Bravery
A Brave Fan fiction
By PR Reload
This is a story about Fate.
This is a story of life, love and forgiveness.
This is a tale about Change and Chance.
This is the story of Princess Merida of Dunbroch,
And how she saved one man from the darkness in us all.
Chapter 1
It begins on the night of her Betrothal. The announcement races through the castle like a windswept fire. Burning through her veins, it fills her with mindless rage. What right have they to tether her to another. What right have they to demand her hand like some trophy; to treat her like an object. Before she can come to her senses she's facing her mother. Everything in her world narrows down to the woman who is ruining her life, stealing her freedom.
Before she can stop it, she's yelling. Screaming and fighting, desperately trying to claw her way out of this cage she can feel tightening around her. She's trapped and terrified, balancing on the knife-edge of her sanity like an acrobat without training. And before she can regain her balance, before she can summon up the calm girl she usually is, her footing is torn out from under her with vicious glee as her mother tosses her favorite bow into the hearth. It feels like poising running down her throat, like a knife in the back after a gentle embrace; this snake in the grass that she hadn't even thought to look for. And as she watches her most precious gift burn in the fire become blurred through her tears, she knows she cannot stay.
Her race from the room and from the Castle of Dunbroch is only the beginning. She urges her charger, Angus, faster into the depths of the unclaimed wilderness of their borders, shuddering in the evening chill as it whips past her. She loses herself in the ride as Angus puts miles and then leagues between them and the castle of traitors behind her. Her arms numb from the wind biting at them with frigid teeth, her hair whipping wildly behind her like a streak of fire in the night, she hunches into Angus' neck, tears dripping into the sleek coat of his collar.
It is only with a terrified shriek and sudden lurch that Merida comes back to herself, just long enough to feel weightless as she soars over Angus' shank and hurtles through the air. Her eyes widen slightly as she looks back at her stead's frightened and crazed eyes, just long enough to see the terror looming beneath his skin and a brief reflection of stone. As abrupt as the stop that jerked her into awareness, she is thrown into pain; and then the world goes dark. Above her still form, the sky rumbles in displeasure and the clouds break. As the sky weeps onto the earth, lightning lights the night briefly in a dazzling display and when the light fades, the standing stones are bare.
It is the last day of the Royal hunt, and already Murchadh is weary of the chase. His three younger brothers are still itching to catch their prey, though the castle larder is full of their previous triumphs. The eldest son of King Dùghlas of clan Moireach rises from his bedroll and dresses for the last ride of the hunting party. The resplendent cloth and leather of his ensemble a reminder of his status as a prince, though his noble baring and proud stride would be difficult to mistake.
"Brother, are you up yet? If you lay abed any longer we'll miss the hunt!" A bright chuckle carried through the cloth door of Murchadh's tent.
"Ha," Murchadh deep and raucous laugh rattled through his broad shoulders and out his thin lips, "If you miss the hunt, little brother, I shall not be surprised to learn it was your own doing. If you lose another stocking to a 'vicious' bush I will not be held accountable," He left the warmth of his tent to join his brothers in the chilled morning air, a cloud of tepid breath trailing from his mouth.
His youngest brother, Rodaidh, of just seventeen years, pouted at him with their mother's green eyes. His lower lip stuck out to incite pity at his careless fight with the undergrowth of the woodlands. These two features did not sit well on the boy's young face, the jaw too broad and the brow too low, nose crooked slightly to the left after one too many pummels from his opponents shield or practice blade. Although the issues with the forest's undergrowth might be a side issue from his gangly limbs and still shifting balance due to his awkward growth. Murchadh shook his head with a chuckle and turned away from Rodaidh with a slight smile tugging at his thin lips and settled his gaze onto his other siblings.
Niallghas, only two years younger than Murchadh and the second eldest, was propped over his horse's saddlebags and inspecting his supplies for the morning. Niallghas was the stockiest and shortest of the four brothers, broad shouldered and heavy set with a wide face and oddly thin nose. Their father's dark eyes set deeply beneath thick brows and their mother's reddish brown locks.
Teàrlaidh was sitting on his steed beside Niallghas, with his most charming smile pasted across his face. Of the four, Teàrlaidh was considered the most handsome. Just coming upon his nineteenth year, the third brother had already slept through most of the castle's female staff and half of the allied Lord's daughters as well (and Murchadh suspected several of the wives, too). He took after their mother the most, paler skin and smoother features. His face was thinner than the other three, well defined but softened with a layer of fat the others had worked off through vigorous training. His build was lithe and willowy, "built like a sprig" as their father would say.
"Come on brothers, before the day gets away from us. Let us be off," Teàrlaidh beckoned and set his steed at a trot. "I am not losing to Murchadh today, I intend to catch that stag if it is the last thing I do," he called back over his shoulder.
"Knock your self out little brother, I am not hunting for points today," Murchadh called as he mounted his roan horse, "I do not think any of you can best my last kill. A black bear tops a stag any time" Niallghas guffawed loudly as he followed behind them, leaving Rodaidh to scramble for his gear and mount.
The hunt began shortly there after, and as he had said, Murchadh let his steed trot through the forest at a leisurely pace, preferring the ride to the race his youngest brothers had proposed. Their cantering racket drifting back to him on the breeze. Within the hour, even the din of his brother's horseplay had faded from his surroundings, and the woods were still in breathless apprehension. It was into this silence that Murchadh hesitated, a distant echo creeping by his ears. And then, a bit louder, the sound of a horse's bray came calling from deeper in the woods. Nudging his mount towards the sound, Murchadh wondered if perhaps his brothers had lost their steed. But when he came upon the horse, he hesitated. The creature was magnificent. A stocky breed with well defined musculature and a finely crafted saddle, but the black and white horse was unfamiliar to him. Perhaps one of his Father's visiting allies? It took him a moment to notice the other figure in the clearing, sprawled across the grass before the unfamiliar steed. Alarmed and slightly surprised, Murchadh dismounted and looped his reigns around a low branch before slowly approaching the fallen figure. The unfamiliar horse made no move to attack him as he neared, but whinnied softly in distress.
As he knelt beside the figure, he noticed the slim build and the slender hand peaking from the cape. The cascade of fiery orange locks that curled in messy artistry against the dewed meadow. A lady? None of the hunting party were female, a fact that had caused Teàrlaidh to complain passionately for the first week of their hunt.
