Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this unfortunate mess.

"Leug" means "Lily" (or ought to) in Scottish Gaelic.

There's a subtle allusion here to a particular movie, one that modern Merida would love. Find it and you may win a prize!

Dear Elfy, I think this is definitely sufficiently awkward. As for the rest, well, that's up to you to decide. I hope you like it.

No.

No, no, no.

No.

It didn't matter how hard he denied it, or how much he glared; the tiny piece of metal cupped in his palm was still mocking him.

Forget to do something recently? it asked. A little routine preventive maintenance, maybe?

So he'd been a little busy and hadn't given his gear a properly thorough check in a while. That didn't mean it had to go and break on him.

Merida had guilt-tripped him onto a horse's back by standing with Angus' head over her shoulder, stroking his nose and talking about how long it had been since they'd had a decent ride and how he needed to exercise, to stretch his legs the same way Toothless needed to stretch his wings. And that would have been enough, but just for good measure she'd looked up at him through her eyelashes, lower lip sticking out a fraction, and he'd finally recognized an opportunity when it stared him in the face. If he got to spend some time with her away from prying eyes and wagging tongues, it'd be worth the soreness the ride inflicted. Once he'd hauled himself into the saddle of a shy brown mare–it was like climbing a small mountain; Toothless could crouch to make it easier on him, but he'd needed to stand on a box before he managed to slip his prosthetic into the stirrup—she'd galloped ahead of him, laughing her head off, leaving him to try to catch up.

This horse, Leug, had seemed pretty jumpy from the start, tremors running through her every time his prosthetic brushed her side. It was no surprise that they soon lost sight of Merida and Angus; he occasionally had a glimpse of red hair through the trees ahead to keep him on the right track, but that was it.

Hiccup had had a good idea what was coming when he saw the tree trunk fallen across the path. Sure enough, Leug had put on the brakes and skidded to a stop just before the trunk; in retrospect it probably hadn't helped that Hiccup had instinctively tried to change gears that weren't there to allow them to soar over the obstacle. As she'd slowed Leug had slid sideways and the stop had sent him tumbling out of the saddle (why didn't these things have safety harnesses?) with an unfortunate amount of torsion to his leg and a distinct metallic pop. He'd broken his fall with the trunk against his ribs, which was really too bad, considering that the moss on the forest floor looked thick and comfy. He'd groaned and glared at the horse and then stood.

Well, tried to. There'd been a pained squeak that did not come from his mouth this time, thank you, but he wished it had as his foot had given way and he tipped sideways. Leug, who hadn't been enjoying herself to begin with and didn't like the strange stink of metal and ash about this human, had decided that she was under no obligation to stay and have him make horrible noises and then fall on her. She'd taken off, back the way they'd come and as far from him as possible.

Abandoned by the horse was one thing, one perfectly understandable thing. He didn't know what Merida saw in horses; they were too tall and flighty and impractical—they were only useful on land, and apparently choosy about the terrain. Next time he'd stick with Toothless or walking. But to have his own handiwork give out on him was nothing short of betrayal. He hauled himself into a sitting position and studied the prosthetic for a moment before setting his palm against the bottom and giving the spring-loaded limb an experimental push; it squealed pitifully and slipped sideways out of alignment. "Oh, great," he muttered. He leaned over, picking up the pin that his stylish dismount had dislodged, and peered at the leg. With his tools at the forge—or some tools at any kind of workshop whatsoever, he wasn't feeling really picky right about now—he'd be able to fix it fairly easily. All he had to do to get back to full mobility was make it back to the blacksmith shop at DunBroch. No problem.

Eventually Merida would feel guilty that it took her so long to notice Hiccup wasn't there. It was so exhilarating being at home after her travels, with Angus beneath her and the familiar trees whizzing by as they rode, that she almost forgot that Hiccup was following her. For a while she'd glanced over her shoulder at him and his dogged expression as he bounced along on Leug—the poor thing had only ever ridden dragons and had a terrible seat when it came to real riding. But then Angus had tossed his head and she'd turned her attention back to him and the path before them, leaning forward and grinning as her hair streamed behind her. When they broke into the clearing where the stones stood she slowed, wheeling Angus around and waiting for them to appear. After too many heartbeats had passed she frowned and called his name, listening hard for an answer or the sound of hoofbeats; when there was no sign of horse or rider she walked Angus back into the forest, calling out for them every so often.

The voice that answered "Yeah" from behind the big log sounded resigned, but not weak. Angus skirted the trunk and she saw Hiccup seated on the ground, leaning against the wood. He looked just the same as he had when they'd left; there was no blood or visible bone, and his complexion was healthy as ever. Confusion and relief didn't quite overpower the worry that lingered in her mind.

"Hiccup," she nearly sighed, sliding from Angus' back with an ease that Hiccup bitterly envied. "What're you doing?"

"Oh, you know. Just enjoying the natural beauty of the Highlands." He gestured at the forest around them, though his face wasn't convincingly appreciative.

