Merida was originally supposed to save Brendan, but this works out better because it lets Brendan be more than the little kid who needs constant saving and it takes Merida out of her element of castles and into a more personal environment to get to know Brendan. Tell me what you think!
The day was new. A light mist had covered the valley, and the scent of fresh dew wafted its way up the nostrils of every person in the castle. The morning was calm, the only sound was that of the earliest of birds who were waiting for the early worms to show themselves. A butterfly alighted on a flower, delicately sampling the nectar. Finding it to her liking, the insect fluttered her wings contentedly and began to sip the sugary fluid.
She barely had enough time to react when there was a great noise of creaking hinges, oak panels sliding, and great hooves rapidly advancing. Beating her wings frantically, the butterfly barely escaped the metal-shod limb that came crashing down on the flower that she had been sitting on. Landing on the ground slightly dazed, she never saw the bushy-red-mop and Clydesdale duo streak past her and into the woods.
Unaware of the consternation that she had just caused, Merida let out a whoop as Angus soared over a log. She urged him to go faster, and Angus complied by going into a gallop that rivaled a rabbit in speed. Holding on tight, the princess pulled out her bow and knocked an arrow, scanning for her target. She saw it, dangling from a tree, and let the arrow fly. It slammed into the target with a satisfying thud, sending splinters into the woods. The red-haired rider let out a contented chuckle and began to search for the next target.
Fifteen targets or so later, and Merida was down to her last few arrows. The sun was rising over the hills, stretching its reaching beams through the trees and dappling the area. Breathing the scent of morning, the princess dismounted, gently patting Angus' shanks. The great horse neighed softly before turning his head to the ground and munching on some clover. Food was the furthest thing from Merida's mind. Taking a moment to observe the area, she realized that she had never been in this clearing before. The area was filled with short grass, and the trees on all sides looked to be oaks. Perhaps the largest oaks that Merida had ever seen. Their trunks were huge, at least ten feet in diameter, and their branches soared into the sky, but never leaned too far over the clearing. In the middle of the clearing, there was a menhir, one of the great, mysterious stones that dotted the highlands. On it was written a strange phrase.
This language was unknown to Merida. She could make no sense of it. She stepped closer to get a better look.
Bheidh eagla, is anseo an áit Crom Cruach
Her brows furrowed. It was like the old language of the Highlands, but subtly different. The markings were engraved into the stone, but not as lovingly as one might expect. The chaotic arrangement of text reminded her of what Hubert's papers looked like when he was writing and was startled. Fear. And below the writing was a symbol: a circle, surrounded by an eight pointed star, surrounded by another circle, and then a third circle.
Merida suddenly felt a chill run over her body. The clouds seemed to move in over the clearing, and an unnatural cold swept in like a wave on the ocean. Goosebumps erupted on her skin, and a creeping feeling of impending doom began to squeeze her soul like a great hand. Stumbling back, she began to move toward Angus. The horse seemed to be, if anything, more perturbed than she was. He pawed anxiously, letting out a whinnie. He turned sideways, offering the stirrups to Merida. He was ready to leave, and quite frankly, so was she.
As she raised a foot into the stirrups, she heard something behind her: "Going somewhere missie?"
Great. Just great.
Turning her head, she saw a man leaning on one of the oak trees. He was tall, burly, and wore clothes that might have better suited a scarecrow than a man. He had a leering, lopsided grin on his stubble covered face, showing off a less than perfect dental array. On his belt was a sword, easily as tall as Merida herself, and in his hand he held a bag. It jingled softly as he stood from his leaning position. "It's a beautiful morning," he said, the smirk on his face growing
.
Merida rolled her eyes and mounted Angus. "Yes, too beautiful to remain here," she said, gently kicking Angus' haunches, encouraging him to trot. Angus suddenly balked. Merida turned to see another man materialize from the mist. Dressed like his companion, and just about as large, Merida turned her gaze back to the leering one behind her. "You don't want to do this, friend."
The man drew his sword slowly, letting the grating sound ring through the woods. "Do what missie? All we want is some company."
Merida gulped quietly. Discreetly, she knocked an arrow, and gave the string a bit of tension. There were two men now, and she had two arrows. The shots would have to be perfect. "Last warning," she said. "Go now, and we can all enjoy this lovely day."
She saw the man make eye contact with the other, and without hesitation, she drew the bow string and fired. The brigand was caught in the chest, stalling his flight path and dropping him onto the ground. Angus reared in alarm, letting out a wild call as Merida drew her second arrow and knocked it, taking aim at the other brigand. To her surprise, there was a new one standing by the first. The momentary surprise caused her to release the arrow prematurely, sending it into the first brigand's arm. He yowled in pain as the third man lunged for Merida. She pulled a foot from its stirrup and delivered a kick to the brute's face. Suddenly a burning pain erupted on her scalp, and Merida felt herself being pulled from the saddle by her own bushy red tangles. Drawing her sword from its scabbard, in one stroke she sliced through the attacker's clump of hair and blocked his sword. Alighting on the ground, she gave a hard shoulder into the offender, who was still clutching a clump of her hair in his hand. He tumbled to the ground as Merida spun to block another blade. Spinning and weaving, her sword flying through the air and glinting in the sunlight, Merida did a rough count of assailants.
