The Chief's Embarrassment

Stoick the Vast entered his house with footsteps that sounded like thunderclaps against the wooden floor. There was impatience written on his face as he walked to the foot of the stairs and looked up, straining to see the door of the room upstairs from his position.

"Hiccup! HICCUP! Come down here, quickly! Hurry up, son." Stoick crossed his arms, frowning. Where in Thor's name was that boy? "Hiccup!"

"Settle down, Stoick," Valhallarama reprimanded gently from the front of the fireplace, looking up from her sewing. "He's not an idle boy, you know."

"What do you call his odd daydreams and fantasies, then? Fruitful labour?" Stoick replied moodily. He was about to yell for his son again when the seven-year old raced down the stairs, tripping over the last one and collapsing in a heap on the ground.

"Hi Dad!" he exclaimed excitedly, peeking through his reddish bangs. "You'll never believe it! I was examining some dragon poop that I got from the last raid and I didn't find many sheep remains in it! Only a tiny—"

"Dragons are not things to play about with, Hiccup," Stoick rumbled, frowning down at him.

Hiccup visibly quailed, and then said, "But I like them."

Stoick was aghast. How could Hiccup claim to like those devils? Reigning in his temper, he—true to his name—stoically ignored this madness and addressed his son with false calmness. "Forget about all of that, son. Today, we're going fishing!"

Stoick expected excitement and glee from his son. Fishing was one of the most important aspects of Viking culture, a fact that even the smallest child knew and yearned to experience. The other children of Hiccup's age had already gone with their parents and returned with gushing tales and bragging about the size of the fish they'd caught. Young Astrid had caught the largest fish that was ten inches long, which wasn't bad for her age. Privately, Stoick wanted Hiccup to beat her and get a catch worthy of the chief's son.

Hiccup, however, didn't display any sort of happiness at this news. Stealing another glimpse at his father's eager face, he looked down and mumbled, "But I don't want to go."

"Wonderful! We'll get—what?"

"I don't want to go, Dad. I want to do other things. I still have to examine more of the dragon poop, and Gobber is still teaching me how to make cool stuff at the forge, and Mom said she would tell me some more of her stories."

"Hiccup!" Stoick knelt down and looked his son in the eye. Apparently, Hiccup didn't like what he saw in his father's eyes because he paled slightly and looked away again. Stoick frowned even more and tilted his head up, trying to convey how serious this was. "This is an important trip for both of us. This trip will show everyone that you are worthy of being the chief one day. That you're worthy enough to be a Viking. That you're worthy of being my son."

"Stoick!" Valhallarama snapped, anger in her eyes as she listened to his condescending words.

"He needs to hear it, Val!" Stoick turned to Hiccup again. "If you don't come today, you could become an embarrassment in front of the entire village. Do you want that? Do you?!"

Hiccup mutely shook his head, sudden tears shining in his eyes. He didn't fully understand what his father was saying, but his eyes were angry and had that strange emotion that made Hiccup feel sad because his dad thought he wasn't good enough. He had learned the word for that last week. Shame. Ashamed. His dad was ashamed of him. Hiccup loved his dad, and didn't want to disappoint him, certainly didn't want him to be ashamed of him, so he agreed to come.

His father nodded. "Good. Now go get your vest. We have to leave now if we want to get back by sundown."

Hiccup got to his feet slowly and stomped back up the stairs, silently complaining at the loss of a whole day.

"Stoick Haddock, you were entirely too harsh on him," Valhallarama berated.

"He needs it, Val. He's too sensitive. The boy is enough of an embarrassment as it is." Stoick began to pace. "Do you know what the others are saying? They're calling him a runt. They are calling my son a runt! A weakling! This can't continue. He has to uphold the Haddock name." He snorted suddenly. "The other children are far more Vikings than Hiccup. Even Astrid is bigger than he is! I thought he would grow into a bigger size, but that is not happening. He needs to gain their respect through his actions. And to do that, he needs to be…pushed in the right direction."

"But what you said is going too far! You're pushing him away."

Stoick whirled around. "If that's what it takes to make him a Viking, and a son I can be proud of, then so be it."

Seeing Hiccup glumly trudging down the stairs, Stoick walked away without another word. Before they left, he cast a look back at his wife and saw her giving them the saddest yet most knowing look he'd ever seen.

Stoick and Hiccup walked along the path, a tense silence hanging over them, punctuated by grunts every few minutes from the latter. Hiccup had been told to carry more of the supplies to "build strength", as his father put it.

"So, Dad," Hiccup puffed, "What else are we going to do today? The fishing spot is in the forest, right? Oh, can we go hunting for trolls? Gobber told me they live in the forest and—"

"We are here for fishing and fishing alone," Stoick cut in curtly.

"But Dad!" Hiccup persisted with unusual bravery, "We never do anything I want!"

"What you want doesn't matter!" Stoick breathed in deeply, realizing they'd stopped walking. Hiccup was staring at him wide-eyed. "The only thing that matters is that you do things for the tribe. You do things that make you a part of Berk. You do things that make you a Viking."

The boy looked away before Stoick could catch the look on his face. The chief sighed. He had tried to understand Hiccup's eccentric ways when he was a child, believing he could grow out of them. But Hiccup obviously wasn't losing his unusual tendencies, and he knew that he had to force them out of him before he could do any real harm to his name. To Stoick's name. It was all for the best.

