Stoick's Gift

by harrypanther

One-Shot. Snoggletog arrives on Berk and newly-crowned Chief Hiccup is struggling after the loss of his father. Just when he needs it, he receives a gift from the last person he expects.

STOICK'S GIFT

One-Shot. Snoggletog arrives on Berk and newly-crowned Chief Hiccup is struggling after the loss of his father. Just when he needs it, he receives a gift from the last person he expects.

I don't own How To train your Dragon. Rights remain with Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks.

A/N: The first Christmas-or major celebration-after you have lost someone can be hard. At a time of year when you are with friends and family, the gap of a missing loved one can be all the more obvious. Hence…Christmas angst, HTTYD-style.

-o0o-

He was alone in a room crammed with cheerful Vikings, all celebrating the most festive day of the long and dreadful Berkian winter. Snoggletog had wrapped the small, remote and very inhospitable island of Berk in its magic but its Chief, Hiccup Haddock, felt none of it.

Sitting in his father's huge carved wooden chair in the Great Hall, he swept his forest green gaze over the crowded and brightly-lit space. For Snoggletog, all restrictions on food rations were eased and the spits were laden with roasting yak, boar and chicken while the walls were decorated with a hundred torches and decorations of pine branches, holly and red berries along with old banners that had been carefully preserved and brought out every year, dating back long before the War with the Dragons was over. Vikings love their traditions, he thought dryly as he saw numerous members of his Tribe, usually serious and focussed men wearing helmets decorated with wooden reindeer antlers and holding large flagons of mead or ale. There were the sounds of drums and singing to one side and the raucous laughter of people seriously enjoying themselves, realising this was their one respite from an otherwise grim and fraught period in the year.

But for Hiccup, Chief for only a few months, it wasn't a happy time because every moment reminded him of Stoick the Vast, his father who had been killed months earlier during the brief war with Drago Bludvist. Stoick who had been slain saving Hiccup's life leaving him and his newly-rediscovered mother bereft and burdened with guilt and duty. And it was far worse this time year because Snoggletog had been Stoick's favourite time of year, a season filled with joy and life that seemed filled with his almost seven-foot four hundred pound presence. A time when his booming voice had ordered the tree erected, mead barrels axed open and meat roasted for all to share. A time when his huge shape had circulated effortlessly, a flagon in his hand and he had laughed and joked with his people. It was a time when every inch of Berk reminded Hiccup of his loss and that he was not his father.

Of course, this wasn't a surprise to anyone. Formerly the runt and mistake, the boy who never failed to disappoint, Hiccup had morphed into the Dragon Master and hero of Berk on conquering the Red Death at the cost of (albeit brief) banishment, half his left leg and a week in a coma and though he had been accepted, there was a general acknowledgement that he would never be anything like his father. Stoick was a traditional, loud, bluff Viking with a giant braided flaming red beard that you could possibly lose a yak in while Hiccup was a skinny young man-tall, though short in comparison to Stoick and, now it seemed, his own mother-and in no way buff or traditional. Briefly, his mind floated back to the time when Bucket had painted the traditional portraits of the Chief and his son and his eyes slid of their own volition to that quiet dark corner of the Great Hall where the second version hung showing skinny, one-legged undergrown Hiccup beside the buff archetype Viking father. And his mind wandered over how happy his father had been at the first version, the buff ideal son Bucket had imagined. And though Stoick had reassured his son that he loved him, no matter what he looked like, Hiccup had clung to that lingering doubt as he had grown.

He hadn't wanted to be Chief…well, not so soon and not like this. Of course, his father had always said that Death was an 'Occupational Hazard' for a Viking but in his heart, Hiccup had never truly believed it. Stoick the Vast had been so powerful, so constant, so…stubborn that Hiccup imagined him going on forever. After all, wasn't that what parents did? They were there when you were born, part of your earliest memories, always there with a comforting word, a wise piece of advice or sometime…fairly frequently in Hiccup's case-a scowl of disapproval. But they lasted for your whole life…until the time when suddenly they didn't.

