This is by no means my first Disney story, but it's my first-ever Brave story! I've always been fascinated by the fight scene between Merida and Elinor, and what Elinor's thoughts must have been during the entire blowup. And how did she feel about throwing Merida's bow into the fire afterward? This story attempts to explain those questions and more.

I want to give a shout-out to BriWrite, whose story "The Queen and the Bow" was an inspiration for this tale. I also owe a debt to Disney's classic The Little Mermaid, which I believe echoes throughout Brave: the relationship between Merida and Elinor, to me, is very much like that of Ariel and King Triton, and the fight scene in Brave reminds me of the grotto destruction scene in The Little Mermaid. Not to mention both Elinor and Triton regret their actions and lament to themselves, "What have I done?" after their children have run away.

Elinor, Queen of DunBroch, was seeing red. Not only the red of her daughter's flaming hair, but the red of her anger as she hauled the rebellious teenager upstairs. What had the child been thinking? First reacting like she did to the news of her planned betrothal – a plan that Elinor had carefully crafted for her daughter's own good – and now this! Humiliating the lords, their sons, and the entire clan DunBroch. And why? Because Merida wanted what was best for Merida, not the kingdom. Stubborn, impudent, ungrateful girl!

"Michty me!" Elinor fumed, slinging Merida into the tapestry room. "I have just abou' had enough of you, lass!"

"Ye're the one that tha' wants me to –" Merida began, but Elinor was in no mood to hear any excuses. And she was certainly not going to have this disaster laid at her doorstep.

"You embarrassed them! You embarrassed me!" the queen yelled, shooting down all of Merida's attempts to get a word in edgewise. "You don' know wot you've done!" she warned, slamming the door to the room shut. "Et will be fire and sword ef et's not set right!"

"Just listen!" Merida cried, begging with her words and her hands.

Listen! Elinor was furious. Merida never listened to a word she said; why in the world should the queen give her the same courtesy? Oh, Merida was perfectly happy to sit and listen to Fergus's endless tales of bloody battles and swordplay strategies, and heaven knew she never tired of hearing that worn-out story of Mor'du. But when Elinor tried to school her daughter on how to be a proper princess and, someday, the queen, and impart a story of how selfishness could tear a rift in a kingdom, did Merida listen? No! The heidie girl did as she pleased, and now look at the result. For once, just once, Merida was bloody well going to listen to her mother.

"I am the queen! YOU LISTEN TO ME!" Elinor roared, but it did absolutely no good. Merida screamed in frustration, throwing her hands in the air. "This is so unfair!"

Elinor's jaw dropped. "Unfair?" she repeated incredulously. Was Merida seriously calling the betrothal unfair? What about all the times she had blatantly disregarded Elinor's tutelage? Stubbornly refused to act like the princess she was? Gone skipping off to hunt, fish, and fight with Fergus and treated every bit of time Elinor spent with her like some terrible obligation? Didn't she see how unfair that was to her mother?

Apparently not, for Merida's next words cut as deeply as the sword she was now swinging about in her anger. "Ye're niver there for me! This whole marriage is wot you want! D'you even bother to ask wot I want? No! You walk around tellin' me wot to do, wot not to do, tryin' to make me be like you! Well..." Merida's tone took on an almost desperate edge. "I'm not goin' tae be like you!"

Hurt though she was, Elinor was bound and determined not to let Merida know it. Of course Merida didn't want to be like her. Elinor had sensed that since Merida's sixth birthday, when Fergus had given her that bow. That godforsaken bow, which was strung across Merida's shoulders, taunting the queen. It was the physical reminder that Merida looked to her father, not her mother... that Merida seemed to love her father more. But for all these thoughts spinning in her head, Elinor couldn't find a way to articulate them. And a queen never showed jealousy, so she merely spat out the words, "Och! You're actin' like a child!"

But Merida was nowhere near ready to give up the fight. "An' ye're a beast!" she fired at the queen, jabbing at the tapestry with her sword, her face almost as red as her hair. "Tha's wot you are!"

