Hi everybody! Thank you so much for reading this, my very first fanfic!
Stalka is my OTP, and while I've come across some fantastic fics about them, there simply isn't enough of it. And no lemons! What's with that?
Anyway, expect this to be a fluffy retelling of Stoick and Valka falling in love that diverges into lemons in later chapters, hence the rating.
Enjoy
This was unacceptable behavior for a chief.
Though new to the job, Stoick Haddock, or Stoick the Vast as he'd been known ever since his coronation, knew that the Chief of Berk was a coveted position, and one that required unwavering strength, dedication, and focus. Stoick had all of these traits; he had promised to have them to his father on the old chief's deathbed.
But he just couldn't have strength, determination, and focus around her.
Never mind her, he thought, I have work to do.
At the moment he was busy assisting his fellow Vikings repair the huts damaged in last night's raid. It was the fourth dragon attack on Berk that month; those damn devils only grew hungrier, greedier, and more deadly.
"Hand me a hammer, will ya, Stoick?" cried Hoark the Haggard from down below.
"Here, Hoark," said Stoick as he passed down the tool, but when he looked up once more, there she was.
Valka Brynhildur Larson.
Why did he know her middle name, of all things? The true question was, why did he care about her at all, or at least more than any other villager?
Why, out of all the island villages in all the world, did she have to live in his?
Valka had not always been a Berk resident. She and her father, a wise healer called Wrinkly had arrived a year ago. The story went that, after her mother died in childbirth, Valka and Wrinkly traveled from place to place, offering their services and living on their ship.
Wrinkly, however, had decided to settle down upon a nice, peaceful isle- yet he chose Berk for one reason or another.
And he had brought his annoying, unfocused, confusing, fascinating, lovely, gorgeous daughter with him.
There she was now, her sketch pad in one hand, a lump of coal in the other, as always. She was drawing- what? A tree, perhaps? Likely. Valka seemed to have an affinity for trees. She was built like one, with her statuesque height, graceful, willowy limbs-
No.
No, no, dear Odin no! If there were ever a woman for Stoick to admire, Valka Larson was not that woman.
Not that Stoick admired her. At all. Nope.
As if he had a reason to do so! Ever since her arrival, Valka had tried to fill the village with the most ridiculous thoughts. Dragons were Hel-sent monsters bent upon destroying all in their wake- and she wanted to make peace with them!
Well, she was certainly passionate. And the arguments she gave could move any crowd...
"Stoick! You awake up there?"
And once again, Stoick had been caught daydreaming about the village madwoman.
"I'm fine, Spitelout. This roof'll be all patched up soon."
But he doubted that. Instead he'd waste yet another afternoon pining over a woman he could never understand and therefore could never have.
What was she drawing?
Then, Stoick realized that, by his right side, sat a bluebird with a particularly vibrant breast, basking in the sun. He traced Valka's intense stare to the winged critter.
A bird? She was spending this much energy and concentration on a bird? She was so-
Adorable.
Then, in a horrifying twist of fate, their eyes met.
Her eyes were as crisp and blue as cold winter waters, and he could've swam in them all day. Too bad she dashed into the forest upon meeting his gaze.
Stoick turned to the bluebird next to him. "What do you think?" he asked his feathery friend. "Am I crazy, or...?"
The bluebird flew away
Valka hated Berk.
No, that wasn't fair to say. Berk, as in the island itself, was quite beautiful, with an abundance of unique flora and fauna that gave her plenty of material to study.
Valka hated Berkians. Actually, that wasn't right either, as the Berkians were no more or less crude, violent, or obnoxious than any other Viking tribe.
Ah, there it was- Valka hated Vikings.
Stupid, bloodthirsty, barbaric people, the Vikings are, she thought. Don't know why Papa would ever want to identify as one.
"Your mother was one of the greatest warriors of her time, Val," her father's story rang in her ears. "She was every bit a Viking! Yet she loved me, and I loved her. They're not nearly as bad as you think! Not all of them, anyway."
Oh, but they were. And Stoick the Vast was the worst.
Just the thought of him made Valka physically ill. Stoick, stomping around Berk like a mountain with limbs, trying to prove how much of a Viking, how much of a man he was. Stoick, who immediately shot down every idea she had about dragons in village meetings, and before she could barely explain them! Stoick, who...who…
Stoick, who took up way too many of her thoughts, too much of her energy.
Valka shuddered at the recent memory of being caught sketching that sweet bluebird. His eyes seemed astonishingly green at the moment…
Of course, it was hard to tell when he was squinting in anger all the time! He was so hot-headed, so...so fiery...
Oh, this was silly! Valka wasn't stupid; she was more than aware of her and her father's status as Berk's two black sheep, though at least the rest of the Berkians considered Papa useful thanks to his expansive knowledge about healing. What was Valka good for? In their eyes, not much.
And the chief's opinion wouldn't be any different.
She sighed, and returned to her sketchpad. Perhaps from memory she could finish the bluebird drawing? Or maybe…
With sudden fervor, Valka etched out a man with a beard like a lion's mane, eyes that shone with fire and determination, and the stance of someone who understood not only their own importance, but that of their family and heritage.
It resembled him perfectly.
Imagine if he ever saw this, Valka wistfully chuckled to herself. He never would, she knew. He would never get close enough to her to come upon it.
That, in a way, made the drawing all the more special.