Summary: Scotland 1511. Noble girl Quinn Fabray wishes nothing more than to be loved with all her heart. When she meets Brittany, who came to marry her fiancé her world is turned upside down. What is possible and what is a dream, in the UK of the 16th Century? AU QUITT (Fierce) / Brittana

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, Fox, the UK or historic characters.

Rating: M, I guess…it's a medieval story, it's supposed to be dirty. xD

A/N I've got a few things to say. First of all, I want to thank everyone in advance for giving this story a go. English is not my first language, and this is my first English story I've ever written. I first started to write it in German and spent ages on translating it. I plan on writing the next chapters directly in English because it's so much quicker. But yeah… please forgive me for grammar mistakes, etc. I practice on getting better. Let me know what you think. Constructive criticism and reviews are more than welcome. :]

Also, this is Quitt endgame, although it kind of starts off with Brittana. But this is supposed to be a realistic story with lots of characters and elements. Btw, Quinn and Brittany meet eachother in the 3rd chapter. Sorry about that. We'll get there soon though. xD

Check out this song for the first chapter: Fox Amoore - Myre (youtube - /watch?v=tTGeLR0vV6A )

Many thanks to AeonUS, for the support.

A Journey Into the Blue

September 1511

When the apple trees of Somerset and Kent began to shake off their fruits and in the following days you couldn't hear anything but the reverberating sounds of juice mills on the small farms, where they pressed the apples into juice that was then filled into bottles; and when you could hear how the women stew the rest fruits together with expensive sugar and fermented apple vinegar in large ceramic pots to make it a durable compote; all of this meant that the cider time had begun. And that meant it was finally autumn.

Brittany loved the autumn. It shone in so many different colours, but it was never too bright and appeared in warm and soft colours like red and ochre. And the autumn wind brought the soul to dance. It let you become light like a feather and let you soar. Brittany loved dancing. When her body was moving, everything was moving. Every cell in her seemed to turn and twist and her mind seemed to see everything clearer in this moment. At the same time it was nothing hectic, nothing negative. It reassured the world around her. Yes, it even seemed like the world stood still when she was dancing. Before her departure from home she had danced. She had asked Antoine to join her into the garden and play the lute for her. That's what he had done and she had closed her eyes and moved to the music. Everything around her had fallen into thousand tiny colour pigments that were blowing around her and embracing her. Antoine's piece on the lute began slowly, and then it had taken a quicker, almost frantic pace and then again become slow until it ended in sad chords. And she had, her legs swinging, moved to the music, her eyes closed. It had let her forget that she had to leave her home. Probably forever.

The uneven rumble of the carriage pulled Brittany back to the present, forcing her to open her eyes. The apple trees of the Kent area had long disappeared and been replaced a row of little timber-framed houses.

"Mademoiselle Brittanyy" the maid next to her spoke in French. Her name was Claire and she was very nice. She had promised Brittany's parents to accompany her on her journey to London and give her support. That was not really necessary, because she knew what was coming up for her. Well, that was not quite right. She was not sure what to expect of future events, but she was familiar with the place as she had previously visited there.

"We're very nearly there. Are you excited? "

Brittany shook her head. This was more a reflex, because when she thought about the question, she could not deny a certain amount of excitement. But what was it exactly that excited her? She had been here a long time ago, and she was not afraid of big cities. Although she was originally from a small province in which everyone knew everyone, but the thought of a world that was so much bigger than her mind would allow her to think, filled her heart with anticipation. Her excitement was no nervousness. And yet she was kneading her hands together and bit her lower lip energetically. She would get to know new people. What would happen if they didn't like her? What if they preferred to send her back home? Then the whole trip would have been for nothing.

A few minutes later they turned into a busy street, from which several small streets branched off. At the other side of the road stood a long, massive building which was based on many pillars. It had a rounded roof and a huge, with curved ornaments decorated, entrance gate.