"Where's Leug?"

He shrugged and then grimaced at a sharp pain in his side. He really hoped he hadn't cracked a rib, or ribs. "Don't know. She took off back the direction we came."

Merida cocked her head. "Why'd you let her do that?"

"I wasn't really in a position to stop her."

She didn't like the sound of that and knelt next to him. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Hiccup did sigh then. "I'm fine. Well, probably. I mean, I guess that depends on what you mean by me…" Her frown turned a little impatient and he went on. "The dumb horse wouldn't jump over the tree trunk and I fell off. My foot got twisted somehow on the way down." He held out his palm to show her the offending piece of prosthetic, small but apparently pretty crucial. "When I tried to stand up it made a weird noise and I lost my balance and fell over again and the horse left." He glared down the path. Now that she was here, looking at him with a worried expression, shame was starting to set in. He should've tried to get up again—she shouldn't have found him on the ground like this.

If she hadn't insisted he come along, despite his obvious hesitance, this never would have happened. She'd just wanted to spend some time with him. "But you're not hurt?" She reached out, to turn his face toward her and look him over for injuries; he shied away from her touch, eyes averted, and she tried not to feel hurt as she pulled her hand back.

Any other time he'd be more than happy to let her cool fingers touch his face. Any other time when they were on equal footing. "I'm fine," he said, trying to keep his tone level. "But I need to get back to the castle to fix my leg."

"Angus can carry us both." She stood and offered a hand.

Hiccup stared up at the horse. He was even taller than Leug, and it'd taken standing on a box for Hiccup to mount her; Merida often got on her horse through rather gymnastic maneuvers, climbing and leaping on anything handy. But there had to be some way, right?

If he could get to the top of the fallen tree, he might be able to get on Angus from there. But the trunk was waist-high on Merida and covered with moss that made the prospect of somehow climbing up treacherous. If he fell again he might do real lasting damage to his stump. Metal could be fixed, but he had to be careful of his flesh and bone. He squinted past her at the branches above them.

"Do you have any rope with you?"

The frown deepened as she dropped her hand. "No. Why would I carry rope around with me?"

"In case you needed it. Like, say you had someone who couldn't walk, and you needed to get him onto your gigantic horse. If you had some rope you could rig a pulley and lift him, no problem."

She spared a glance up. It could work—of course it would, she thought, it was Hiccup, after all. "I could go back and get some," she suggested, though the last thing she wanted to do was leave him here, unable to move properly. She didn't like seeing him like this. "Or I could… We could make a litter, out of branches, and pull you back."

He was pretty sure he would rather die than be dragged behind a horse. He cleared his throat, forcing the words out. "I'll be able to walk with a crutch. Can you look for something I could use, please?"

While she was gone Hiccup pulled his right leg under him and stood carefully, leaning against the tree. It was sick that something so small made him proud, but right now he was clinging to pride with all of his might. The choices were pride and stubbornness, or despair and the voice inside that sounded a lot like his own asking what use he could possibly have, crippled and helpless and dependent on someone else as he so obviously was. He wasn't fond of that voice; it was too easy to believe. He'd stick with pride any day.

Merida returned with an armload of sticks and held them in front of her as he picked them from the pile one by one. In a forest full of trees it shouldn't have been so hard to find a long enough fallen branch that would support his weight. "I can look again if none of these suits," she said, sounding desperately eager to her own ears. "You're just so tall…"

"This one'll do." The branch was crusted with lichen and there was no guarantee that it wasn't rotten inside. It wouldn't be comfortable, but it was roughly the right height, and even split at the top where two smaller branches had grown. He shoved it under his arm and took a step forward, ignoring Merida's indrawn breath. The stick held and he took another step, head down to watch the path ahead. She moved to walk at his left, ready to help if he needed it, and Angus ambled behind them.

The silence throbbed almost as much as the stabbing in his armpit. He'd have a wicked bruise there before long, and by now he was sure that at least one of his ribs was cracked. They moved slowly, Hiccup all too aware of Merida's vigilance and Merida wondering if this was how her mother felt, raising so many mischievous children—or maybe, the thought came, slow as treacle and just as hard to clear away, how her mother felt fretting over a hard-headed husband.

Though the day was mild, sweat started to prickle on Hiccup's forehead; for a while he fought to keep his face from betraying how hard he was working, but the effort wasn't worth it. He wouldn't stop walking, though, not until he dropped from exhaustion.

Or until he took his eyes from the path to blink sweat away, put the end of the crutch into a hole, cracked the branch, and staggered forward. Merida darted in front of him and caught him with a grunt as his bulk collided with her. Her heart raced, adrenaline shooting into her fingertips and toes as she shuffled her feet to brace herself under his weight. "What've you been eating? And where are you hiding it all?" she tried to joke, her arms around his middle, but her voice was shaky. "You don't look like you could possibly weigh as much as you do."