You were there at my birth, he thought quietly. And I was there at your death. And now I have to spend the rest of my life wishing I had spent more time with you, regretting all those times I ran away because the sky was beckoning and there were dragons to find, enemies to fight or fun to be had. Of regretting those days when I thought there were so many more days to spend with you…when there were actually so very few.

And he had struggled because being Chief was not what he wanted to be. At heart, Hiccup was still an explorer, a friend of dragons, a man who sought the peaceful solution but was prepared to fight to defend his own. A man who had laid everything on the line in the defence of those he loved but who ran from the thought of being Chief, of the restrictions of tiresome duty and breaking up arguments. Of being denied the sky and the chance to fly because he was weighed down so very much by mundane chores and responsibilities. And he felt he was drowning in it. That was why he had run so much from the 'Chiefing lessons' his father had tried to give him once he came back from the Edge and Stoick finally saw the chance to train him so he could retire. Hiccup knew his father had wanted to hand the Chiefdom over to him in an orderly manner, to spend more time flying his own dragon and relaxing…though in his mind, he could never picture his ever-active father kicking back. He sighed. And now he would never get the chance.

He pulled himself up sharply. The dark, morbid thoughts were always there, nipping at his mind whenever he got the space to think and they were worrying him as well. What of he wasn't suited to being Chief? What if he went mad under the pressure and they had to tie him to a mast and float him out to sea, never to set foot on Berk again? (Though he doubted Toothless would allow that without a fight…and as Alpha of dragons, the Night Fury's wishes would probably make even the most stubborn Viking think twice…) What if he messed up so badly the village was destroyed or people died due to hunger or poverty or disease What if they were attacked because of his foolishness? Or his carelessness? Or his…?

STOP IT!

He jammed his nails into his palms, his fists clenched so tight the knuckles were white against the skin.

STOP IT! Your father believed in you. He knew you were ready-that was why he was so keen to make the announcement…when you ran off-again-and set the whole sad train of events in motion…

And of course, he wasn't alone. He had people helping him and making sure he wasn't overburdened with the duties and responsibilities that had suddenly landed on his shoulders from the moment the echoes of Toothless's plasma blast died away and his mother's pained look told him that he would never again see his father's eyes crinkle in a smile at him. He glanced over by the fire, where Gobber was standing with Bucket, Mulch and No-Longer-Silent Sven, drinking flagons of mead and laughing and joking. Gobber had been his father's right hand and best friend from childhood and felt the loss of the Chief just as keenly-but he had carried on, supporting Hiccup like the de facto Uncle he was. The fact the flamboyant two-limbed blacksmith was wearing a hat with reindeer antlers and his prosthetic was a cone covered with tiny hand-make bells that jingled as he gestured just told you everything about the man's pragmatic approach. He was always there when Hiccup needed him-though he was having to work longer hours because his assistant in the forge had been promoted to become Chief.

Over the other side of the fire, Snotlout and the twins were laughing and joking about something. Of course, they were back on Berk as well, happy-or maybe not-to be with their families but settled home and willing lieutenants to help Hiccup when he remembered to call on them and didn't try to do everything himself. He had yet to stop the twins' pranks but at least they had learned to clear up the mess after themselves after he threatened to give them a month's dragon-dung duty at the extensive underground stables if they didn't. He couldn't understand why Tuff was waving a salmon around and yodelling either-but he did manage a smirk as a small yellow Terrible Terror zipped in and stole it, causing the male twin to yell and start chasing it around the Hall.

Not everyone had been ecstatic that Hiccup was now Chief though they had all looked to him and cheered when he and the other riders had returned to face off against Drago and his invading dragon army. Once the crisis was done and he had set them to work removing the giant spikes of green Bewilderbeast ice that had demolished half the village and had started repairs and rebuilding, they had reverted to the stubborn, self-interested and argumentative people that had his father regularly holding ice-blocks to his head and muttering about sending people to Outcast Island just for the experience. No one had wanted to support any of his improvements, everyone had argued that it wasn't the Berkian way and not one single Viking hadn't wanted a bigger home or better equipment when they had approached him. And they were all-in their opinion-first on the list for repairs. Hiccup was stubborn as well and he had politely but firmly told them what to do and they had agreed-but there were mutterings, men who shut up as he walked past though the edges of phrases had just been audible.

