Thank you for the reviews, guys! I really appreciate them! Makes me happy to see that you're enjoying what you're reading!

This one takes place before the first lesson; they kind of go hand in hand. (Making comparisons can spoil your happiness.)

And on to the next lesson:

Lesson number two: Happiness means making sure those around you are happy.

The first few weeks after Stoick's death had been hard. The weeks following those: even more so.

Hiccup had tried his very best to keep it together, to do everything he had seen his father do for their village every year in preparation for the long winter months ahead. Harvest the fields, send out hunting parties, fishing boats, preserve food, ensure that plenty of firewood sat stacked outside of each home. There was so much destruction after the battle with Drago and his Bewilderbeast, so much ice. He had had to oversee the reconstruction of homes and structures on top of everything else. He had help, of course, but not from Stoick. Hiccup didn't have his father.

He kept his chin up as best as he could, the will to push on and do his father right much stronger than the feeling of being overwhelmed, of wanting to run, to hop on Toothless and fly off towards the distant lands he had heard stories of from his mother. Then there was the feeling of longing and sadness that accompanied every order that left his lips; it still felt wrong to be filling his father's shoes; they were enormous ones, no doubt. But he kept pushing on. At least in front of the villagers; in front of the villagers he was strong and steady.

Only his closest companions knew how unlike himself the young Chief was being. His mother hadn't been around him long enough to know, to be able to read his expressions and mannerisms. Toothless and Astrid, however, were another story.

Toothless could feel everything, the sadness rolling off of his boy, a thick, acrid darkness crashing into the Night Fury's senses every time they made their way up the hill to his childhood home. He could sense the distress, the anxiety; hazy and choking, mixing with the dense fog that already surrounded his companion as they hauled log after tedious log to the next house, as he poured over piles of parchment, cursing when his scribblings didn't add up. Rarely now did his boy meet eyes with anyone, and when he did, he could see that they no longer held their brightness.

It saddened the dragon immensely to watch as his dearest friend hurt in ways that he couldn't right.

Astrid, who had always been at the forefront of his mind, now took a back seat on most days, even living in the same house. Communication between the two had slackened to almost nothing but a few words in the morning, mostly out of courtesy. Touch had stopped altogether; Hiccup wouldn't let her get too close. He was gone and out the door before she could even think to offer her arms in a hug. He had become distant and closed off. She had assumed it would pass. 'He's grieving,' she had thought, 'Hiccup is grieving the loss of his father and his freedom. He just needs some space.' She decided she would let him have that much, and she had, for a time, but it had only gotten worse as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months. But that wasn't even what bothered her.

It was the fact that he was blind to it all.

The villagers of Berk gathered round as the Gronckle and its' rider lowered the log down into place, the Vikings stationed on either end of the roof at the ready, guiding it, and freeing it of its ropes as it klunked into its designated slot. The crowd erupting into cheers as the Vikings secured what was the last log in a series of what felt like never ending repairs.

All of the homes on Berk had been restored to their former glory. The crops had been harvested and properly readied, the meat stores were full of wild game and fish, and each home had a massive stack of wood for their hearths for when winter really set in. Preparation was complete, the hard work was done. Now, they would celebrate.

The mead hall was filled to the brim with Vikings and dragons of all shapes and sizes. The warm bodies packed closely together, heating the room, challenging the cold of the flurries that had begun to fall outside. An entire table lined with meats, vegetables, bread, and more importantly, mead, was pushed against the farthest wall.

Tables had been hastily shoved out of the way, clearing the center of the room where men, women, children, and dragons hopped and twirled along to the merry tunes played by the Vikings whose raucous, booming voices sang loudly over the sounds of chatter and laughter.

Hiccup sat where his father had sat for so many years; the massive wooden chair making him appear small, looking out at his people without really seeing; his mind busy. Numbers danced around in his thoughts, counting the bouncing heads in the room, cross matching with the final fish, boar, sheep, and vegetable counts. They would make it, but just barely. Just barely wasn't quite good enough.

He had hardly noticed the feather light touch on his shoulder, he had jumped a little when he realized the touch was accompanied by a voice, "Hiccup?" Her words were soft, cautious, like she was approaching a dragon for the first time. He frowned a little at this.

"Yes, Astrid?" He turned to look at her and saw the trepidation in her eyes. A moment ago he had seen her dancing with Ruffnut, a wide, vibrant smile on her face as the pair swirled, blonde braids bouncing off fur-laden shoulders. He raised a brow at her, patting the seat nearest him, indicating that she should sit. She shook her head. His frown returned and his surly eyes found their way back to the crowd.

"Why aren't you out there?" Even the familiar square head of his dragon could be seen in the crowd with a gummy grin, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he hopped in time with the Vikings around him.

"There's still so much to worry about." His brow remained pinched, his neck and shoulders tense.

"That's true, and will always be," she stepped forward, her fingertips brushing his forearm, remaining firm as he flinched at her touch, her warmth, "but for now, you should be out there celebrating."

He spared her a quick side-long glance, "Celebrating what? We barely finished everything in time. Gods know we could still use a few more boar to keep us fed. My dad would've done better."

She released a noise of exasperation. "Are you not seeing what I'm seeing?"

"What?"

"Are we not seeing the same thing, or are you really going to continue letting your own insecurities blind you to what's right in front of your face?" He looked at her with anger in his eyes, he was getting frustrated, she could sense it. He wasn't understanding.

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed him by the jaw, forcing his head to look back out onto the village, who remained packed tightly together, everyone seeming to move in sync, "Look, Hiccup," she shook his face, "See."

It took him a moment, but she watched as his brows began to relax, and his frown slackened, "Listen, Hiccup." Her fingers fell from his face, resting on his shoulder as she continued to observe him.

The room was full of warmth and joy. The whole room seemed to be alive, each Viking feeding off of the others' glee; like one massive organism, fueled by music, mead, and dance. The sound of their laughter flooded his ears and found its way into his chest. His people were happy. He had made his people happy. He could feel a warmth beginning to spread, a lightness that began to creep into every part of his body.

If they were happy, why shouldn't he be too?

She saw the moment it clicked in his mind; she could practically feel the weight that had been hovering over him lift as the tension in his body released. He blinked away tears as a smile began to form on his lips. Before she could say anything, his arms had pulled her into a tight embrace; he clung to her waist as tightly as he ever had. "Thank you," he muttered through the cloth of her tunic.

"Stoick would be proud of you, Hiccup. I'm proud of you," her arms wove their way around his shoulders, pulling him impossibly tighter to her, "You keep thinking that you have to be him, but that's not true at all." She pushed at his shoulders so that she could see his face. "This is what matters," her arms spread wide, gesturing to her people, and then to themselves. "If they're happy, then you've done your job well. The rest will follow."

"I'm sorry," he brought his forehead in to rest on her abdomen, holding tight to her hips, "I let me get me down. I just got so caught up in trying to do this job, this enormous job, that I lost sight of what was really important."

"That's what I'm here for," she nudged him lightly with her elbow, "to push your scrawny ass back on the right track when you start to wander off." He chuckled, nodding his head, frizzing his hair. She took a step back and offered him her hand.

"Come on, you owe me more than a few dances, you grump." He smiled at her as he took her hand, walking down from the platform where his eyes and heart had been opened, where he learned about an entirely different kind of joy, and an entirely different kind of love.