Author's Note - So, I first started putting Disney films into a historical setting with my Beauty and the Beast fic "A Winter's Tale". While writing that I slowly began to create an alternate universe where Disney characters are actual figures from history. Here, Fergus is a son of Áed mac Cináeda, King of the Picts (d. 878). In this universe, the would-be Constantine II is killed along with his cousin King Donald II while fighting Vikings at Dunnottar in 900. So instead of Constantine becoming king, his younger brother Fergus inherits the throne. Elinor, meanwhile, is a daughter of Alfred the Great (849-899), King of Wessex. Please keep in mind that almost every single person (aside from the Brave characters themselves) were actual people and that many of the events described here really did occur. I've tried to keep this as historically accurate as possible. If I made a mistake somewhere, then by all means let me know.

Also, Scotland was called Alba at this point in time.

Acts of St. Andrew

Chapter 1

A nervous hush fell upon the room as Hamish was led before the bishop. Queen Elinor could see the ancient lords shooting each other worried glances that spoke of some secret confidence that she had not been privy to. It was enough to set her on edge. Were the nobles merely concerned about the crowning of a new king, or was there a more sinister plot brewing underneath her nose? Her eyes flitted from MacGuffin to Dingwall to Macintosh, trying to discern their intentions. She understood the games that the courtiers amused themselves with, the little power plays they pulled on one another, but to her this was no game. This was her son. Her baby.

Their king.

She wished Harris and Hubert were here to watch their brother's coronation. Harris, of course, could not abandon his duties at the abbey and Hubert... she hoped he was alright. Lord Dingwall had reported to her that he was too ill to travel, though he had assured her that he was expected to make a full recovery. Elinor had been looking forward to seeing her son again. It had been almost two years since the last time she had laid eyes on Hubert, but she supposed she had no one to blame but herself for that. It was her that had sent him to Lord Dingwall to foster, as part of the marriage contract she had brokered between them. Hubert had not been more than a mere babe when it was decided that he would marry Dingwall's daughter. To get him used to his bride-to-be she had sent Hubert to Dingwall when he was nine years old, to be raised alongside her. At the time she had thought it was a good idea. She, herself, had been sent to France as a child in preparation for her own marriage to the son of Charles III. The marriage, of course, never came to pass but she had enjoyed her time there and thought it would be good for Hubert. She didn't realize how much it would affect her. Her boys were so far away from her, it was like a knife stabbing her in the heart. If she had known she would have never let them go. Thank God Merida had never married, she wouldn't know what to do with herself if her daughter had abandoned her too. Elinor stole a glance at Merida, but she seemed oblivious to the tension in the air. A lock of her hair had escaped from her mourning veil - a shock of red on a snow white background - and Elinor resisted the urge to tuck it back in. Merida was no longer a child for her to coddle.

As if possessed with a will of their own, her hands reached up to push the errant strand of hair back under the veil, ignoring Merida's undignified hisses and squawks as she tried to bat her away.

No one noticed their fussing. All eyes were riveted on the young Hamish as he knelt before the bishop to receive his blessing. It was a solemn ritual, meant to look dignified and regal, but her poor boy just looked so awkward. He was hardly a man - only seventeen - with long, knobby limbs and a boyish face still round with baby fat. She feared he would have a difficult time controlling the clans. Fergus had made it look so easy, but then he had been in his thirties when he was crowned. Not to mention he had already proven himself in battle against the Norse. The clans would have followed him to the ends of the earth. Hamish was young and untested; would the nobles follow obey his command as they had his father's?

Elinor cast her eyes around her as a sudden feeling of helplessness and panic overtook her. She felt like she was setting her son up to be killed. He wasn't ready for this sort of responsibility; crowning Hamish was like sending an invitation to every Norseman to invade. The great kingdom of Alba has but a mere child on the throne, come and take it for it will be easy pickings! Her gaze finally settled on the blue sky peeking through the windows high above them. She could see a flock of blackbirds soaring above. It was the strangest thing. They were flying in an X-pattern, in the shape of St. Andrew's Cross. Elinor could feel her breath catch in her throat. It was a sign, she was sure of it. The birds were showing Elinor her son's destiny as surely as any wisp.

