Warning: This chapter depicts childbirth, though with as little gore and explicit detail as possible. Rated T for subject matter.

Disclaimer: I still don't own How to Train Your Dragon, but I'm hoping to get myself into Cressida Cowell's will.

From How to Train Your Dragon 2


"You came early into this world. You were such a wee thing: so frail, so fragile. I feared you wouldn't make it."

It was the season of snows, Skadi's blanket covering the island in pearly, iridescent white like new linen sheets on a marriage bed. Beneath the piled drifts and glass-like stretches of ice, the villagers sat holed up in houses that were like islands themselves, isolated at times from their neighbors by the very substance that protected them from Njord's icy breath. From time to time, courageous souls would brave the outdoors, huddling together like lovers for warmth, their feet cutting trails that showed as wrinkles in the pristine white counterpane.

Snoggletog was long past, the mead-drinking and merry-making exchanged for the more painful business of mere survival. By day, Vikings congregated in the forge, the Great Hall, anywhere with a reasonably warm fire. But by night, they withdrew to their insufficient cottages, barricading themselves against the assault of winter.

The storms were the worst, rolling in off the sea to rage over the snow-bound island like a celestial lover's quarrel waged at the expense of mortals. Njord's fierce screams raced down the hillsides to claw and shriek at the buildings, icy fingers tearing off shingles and sending them flying with a strength born of fury. And Skadi would answer, her words a stinging, pelting maelstrom of snow and sleet that battered on the shutters and toppled trees under a weight of cold accusation.

It was on such a night that the labor pangs began.

Valka clutched her swollen stomach, heart laboring in the aftermath of unexpected pain and growing anxiety. It was too soon, much too soon.

The night deepened, the darkness filling with hope and pain and joy and bitter, clenching fear as the hours passed. She crouched, gasping, on the cold floor and held the midwife's hand tightly as the woman knelt over her, rubbing her back gently and murmuring the age-old words of the birthing rite. The contractions continued, increasing in frequency and intensity as the storm outside grew to a fever pitch, and Valka groaned, feeling the cry of the wind in her very core.

The midwife raised her voice, tilting the younger woman forward and instructing her to push. Valka knelt on hands and knees, gasping and screaming and calling on every god she knew to end it, end the pain that burned in her abdomen and loins.

Frigga heard and answered, presenting her gift in a rush of blood and membrane. The midwife caught the child and Valka waited, expectant, for the baby's cry.

When it came, it was weak and feeble, nearly drowned by the howling of the wind. The midwife placed the child, a boy, in his mother's arms, and Valka gasped. He was tiny, small enough she could wrap her thin fingers around his head, and his skin was reddish-purple and papery thin, almost translucent. He wailed weakly, eyes squeezed shut against the candlelight and small cries broken by gasping hiccups as his lungs labored for every breath. Valka rocked him slowly while the storm quieted and the sky began to lighten, her eyes filling with bitter tears as the question echoed in her mind.

How could Frigga give her a gift she could not hope to keep?


Author's notes:

1) I have never experienced childbirth personally, so my apologies if I've written something inaccurate or misleading.

2) Skadi is the goddess of winter, Njord is the god of wind and in Norse legend, they are the father and stepmother, respectively, of Freyr and Freyja, god and goddess of fertility.