One, as she ducked under his battle axe.
Two, as she blocked his sword.
Three, as she landed a kick to his knee
Four, as she was blocked by his shield.
Five, as she sidestepped a blow from a club the size of a large dog.
Six, Seven, Eight, as she made a 360 degree turn, dodging six, swiping at seven, and blocking eight.
Nine, as he locked her blade with his. "Shooting me in the arm," he snarled. "Not a good idea missie!"
And she believed it. There was murder in those eyes, and she knew that she was outnumbered. Sure, she could take any one of them in a fight. Heck, she could even take Fergus the Bear King in a fight, but there were just too many men to keep track of here. Too many swords, too much dodging, and now the sound of Angus whinnie-ing in fright were all just too much for her to handle. But she would take as many of them down with her as possible.
With a loud grunt, she shoved the man's sword from hers and made a stab. He deftly blocked it and struck for her neck. Bending low to avoid it, she stood immediately afterwards and blocked a blow from another, spinning to block a blow from behind. Sidestepping the club again, she slashed at the owner, who jumped clear with his life, but with a large gash across his shirt-front. Blocking another stab, she twisted the blade free from her assailant's hand and struck again at another man, the one with the arrow in his arm. The swing took the stubble from his face, and Merida might have smiled, had someone behind her not savagely kicked her knee. With a cry, Merida felt the joint bend in a very unnatural way. The momentary distraction that the pain caused her was enough for another man to give her a dizzying punch to the face. The ground promptly received her head with stony greetings, and what chance she had of regaining her advantage was lost in the swirl that was the world through her addled mind. Someone grabbed her by the jaw, hoisting her off the ground. The world began to resolve itself again in her vision, and she saw that the man so un-gently holding her was using his good arm to do so.
This is going to be bad.
An evil smile spread across his lips. "Now, missie, this could have been a lot easier," he said. His hot breath rolled over her like a breeze at low tide. She gagged from the stench, but it served the purpose of bringing her to her full functionality, such as realizing that the man holding her was holding a very sharp looking knife in his other hand. "It think that you could do with a little lesson in humility! What say you to that boys?"
There was general consensus of growling that confirmed to Merida a 'yes' had been given. Her captor held her tightly, and began to move the knife to her face. "Let's start with the-"
What he was about to start with, Merida never found out, because at that moment, the man's eyes suddenly rolled into his head as a loud crack went through the air. He released Merida, and slumped to the ground in a heap. Behind him stood a red-headed man, about her age, clad in brown robes and brandishing a freshly used staff. Both she and the thugs stood frozen for a moment. Their brains were still trying to comprehend their leader lying unconscious on the grassy floor.
The red-headed boy nodded at her. Suddenly she remembered the sword at her feet, and dove to retrieve it. As she did, the boy leapt over her and brought his staff down on an unsuspecting thug's head. He fell with a grunt at Merida's feet. She raised her sword to deliver a pax dei, when a hand grabbed her arm. It was the boy.
"No," he ordered. "Don't kill him! It will only make it stronger!"
"What stronger?"
He cast a glance over his shoulder at the menhir behind her. "Crom!"
Merida was about to demand an explanation, but was promptly cut short by a sword-strike aimed at her head. She blocked it, and with a groan, sufficed for a knock-out punch rather than the killing-strike that had been offered. Behind her, the boy was doing extremely well against the brutes. Using the staff as a weapon or as a pole-vault, he had downed three thugs already. Not to be outdone, Merida stepped up her game. Favoring her leg only slightly, she whirled like a red-headed demon into the melee. She blocked and struck in fluid motion. A dodged sword strike lead to a swift kick or a shoulder bash. The boy behind her blocked a sword with his staff, letting the sword embed, and then twisting, yanking the weapon from his assailant's hand and the striking him with the butt end. In the span of what felt like a few seconds, the thugs were down, groaning on the floor like pathetic babies.
Glancing at the boy, she gave him a smile. 'Not bad," she said.
He gave a slight smile. "Well, one must learn these things on the open road."
Merida turned and took a step, about to thank the boy for his help. Her knee suddenly filled with fire, and she fell to the ground with a cry. The boy was upon her immediately.
"Miss, are you hurt? What's wrong?"
She managed to hiss something about her knee through the pain. Lifting her skirt, the robed red-head inspected her knee. Ordinarily, such an action would earn a deft kick in the face, but she could see nothing but the pain right now. He said something to her, something along the lines of "I have to do this, don't kill me." Had she been in the right frame of mind, she might have asked what he was about to do, but never got the chance, because he demonstrated then and there how to put a dislocated knee back into place. Merida let out what could best be described as the girly-est scream in her life, and white hot pain flashed though her body, but it was followed by a feeling of great relief. Dimly, she was aware of being lifted to her feet, and being asked for her horse's name. She answered, and found herself upon Angus' back moments later. As the horse began to move, she dimly wondered whether or not she was about to be kidnapped as consciousness was lost.
