So, just to clarify, Meja is Spitelout's wife. I have made her up. she is preggers with Snotlout. I think that's all. enjoy.

EDIT: Have gotten some reviews concerning Hiccup's actual heritage and name etc. Would like to clarify that this is a movie-verse fic. If it is not mentioned in the movie, then I will put whatever I like. Also, have not read the books, would appreciate it if people kept the spoilers to a minimum. Thanks!

"Goodonya Stoick!" cheered Spitelout, as he downed his tankard of mead. "Been waiting a long time, eh?"

"You're not upset then?" Stoick inquired.

"I woulda liked a chief for a son," admitted Spitelout. "But Meja reckons we're having a girl anyways. Besides, with her on the battlefield any opportunity she gets, the kid's gonna end up a bit thick."

Stoick chuckled. "I'm gonna have a hard time keeping Val away from the dragons, she loves raids."

"As long as she doesn't mount them to lop off their heads like usual, she should be right."

"I'll drink to that!" The brothers clinked tankards.

"Stoick! Wake up!" Valhallarama shook her husband's arm viciously.

The chief shot up and looked at her with panic.

"What's wrong Val? Is the baby alright?"

She grinned. "I felt it kicking!" she grabbed his hand and placed it on her protruding stomach.

He felt in amazement as, sure enough, a tiny kick connected with his hand.

"Not born yet, and he's already fighting!" Stoick kissed his wife. "We're gonna be raising one hell of a Viking!"

Val snuggled into Stoick's side. "He'll be the best Viking Berk has ever seen."

"You think?"

"A mother knows."

Another month passed, and Meja gave birth to a healthy baby boy, whom they named Snotlout.

"I'm a father Stoick!" Spitelout celebrated, sloshing much of his drink onto the table. "I can't wait til he's old enough for me to teach him how to hunt, and fish and kill dragons!"

Stoick nodded, and clanked his tankard with Spitelouts. "If Val has a girl, you'll have your chief son."

"Even if it was a girl, with a mother like Val, you'd have a hard time telling her she couldn't be chief!"

Stoick gave a thundering laugh.

Valhallarama screamed again. Stoick hated having to wait outside, but the Elder Gothi had insisted.

He was pacing the floor worriedly. He didn't know much about babies, but he knew how long a woman should be pregnant for. Valhallarama had two months left to go before this morning, when she had started going into labour. He also knew the chances of a premature baby surviving was slim.

He shuddered when his wife cried out again. He had never witnessed a birth, but he had heard plenty. The women would scream bloody murder. Most of these women were not Vikings as per say; not many liked to have their girls in dragon training, so he expected them to not be used to the pain. But Valhallarama was a Viking; she was one of the best, and here she was, screaming her head off. There wasn't much that could even make her whimper, so Stoick knew that this particular birth must have been extremely painful. Premature births could be dangerous for the mothers too.

He could very well be losing all his family in one go.

Suddenly, the screaming was replaced by an exasperated "Stoick!"

Stoick shot in there, despite the elder's protests. There was a fair amount of blood everywhere. Valhallarama was sweaty, pale and looked extremely worried. But what drew Stoick's attention was the baby in the elder's hands.

It was a boy. He was a purple colour, and he was much smaller than a new born should have been. Gothi was rubbing his back and stomach, while murmuring under her breath.

Valhallarama swallowed, before looking at her husband.

"He's not breathing," she said.

Time seemed to stand still for Stoick. His wife just barely escaped death while giving birth, and now it seemed like their son would not make it. He envisioned the life he could have had; watching the boy take his first steps, say his first words, kill his first dragon. All these precious moments, he would miss, because their son would die, before he had a chance to live.

All of a sudden, Gothi breathed a sigh of relief. Stoick wondered what she could possibly be relieved about, and then he heard it; the faintest of noises, coming from their son. It was hiccups. Their son was hiccupping!

Stoick and Valhallarama looked at each other, and then started laughing. They had a son, and he was alive.

Gothi cut the umbilical cord and handed the bundle to Valhallarama. She cooed at the child, making it promises that she would never let anything happen to him. Stoick beamed, and gazed at the two adoringly. Though he thought Valhallarama was beautiful wielding an axe and charging at dragons, he thought she looked more beautiful with their child in her arms.

"Here, hold your son!"

Stoick immediately jumped back. "No, I'd hurt him!"

"Take him!"

"No I don't think-.."

"Stoick," Valhallarama interrupted. "I almost died for this child. The least you can do is give him a cuddle."

Stoick sighed, and held his arms out for the baby. Valhallarama gently handed him over, moving her husband's hands where support was needed.

"There, that's not so bad."

Stoick stared at the baby. He was so tiny, he could fit quite easily in the palms of Stoick's hands.

"He's so little."

"Thought of a name?" Valhallarama asked.

"How about Stinkfly?"

Valhallarama wrinkled her nose. "Stoick, I know your great-great-grandfather was an honourable chief, but he had an awful name and we're not naming our son after him."

Stoick huffed. "Fine, what do you want to name him?"

She thought for a moment, and then said "Hiccup."

"Hiccup?"

"His hiccups were the most wonderful sound in the world to me. It's the sound of his strength, of his will." She pouted at her husband. "Please?"

Stoick laughed. "Hiccup it is then."

Hiccup remained a sickly baby, and his parents hardly ever took him outside. Most of the time, he was wrapped in layer upon layer of thick furs. A cold was reason to panic, as the illness seemed to affect him more than other babies. One night, he had a fever, and the elder told the chief and his wife that she doubted he would survive. His body was too frail and his lungs were too weak. He would never make it.

The next morning however, he was still alive. And the next, and the next. The elder called it a miracle.

Time and time again, their baby son fought through, and survived.

"He can't even sit up on his own, and he's already shown more strength than half the Vikings in this village," Valhallarama commented one night. Stoick had to agree.

"Slow down Hiccup," said Stoick sternly. "You might choke."

A five year old Hiccup took the sandwich out of his mouth. "Sorry Daddy."

The chief sighed, as he turned back to the reports sent by other villages. It had been much harder raising a son without Valhallarama. She had been lost at sea nearly five months ago.

Hiccup suddenly almost jumped out of his seat. He made an adorable noise, that reminded Stoick of the night he was born.

"Uh oh," Hiccup said. "Daddy I have the hiccups!"

Stoick chuckled. "Why yes, yes you do."

"How do I –hic- get rid of them?"

The chief pulled his child onto his lap. "I don't want you to get rid of them."

Hiccup frowned. "Why –hic -not?"

"The sound of your hiccups reminds me of what a brave Viking your mother was. And what a brave viking you'll turn out to be."

"You think –hic- I'll be brave –hic- like you Daddy?"

Stoick smiled. "You'll be the bravest of them all."

"How –hic- do you know?"

"A father knows."