"…not the way we've always done it…"

"…Stoick wouldn't have done that…"

"…not the Viking way…"

And he had tried to ignore them but every single one had hurt, every one had frayed his confidence just a little more. But he had pressed on, improving Berk, integrating the dragons more-though not at the expense of the people-and creating a Berk that he wanted. But even so, he still felt a fraud, still felt like he was on trial, still felt he may be disappointing them.

His mother had been a blessing, staying as she promised and lending her support and presence. And though she was his mother, she was still essentially a stranger, a woman who had abandoned her family for two decades in favour of protecting dragons. He hadn't ever discussed it but he wondered what would happen if they had the conversation about why she felt it would be safer to abandon a year old child on Berk to Stoick rather than look after him herself? About why dragons were more important to her than him, her only and allegedly very longed-for child? If she ever thought about him or considered him for more than a fleeting moment as she stayed away his entire life until he found her by accident? And why she had disbelieved him when he told her Berk had changed-because if she had ever looked in on them, she would have seen if for herself? And maybe he would have gotten more than an hour of having two parents before he lost one all over again.

He looked down. Thinking about it, he realised there was a lot of pent-up resentment and anger there which he had almost completely contained-except for that one time where a fraction of his anger had leaked out. And she had never really addressed it since she got back, always racing around helping with dragon incidents, offering words of advice or offering to train the wee ones to look after their Terrors. And now she was gone, headed back to the Nest because there was some crisis that Cloudjumper, her Stormcutter, had fetched her to deal with. She had muttered about 'bloody Hunters' before she had pulled on her mask, grabbed her staff and had flown off without even saying farewell, leaving Hiccup to cope with Snoggletog on his own.

And he had coped, overseeing the building of the wooden Snoggletog tree in the village Plaza, getting Toothless to order the dragons to place the painted shields in position to decorate the 'tree' and authorising the feast. The Night Fury had been here earlier but he had landed partway through the unexpected but joyous morning flight, abandoning Hiccup at the edge of the forest and had headed off in the direction of what sounded like a group of Thunderclaws fighting. Disappointment wracking his body, Hiccup had watched him leave him as well and then had turned back to his village, his home and had begun the painful limp down the hill. The ground was icy, the wind was bitter and his stump was excruciating but he hadn't bothered to tell anyone. What could they do? He was an amputee-as many were on Berk-and they all suffered the same in Devastating Winter. He was one of many: at least that was something he did have in common with his people.

He looked up and saw Astrid glance over to him from the midst of a dozen Hoffersons, her blue eyes looking concerned at his expression. Traditionally, the Vikings spent time with their families at Snoggletog-and he really didn't seem to have anyone. Snotlout and the Jorgensens were clustered to one side, eating and being raucous with their extended family and the numerous Thorston clan while Gobber had gravitated to his old friends. But Hiccup was alone, abandoned by his mother and dragon. Leaning towards her mother, he saw his Betrothed murmur a few words and then rise, grabbing two flagons and walking confidently towards him. A smile lifted her lips as she approached.

"Hey," she said and offered him a drink. His hand closed on the flagon and he smiled.

"Hey," he replied, taking a sip. Sometimes, he felt like that awkward boy, unable to believe that this beautiful goddess was actually his friend, let alone his future wife. "You look beautiful." She dipped her head, a faint blush warming her cheeks. Her eyes were sparkling, her long blonde hair was loose over her shoulders with small braids stretching back from her temples to merge at the back and crown her and her slender, athletic shape was flattered by her blood red tunic and familiar leather skirt and leggings.

"You look pretty hot yourself," she replied playfully, her azure gaze raking his lean shape in his new brown leather armour. He was swathed in Stoick's official huge bearskin cloak that swamped him and he shrugged.

"Only if I don't take the cloak off," he told her dryly. "Then I'll be okay…" She swatted his shoulder and then leaned forward to peck a kiss on his pale, faintly freckled cheek.

