Author's Note: I just decided to do this randomly. I'm going to see where this goes and I hope it isn't too terrible. Follow the story if you think it should continue, because I usually don't have enough steam to go on for more than a chapter. Let me know what you think!-
"Fuck," Merida panted, frustrated, against the pale neck of her partner, whose hand had strayed below her waist and was stroking her through her rather thin dress. She pulled away. Her eyes trailed up from the thin wrist to the face of the younger woman she had accosted in the hall. Dainty features and glowing face, she was pretty. Merida ran her hands through her clean black hair. They had been doing this for a while. "I can't keep doing this, Deniela. What am I supposed to do?"
The girl said nothing for a moment, then ran her long, elegant fingers down Merida's face, almost reverently. Their tips brushed her eyelids as they closed. Her voice was close when she spoke. "It seems you may have to make a choice, once again, Merida. The kingdom won't wait much longer before it bursts." She gave her lover a soft kiss and then turned to proceed down the stairs. She hadn't been terribly helpful, only reinforcing what had to be done, but for some reason, from her lips, the gravity of the situation weighed down on the princess.
She had just turned 23. Twenty-three winters and only a few since her fate, along with the fate of the kingdom, had changed. Everything had gone smoothly with the lords and with her family up until a few months ago. The kingdom was more than willing to accept the change, though they for some reason didn't realize it would be so far into the future that the princess become the queen. Lord Macintosh's son had tried to court her once again, out of pride probably, just a year back when talk of marriage had begun again. Still not ready, she thought to herself whenever the subject whirled through her mind, burning her day.
Since the day that she had pacified the lords and there was no longer the need to prepare her for immediate marriage and ruling a kingdom her days of freedom were closer together, almost once a week now. Today was one of those days and she took to the woods, without Angus. She only did this when she needed to think. Solitary. In fact, she had only done it once- the day she met Deniela. Maybe it was a year ago, or two. They had not known each other long, but the first time they met Merida found something in her quiet, insightful rebelliousness that intrigued her. Merida remembered it well, all of it.
Their first kiss she almost cried her way through. There was just something about it, something bittersweet and darkly attractive to her. Merida was not stupid, she knew how others would react and though she was known for breaking tradition, she wasn't quite sure that was a fight she could win.
She journeyed to Ring of Stones and sat, staring in the direction of the witches cottage. Maybe a wisp will appear and spell out, letter by letter, in the fog, what she should do. Deniela or Marriage. Marriage or her mother's wrath. She lied flat, eyes to the blank sky above. Gray. She was gray. Merida did not love Deniela, but she definitely did not want to let her go. She didn't want to let her go 100 times more than she wanted to get married, and that probably amplified why she felt that way. A bird flew overhead. Merida groaned and thudded her hand against the ground. It hurt. Groan.
There was a feast that night. She knew, she'd seen the kitchen staff and the men carting food and ale into the castle, but she didn't know for what. One of the Lord's had taken a different wife, she thought. She knew for sure one their wives had died, but she really didn't know off the top of her head. She only payed attention to the work because it meant seeing Deniela more than usual. The girl worked in the kitchens sometimes, helped out more or less. Merida didn't even know her last name, didn't think anyone really did. Nobody knows anyone's name unless you're someone royal or rich. Deniela wasn't a peasant, though, not really. Here maybe, her family had been something, is something, in a foreign place, but her father and Deniela had fled her from war or famine, something. Merida wasn't too good at listening, she realized. Whenever the girl spoke, really talked about something, Merida's mind found a way to wander under her dress or to her lips or to the forest, anywhere but her words. She reminded herself of one of the rude stable boys, who she overheard talking about her in a way no one with a mother should talk. Grounded for more than a month for the black eye she gave the loudest one.
At the royal table her eyes scanned the room, knowing the girl would arrive shortly. It was chaos already so it was hard to sift through the bodies. Three or four, she lost count, fights had already broken out, tankards clunked loudly everywhere and once in a while some food or another would sail overhead. Her mother tried to speak to her, but was ignored. It was too loud anyway, she couldn't have listened if she wanted to . Although her mind often ran wild, when Deniela talked of her home Merida listened her best. Far off places were like pastries to her. She gorged herself on the detail if she could pay attention long enough to. Deniela told her of a place much more orderly than Merida's land. There was no greenery, plenty of snow all year. Feasts were not riotous as they were here, but orderly, censored events of finery and quiet drunkenness. She imagined that Deniela's world spun slowly and tinkered like a music box. She always thought she smelled fine wine and gold dust on the girl's skin, a memory of it at least.
Finally, she spotted the girl. A slow smirk was placed on her lips, a silver chain on her neck. Her dress of was plain, but fit her well and sent a shot, a tingle down Merida's spine. Deniela did not look for her and it was disappointing. She was in plain sight and she was ignored. Merida wondered if it was purposeful and wondered was purpose it could possibly serve. The feast needed to end, it needed to be over and she needed out of her dress. Whether she got out of it herself or in some dark part of the castle with her partner in shadow did not matter.