Twenty hours. The longest twenty hours of his life.
Twenty excruciatingly long hours ago, Stoick the Vast's wife, Valhallarama had felt the first stab of labor pains and had launched into the tumultuous world of childbirth.
He paced on the main floor of their home, wincing as his wife bellowed in agony. Very few things could cause the great Viking chieftain to wince, but he had never even heard a dragon roar so loudly.
And a dragon had never threatened to remove THAT part of his anatomy before.
With an exasperated growl, Stoick sat down in the nearest chair, rubbing a massive hand over a rough, weather beaten face. He wished his child would just arrive already so he could stop worrying about his beloved wife's wellbeing.
Before he'd even finished that thought, he heard a thin, quavering wail from his room, and his heart froze. He stood up, looking at the door at the top of the stairs impatiently. The door opened after a few moments, and the midwife walked down the stairs, beaming and holding the smallest bundle of blankets he had ever seen.
"You have a son," the midwife murmured softly, holding the bundle out in front of her, meaning for Stoick to take it from her.
Stoick had never before been so aware of how large he was. The bundle could almost fit in one hand, and Stoick couldn't help but be a little disappointed. Shouldn't a son fit to be a chief's heir be a little…larger? Burlier? More impressive?
That disappointment vanished the moment Stoick peered into the folds of the blankets and saw his son's face.
His son.
The thought instantly warmed him, and a grin split his face in half. This tiny being, however small and fragile he seemed, was his son.
Stoick had thought he'd known what love felt like before. After all, he had been blessed by the Gods in finding a wife for whom he cared a great deal about. But nothing compared to the extreme rush of affection he felt for the child he now cradled in his arms.
He knew his life would never be the same. He didn't belong just to the village anymore. While the survival of the tribe was still his job, his LIFE now revolved around his son.
As long as he could prevent it, his son would never know hunger or cold. His son would never have to fear for his life during a dragon raid.
His son would be the greatest dragon slayer in all of Berk's history. His son would be playing with axes as soon as his mother would allow it. He would kill his first dragon in the Kill Ring in front of the entire village, and Stoick would look on, aching with pride as his child mounted his first Gronkle head on a spear.
Stoick pressed his lips softly against the newborn's downy red hair.
He couldn't wait to get to know his son.