

"Really?" Finn gasped, not daring to believe that he was still needed, that his work still had any value.

 

"Get to work."

 

Finn rushed to obey, feeling simultaneously terrified and overjoyed.

 

One day, Gobber asked abruptly, "Can you make a fire?"

 

"Soooort of," Finn hedged.  He could pretty much light the hearth at home, but he was still smarting with shame from when his mother had taken him and Val out into the woods for training, and he had failed to start the fire for their camp.

 

"Come here."  Gobber taught him how to start and tend the forge fire.  "This is your job now.  I don't ever want to look over and see that the fire's gone out or too low, you hear me?"

 

"Yes, sir," Finn said, panicking a little at the added responsibility.  He worked hard, not just tending to the fire but trying to remember to keep it going.  The first time he forgot, he was terrified when Gobber called for him and he looked and realized that the fire had dwindled to a faint glow.  "I told you not to forget.  Gah, you're as brainless as your father...."  Gobber took another swig from his flask, muttering under his breath.  "Screw it. Jansson's not getting his sickle today; I'm going back to bed."

 

Finn fought back tears and cursed himself as he started working to get the heat back up, then cursed himself again when he realized he was all alone in the forge and there was no need for a fire anymore.  He slunk away, hiding in his room until the next morning, and was late for work because he dreaded it so much that it took a very great act of will to force himself into the shop.

 

Gobber was singing.  "Ah, Hiccup!"  He squinted.  "The other kid....  Finn?"

 

"I'm here."

 

"...Whatever.  Go find those horseshoes I was working on yesterday."

 

"You mean Monday?"

 

"Yesterday, Monday, whatever," Gobber said, careless and cheerful.  He took another drink.

 

"Are you mad at me?" Finn asked, daring to hope that he'd been forgiven.

 

Gobber's only answer was to start singing again.

 

To be continued....