"Come on, then," Hiccup mumbled, pushing past his father. "Let's get this over with."

An hour later, they arrived at the lake, a large body of water well reputed for being stocked with fish. It was a scenic area, with lush greenery surrounding the lake and cries of birds echoing now and then.

"Unpack, quickly! We have to be back by sundown and I don't want to waste a single minute," Stoick said.

Silently, Hiccup brought out the gear and they set up, sitting on a group of rocks near the water.

Hiccup was restless, fidgeting constantly. Every so often, he would glance around at his surroundings and mumble things to himself. On more than one occasion, Stoick would glance over to see him writing in a small notebook, though the boy would stop and try to hide the book every time he did.

When they stopped a little while later for lunch (the basket next to Stoick full of fish and the basket next to Hiccup empty aside for a few minnows), Hiccup grabbed his food and ran off after promising his father he would be back in some time. Stoick waited expectantly, then more impatiently, and then angrily. Of course; I should have expected this. That useless boy has gone off track again.

It was a few hours later that Hiccup returned, eyes alight with delight. "Dad! Look what I found!" He waved a yellow tuft of fur in the air. "I think it could be troll fur! Gobber said it was just like this!" He slowed, seeing the scowl on Stoick's face. "Dad?"

"We're going home, Hiccup. Now." There was disappointment in his father's voice, and shame. Hiccup felt his stomach falling.

"We still have a little bit of time," he said desperately, trying to please him, "Let's keep fishing! We can get something big, I'm sure of it!" He reached for his father's hand, but it was knocked away.

"Now." Stoick's voice was hard. He didn't look at Hiccup, didn't see that his son had tears running down his face.

"I'm sorry! I know I should have come back earlier, but there was so much to explore—" Stoick cut the tearful explanation off with a wave of his hand, turning his back and picking up the long-ago packed supplies. They set off in another cold silence, Hiccup crying harder and harder as they walked.

Valhallarama saw something had gone wrong almost as soon as they stepped foot inside the house. Without a word, she picked Hiccup up as if he was still a toddler and carried him up to his room, murmuring soothing words. Stoick dumped the fishing gear in a corner and stormed off to the Mead Hall, mood foul.

"Oy, Stoick!" Gobber and some other men called out cheerily. "How was the trip? Hiccup catch anything good?"

The chief didn't reply, just grabbed a tankard of mead and downed all of it.

"Oh," Gobber whispered, "Heavy drinking. Not a good sign."

The Vikings in the room tactfully did not mention anything about fishing in the presence of the chief. Stoick stayed there for a long time, fuming silently as he drank more and more. At last, unable to keep silent about his son any longer (drinking especially made him need to vent his anger), he pounded the table. "My son," he proclaimed, "is the worst Viking Berk has ever seen. What a disa…disappointment!"

"Oh, come on, Stoick," Gobber protested, "He's not that bad! You should see him in the forge! He's very handy with the tools. Could be a wonderful smith one day."

Stoick snorted loudly, seeing everything sway. "Smith, eh? That won't help our village keep running in the future, will it? The chief has to have bravery, strength, attention, perception. My boy, he has none of that! He didn't even catch anything today! He went off on his own at noon, to go exploring in the forest." Another snort. "What a useless son I have. The best I can hope for for the future is that Spitelout's son, Snotlout, is half the man he is. Or maybe the other children. Anyone but Hiccup."

Though the mead was clouding Stoick's mind, he did have a little sense of presence. He knew what he was saying was hurtful, but it was all true, and his people deserved to know. And…in the process, he was vindicating himself from the blame of not raising Hiccup as he should have. He was retaining the respect he was given as chief.

Foggily, he gazed around at the sympathetic faces around him, and the very slight enthusiastic face of Spitelout. He gazed toward the door and wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him in his drunken state—he could have sworn he saw a small red-headed boy disappearing around the door.

He shook his head, and raised a hand, asking for another tankard of mead.

Val had gotten Hiccup to stop crying with incredible difficulty. She had sent him on an errand to the Mead Hall—to get some food for the both of them—as a way to get his mind off of things. What she didn't expect was for her son to come back more miserable than when he'd left.

"Hiccup! Oh, what happened, dear?"

"Dad," the boy whispered, clutching onto Val's hands like they were a lifeline. "Dad called me…a disappointment, and useless, and said I wouldn't be a good chief in the future. He was so…mean!"

Val knew that Stoick must have been drinking heavily, and cursed internally.

"Hiccup, listen to me. Don't listen to what your father says. You are an amazing, wonderful, intelligent person. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Don't ever change yourself."

"But if I don't, Dad's going to hate me forever!"

Val didn't reply, stroking Hiccup's hair as he calmed down. She didn't know that a little fire was raging inside Hiccup's heart. She didn't hear his silent pledge, I must not make Dad hate me. I have to do better. I have to make him proud. I have to make him love me.

Hiccup felt his mother gazing down at him, taking in fire-lit copper strands brushing over a tear-stained but suddenly tranquil face.

"You are going to do great and wonderful things one day, Hiccup," she murmured into his ear as he descended into sleep. "Just hang on. The gods are with you."

Author's note: Well, I tried to put as much character into the Haddock family as I could think of. What did you guys think? Oh, and also, this is dedicated to my first follower, Cottonmouth25. Thank you!