Hamish lowered himself onto the wooden chair, the Stone of Destiny under his seat, as the bishop placed the crown on top of his head. The light streamed in from the high windows, alighting the gold of his crown and the red in his hair, creating a halo of fire. For a moment Hamish looked like the king he could one day be. Then he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, sending Merida into a fit of giggles.

It took all of her willpower not to hide her face in her hand.

"The king demands more pastries!" Hamish bellowed from his seat at the table. Elinor glanced up from her papers to give the boy a hard, wry look. It was an expression that could quell grown men, but Hamish had long grown used to it and merely chuckled to himself.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Merida demanded as she stabbed at her dinner with disinterest.

"Forever. I'm king for life, sister."

"I guess I'll just have to kill you and take the throne for myself," She mocked in a sing-song voice, waving her knife threateningly at her younger brother.

Hamish started to whine at that, demanding that Elinor do something. She didn't know what he expected her to do; he was the king after all, if he really wanted Merida punished for her remarks he could very well do it without calling for his mother. It was enough to give her a headache. Despite all of Hamish's childish antics since his coronation, it was apparent that he still felt unsure when wearing the crown. Even now he still refused to sit in the king's chair at the end of the table, slinking into his well-worn spot at the king's right-hand instead. To Hamish and Merida, the only man fit to sit in the king's chair was their father. In a way, it pleased her to see how much her children had loved and respected Fergus, but she knew this would only hurt them in the end. If Hamish couldn't step up and be the king he was then someone would kill him and take the kingdom.

Elinor turned her focus back on the stack of documents she held in her hands. They contained a thousand little details concerning the state of Alba's fortifications, their surplus of weapons and food, the troop movements of foreign armies, and all the preparations that needed to be made in case of an attack. She was used to dealing with all the minutia that came with running a kingdom. Her father had insisted on giving her the education of a king, like all of his children, and had understood politics far better than Fergus ever had. But Elinor had never been a warrior, she had never experienced a battle herself. It was Fergus that had defended their kingdom against attack, and Fergus alone who dealt with all aspects of the knights and military. Now that he was dead there was no one left to see to this. Hamish and Merida had about as much practical knowledge on the subject as she did. It was a dangerous position to be in. Alba had already suffered one invasion, she would not allow another.

King Athelstan's invasion had been the blow that had ended her husband's life. Fergus had always been so proud and robust; he had never backed down from a fight and had won every single battle he ever fought in. Then, two years ago, Elinor's nephew King Athelstan of Wessex invaded her beloved Alba. He came with his Welsh army, raiding every village and town they came across, going as far as Dunnottar in the northeast before finally being pushed back. It was not Fergus who finally broke the tide of Welsh aggression, however, but rather a freak storm, a chance of weather. Her husband tried to fight back, but Athelstan trumped him at every turn. Fergus seemed to grow older with every lost battle, his back more bent and his beard more gray. By the end of the war he looked like he was a hundred, instead of a man in in his late sixties. Only God could have spared Alba then. Elinor had spent her nights on her knees, praying to St. Andrew for mercy and then the strangest thing occurred. Just when it looked as though all was lost a sudden storm blew over the horizon. It brought with it cold winds from land of the Norse and Alba was covered in sleet and snow. Summer was just nearing it's end and Athelstan's army was left completely unprepared by the sudden change in weather. They were forced to retreat and Alba was saved, though it had come to late for her Fergus. He grew sicker and frailer until he finally died three months ago.

Elinor shook the old memories from her mind and pulled out a blank piece of vellum. She would not allow Hamish to suffer the same fate. She began to prepare a letter to be sent to Olaf, the Norse King of Dublin and York. Fergus had spent his life fighting the pagan Norsemen, but if there was anyone who would be willing to stand by her side it would be Olaf Guthfrithson. Years before, Athelstan had successfully defeated Olaf's father and drove him out of York and into Ireland. It was only within the past two years that Olaf was able to return and retake York. She knew he would want his revenge. It disgusted her that a Norseman could claim any part of Britannia as part of their kingdom, but if it meant the salvation of Alba and her children she would gladly ally herself with the Viking.