"Miss?" He called softly, placing a hand on one cloth-covered shoulder and shaking lightly "Miss, are you alright?" No answer was forthcoming.
He maneuvered the woman onto her back before hesitating. He needed to check for injuries, but the lady's honor couldn't be tainted. With a sigh he unclasped her cloak and felt gingerly along her arms and ribs, remaining detached in his inspection. Nothing was broken above the waist, but he would not touch her legs. She had several swollen welts along her ribs but nothing dangerous, and her clothing was ruined. Moving to inspect her head, he ran gentle fingers across her scalp and felt only a few mild bumps. When he brushed the hair from her face to feel for a fever, he found himself inspecting the stranger's face. She was younger than he first thought, being not yet twenty. Her cheeks were flush with fever, lips slightly parted, small nose dusted with freckles. She had yet to out-grow the roundness of her features, but she may never.
"You do not, perchance, have a riding party with you?" Murchadh glanced up at the young lady's horse, which snorted at him in answer. Or perhaps it was just a coincidence. With a sigh, Murchadh gave a brief nod and clasped her cloak back together before wrapping it tightly around her frame to keep the chill from her. Then with a slight grunt, he hoisted her into his arms and settled her against his broad chest. Keeping her balanced against him with one arm, he snagged her mount's reigns with his free hand and led him back towards his own steed.
After tying the reigns to the back of his saddle, and retrieving his own horse's leads, he climbed into his saddle, careful not to dislodge the young lady, and set a quick pace back towards the camp. They had brought several healers with them incase they came across a boar or several bears. Some of the visiting Lords and their sons had needed them for small things, but otherwise they had been mostly just precaution. The distance was swallowed by the horses' quick pace, and he returned to the camp just before the serving of the noon meal. After handing off both steeds to one of the servants in the camp and informing the man to place the gear in his tent, he took the young lady to see his father's personal healer.
The Healing tent, a white beacon near the middle of the camp, was open and relatively quiet. Most of the healers inside were packing with a relaxed manner, as they had no patients to handle.
"Fetch Healer Camran for me," Murchadh ordered to one of the younger healers by the door. As the boy scurried away to fetch the man, Murchadh set the girl on one of the tables, careful not to accidently jostle her, just incase she was more injured than he had first thought.
"My Lord, you summoned me?" He turned to look at the old man approaching. Camran was the oldest member of the hunting party, his grey hair thinning and his skin lined with years of fulfilling work and wisdom. The elderly man was slightly hunch backed after years bent over a writing desk and scrolls.
"Camran," Murchadh began when the man was close enough to see the girl he'd brought, "I found her several hours out from the camp. She was unconscious at the time and she has not woken. I suspect she was thrown from her horse, but I am unsure why or when." He stepped away from the table so the man could examine her without obstacles.
"I shall see if there is anything to be done, my Lord," Camran bowed his head briefly before beginning his examination. Nodding in acceptance, Murchadh left the Healer's tent and went to find his father to ask after any other hunting parties in the woodlands on their border.
It was only a few hours later when Camran found Murchadh, Niallghas and the King sitting over a richly detailed map of the known borders of the kingdom.
"My Lords, please forgive my interruption but the young lady has awoken," Camran bowed in greeting.
"Did she say anything?" Murchadh sat a bit taller in his chair, curious about the young woman he had discovered in the clearing.
"Yes, my Lord, she is Princess Merida of clan Dunbroch," Camran hesitated before continuing, "Her father is King Fergus, though I have never heard of the kingdom she does bear a finely crafted pendant with the marks of royalty,"
"It is possible," King Dùghlas stroked the thick beard on his jaw in contemplation, "I have received little news from beyond this wood,"
"So little?" Murchadh barely managed to keep the angered incredulity from his voice, though a muscle in his jaw twitched with the force of his disbelief. Moireach was an extensive kingdom, to have such little information on their border chilled his spine.
"It is this blasted forest, I swear!" King Dùghlas laughed off the weakness with an easy smile, "It is a damned nuisance. Enchanted, wretched thing,"
Niallghas bust into hearty laughter at his father's words, magic, such a ridiculous notion. Murchadh's eyes narrowed briefly before he smoothed his expression and turned back to the healer.
"Did she say anything else?"
"Yes, my lord," Camran nodded politely, "She was thrown from her horse while escaping from an unwanted betrothal,"
Murchadh nodded, he had expected the method of injury but the confirmation was necessary. The betrothal was odd, however. The girl looked about Rodaidh's age, possibly younger. Most definitely not an eligible age for marriage, surely, unless the practices of Dunbroch were far different from Moireach and their allies.
"If there is nothing else, my lords, I must return to the lady's side," Camran bowed again.
"Perhaps we should accompany you, our business can be continued later and the young lady must have questions," Murchadh stood from his seat and rolled the map, tying it carefully with a thin string of leather.
"Of course, of course, the poor dear," King Dùghlas stood and motioned to the few servants waiting nearby to pack up the King's tent.
"As you will, my lords," Camran waited patiently by the door to follow the party back to the healer's tent.
Merida moaned in pain. Her first conscious thought was of the pounding in her head and the aching of her chest. She had not felt like this since she had fallen off her first horse. She blinked up at the white ceiling above her for a moment before sitting up and bringing a hand to her head. She felt a bit dizzy.
"Ah, you have finally woken," Merida startled lightly at the thickly accented voice. She turned her head to see an older man sitting at her side with a small smile on his wrinkled face. "I am Healer Camran. I was worried we would have to delay our party's leave. Now, can you tell me who you are, and how you came to be injured? One of our hunting party found you unconscious in the woods."
"I am Princess Merida of Clan Dunbroch, daughter of King Fergus," She frowned and focused her pounding head to think despite the pain. She had fought with her mother last night. The horrid taste of confinement slid across her tongue at the thought of her impending marriage and all that it held, only to be chased down with the poison of her mother's anger and the bitter aftertaste of the ashes her bow had become. "I was running away from my betrothal and was thrown off my horse," She admitted in a soft voice. She looked down at her hand and clenched it into a fist. She was running. Like a coward, her mind hissed. NO! She wasn't a coward. She wanted her life; she was fighting for her freedom.