Elinor gasped in shock. Yes, they'd had plenty of arguments, but never before had her daughter spoken to her this way. "Merida!" she cried, unsure of whether to be hurt or outraged.

"I'll niver be like you!" Merida growled, pressing the tip of her sword into the fabric of the tapestry.

"No!" Elinor burst out, throwing a hand forward. Not the tapestry, the one she'd put so much work into, since before Merida was born. Merida had already torn the kingdom apart; she couldn't tear up the tapestry, too! "Stop that!"

The warning was futile. Merida was blind to everything except her own rage. "I'd rather DIE than be like you!" she bellowed. With one almighty swing, Merida slashed an enormous hole in the tapestry, right between the likenesses of herself and Elinor... mirroring the shreds of their torn relationship.

Elinor gasped again, clutching a hand to her chest as though Merida had cut her heart instead of the tapestry... which, in a way, she had. All her hard work – the tapestry and schooling Merida – for naught. And Merida just stood there, chin raised, sword in hand, and eyes blazing, defiant as you please, not a shred of remorse.

Right then and there, something inside Elinor snapped. In that instant, she saw not her daughter, but her husband, brawling with the lords and egging the fights on. It was bad enough that Fergus didn't act like the king half the time; now Merida was on the same path? She was a princess, not a warrior! Clearly, Fergus's influence had been too strong... and Merida had been Daddy's girl far too long. It was high time the lass paid attention to Elinor for once, and if this was the only way to get through to her, so be it.

Fury churning in her blood, Elinor grit her teeth and stormed over to Merida, snatching the sword out of her hand and throwing it to the floor with a clang. "Merida, you are a princess! I expect you to act like one!" She then saw Merida's bow, and her anger boiled afresh. The hateful thing caused all the trouble and still taunted her. Ire blinded her, and she seized the bow, wrenching it off Merida. In one swift motion, she spun around and threw the bow into the fireplace.

A horrified gasp from Merida brought Elinor whipping back around, seething. She was fully prepared for Merida to rage about some more, to brawl and fight like her father.

What the queen saw instead stunned her... and ripped another, more painful, hole in her heart.

Merida was standing with her hands over her mouth, eyes wide in horror at what had been done to her beloved bow. Slowly, she lowered her hands, revealing lips that were twitching, bowing up as though she were about to cry – confirmed by the tears welling in her big blue eyes. Eyes that now held unmistakable pain as she backed away from Elinor. Backed away, as if her mother was Mor'du. Finally, unable to hold it back anymore, Merida broke down sobbing and fled, from the room and from her mother.

"Merida!" Elinor called after her, the red haze still clouding her judgment. "Merida!" Jings crivens, this isn't my fault! If she'd just listened to me... if she'd just loved me...

A loud snapping noise broke into Elinor's thoughts, bringing her attention to the hearth. She saw the bow, its string now completely snapped from the heat, and the red suddenly obliterated. The weight of what Elinor had done hit her like a ton of bricks. She hadn't destroyed the obstacle in her and Merida's relationship... she'd destroyed what was left of the relationship itself. All because of her jealousy and her stubborn pride. She now realized how much that bow meant to Merida, and she was horrified that she had done such a terrible thing, hurt her daughter so deeply. "Oh, no!"

Quick as a flash, Elinor grabbed the fire iron and poked the bow out of the fireplace, yelping at the intense heat it gave off. Shame overcame the queen as she surveyed the bow, its ivory wood now a charred black, its string gone, and its beautiful Celtic symbols – carved by Merida's hand, no doubt – twisted into gruesome, barely recognizable images. The weapon had been transformed from a mirror of a father's love into one of a mother's hate, and Elinor was ashamed of letting such hatred – of the bow and Merida's free spirit – consume her.

"Oh, no! Wot have I done?" What kind of mother does this to her own child? A... a beast. Oh, Lord, I really was a beast to her! Memories of Merida's tears, the raw pain in her eyes, clawed at Elinor's heart again. I hurt her. My poor wee lassie, I hurt her! Consumed by grief, Elinor buried her face in her hands and wept. Oh, God, forgive me! What can I do to make this right?