"Are you writing a letter to Hubert?" Merida askedwhen she finally took notice of her mother's writing. "Is he feeling better yet?"

Another pang of worry sliced through her heart, but Elinor didn't let it show on her face. "No, I haven't heard from anything from Hubert yet. I wouldn't worry. If something had happened Lord Dingwall would have notified us at once. I'm merely writing a proposal on the education of our bishops and clerics. Nothing of importance. Now stop playing with your food, you're a grown woman not a child." She knew she should speak to her children about her intentions to create an alliance with King Olaf. To do this behind Hamish's back was tantamount to treason, but she couldn't bring herself to. Merida may have been twenty-five years old, but she was still so much of a child in many ways. And Hamish... Hamish was just seventeen, after all. Could either of them really understand the situation? What she needed to do?

Elinor collapsed heavily onto her chair and looked up at her advisor's haggard face. Heat was pouring from the fireplace, but she couldn't feel it. Her entire body had grown cold and icy as she desperately thought of some way to escape this situation. She could hear the clanging of swords striking floating through the open window, Merida chastising Hamish with each swing she took on his poor swordsmanship. "Send for the King and the princess. They need to be advised on the situation," she commanded.

The man nodded and bowed. Elinor glanced wildly around the room, trying to find something focus her thoughts on. Her gaze landed on the saltire carved into the mantle. She reached out and ran her fingers along it, tracing out the X etched into the stone. St. Andrew's cross. He would protect them.

"Mum, what's going on?" Merida demanded, striding into the room like a man instead of a princess, her sword still clenched firmly in hand. Hamish followed in behind her, quiet and puzzled.

"My nephew, King Athelstan, has led an army into Galloway," Elinor explained. She was proud of the way her voice never faltered.

For a full minute no one said anything. "What?" Merida breathed. "I- Alright, what do you need us to do? Strathclyde is near Galloway. We can rally Lord Macintosh's forces and hopefully the combination of our army with Macintosh's and Dingwall's we can push back Athelstan, or at least hold him off until MacGuffin can arrive from Moray-"

"You misunderstand the sitatuion," Elinor interrupted quietly. "Athelstan has not invaded Galloway. Lord Dingwall invited him. He has broken away from Alba and joined Wessex against us."

"But what will happen to Hubert?" Hamish asked, anger and fear at war on his face. "He's there at Dingwall's court!"

Elinor could feel her heart breaking at the thought of her boy. "So far nothing has been heard of Hubert. He might have escaped. If not, then the best we could hope is that Athelstan is holding him captive. We might be able to ransom him."

"But more likely he's been killed," Merida hissed.

"That is not true!" Elinor yelled, jumping up to face her daughter. "If Athelstan had killed him he would have made it known. There's still hope."

"This is happening because of me, isn't it?" Elinor turned to look at her son. He was usually so happy and boisterous, but now he just looked defeated and resigned. "Athelstan thinks I'm too weak to defend my kingdom, am I right?"

Elinor swallowed thickly and pulled up a letter bearing the wax seal of King Athelstan. "Actually, I... I have confession to make. After your coronation I made a pact with King Olaf Guthfrithson, that if either of us were attacked by Athelstan we would come to the other's aid. When my nephew heard of this he rallied together Wessex and Northumbria and the Welsh princes together, stating that since the Kingdom of Alba has decided to consort with pagans and idolators it's sovereignty has been forfeit. He most likely would have attacked anyway, but now I've given him a reason to. Please... forgive me, my King."

"Mum..." Her children just looked at her with both equal amounts of horror and pity. Elinor bit her lip to hold back a sob.

Finally, Merida shook her head, sending her red curls flying. "Forget it, it's done now. Mum's right, he probably would have attacked anyway. The truth is, he does think you're weak, Hamish, but we're going to prove to him that's not true." Merida turned to look back at her mother. "What do we need do?"