"Princess?" The man asked in shock.
"Yes," She held up her necklace, an heirloom that belonged to her Father's clan, the symbol of her royalty.
"I shall inform King Moireach and the rest of the party that you have woken, I shall be back momentarily," He bowed his head and left quickly. Merida stared after him for a long moment before swinging her feet over the edge of the table she had been sleeping on. Her dress was in tatters, from her participation in the archery contest as well as her tumble from Angus. She couldn't see any of the things she'd had with her in the saddlebags, but then the man hadn't mentioned if Angus was even here. She remembered the fear she'd seen before blacking out, he might have bolted in his panicked state. Testing her balance, she slid off the edge of the table and gingerly stood, waiting for her head to stop spinning before attempting to walk the length of the table. When she felt steady and confident enough she let go of the table just in time to greet Healer Camran and his guests. She took a steadying breath and tried to remember some of her mother's advice. She may not like the woman right now, but etiquette was the one thing Queen Elinor did best.
"Princess Merida, allow me to introduce you to King Dùghlas of Clan Moireach and two of his sons. Prince Murchadh and Prince Niallghas. Prince Murchadh was the man who found you, my Lady."
"Greetings, My Lords," Merida attempted her best curtsey, and succeeded fairly well, she did not keel over from dizziness at least, "I am grateful for your aid and your generosity,"
"A pleasure, my Lady," King Dùghlas smiled warmly at her from beneath his grey beard, "My Healer tells me you are from clan Dunbroch?"
"Yes, my lord," Merida nodded her head in agreement.
"I admit we do not receive much news from that way, how is King Fergus these days?"
"My Father is well, thank you for asking," Merida was a bit shocked, however. She had not known there was another kingdom on this side of the border. She had passed near here so often and never met another living soul before.
"Wonderful," The King's smile broadened, easing the lines on his face; it made him look several years younger.
"Perhaps, Father, we should invite the young lady to the castle? We cannot send her back in this weather," The man introduced as Prince Murchadh suggested. Merida took a moment to study him. He was taller than the others in the group. Broad shouldered with a narrow waist, and filled with muscle. His face was robust and angular, though there were several scars marking his features. His lips were thin, set above a firm chin and under a slightly bent nose. His brow was strong, shielding his sharp grey-blue eyes. Unlike the brother behind him, his hair was a dark chestnut brown, falling freely to his shoulders and framing his face.
"The weather?" Merida paused, only now hearing the soft pattering of rain on the tarpaulin of the tent.
"An excellent idea, my son," The King glanced to Murchadh with his bright smile in place before turning back to Merida, "Please, be welcome at our castle, at least until this storm passes. You may send a letter to your father from there, and rest easy until a reply comes."
"Thank you for your kindness, My Lord. I would be honored to accept your invitation," Merida curtseyed again in gratitude. Riding in the rain was a dismal affair, and she was at least a day's ride from the castle.
"And we are delighted to have you, My Lady" King Dùghlas gave a slight nod and departed from the tent.
"Princess Merida," Murchadh stepped forward slightly with a shallow bow and holding out her cloak, "Would you care to wait with my brothers and I, while the servants finish packing away the camp?"
"Thank you, Prince Murchadh, I would," Merida took her cloak from him, gingerly and settled the thick wool around her shoulders. When she looked up from pinning the clasp together, Murchadh had one arm extended towards her. With a small grimace she took the offered arm and followed the man out into the rain, sliding her hood up, to keep her face and hair dry. The rain immediately set upon them, weighing down the woolen cloaks with every drop of water.
Prince Murchadh led them away from the healing tent and towards the outskirts of the camp, where the horses and carts were waiting. Most of the encampment had already been packed, large empty holes left gaping between each other in what was left of the site. As Merida let her eyes wander across the groups of milling strangers, her eyes came to settle on an alleviating, familiar form.
"Angus!" Merida smiled brightly and quickened her pace, dropping Murchadh's arm in her excitement. Her horse's ears perked at her call and he stepped towards her in answer. Laughing in relief, Merida wrapped her arms around her friend's large head and buried her fingers in his coat.
"Oh, I missed you! Yes I did! You great silly thing, I thought you would have bolted for sure," Merida stroked his neck gently before reaching up to scratch behind his ears. Angus snickered at her lightly and tossed his tail before rolling his shoulders, as if to convince her of his bravery. "Of course you are," She smiled at him softly and continued to pet him.
"Your horse is magnificent," Merida turned to look at Murchadh's towering form with a small smile.
"Thank you, he has been my companion for many years,"
"I am glad to have brought him then," Murchadh gifted her with a small smile, "Would you allow me to introduce my other brothers before we depart? It should only be a few more minutes before the party is ready to leave,"
"Of course," Merida nodded, grabbing Angus' reigns and following Murchadh a few feet away under a large tree, where three men were huddled besides four horses. She recognized the reddish haired, stockier man from earlier, Niallghas.
"Brothers, allow me to introduce Princess Merida of clan Dunbroch. Princess, may I present my younger brothers. You have met Niallghas already; he is the second eldest. Teàrlaidh is the third," here Murchadh motioned to the lean man of the group, who smiled charmingly from under his hood, "and the youngest, Rodaidh." The last looked like a colt, all awkwardly proportioned long limbs and unease.
"A pleasure," Merida fixed a smile to her face and inclined her head with a small curtsey. She managed to keep her smile from falling for most of the small talk that followed. A light bit of banter between the brothers about their hunt, as they had been competing for the best catch.
"Murchadh won, of course," Niallghas chuckled, his deep voice ringing with mirth.
"If I had caught that stag," Teàrlaidh began before being cut off.
"The stag would not have made up for the point difference, Teàrlaidh, and you know it. That bear was at least thirty-five stones, if not more," Rodaidh waved his arms around, as if he could express the sheer size of the beast with his hands alone.
"You hunt bear?" Merida asked, her smile coming easier at the thought of her father's obsession with bear hunting briefly surfaced.
"Not usually, it was a rare find," Murchadh glanced to Merida, "I was thinking of having the pelt tanned and turned into a rug, or perhaps hang it upon a wall. Do the huntsmen of clan Dunbroch hunt bear often?"