"You know what I mean," she murmured and then sat on the arm of his chair. He looked up at her with a smirk.

"Not sure that's traditional," he reminded her as she huffed and then took another sip of her mead.

"Since when did you become a traditional guy?" she asked him and he chuckled.

"Since I inherited the throne from 'Stoick the Vast'," he retorted, mimicking his father's broad Berkian accent. "And everyone looks at me as if I am trying to undo a thousand years of Viking history…"

"You are," she reminded him. "You're creating a new version of Viking-that involves dragons as well as just people. And sometimes, change is difficult and threatening. People who made their livelihoods from dragon killing or its aftermath still haven't fully forgiven you for putting them out of business even after five years. They'll come round…in a generation or two…"

"Thank you for pointing that out-I feel so much better," he replied sarcastically as she leaned against him, lowering her voice.

"How are you, babe?" she asked him and he stilled.

"Not so good," he murmured, his gaze unfocussing. "Dad loved this time of year and everything, every inch of Berk reminds me of him. And I find myself thinking of him at the most odd moments and it just…brings it all back. I mean, I was in the forge a couple of weeks ago, having got a free hour to make your present and I found myself wondering what Dad would like and what I could make for him…and then I realised I would never need to make him another Snoggletog gift…"

The realisation had hit him hard and he had been forced to walk out the back of the forge and step away for a few moments so no one would see him. And standing there, staring out across the turbulent grey sea, the icy wind filled with stinging salt blasting into his face, he had allowed the tears to course down his cheeks, his throat clogged with silent sobs for the loss of his Dad. For the death he had caused...

And of course, the fault had actually been Drago Bludvist's, the man who commanded the Bewilderbeast to control Toothless and make the Night Fury attempt to kill Hiccup…which Stoick had prevented without hesitation at the cost of his own life. But in his mind and in his heart, Hiccup knew it had been his fault. He had run away from his father, imagining he would reason with a psychopath bent on world domination. And had he not run, he wouldn't have encountered his mother and they wouldn't have been there, at the Nest, as Drago attacked. And though cold, emotionless logic reminded him that Drago would have attacked Berk sooner rather than later with the same lethal results, Hiccup knew that in the end, his father's death had been his fault.

And the guilt was crippling.

Astrid leaned forward and kissed him again, her arm winding behind him to pull him close so he could bury his head in her shoulder without anyone seeing. From a girl consumed by anger and jealousy in dragon training to a young woman with much better developed emotional intelligence and compassion, she had come a long way since she met Hiccup and realised that his compassion could change the world. And while she would never agree with him on everything and would argue until Ragnarok when she was convinced he was making the wrong move, she loved him with all her heart and she would protect him with her life. And she knew now, she needed her to be strong. She could recall how hollow and unsettled she had felt at even the thought of losing her family when their house had been destroyed in Dagur's attack: she couldn't imagine what it would actually be like to lose them.

"It's okay, babe," she murmured. "You have me. And you're never losing me."

"Sometimes, I wonder if I'll forget what he looks, like, what he sounds like," he mumbled, taking a deep breath.

"Well-you have created a giant statue of him overlooking the village and carved into he side of the mountain so I hope you won't forget how he looks," she reminded him. "But he's always here, Hiccup." And she rested her hand gently over his heart.

He looked up. Earlier in the year, he had been struggling with who he was, his identity..and just as he had kind of worked it out, his identity had changed again, from Dragon Master and Night Fury Rider to Chief of Berk. And perhaps it was alright because who he was remained the same…and maybe his mother had got it right after all. His father had always told him he was a Viking-which was true-but Valka had realised the truth at Stoick's funeral.

"You have the heart of a Chief and the soul of a Dragon. That is who you are."

He smiled.

"I love you," he murmured.

"That's lucky-since you proposed to me," she quipped back, smiling as he looked up with shining green eyes. Tenderly, she stroked the auburn hair off his face and sighed. "I thought you never would…"

He reached over and lightly rubbed his thumb over the medallion that was his Betrothal gift to her. That had caused some friction as well.

