Merida Dunbroch sat alone in an empty, ruined building. The crumbling walls and caved in parts of the ceiling allowed sunlight through, though the lack of windows where there should be did a fine job of that to. The seat she sat on, what used to be her mother's throne as she and her father dealt with the clan and settled any matters that were brought to them.
It had been so, so long ago, that she had seen them last. So long that she could hardly remember the color of her parents eyes, or what age her brothers had been when they'd gone to seek the witch themselves. She remembered, before she had come to be this way, quite well why they went. The triplets were looking for the reason for Merida's magic.
They called it magic. The witch had called it a blessing of higher powers, Gods perhaps, or spirits, and shooed her brothers out the door. Merida called it her curse.
Her naturally fiery red hair glowed when she was angry. Each and every individual strand became blistering hot and the light that reflected off of them made her hair appear as fire. The will-o-the-wisps showed themselves to her often enough that she was beginning to think that they just liked being close to her and were not, in fact, leading her to her fate each and every time she saw them.
The heat of summer hardly bothered her now. It was the freezing winds of winter that she had to watch for now.
Her horse, Angus, seemed to understand what she told him. A new intelligence had been brought to his eyes that she'd never noticed before. Merida wasn't entirely sure if that was somehow by her doing, or the work of some otherworldly force.
Either way, she found out other things as they grew in strength and frequency by the week.
Some things she noticed, some things her brothers or others of her clan had to point out to her.
It wasn't just her hair that was affected by her emotions anymore. It was her eyes which "Felt like they could burn away a man's soul, lass, calm down." and the fireplace, "How did it reach the ceiling while only burning the one spot on the ceiling?"
It was how she could run so fast on foot, she could keep up with Angus with ease. She could likely outrun him if she tried.
She didn't.
It was also how she wasn't changing. She wasn't appearing any older. At first, when she noticed, people told her to embrace the fact that she'd look young and beautiful for longer than most people. She had at first. But then her father passed and her mother took the reins while she trained to be able to lead. Then her mother fell sick so Merida and her brothers had to take care of her, in her final moments.
Then her brothers really started growing and Merida couldn't stand idly by any longer.
She went to visit the witch herself.
The witch once again called her strangeness a blessing, but didn't say anything useful. Oh, the little old lady had advised her to, "Look within yourself, toward the heart of your being. Look there for the reason why you do all that you do, and there you will find the source of this gift."
More questions only gave more vague answers. The witch was hard pressed to give anything she could work with.
Other than the "look for the heart of her being" crap. Yet it was that she had, by this point, run out of options. Merida would be, much, much later, eternally grateful that her clan and it's allies had not thought of her as some evil being or a monster like Mor'du. Perhaps it was because she and her family had explained it away as a gift, or a blessing, or magic bestowed by the Gods, or something equally stupid that she didn't agree with.
Then there was the time when people from beyond the sea intended to invade and raid her homeland. She had gathered the clans together, all of those capable and willing to fight, and told them this…
"I will go a fight them," She had said, her hair and eyes aglow as thin trails of smoke rose from beneath her feet and from her hands, "Any who make their way past me are to fall by your weapons or your hands. Am I understood?"
The gathered men, and a few women, roared back with protective rage and bloodlust as their response.
She had dared to try and do as the witch suggested, then. Tried to reach with invisible hands, imagined her eyes looking inward. As she neared where her battle was to be fought, she found what she had been searching for.
The heart of her being, the reason behind all that she did and said, was Family. It was Bloodlines, Connections, Familial relationships, by blood or not. It was fierce and overwhelming, and it was accompanied by the other thing the witch had told her.
So she held onto that mental image of what she had looked like, once upon a time. Held on to the vague sense of vastness in time that no mortal being should have to endure living through. Held it tight for a brief few seconds before pulling it out.
Next thing she knew, she was lying in the middle of a bloody, burning, smoky battlefield. Her hands and feet were sore as her brothers helped her to stand. Others of the allied clans were helping to clear the mess and salvage anything of use from the fallen would-be invaders.
Some chanced a look at her, their eyes and expressions giving away both respect and fear.
But that, to, was in the past.
Now there was no one from any clan around. Her brothers and their bloodlines continued, but they weren't Clan Dunbroch anymore. None of her several times great nieces and nephews know about their history. That was fine, though. She had protected them from the shadows, hidden away in the ruins of what once was her home.
She had done so ever since her home had been set ablaze by yet another, this time larger force of invaders that she could not have just fought off. All the while she had been stuck inside, safe from the fire and the heat, but not from the smoke. The moon had been the last thing she saw, before waking up anew a few days later with sparse knowledge but no true memories to speak of.
She had lived to see the Age of Luxury rise and she had lived to see it fall into an Age of Tragedy. Many hundreds, if not thousands of years later.