"Sometimes. My father holds a grudge against them, so he takes them when he can,"
"A grudge?" Niallghas cocked an eyebrow in interest, "This sounds like the beginning of a good story,"
"There is a story behind it, yes," Merida nodded lightly. It was at this moment that the small group was interrupted by one of the servants.
"My Lords and Lady," The man bowed, "The camp is cleared and His Majesty is ready to depart,"
"Thank you, Fox," Murchadh dismissed the man with a slight tilt of the head and made to grab his steed's reigns. "Let us be underway then, the sooner we leave the sooner we get out of this damnable shower,"
The brothers laughed at this and Merida found herself joining in gaily. These princes were surprisingly easy to get along with.
"Would you share your story as we ride Lady Merida?" Rodaidh asked eagerly from his perilous perch in his saddle.
"If that is what you wish," Merida agreed with a genuine smile and began to tell her father's favorite story about how he lost his leg in the great fight with the largest brown bear to ever roam their kingdom. "The only one who got away, my father always said. And it took a bit of him with it,"
The rest of their journey was filled with the brothers' adventurous tales. Niallghas was most prone to praise the men he was fighting with, Teàrlaidh always exaggerated his own feats, and Rodaidh was the most enthusiastic and almost fell off his horse several times. Murchadh told his stories with rich details, and Merida could almost see the battles he would describe. She was fascinated with their adventures, and even shared a few of her own, though none were as impressive as the brothers'. Climbing a cliff-face was not as thrilling as slaying bandits on the southern borders.
"Ah," Murchadh drew Merida's attention from the passing scenery before motioning towards the hill they were approaching, "You will get the first glimpse of Castle Moireach when we reach the crown of that hill there, it will be good to be home again,"
Merida, curious as ever, perked up in her seat and could not help the excitement she felt. When they reached the crest, her eyes drank in the sight with enthrallment.
Castle Moireach was situated at the top of a cliff face in the middle of a bay. The castle itself sat amidst a small town that trailed down the side of a low hill into the bay where more houses cluttered the shoreline. Ships lay in the harbor, green and gold banners flying in the wind, despite the rain. A thin mist stole from the water, settling against the ground like a thick winter blanket. The path up to the castle was lined with stone arches, thick slabs of granite with stories carved into their faces, each a tale of great deeds done for the castle and her king.
"It is beautiful," Merida complimented.
"Thank you, my lady," Murchadh's thin lips pulled up at the corners, a hint of a smile briefly flickering past his features.
"Not as beautiful as you, my lady," Teàrlaidh cantered up to ride level with Merida and Murchadh. Merida blinked at him with surprise, a blush stealing its way across her features.
"Thank you," She bit out each word like they pained her, forcing herself not to grimace. By no fault of his own, Teàrlaidh strongly reminded her of the young Macintosh heir. Merida allowed herself to go back to her observations, letting the brothers pick up their own conversations. Moireach was a beautiful castle, and ancient, though well kept. The architecture was older than that of Castle Dunbroch, and her families castle had been around for near three generations, having been built under her grandfather's Lordship before Fergus had been crowned King over those lands.
The stories on the archways looked fascinating as well. Merida glanced over to Murchadh, wondering if he would not mind telling them to her sometime. She would love to hear them all, and his attention to detail in his own stories would hopefully carry over to the tales as well.
The heavy rain subdued the hunting party's arrival in the castle's courtyard. The members of the party were weary from the journey and the weather, the castle servants were leery of getting wet at all and stuck to the alcoves and sheltered walkways when they could.
"It is almost like the clouds know we are about to dry off and plan to soak us through," Rodaidh grumbled as he dismounted. His balance faltered and he slipped from the stir-ups to land roughly in the mud. Merida smiled with a slight laugh as Niallghas and Teàrlaidh crumbled in amusement.
"What are we going to do with you," Murchadh shook his head with a heavy sigh.
"Help me up?" Rodaidh asked pitifully from his grimy seat. Niallghas snatched him by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet as Merida dismounted; her feet light in the stir-up, and not a hair out of order. A stable hand approached for Angus' reigns and Merida gently handed them over.
"His name is Angus, and if he gives you any trouble you can call for me," Merida pulled off her own saddlebags, which contained the only things she had with her. In reply, Angus whickered and swatted her with her tail. Merida snickered as she ducked into one of the walkways and out of the rain.
"Princess Merida, if you would come this way?" The manservant who beckoned was somewhat familiar, and finally she placed him. This was Fox, the man who had informed them of the hunting party's departure. The man was not that much older than her, perhaps twenty years or so. He was well built, with rounded shoulders and a trim waist, tall but not enough to tower over her like Murchadh. His hair was cropped short, and stuck to his head with the rain. The water darkened it, but if Merida had to guess, she would bet it was a sort of golden blonde when dry and shining in the sun.
Fox led her into the castle, and through several halls, sharing a few histories of the castle as they went. Merida was eager to listen. Until they reached an open door where steam came tumbling out like dragon's breath.
"Mistress Beathag," Fox called through the haze.
"Fox! You villain, how dare you show your face after what you did! Three tubs! Three whole tubs of laundry, ruined! All your doing, you no-good scoundrel!" A shrill voice belted through the mist before the steam parted to reveal a plump woman with a soft face, though the features were contorted in rage. Her apron was bunched up to one side and hooked through her belt, sleeves rolled up past her elbows and a towel hung over one shoulder. Merida blinked in surprise, the woman reminded her of a fiercer version of Maudie.
"Ah, yes, um," Fox stammered before remembering why he was here and darting behind Merida. "Beathag, darling wonderful lady of mine heart, Princess Merida is in need of clothing,"
The woman paused in her single-minded stalking to finally look at Merida.
"Oh, you poor dear!" Beathag exclaimed, her hands fluttering towards Merida before clasping her arms and steering her into the steaming room. "We'll get you dried off in a tick and then dressed in something nicer. We still have a few of Queen Caena's old dresses from when she was younger. I will have one of the girls pull them out while we get you ready. Do you want us to patch this up for you?"
Merida looked down at her dress, it was ripped and torn, and she would probably never wear it again. Not that it was in much of a state to wear at all.