For when Valka had returned to the village, as she had been settling in to life among other humans once more, she had seen Astrid wearing the medallion in the village one day and had walked up and loudly demanded it back, demanding that her possession be returned immediately. Angry and embarrassed, the younger woman had not even said a word, her cheeks flaming with shame as everyone had stared at her before she stiffly removed the gift and had thrown it at her, prior to stalking away. And away on other business in the outer farms all day, Hiccup had only found out that evening when he found Valka sitting at the table in his home, the medallion laid on the wood before her, her brows furrowed.

"The cheek of the lass," she had grumbled. "Wearing my medallion and…"

"It's hers," Hiccup had told her bluntly, shocked.

"No, it's my Betrothal gift from your father," she corrected him sharply.

"Which he gave to me to give to Astrid-my Betrothed-as my gift to her," he told her, trembling with anger. "A gift that meant so much to him because was one of the few things he had left of you-but he gave it to me so that you could be part of the Betrothal process, so I could remember my mother and father when I looked at her."

"It's mine," Valka said stubbornly. "It was given to me by your father."

"And you abandoned it when you abandoned us, all those years ago!" he shouted at her. "You left me alone when I was a baby and never came back. You never thought of it. You didn't even know it still existed! For all you knew, it could have been burnt to cinder during a dragon attack-along with me!" He stuck his hand out. "You lost the right to claim it when you abandoned us. My father always loved you-you know that? He treasured every single little thing we had of you. For him to give this to me to give to Astrid was a great sacrifice-but one he made willingly because he wanted me to be happy, to give Astrid a gift that really meant something to me. To us. And for you to demand it off her is shameful!"

Silently, she handed the medallion over and he looked at her with new and disappointed eyes.

"Now I just to have to hope that she will actually talk to me so I can explain everything," he had said and stalked out.

It had taken he and Toothless three hours to finally find Astrid, desolate and freezing atop a sea-stack north of Berk. Stormfly had been worried and gave an anxious caw to the pair as they landed by her, Hiccup leaping off and walking slowly towards his Betrothed, who was sitting still, staring at the path of the moon out across the sea. And quietly, he had sat by her, wrapped his arms around her and felt her curl into him, humiliated and distraught. He knew the accusations had wounded the proud warrior to the core and that she would hide away while she processed what had happened.

"I'm sorry," he murmured and opened his hand. She stiffened.

"I don't…" she began and he sighed.

"It is yours," Hiccup told her firmly, taking command as he infrequently did in their relationship. His other hand rose to gentle her cheek. "Milady, it was mine to give and is yours. My Mother understands that now. And what she did was wrong. I will make her apologise to you and…"

"I don't want it," she said in a shaky, thick voice that told him she had been crying. "I can't wear it when she called me a thief." He tightened his embrace and pressed a kiss to the side of her forehead.

"You're not a thief and everyone knows it," he reminded her.

"But…"

"She was wrong-and we all know that," he told her firmly. "I have told her. I may have shouted at her as well-and accused her of abandoning me. And told her she lost any rights to it when she abandoned it."

"But it is hers."

"She left it behind when she abandoned Berk for twenty years-and her husband, who grieved for her for almost all of that time, save the one hour when they were reunited before his death, gave it to me to give to the woman I love because it meant so much to him. And me." She looked up, hearing the determination in his voice: one thing that Hiccup excelled in was being stubborn, the equal of Astrid herself. "Please, my love-take it. Keep it-in the love and spirit it was given. Dad wanted you to have it. He was overjoyed when you wore it." She sniffed and wiped her nose.

"Low blow," she mumbled.

"A warrior takes what advantage he can to win the battle," he quoted and her brows dipped.

"Thor, I had forgotten how quickly you learn," she murmured and then she allowed him to place the medallion around her neck once more. "I don't know why you're worried, Babe-you're gonna make a fantastic Chief."

"Only with you by my side," he told her as he kissed her cheek. She smirked.

"I think you missed," she told him, sounding more playful and like herself.

"Oh no I didn't," he replied and pressed his lips to hers.

"Babe?"

He blinked and realised he was back in the warmth and light of the Great Hall, not on that freezing, dark sea-stack and he sighed.