His forehead dropped against her shoulder in defeat for just a moment before he straightened, steadying himself with hands on her arms. "Thank you," he said, sounding more miserable than grateful.

"Do you want to sit down for a minute?" Merida tried to meet his eyes, but he resolutely avoided her gaze.

"No. I just want to get back." He breathed in deeply, wincing at the stitch in his side and catching the familiar scent of her. He wanted to pull her close, let her comfort him, but he couldn't, even though by this time his pride was pretty shot. "The crutch is wrecked." It wasn't a question.

She looked over her shoulder to confirm it, nodding, hands slipping to his waist. "Are you sure you don't want to rest a bit?" She peered up at him, knowing that if she tried to force him to stop he'd only be more determined to carry on. "I could find another branch."

Hiccup shook his head. That meant the alternative was her being the crutch. Without asking she moved to his side, wrapping her arm loosely around his waist and waiting until he lifted his with a hiss and dropped it behind her neck. He took another breath, one that she could feel and echoed, and then stepped out. She pictured her mum's posture and imagined her spine like a steel rod, rigid against the pressure of his weight on her shoulders. Together they moved forward, though none too quickly, nor gracefully. It took a good few minutes before they fell into a rhythm.

She didn't deserve to have to put up with this, he thought, a breeze tickling her hair over his arm. It wasn't fair—he wasn't supposed to be anyone's burden, but especially not hers. The thought that he was literally weighing her down was acrid in his throat.

"I hate this," he muttered.

She started to retort that it was no picnic for her either when she saw his face. He was tense and pale and ashamed. As if there was anything shameful in needing help, especially from her.

"You shouldn't have to help me," he went on.

"I don't mind." It was such a stupid thing to say, so weak and insipid. She meant that she felt terrible, that it hurt to know that he was in physical pain, that he was stupid to be ashamed and that she was glad, lucky, proud to be able to help him.

"But you shouldn't have to. I should be able to take care of myself."

He was acting daft. "You do. You take care of yourself better than anyone I know. And what's more, you take care of everyone else as well. You have to let us return the favor sometimes."

Him taking care of other people was different. That was his responsibility. This wasn't hers. "But you shou—"

"You don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do," she snapped. "I wouldn't be here if you didn't matter to me." His heart slammed painfully against his ribs, but she was already going on. "Taking care of yourself, the way you're so set on doing, also means not doing yourself any more damage than I've already caused."

It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up with the end of her sentence. He frowned at the top of her head. "How is any of this your fault?"

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "We'd already be home by now if I'd brought some rope," she said, and he snorted in laughter. "I knew you didn't want to come riding with me and I made you. None of this would have happened if I hadn't."

"You're right. It is all your fault." She couldn't stop from glaring; it was one thing for her to blame herself, and another altogether for him to agree, even if he was kidding. She was fairly certain he was. He tapped his fingers against her shoulder. "Do you really think you could make me do anything I didn't want to do?"

"Yes." Of course she could. She already had, more than once, including earlier today. To be fair, he could do the same to her, whether or not he knew it; he had a way of tilting his head and cocking an eyebrow that could coax her into all manner of unreasonable actions and reactions.

He shook his head. "No way."

"I could!"

At another time he would gladly argue it with her, but that would take energy he didn't have to spare. "That's not the point. The point is, it's not your fault, because you didn't make me do anything. Yeah, horse riding isn't my favorite thing, but you a—it's yours. I don't mind it so much with you." He stared forward, but even out of the corner of his eye he could see her smile. "Thank you, Merida. I owe you for this."

He swayed when she stopped abruptly and moved out from under his arm, scowling at him even as she kept hold of his waist. "You do not, you great idiot. Just because I didn't leave you sat in the forest alone doesn't mean you're beholden to me. Are all Vikings so ill-mannered, or is this stupidity particular to you?" she grumbled, almost under her breath. "Keeping accounts against each other isn't part of friendship."

"Friendship?" he echoed automatically. Of all the things for him to latch on to, that was probably the least important part of what she'd said. It didn't feel unimportant, though, not with her blue eyes burning hot and her hand clenching against his side.

Her scowl faded as she stared up at him, lips curving up sweetly, shyly. They both knew it, but it didn't hurt to say aloud. "Not just friendship."

"Merida," he murmured. It was unfair, he thought again, though with a different kind of ache now. In fact, he hardly noticed the pain in his ribs, since her thumb was stroking there. "Look at me. I can't even stand by myself."

"No one can. No one does." She made it sound so simple, and maybe it was. When he opened his mouth to protest further with some other inane lie about his fitness, his worth, she rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course you're right. DunBroch would never allow a one-legged man to be king."

There was a very full silence during which they both realized what she'd just implied and blushed. Hiccup moved first, draping his arm around her shoulders again, standing a little closer than he had before. She wrapped her right arm around his waist and reached up with her left, threading her fingers with his. They stayed side by side all the way to the forge, and all their days after.