"If you could, I am sure my mother would appreciate it," Merida sighed. Elinor would have preferred the dress to never touch grass at all, but Merida just wasn't meant to be a 'proper' princess.
"Of course, dear," Beathag smiled sweetly before turning her around to get at the back laces.
The next ten minutes was worse than the dressing her mother had put her through just days ago. The laundry girls giggled and complimented her as Beathag helped her in and out of a handful of dresses that fit fairly well, though not as good as her own clothing.
"That's easily fixed with a bit of thread, dear," Beathag smiled and set the pile of dresses in a wicker basket off to the side. They finally settled on a simple emerald green dress that needed the least amount of pinning to make it fit properly. The rich brocade was finely embroidered with a slightly darker thread. The dress itself was trimmed with a band of simple golden embroidery work. After that, she was laced up and handed a pair of comfortable soft shoes to hold her over until the cobbler finished a pair of shoes for her. And with that, Merida was thrust back into the hallway. She blinked back into the mist of the laundry room and shuddered. Laundry women were crazy. Luckily, she didn't have too long a wait for an indication as to where to go.
A moment after she was returned to the hall, Fox came around the corner, a broad smile on his thin face.
"All finished then, Princess?" Fox inquired, his blue eyes squinting at the force of his smile.
"Yes, thank you, Fox," Merida couldn't help but to return the smile; the man was easy to like and reminded her a bit of her younger brothers.
"And may I be so bold as to say, you look lovely," Fox bowed with a flourish and a wink, clearly good-humored.
"Thank you, villain," Merida stuck out her tongue and received a chuckle for her efforts.
"Ah, you wound me so," Fox stood and shook his head, "Now that you are presentable again, shall we make for the Throne room? Lady Caena will be delighted to meet you,"
"Lead the way, then, Fox," Merida motioned and followed when he did just that.
The throne room was magnificently decorated, was the first thought that crept past Merida's mind when she entered the room. The large room was full of rich tapestries along the walls, each scene bordered by smaller scenes, more tales Merida hoped to hear. The room was also full of columns, the pillars stretching skyward to the ceiling with carvings all the way up. People milled through the room, servants with work and guests idling for news and gossip. Every few feet were braziers of candles all ablaze for both light and a bit of heat. Above the room hung several chandeliers, the candles thick and bright. Skylights let out the smoke, and on sunny days, Merida could almost imagine the golden sun pouring through the openings. At the head of the room were six richly furnished chairs. The largest sat in the middle; a burnished dark wood with plush green cushions and beautifully carved. To the immediate right was a slightly smaller chair of light beech wood; golden cushions set on the seat, and lightly carved with vines and flowers. The last four were arranged with two on each side of these, all the same size. These four were made of a dark cherry wood; adorned with small carvings and green cushions with little golden accents.
"Ah, here she is," Merida startled slightly at the voice and turned towards the speaker.
"King Dùghlas," Merida curtseyed and bowed her head.
"Princess Merida, allow me to introduce to you, my wife, Lady Caena," King Dùghlas swept his hand to the side and Merida followed the motion to come face to face with a small, yet beautiful woman, "Dearest, this is Princess Merida of clan Dunbroch,"
"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady," Merida curtseyed again.
"Please, just Caena is fine," Lady Caena smiled gently at her. Her face was lightly lined with age, and a brush of grey swept through her auburn-brown lochs, but neither of these could detract from her beauty. She carried herself with an elegant grace and a royal air, which settled on her thin shoulders like an ornament. Her green eyes sparkled with good-humor and gentleness, offsetting the harsh line of her brow and nose. Full lips settled into an open smile above a slender chin, all amity and liberality.
"Then please, call me Merida," Merida returned her honest smile with one of her own.
"Merida," Caena's smile got impossibly brighter, "I have had the servants prepare a room for your stay here with us. If there is anything you need, just let the servants know,"
"I will need to write a letter to my father," Merida admitted, having actually forgotten about it until this moment. Hopefully nothing horrid happened during her absence.
"Of course! When you have finished your missive, just hand it to one of the servants. They will get one of the couriers to take it for you,"
"Thank you, Lady Caena," Merida bowed her head in appreciation.
"Well, now that that is settled, shall we move on to the dining room? The chefs have been busy all afternoon preparing a feast for the hunting party's return this evening. We should not put it off longer, or the cooks will start revolting, I think," Lady Caena giggled quietly to herself and took Merida's arm in hers.
The feast was exquisite. The last of the fresh summer fruit was presented with an assortment of vegetables, including wild mushrooms in light vinaigrette the cooks had thrown together. Stuffed meats, pastries of all kinds, glazed breads and honeyed tarts. Merida ate her fill and washed it down with a small mug of water, though the cooks had presented several ciders, ales and juices to choose from. The heat of the room and the warmth of her full stomach sank into her bones and eased the small knots that had formed from her fall and the long ride to the castle. By the time Fox has pulled her from the room, to guide her to her chambers, Merida had been lulled into a half doze in her seat. She did manage to follow Fox without bumping into the walls and archways on their journey to her room.
As soon as Fox left, Merida shut the door with a soft thud and slid out of her dress. She banked the fire to keep the room warm, without sweltering, and then slipped into the covers of her bed. She was asleep mere moments after her eyes closed.
Merida woke to the soft glare of golden sun creeping through her shuttered window. With a slight moan she rolled back into the warmth of her covers. It was her third day at castle Moireach. She had sent a letter out with a messenger and her necklace the morning after her arrival at Moireach. After her letter had been sent, Lady Caena had given one of her lady's maids the task of helping Merida. Sìleas was a sweet, older woman with a kind face and wispy grey hair that she held back in a small, jeweled clasp. But, behind her sweet, old-lady smile she was an evil demon.
Sìleas had dragged her towards every sort of needlework in the castle. Embroidery, sewing, knitting, weaving, normal dainty girly things and, yes, Merida could do them (some better than others) but not today. The rain had finally let up and then stopped completely last evening and she longed to be outside.
Groaning, Merida got up and left the warm comfort of her bed for a quick wash. Beathag had delivered the rest of her borrowed clothing yesterday; therefore Merida chose one of the fresh dresses. The simplest, a thin, soft doeskin brown dress with an under dress of pale green that peeked through at the elbows.
