What it means to be a brother
This is Berk. It snows nine months of the year and hails the other three.
If there's ever an exception of that, then it is to give an extraordinary thunderstorm a chance to cause havoc.
And if the pouring rain is beating on your roof like a dozen wild dragons, the howling wind whistles trough every crack like a pack of Nordic wolves and the rumbling thunder crashes in front of your door as if the mighty Thor himself demands admission, then there is nothing better than having a hot, crackling fire in your place warming you from top to toe and filling the room with a soft and welcoming glow.
But on this particular night no flame and no fire could be brighter or warmer than the smile of Stoick the Vast, chief of the Hooligan Tribe and recently proud father of his second son.
He didn't notice the raging storm outside; he was completely taken with the tiny Viking silently sleeping in his arms. The orange glow flickered across his face as he looked down at the small bundle, at the peacefully closed eyes, the lumpy nose the red cheeks and the small tuft of red hair that reminded him so much of himself.
Even though he boy felt fragile in his shovel-like hands, he was nevertheless a considerably strong and healthy baby even for Viking standards. Stoicks heart pounded again in excitement as he remembered the moment he had heard the first loud cries of his son. That was the moment he knew he would live and one day, he would be a strong Viking with glory on his side, just like his father.
Still sleeping, the baby gave a nosy yawn, showing its red tongue and stretching its small fists into the air. The beefy Viking felt a happy prickle rising up his chest. He moved his head close to the child's face and whispered: "My son, you're one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my life. One day, you'll be a strong and fearless warrior, and you'll make your father proud."
"But Dad, why is he all toothless?"
Surprised Stoick turned his head to where the tiny voice came from, just to see his firstborn son looking over his shoulder, watching the baby with a slightly confused and worried expression.
He gave a small chuckle into his beard, both about the question and the fact that he didn't notice the petite boy climbing up his back and clinging to his shoulder. Since his birth Hiccup had been scrawny, clumsy and silent. Not much of a Viking at all. But he still loved his clever, skilled, dreamy, curious and kind-hearted son, just as much as he loved his clever, skilled, dreamy, curious and kind-hearted wife.
"His teeth will grow in time, don't worry about that. Everyone is born toothless."
Hiccup looked at him with wide eyes.
"Even dragons?"
Stoick chuckled again. "Even dragons." he said solemnly, although he wasn't quite sure about this.
With a small thud Hiccup jumped down from his father's back and followed him to a wooden crib where the red-bearded Viking carefully placed the tiny human.
"But Dad, what if they don't?"
"They will. All it takes is time. And speaking of which, it's way past your bedtime." And with that the big man playfully grabbed his son and carried the giggling boy upside down to his bad, pulling the blankets up to his chin and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Sleep now, my little adventurer. Tomorrow you can get to know your little brother."
While walking down the stairs, Stoick thought about his two sons who couldn't be more different. But they were different in a completing way, like he and Val were.
He could almost see their future passing in front of his eyes. The smart and caring chief, leading his tribe with great visions and sense of responsibility, always trying to give his very best and to be fair to his people. At his side, the brave and fearsome second-in-command, leading every battle to victory and earning every glory a barbarian could think of while supporting his chief wherever he can. With such colourful dreams of the newest Haddock generation he went to sleep.
As soon as the house was filled with his roaring snoring competing the thunder on the outside, a small shadow silently sneaked its way downwards to the crib. Young Hiccup pulled himself up on the wooden rim until he could see his little brother. The warm light of the slowly dying fire sparkled in his forest green eyes as he watched him sleep and started to whisper, with all the love a five year old boy can put into his voice:
"Don't worry, little Toothless. I'm Hiccup, your big brother. Dad says, being a brother means to protect and help each other if one can't do something on his own. I promise I'm going to be the best big brother of the world. I'll protect you from everything out there, whether it is a dragon or a human. You know, our cousin Snotlout, he can be really mean sometimes. We'll show him who the best Vikings of the archipelago are!
Oh, and because of your teeth, I already have an Idea for that. If they don't grow, I'll make you some dentures. Gobber has a false arm and a false leg, so why can't I make you false teeth? You'd be able to change them, so when you want to look extra scary, you can use a set of dragon teeth! That would be pretty cool; no one would dare to fight against you. By the way, Gobber is our blacksmith, in case you don't know and I sometimes watch him working. He says I can be his apprentice one day and then I'm going to make all the cool inventions I already drew plans of…
And like that he continued to talk to his little brother for a long time, until he couldn't hold on to the side of the bed anymore and his eyelids seriously started to drop. The last thing to be heard was the light bump he made when he let himself fall onto the floor, curled up into a ball and fell asleep on the spot.
Black clouds raced across the dark sky, thunders still rolled up and down the shores of Berk and the wind hauled away on the motionless figure of a single Viking standing at the edge of a cliff, inexpressively watching the rough sea.
Crib death.
These were the only words he could think of. These simple two words ran through his head, again and again, hammering in his chest, ringing in his ears and raging in his throat wanting to be screamed out loud against the wind, the sky, the gods, this whole miserable world.
Gone. His healthy son, simply gone, without any reason. And his beautiful, fierce and divine wife. Also gone. Still weakened from the birth she couldn't cope with the sudden loss of her child.
Stoick could feel his heart being torn into pieces. He felt incomplete. Why them? Why him? The gods must hate him.
"Dad?"
A shaky voice tried to reach him through the howling storm, on the inside as well as on the outside. A tiny hand tried to grab his clenched fists in a gesture that begged for help.
But Stoick couldn't stand to look at his now only son. His son with the crazy ideas only Val could deal with. His son, who reminded him that much of his love that it caused him deadly pain just to look at him right know. Maybe it would just take time to come over it. Maybe.
And without a word the vast Viking walked away, leaving a shaking Hiccup at the cliff, crying and not understanding anything anymore. He watched his father's back disappearing in the rain, then he let his gaze wander over the sea and into the sky, only one question on his infant mind:
Why wouldn't they let him be a big brother?
Wow. I can't belive it's actually done. My first fanfiction (actually, my first story that is presented to others at all). Whoo!
Review if you'd like to say something; feel free to criticize (espacially on language ad grammar, I'm happy about every hint!) It depends on your reviews whether I continue writung or leave it at reading fanfictions, so don't underdestimate your importance!
I hope you enjoyed it, hopefully till the next time ;-)
Lady Elfensenf