The single worst day of the year. As chief, the pride of Berk, and an amputee, Hiccup hated one holiday.

Stump Day. Oh, joy. An entire day of people staring at his leg. It was embarrassing and demeaning. I mean, sure, Hiccup was proud that he lost a leg for Berk, but he hated people looking at him in pity. He was supposed to be tough, prideful, smart. Not a cripple.

THUMP THUMP THUMP!

Right on time. It was Gobber, for the sixth year in a row. Gobber loved Stump Day. So did Much. To them, their lost limbs were badges of honor, to be flaunted and shown off in a their gory glory. Gobber loved to stroll around the village on Stump Day, frequently changing his appendages to show off to the younger generations. He always tried to get Hiccup to join him, to take pride in giving a limb for Berk.

Hiccup would rather hide all day. That was what he usually did, but now he was chief. He was supposed to lead the festivities. This would be even more awkward than his birthday, which was always weird because he was born the 29th of February on a leap year.

Hiccup steeled himself, got out of bed, and put on his prosthetic. He didn't hate his metal leg. There were several times where it had gotten him out of tight scrapes, like in the Outcast prison and on that abandoned Dragon Hunter boat two years ago. He had grown almost fond of it, mostly because of the cool improvements he had made to it. At least he didn't name his prosthetic. Hiccup knew for a fact that Mulch had named his hand "Jim."

Hiccup stumbled downstairs and answered the door. His mother was already gone. Great. Now she would be regaled with stories of how her only son lost his leg at fifteen.

Gobber was standing at the door. "HAPPY STUMP DAY!" Hiccup fixed Gobber with a death glare. "Oh, goody. My favorite day of the year." Gobber didn't catch the sarcasm. "Exactly! C'mon, let's go show the other warriors what it really means to make sacrifices for Berk!" Hiccup groaned. "Gobber, that was sarcasm. You know I hate Stump Day."

Gobber's brow furrowed. "Why? Giving a limb in service of Berk is one of the most noble and honorable things a warrior can do! When I was a boy…"

Oh, here we go.

Hiccup finally sat down that evening in the chief's chair. Good Thor, he was tired!

Hiccup spied his mother standing by the wall. She was looking at a painting… No. The Painting. Hiccup jumped up and rushed over. When he reached his mother, she turned to him sadly. "Oh, Hiccup. I miss him." Hiccup sighed. "I know, Mom. I do too. It's all my fault. If I had just-" Valka grabbed his arm. "Hiccup, stop! It wasn't your fault! Your father made his choice. He loved you. He would rather you live than him." Hiccup turned his face away. "No. He should have lived. He was a great chief- the village needs him. Much more than they need me." Valka fervently shook her head. "Don't you disrespect your father by saying he would give his life for something worthless! He loved you, and believed you would be a great chief, just as great as he was! He told me so, before… before…" Valka sighed. "Don't think that. Just, please don't blame yourself, Hiccup. Please. He was a great man. I'm just surprised that he would allow this picture to be painted like this. He was always so proud… wouldn't want visitors to think the Haddock Clan was weak."

Hiccup winced. He remembered that little incident. He still felt shame, that he wasn't the big, strong, perfect viking son that his father had envisioned. He had gone on a treasure quest for Hamish II's treasure, but came back with only a picture. Then, he had been proud of getting to the end of the hunt, and relieved that his father was proud of him after all. However, now Hiccup wasn't so sure. What if his father just felt guilty that he hadn't put a true representation of him on the wall. Maybe he had just regretted that his actions had driven his only son and heir to go on a suicidal and impossible quest, and still wished that Hiccup was the viking warrior that he had originally wanted.

Valka's brow furrowed. "Hiccup, I know that look. What's going on?" Hiccup sighed. "The first time father had that picture painted, instead of showing me as I truly was, he had Bucket draw me as a true son of a chief. A buff young man, who had both his feet and could wield a weapon as he could. I decided to go and try to find the treasure of Hamish II, to do something that even Stoick the Vast couldn't do. After I left for the quest with the dragon riders, my father got worried. Gobber pointed out that I must have felt the need to prove myself, that it was the painting. They went after us, and found us after we had found the last part of the puzzle. The floor had been rigged to collapse, and Toothless and I had fallen down the crevice and a landslide had blocked the cave entrance. The rest of the dragon riders had gotten out safely, and they were trying to rescue us. Dad arrived to find the dragon riders desperately digging and Astrid shouting, 'We have to rescue them!' He panicked, and started helping them dig. Meanwhile, Toothless and I found the last chamber, only to realize that the treasure of Hamish II was not gold, but the knowledge that Hamish II was a Hiccup, like me. Of course, as soon as I found that knowledge, the cavern began to cave in. I was offered the choice between the body and mind, and I chose the mind. I ended up standing in the open air, seeing as the hillside had collapsed around me. Of course, I nearly gave Dad a heart attack, because he knew I was down there somewhere, and the hillside behind him suddenly collapsed. After that, he had the picture repainted into what it is now."

Valka smiled. "Oh, Stoick. Only you." Hiccup didn't seem to hear her. "And when we had the original painting done, Dad pointed at the picture of him and my grandfather, and told me, 'This picture will hang beside pictures of the greatest leaders of Berk and their heirs. That is the only picture of me and my father.' Now I realize that that picture is the only picture of me and my father. History repeats itself, eh?"

Valka touched Hiccup's shoulder. "Yes, history repeats itself. And just as your father recovered from your grandfather's death and went on to become a great chieftan, so will you." Hiccup was about to reply, when Spitelout came running up. "Chief! There's a huge dragon riot!" Hiccup sighed and turned to him. "None of the other dragon riders can stop it?" Spitelout shook his head fervently. "No! They're trying, but it's not working! We need you!" Hiccup turned to his mother and smiled before running off, "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps history does repeat itself."

Valka was left alone with a picture of her dead husband and the fifteen-year-old son she had abandoned. "I know it does."

A/N: Cheesy, I know. Sorry for not posting! My Mom took my phone for a few days :-(