As quietly as possible she opened her door and stuck her head into the hall, looking for any sign of Sìleas. The empty hall greeted her caution, and with a smile Merida scampered out of her room and down the hall towards the stairs and freedom. She ran in to several guards and servants on her way out of the castle, greeting each with a cheerful good morning. Until finally she was out in the cool morning air, the breeze running chilled fingers through her curls. With a skip in her step she turned towards the stables to say good morning to Angus.
Her Clydesdale was munching on breakfast when she came in, though he looked up briefly to breath on her in greeting. She stroked his snout for a moment before continuing on her way. Finally, she ended up in the armory. Two guards were lounging lazily in the main room when she entered; neither paid any attention to her until she cleared her throat.
"How may we help you, miss?" One of the guards asks, having scrambled out of his seat to appear more attentive.
"I was hoping to borrow a bow and set of arrows, perhaps. I wish to practice my archery,"
"Of course, we have several if you would care to choose,"
"Thank you," Merida smiled at him and went through the archway and into the general armory where the standard guard and militia weapons were stored. She hummed to herself as she examined each bow, until she found one with a similar weight and balance to her old one. A brief flash of rage boiled through her veins at the thought of her missing bow. She quickly shoved it down. No amount of anger or grief was going to fix her bow; it wasn't worth dwelling on now. After selecting a set of arrows and a quiver to practice with, she left the armory and set towards the practice range the guards had pointed her towards.
Sìleas found her there several hours later with a group of archers. Merida was in the middle of helping one young man with his aim, a simple habit of flinching after loosing the arrow caused his shots to fly oddly, when Sìleas snatched her by the ear and pulled her away from the field.
"Ow!" Merida hissed, finally managing to slip out of the demon's hold.
"Do you have any idea how worried I was this morning?" Sìleas demanded, her stocky build shivering with irritation, "I spent hours running around the castle looking for you when I saw your bed was empty. The only reason I found you at all was due to one of those beastly men exclaiming about some woman with amazing talent with the bow!"
"I am…sorry?" Merida hesitated, had something happened? "I did not know you were looking for me, I just wanted to practice out here instead of stitching all day again,"
"Oh, dearie," Sìleas sighed with a put-upon frown, "You are not in trouble for practicing. I had no idea where you were, and we do get spies and raiders in these parts still. I had thought you might be in danger,"
"Oh," Merida blinked in surprise. She had never thought about that before. The lands around Dunbroch were fairly tame; there had not been bandits or outlaws in at least a decade. It had never been an issue before now. Merida flushed with shame. Sìleas had been worried for her, probably terrified, all because Merida had snuck out to practice archery. "I am so ashamed. Dunbroch has no such problems, the thought had not even crossed my mind that there could be danger here."
"Well, I am glad you are fine," Sìleas looked a bit shocked at the news of Dunbroch's prosperity. "If you had wanted to practice, you should have told me. I do not mind sitting around while you exert yourself at your hobbies,"
"Thank you, Sìleas," Merida sighed, the woman's replying smile quickly caught on. Sìleas allowed Merida to continue with her practice and occasional lessons until the midday meal. Afterwards Sìleas bid her to something less exhausting.
After a moment of thought, Merida set out to find Murchadh. If he was not otherwise occupied, she would ask about the tales on the tapestries, and perhaps when those were finished, the ones on the columns. Merida found Murchadh with a minimal amount of trouble, as he was lounging in a small study. He was bent over several documents, a quill in one large hand, ink stained across several fingers and brow knit in concentration. Merida lingered patiently until he made a throaty humming sound and scratched away at his parchment, when he was done with that section, she cleared her throat and stepped further into the room. Only to freeze when those piercing stormy eyes caught hers. His face smoothed out of the intense focus he had previously been in, and the light smile that crossed his mouth eased the stiffness from her figure.
"Lady Merida," Murchadh nodded in greeting.
"Good afternoon, Lord Murchadh," Merida curtseyed slightly, "I hope I am not interrupting anything of great import,"
"Not at all, simple correspondence with several of my associates and a few accounts I am attempting to set to rights. Was there something you needed of me?"
"I was wondering if you might indulge my curiosity, actually." Merida smiled, "I am very interested in the tapestries in the throne room, and was curious about their tales. Would you be able to tell them, or is there another I could seek out to hear them?"
"I would be happy to indulge you, Lady Merida," Murchadh gives her one of his small little smiles and sets his quill down, capping his inkbottle before standing.
"Just Merida, is fine," She smiles as he steps past her towards the door and follows him down the hall.
"Then, please, call me Murchadh," The man glances back at her with an assenting nod.
"Of course," She bounces forward to keep pace. They end up spending several hours in the Throne room, moving from tapestry to tapestry. Merida is fascinated by the stories, and asks questions after Murchadh finishes each one. Each question seems to make Murchadh a bit more cordial. Other guests seeking to speak with Murchadh about business, or assistance interrupt them only a few times during the afternoon.
When this happens Murchadh deals with the interloper as politely quick as possible, though Merida does not mind the interruption. She studies the tapestries with an eye for details. She picks up all the subtle hints, small things that mean nothing to the actual scene itself but are included to remind the viewer of pieces of the story. A goblet filled with gems, a rose with a dagger-shaped stem, pebbles with crosses on them strewn along the beach; subtle reminders of trials in each story that Murchadh has shown her to look for in the tapestries.
When Sìleas forbids her from practicing the next afternoon as well, Merida seeks him out again, and they spend the following day in the same way. It becomes a pattern for the next week, until Murchadh is unexpectedly busy.
"Prince Murchadh sends his apologies, Lady Merida," Fox stands when she enters the familiar study she has beginning to label as Murchadh's, "The King is having him oversee the Autumn Tournament construction,"
"Autumn Tournament?" Merida ticks an eyebrow in interest.
"Yes, the tournament is why many of the King's allies are visiting. It is a showing of strength for the Lords and a way for some to earn favor with the King and his sons," Fox explains.
"Is there an archery competition?"
"There is," Fox begins slowly, having seen Merida's accomplishments with a bow "Are you interested in participating?"
"Is that allowed?"
"Of course, you are a guest of the King, and a Princess. You hold more authority than most of the Lord's in attendance," Merida hummed thoughtfully.