"Yes, Milady?" he murmured. And then he felt the tap on his shoulder. Starting, he looked round-to see Gothi standing by him. She was looking vaguely amused and she drew out a scroll of parchment and handed it to Hiccup. Then she scratched a few symbols on the wooden dais and he winced, knowing that Spitelout would grumble about the damage.

"What does she say?" Astrid asked as she saw Hiccup grow pale. Gothi shrugged and scuttled away, back to her honoured seat by the fire and her double-sized flagon of mead.

"She says it's from my Dad," he murmured and rose, leaving the cloak behind. "Could you give me a moment, Milady?" She nodded.

"Whatever you need," she said but he was already walking away in a daze, staring at the scroll as if it was a dragon egg about to hatch and then he headed through the laughing Vikings for the shadowy spot at the back of the Hall by the portraits of the former Chiefs. Carefully, he broke the wax seal and unrolled the parchment-to see his father's familiar bold runes. Swallowing twice, he leaned back against the wall by the portrait of himself and his Dad and began to read.

Son

Hiccup

If you are reading this now, then I have died some time during the last year. You will be twenty and this will be your first Snoggletog without me. And I know how hard that can be-I still recall my first one without my own father and the gaping hole there is in the festivities. The gap that is there all the time, the need to turn and say something to that person-and then realise they are not there. It was the same when your mother was taken as well, though I was fortunate enough to have you as a precious reminder of our time together. But it still hurts and though I can reassure you that the emptiness of their passing diminishes with time, it never truly goes and you will still miss them, especially at times when you would be together.

"Thanks, Dad," Hiccup murmured. "Way to make me feel better."

I know, on some level, you will be struggling. I know you never felt ready, that you felt there was always so much more to explore, so many more new lands and dragons to visit…but time and responsibility catches up with us. And though you did have a tendency to run away when I suggested training you, I hope enough of my lessons got through. Every time I spoke with you, every conversation, every battle or defeat or victory was a lesson towards your ascension to the Chiefdom of Berk. You have lived a full and rich life, done things I could never have dreamed when I was your age, seen things that I can still only dream of. You have tested your mettle in battle and been proven as a great and innovative leader. You have your friends-an odd bunch, some of them, but loyal nonetheless-and they will support you in the years to come. Use them as your lieutenants according to their capabilities. But I have seen what you can do together and I have no concerns about the security of our people and our island. And you have forged alliances with new allies, with the Outcasts and the Berserkers, with Wingmaidens and Defenders of the Wing and become a leader I would be proud of.

I know you are not me, son and you do not have to worry about that. I was not my father and I faced the usual grumbles that 'this is not how it's done' or that my father would not have done it that way. I am sure you will face the same now. Do not listen. You are the Chief and you have to do what is best for the Tribe-no matter what they think. Of course, I am not saying ignore all advice but listen, weigh up the counsel and then make your own decision. Do not second-guess yourself: never do what you think what Stoick would have done. Always do what you feel you should do. I guess much of the time, it will be the same choice as I would have, because you have learned the lessons from me about protecting your own and putting the Tribe first, no matter how much you believe that you have not.

You are ready. I was planning on handing over the Chiefdom to you anyway this year and though I am sorry I did not live to see you elevated, I know that you will be a better Chief than I. Times change and new blood is needed to adapt to a new world. And in a world where there are Vikings and dragons living peacefully alongside one another, there can be no better man. And you are a man, son-a heroic, brave, stubborn Viking, the son of a line of Seven Chiefs and I believe, the greatest of them all.

Astrid, Gobber, your friends and even Toothless will help you in your duties. But always remember, in those moments of doubt: last year, when you were captured by the bounty hunters and we all came for you, I reminded you that we were allies-fellow Chief, Equals. You have been a Chief already, my son-the Chief of the Dragon Riders, Chief of the Edge-so you should not fear this new challenge. I know the island will be safe with you as the Chief. I will be watching down on you you from Valhalla with pride and will look forward to the day when you stand once more at my side as the greatest and strongest Chief of Berk. I could not be more proud of you, son.