"Elinor? Are ye awright, love?"

Elinor jumped at the sound of her husband's voice. Fergus was standing in the doorway, his massive frame filling the entire space. "Fergus, I..."

She didn't have time to speak before the king swooped down upon her, his broad face creased with worry. "Ye've bin cryin'! Wot's 'appened?"

More tears spilled down Elinor's cheeks. "Oh, Fergus, Merida an' I had a terrible fight... and I got so angry, I..." She picked up the still-warm bow and held it out to him. "I threw her bow into the fire."

Surprised, Fergus took the bow and examined every inch of it. "Och," he said ruefully.

Elinor cringed. "I'm so sorry, my darlin'. I know you made that bow for Merida, how hard you must've worked on et..."

Fergus's blue eyes, so like Merida's, regarded her with surprising solemnity. "I don' think I'm the one who needs the apology, lassie," he said softly.

Elinor bowed her head. Fergus was right. It was Merida she needed to apologize to.

"Wha' brought it to this?"

Now that question, Elinor couldn't answer. Not now, anyway. Now was not the time to tell Fergus how jealous she'd been of his relationship with Merida, not with all the trouble they had brewing. Things had to be set right. "I'll tell ye later. Right now, we need tae patch things up, startin' with this bow." Elinor touched the blackened wood. "Fergus, do you think you can mend it?"

The king eyed the burned bow. "Aye, I think I can. Et migh' take me a while to scrape all the charred bits off an' shine it up, but I can do et."

Elinor breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's wonderful! Now, in the meantime, I need you to go back down and pacify the lords."

Now it was Fergus's turn to cringe. "Och, they're all growlin' like bears abou' this whole kerfuffle."

"Please, pacify them," Elinor repeated, trying hard not to sound desperate. "An' I'll go find Merida so we can finally get this bond mended."

"Between our clan and the others? Or between ye and Merida?"

Elinor's reply was quiet. "Hopefully, both."

Fergus smiled. "Tha's my queen. Go find Merida. I'll try an' keep those sorry galoots at bay while ye make up."

"Thank you," Elinor whispered, reaching up to kiss his cheek. The king caressed her face and left with the bow, and Elinor set off for Merida's bedchamber, hoping the princess had sequestered herself in there to cry her frustration out... but Merida was not there. Elinor searched the castle, wondering where Merida could be. Only when she went out to the stables, however, did panic set in. Many a time had Merida escaped to the stall of her horse, Angus, to be alone in fits of anger and cry into the Clydesdale's big, furry neck. This time, Angus was gone, and Merida with him. Oh, no... "Jamie!" she called to one of the stablehands. "Did you see Princess Merida ride out on her horse, by any chance?"

"Aye, Your Majesty," Jamie answered. "She jumped up on Angus an' tore off like the Devil was after her. Looked mighty upset, too."

Elinor felt her insides wrench. "Guid nicht... did she say where she was goin'?"

Jamie shrugged. "Nae. Jus' galloped off withou' a word."

Elinor suddenly grasped him by the shoulders. "Jamie, round up the ghillies. Tell them the princess is gone, and they must ride out immediately and find her. Please! Hurry!"

"Aye, Your Majesty!" Jamie ran off to alert the castle ghillies, who rode out within minutes to search for Merida. Elinor, meanwhile, could do little more than help calm the lords down and worry about her daughter – worry that intensified when, hours later, the ghillies returned empty-handed. No trace of either Merida or Angus was to be seen.

Heartbroken, Elinor made her way down to the castle kitchen, hoping some water would soothe her. Oh, what have I done? she keened silently, praying with all her might that she could change her fate; mend her torn bond with Merida; see her daughter one more time and tell her all the things she wanted to. What have I done?

Little did she know that, in the kitchen, her prayer was about to be answered in the most extraordinary way.