"So when is the tournament?"
"It's set to begin this Thursday, my lady,"
"Wonderful, is there any sort of listing I need to apply to?"
"Yes, Lady Merida, but I can add your name to the roster, if you like," Fox smiled at her with mischief in his eyes.
"Thank you, Fox, I would appreciate that," Merida returned the smile and left the study. With Murchadh busy for the next few days at least, she needed to find herself a new pastime. Eventually, she found herself sitting in front of a medium sized loom, working on a tapestry to illustrate her father's favorite story; adding in a small piece of her own perspective, her first experience with a bow, and her encounter with the wisps.
The days seem to slow; the closer it gets to Thursday. Merida taps her shoes against her chair while she weaves, humming under her breath as she sets up the beginning of her tapestry. This is a skill she has learned from her mother, though the impatient twitching is all her own. Elinor would never do something a frivolous as spasm, or probably get impatient in the first place.
"I have informed Princess Merida of the tournament, my lord," Fox sweeps into Murchadh's bedchamber with a grin on his face and a bounce in his step.
"Good," Murchadh looks up from the paperwork on his secondary desk with a smirk, "Thank you for that little tidbit of information on her archery prowess, I have not been out to the yard in the late mornings and she's yet to mention it in our conversations,"
"Only the best information for my liege," Fox grins and settles into the only other chair in the room. "She was thrilled with the initial announcement of course, but when I asked if she wished to participate, she actually hesitated. I get the feeling she has either never competed, which would be blaspheme, surely, so her first or last experience with competition did not turn out so well,"
"You do have a way with people," Murchadh absently shakes his head and writes something down on his notes. "I will endeavor to ask after her contest history after the tournament ends, hopefully it will bring in some new information. We do not seem to have much in the way of information from Dunbroch, a handful of paper scraps with little notes of bears and fields, and not much else. Most of my information has been taken from Lady Merida's anecdotes and inferences. I have no solid information and it is beginning to drive me mad."
"That is why I sent Aodhan with the message. He is more likely to keep his eyes open for little things and report them all back to me than my other contacts in the field,"
"Good, we need this. Lady Merida speaks about her home with pride, and the kingdom her father rules seems prosperous and fairly strong. If we can keep her happy, we are more likely to gain Dunbroch as an ally. Which we need."
"We do?" Fox perked up, this was news.
"Lord Bremner is moving again, in ways I do not like. He's fishing for something amongst the other lords. It unfailingly reminds me of that winter skirmish three years ago," Fox's eyes flicker down to the scar adorning Murchadh's jaw, the slight indent where a piece of muscle used to rest. That skirmish had nearly ended Murchadh's life, not from the wound but from the intended beheading.
"You are planning then," Fox's eyes narrowed with acute interest, "And you think Dunbroch might be the answer?"
"I think that making allies of Dunbroch could save us a lot of trouble," Murchadh returned with a lightly scathing look. Fox held up his hands in surrender.
"I will keep an eye on Lady Merida, then, and make sure she is returned to Dunbroch with nothing but praise for Moireach," Fox stood and made for the door, turning only to make sure Murchadh did not need him for anything else.
"That is exactly what I need you to do," Murchadh nodded once and returned to his papers as Fox left.
Thursday dawns bright, and Merida leaps out of bed with anxious relief. She whirls around her room like a living piece of lightning. Her fingers shake with such anticipation that she can barely lace her dress up, and almost has to call for Sìleas. She does not settle down until her feet are in the grass and her bow is placed in her hands. And it is like settling into deep rock, it is so grounding that she can finally think straight, for the first time since she set her bow down the day before.
She takes a breath and settles, lifting her bow for her first practice shot of the morning. She has to force herself to move her aim just enough to keep each arrow intact. She has already split a dozen arrows this week, and shaved the fletching off of nearly thrice that number. This morning she does not draw a crowd for her practice, it is a first. But she does not mind. Everyone is busy with the beginnings of the tournament, swordplay and jousting will be the biggest events, and cable-toss will be almost as crowded. The archery competition begins after the midday meal, and Merida takes the intervening hours to practice a bit more and then composes herself.
She eats lightly at the meal, joining a brief conversation with one of the ladies she has been weaving with in the past few days. Afterwards she heads down to the archery field. Her steps are measured, as she centers herself, breathing slowly. Fox meets her with a ready smile on his lips, golden hair flashing between the cool sunlight and the shade.
"You are one of the first to shoot, Lady Merida," Fox leads her to her target, the third in a row of eight. With a brief but heart-felt 'good luck', Fox nods and trots back into the crowd.
The other seven archers take their places when they are called up, and the rules are read. Merida focuses on her target. They get three shots; the winner of this group will compete against the seven other winners from the other groups to determine the champion. The judge calls for the first round.
Merida notches her arrow and raises her bow. Her fingers curl softly around the bowstring, the supple wood bends as she pulls. The shaft of the arrow slides across her finger, like a whisper. She kisses the string and pulls a bit further back, eyes focused down the shaft and through the bull's eye. She inhales, her lungs filling with the cool air, and exhales, letting her lungs empty and then she holds. And lets go. She repeats the process twice more, each arrow hitting just slightly next to each other. When she lets her focused mindset fall, the judges identify her target as the winner for the round, and Fox congratulates her with a knowing smile.
She does not watch the next competitors. She does not want to compare herself to the other contestants. She remains in her mostly calm state while talking with Fox, until the winners are all called back for the final round.
The targets are double the original distance now, but she is all right with that. She takes her place at target five this time, and grounds herself again. The judges have added two arrows to the grouping. Merida breathes softly as she falls back into her routine. Arms raised, eyes focused, fingers loose but strong. She lets her arrows fly with the confidence she can only find behind her bow. The ease she has before a target feels like breathing to her.
When the round is finally called, Merida comes back to herself with an accomplished grin. She has set her arrows exactly like her first three shots in round one, and stacked her additional two shots on the center arrow. Two split arrows and five bull's eyes.
The next four days of the tournament are only of mild interest to Merida, though she does go to several events to support Fox and Murchadh. Fox competes in one of the races held on the second day, and though he is one of the fastest runners Merida has ever seen, he loses the finals by just a few seconds. Merida praises him anyway, for his quick footwork. Murchadh competes in both the sword duels and the axe throwing. He wins both, though Merida cannot find him to congratulate him herself.