Your loving and proud father,

Stoick.

Hiccup blinked and then saw a small line of runes scrawled at the bottom.

There is a gift that Gothi will have left at the back of the wall by the Portraits -Dad.

Frowning, Hiccup looked and saw a circular shape in the shadowiest corner, draped in cloth and he carefully walked forward. Hesitating for a second, he grabbed the fabric and pulled it aside-to reveal a painted shield, just like those hanging in the wall. And yet unalike-for this was one painted by memory by Bucket, the island's resident painter and half-wit. And Hiccup felt his eyes burning with tears as he started at the image of his father, smiling back at him, his beard sprinkled liberally with grey as it had been in those last few months before his death, his eyes the same piercing grey-green as they had been. At his side, Hiccup recognised his own shape, as he was now, tall and confident, his armour the one he had worn on the Edge. Stoick's hand was draped over his shoulder in the kind of fatherly gesture that Hiccup had treasured so much. And on Hiccup's other side was Astrid, looking as fierce and beautiful as ever, her lips tilted into the slightest smile, her Betrothal gift around her neck, rendered so beautifully that Hiccup could recognise the familiar pattern. Behind them, Toothless, Stormfly and Skullcrusher were all visible, shadowing their human companions as they always did in real life.

He bowed his head and tears slid down his cheeks once more, poleaxed by the sight. His shoulders shook and he bit his lip-and then he heard a small coo and the warm presence of Toothless nudged him. Swallowing, he turned and hugged the dragon, his face pressed to the warm scaly neck.

"Hey, bud-I'm really glad you're here right about now," he mumbled thickly. A gentle hand landed on his shoulder.

"And so am I," Astrid said and he took a shaky breath, handing her the letter. Her eyes slid down the words and her lips tilted into a smile and then she inspected the shield. "Wow," she murmured. "That is…"

"Awesome!" Tuffnut exclaimed as he drifted up.

"Totally," Ruff added, peering at the picture.

"How come he gets another picture?" Snotlout grumbled, folding his arms. "He already has two…"

"Yes-but one wasn't actually of Hiccup," Fishlegs piped up, joining the group. "And it's fitting that there should be a picture of Hiccup with his father. After all, he is the first Chief of Berk who was the Chief of another island prior to ascending the throne of Berk…"

"The Edge was an outpost, not a whole Tribe," Snotlout argued.

"Are you saying we don't count as an entire Tribe?" Tuff asked in a hurt voice. "I refuse to admit I am not a Tribe…"

"Me neither…" Ruff added.

"You can't be a Tribe on your own!" Fishlegs pointed out. "And Hiccup was our Chief no matter what or how many we were."

"Well, it's not tradition," Snotlout pointed out stubbornly. Astrid's hand found Hiccup's and he swiped his face dry.

"Sometimes you need to create new traditions," she pointed out as Hiccup smiled.

"Like riding dragons and fighting dragon hunters," he suggested and turned back to look at his Tribe, his people. Safe, warm and happy, they were all enjoying the season. "Tradition is all well and good but sometimes, you need to create new traditions, new ways, new history…" Astrid gave his hand a squeeze and he smiled then looked across the busy Hall. "This is my first Snoggletog as Chief and today is a day to celebrate with family and friends." He looked up and saw Gobber heading his way and-at the door-his mother removing her mask and walking forward, smiling. "Tomorrow, we will hang this portrait with the others as a reminder that my father always looked to the future, to his new daughter-in-law and the next Chief after him. And though I will always miss him, I know he would have wanted us all to have a good time-eat, drink, be merry. And remember what we have as well as what we don't." He accepted a mug of mead from Fishlegs and raised it as the rest of the Tribe turned to look at him with smiles and expectation. Surrounded by friends and family, he finally felt himself relax and feel more accepted. And the sense of emptiness, though still there, eased just a little.

"To Stoick the Vast. And to Berk."

"To Berk!" the shout went round. "To Stoick the Vast. And to the Chief!"

And glancing back once more at Stoick's gift, at the image of his smiling father, Hiccup smiled.

The End.