Elinor nodded, holding back the tears that threaten to rise up. She knew her role to play. She needed to be strong, for both her children and her kingdom. "I think the best course of action is diplomacy. Athelstan has the better army and he outnumbers us. MacGuffin will not be able to amass his warriors and reach us in time to stop Athelstan from breaking our defenses. If we attempt war we are inviting disaster. Let me... Let me try to reason with him. He is still my nephew, our blood bounds us together."

Merida snorted derisively at that. "Do you think that will matter to him?! He's already proven that family means nothing when he invaded two years ago! It's always been that way with the Wessex kings- no, don't give me that look! I never met my grandfather. He may have been as good as you say, but I don't know. I do remember your brother, though, my dear Uncle Edward. I remember how he invaded Mercia and deposed my cousin Queen Alfwynn. She's still locked away in that godforsaken tower, you know. If Athelstan cared about family he would have released her; after all, what could she possibly do to him now? But he won't. He wants her to rot."

"I don't know what else you want me to do, Merida. I am not like your father," Elinor explained. "I'm no warrior."

Merida bit her lip and nodded her head again, resigned and angry. "Then I suppose the only thing left to do is meet with King Olaf. You made a deal with him, after all."

"What if he doesn't honor the agreement?" Hamish asked. "I mean, he's just returned to York from exile. He's hardly in a position to help us and we've been no friends of the Norse in the past."

"Then I will make him honor it," Merida growled. "Hamish, send letters to MacGuffin and Macintosh. Let them know of the situation."

Hamish nodded and went off, leaving the pair of them alone. Merida collapsed onto the chair opposite of Elinor with a sigh. Elinor followed suit, though with a bit more grace than her daughter. "You reminded me of Fergus just then," Elinor commented. "All red hair and booming voice, issuing out orders like you were born to it."

Merida cracked a wry smile. "I was born to it. I am you daughter, after all."

Elinor tried to smile back but it quickly slipped from her face. "I've made a mistake. All this time I've been treating you and Hamish like you were still children. I should have consulted the two of you on the situation before contacting Olaf. It's just..."

"You didn't trust us."

Elinor flinched. "Yes, I suppose that's it."

Merida could say nothing to that and Elinor looked down at her lap in shame.

"I thought you and Hamish were too young. That you wouldn't understand the politics behind it, despite knowing so very little on the subject of war myself. If I hadn't made that alliance, Athelstan would have never known how desperate we were. He might have held off on his attack and we could have had time to prepare." Elinor sighed. "Ruling is never easy and I'm not sure if I can do this without Fergus. Sometimes I wish I could just retire to a convent and be done with it all."

Merida threw her mother a look. "Don't say that, Mum. We need you here."

Elinor pierced her with those soft, brown eyes. "Do you really? I don't think that's true anymore. You're not a child, after all. Neither are the triplets, not really. I feel like I'm holding you back."

"Mum-"

"No, let me finish. My time as queen is over. Hamish is now king. If Alba is going to survive our kingdom needs to be able to put its faith and trust in him. He's still young, though, still learning. He needs someone to guide him. You're older than he is, more experienced, a better warrior. You can help him."

"So can you!" Merida protested.

"Merida, I won't be here forever. I'm old and tired and I make mistakes. I should have trusted you, but Merida... you have to trust yourself. I want you to be your brother's general, his advisor, and his right hand. I have faith in you. Merida... your kingdom needs you. There will be times when you find yourself facing a problem that has no answer, where you will be trapped in a corner with no way out. There will be times when the right decision will not be the same as the moral decision. But I trust you. Wherever you go, I will follow, and so shall all of Alba."

All the color drained from her daughter's face and for a moment Elinor was afraid she was going to be ill. But Merida merely took a deep breath and steadied herself and slowly the color returned to her cheeks. "What about you?" She asked, her strong voice cracking at the end.

Elinor looked at the saltire again. When she had seen St. Andrew's cross at Hamish's coronation she had assumed that it was a blessing, a sign showing that this was his destiny. Now she thought it might have been meant for her. A symbol of the path she was meant to take. "I would like to start a convent in Dál Riata, in the ruins of Mor'du's castle. With your blessing, of course, and the blessing of my king."