On the evening of the last day the winners of every competition are called to accept their prizes, none of the archery crowd is surprised to hear Merida's name. And she steps forward with the brightest smile she has worn since her mother mentioned betrothal. The prize is an excellently crafted dagger; the hilt is wrapped in soft kit-leather, the pommel is set with a small but handsome emerald, and the steel of the blade is tempered beautifully.
"What will you do with it?" Fox asks when she steps back into the crowd and joins him again.
"I am not sure, my father taught me to work with a blade, but I've never held a dagger" Merida replies, her thoughts linger on the opportunity, however. Now that she has thought of it, she would like to learn more. Close range weaponry was a useful skill to have, if only to set Sìleas' mind at ease from thoughts of brigands snatching her from the castle.
The feast that evening is enthusiastic and raucous. The minstrels are nearly drowned out by the voices of the guests, jokes are bawdy, and the food is the finest Merida has tasted yet. And the main course is the bear Murchadh slew on their recent hunt. When Merida asks, the cook tells her that not even half the bear was eaten that night, though everyone took at least one piece and the sauces it was served with only enhanced the flavor of the dish. Merida eats enough to fill her stomach after the light food she has had all day, and even allows herself a small mug of warm apple cider. She finds the sweet flavor a wonderful offset to the richly flavored cheese tart she selects for her desert.
After the feast there is dancing. The servants move the tables against the walls to clear an opening for the dances. Merida watches from the side until the wheels they are dancing become familiar to her, and then she leaps in head first. She lets the drums become her heartbeat, and the lute dictate her feet. She stomps and claps and spins, her loose hair whipping around her like a brilliant ginger flag. The music carries her through several dances until her muscles burn with the exercise and she is forced to exit the wheel. She grabs a mug of water and sips it through two songs until her legs stop trembling and her breath is normal. She leaves the hall in high spirits with a satisfied grin sitting on her lips, and retires to her room for the evening. Out of habit, she settles her bow and quiver in the corner of her room before undressing and slipping under the covers. The music lingers sweetly in her ears as she drifts softly into dreams.
Merida never learns of the gazes that idled when she joined the dancers. Of the men who subtly ask after her, or the fierce glares they receive in answer. The two lord-lings who make the mistake of asking Fox, receive only cold blue eyes that narrow threateningly and chilling silence.
"She seems to be happy, my lord," Fox settled into one of the chairs in Murchadh's study with a quiet relief, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion.
"That is good news, if we can establish good relations with Dunbroch, we might have enough support to keep Lord Bremner from starting a war," Murchadh leant back into his wingchair, jaw clenched in irritation, "Father's health is beginning to fail, if a war starts now he will not be fit to end it. And I do not exactly envy the thought of fighting a full out battle, yet."
"It helps that she is a Princess," Fox nodded with a roughish grin sliding across his face, "She will be obliged to return some form of favor for your hospitality. Which was good thinking on your part,"
"That was mostly luck," Murchadh acknowledged with a rueful smirk, "But I am very good at thinking on my feet."
"Has there been a reply form Dunbroch yet? I would have thought the trip to be fairly short, considering her saddle bags were practically empty,"
"I am more concerned with the messenger being lost, rather than the length of the trip. We have never sent anything to the other end of the forest, and I am beginning to question why. It is odd that we have never secured that end of the border, something I shall rectify after this whole blasted affair is over,"
"A pity she is not a bit older, though," Fox grinned, "Forming a stronger alliance through marriage and the possibility of expanding the kingdom… ah, well, it can not all be simple."
"An interesting notion," Murchadh exhaled with a light laugh, "Though something tells me she would try to fight any form of political arrangement. That is how she ended up with us in the first place, if I recall correctly."
"Oh, she shared that story, did she?"
"Yes, I do not think she has had anyone of equal status to speak with before, and our afternoons together generally center on stories. Suffice to say, she is not willing to let her mother make arrangements for her. At least, not now."
"Pity," Fox sighed, his eyes glazing over lightly "She would look lovely under a crown,"
Murchadh snorted and shook his head.
"Keep those thoughts out of my study. We need to go over the noble's meeting from last night as well as the plans for the next month."
"Are you certain? She looked very fetching this evening, some of the lords' sons noticed as well," Fox glanced at Murchadh slyly, though he did get up to gather their notes from the meeting and spare parchment for more planning.
"Just keep them off of her, she is not interested in being some lord-ling's bed warmer and I do not want her time in Moireach to be dampened by some bastard's idea of courtship. I will not see all my hard work undone by some cock-led child," Murchadh shook his head and pulled one of the side tables between their two chairs. Fox settled back into his seat after snatching a set of quills and the inkbottle.
"Now, Lord Kinley was discussing the raiders that are moving up the coast," Murchadh began.
The oil lamp and the fire in Murchadh's study blazed nearly until dawn before both men were satisfied with the outcome of their planning. Neither worried about running into early risers as they left the seclusion for their beds and necessary sleep, the night's activities had been planned to see most of the castle guests, and even the staff, asleep this morning.
Nearly twenty leagues away, a messenger finally stumbles into a clearing ringed in stone, and a path on the other side that is supposed to reach castle Dunbroch. Aodhan, the messenger, sighs heavily in relief. He has been stumbling through the undergrowth of this wood like a blind child. His steed is skittish as they cross through the clearing, and everything is eerily quiet. Brushing it off, Aodhan clicks his heels lightly, and speeds into a trot. With any luck he will find Dunbroch before nightfall and sleep in a bed for the first time in three weeks.
'Next time,' he thinks with slight irritation, 'I am going to hand this route over to one of the new messengers. I am not traipsing through this damn forest again.' Aodhan paused as a sudden thought crossed his mind and then shuddered with a grimace, 'Unless Fox orders me too.'
AN: So, this is unbetaed, and I'll probably polish it up later, but I wanted to start posting this. I've also got this story up on my Ao3 as well if you prefer them. Just look for pointlessrythm. Don't expect weekly updates, I've only got 5 of the 10 chapters finished, but perhaps every other week or so, idk. And if you're wondering, yes, Murchadh and Mor'du are the same person.