The driver opened the door of the coach and motioned for Brittany and Claire to get out. They had stopped in front of a stone house near the large building.

"Ah oui Londres," said Claire. "I've always imagined it like this."

Brittany looked around. She knew that London was just a stop anyway, and that they would not remain in the city. Nevertheless, she was curious. Above all, it felt good to stretch your legs again after a long journey.

The front door of the house before them opened up and they could see a middle-aged woman rushing out and making her way into their direction. She was dressed in dark green clothes and had dark brown hair that was pinned together to a funny-looking knot on her head. She came over with hasty steps.

"Excuse me. You must be the ladies from France?"

She did not even give them the opportunity to respond and went on.

"We have been waiting for you. We caused a terrible misunderstanding and humbly ask for your pardon."

She stopped in front of them and remembered her manners.

"Please forgive me. I'm Mercia. I take care of the guests at this residence house. You must be ... Brittany? Pierce?"

Brittany took a step forward. "Yes. Pierre is also my name. Because where I come from both words mean the same thing. Pierre and Pierce. They are only different languages... "

Mercia did not perceive this information or maybe she ignored it.

"Very pleased to meet you." she said, and made a small curtsy. Then she nodded to Claire. In the background the driver was busy raising Brittany's small trunk off the coach.

Mercia continued: "I have ordered a carriage for the afternoon. Miss Pierce, I must regrettably inform you that your fiancé has already left."

Brittany noticed how her eyes flashed strangely when she spoke. This made her nervous. It was like the old drunkard in her hometown. Whenever she saw him sitting in front of his house sipping his wine, his hands twitched erratically when he took the cup. There were no flowing movements. It was not comparable with the soothing rhythm of the dance.

"Why did he depart?" asked Brittany.

Mercia told them that her fiancé was on his way up north. And when she said the North, she didn't mean the north of England, where the Lord himself lived, but a little further north: in Scotland. She added that it was an urgent call that he had to follow, not only as a diplomat but because of his friendship to Sir Thomas Howard. However, the carriage that she had ordered for the afternoon would get Brittany there safely.

In the meantime, the carriage driver had said goodbye to Claire and Brittany (not without first getting a few silver pennies from Mercia as a tip).

Brittany thought Mercia was nice. Almost as nice as the woman who she had stayed with the first time when she was in this very city. It was one of those typical processions. Parents who could afford to send their children away to study in other places and countries, and if they were lucky their sons found a decent work, and their daughters found a man who was better off and they could be promised for an engagement. Back then Brittany's parents had put together their entire savings to send her daughter to London. She had not brought home an engagement, but she was stuck in someone's mind who had gone to France four years later to engage her with his son.

Because the carriage should come in the afternoon, Brittany and Claire decided to take a walk to the market, which turned out to be the great building they had seen before, a little further east on the road. Markets always had something exciting. And so they entered the market hall and were amazed when they saw the many stalls that lined up against each other there. There were traders from the Orient, who offered their spices and ointments, or people from the north; tall, blond, husky figures, who sold their furs and clothing, and then of course there were the famous Italian cloth merchants and England's own, well-known wool merchants. They saw animals and art vendors and also strange market stalls where Brittany was not sure if they belonged to any trade guild, or whether they had been secretly placed on the square. The whole place was just swarming with people. There were men, women and children who were jumping around and tried to annoy the pigs with straws that were in their small fenced enclosures.

One stall drew Brittany's attention the most, when she discovered already dyed wool in different variations. She touched the fabric gently, and slid her fingertips over it. It felt nice and soft. But when she noticed the look of the trader behind the counter she drew her fingers back quickly.

"The colours are beautiful, aren't they?"

Brittany nodded eagerly and smiled. She could not afford the wool anyway, because they had just a few pennies with her. Her eyes must have betrayed her though, because the trader smiled knowingly at her.

"You know what? I'll give you a few colored strings, if you promise to say you've gotten them from Alberich, if someone should ask you."

Brittany nodded and stared at him. Alberich was a powerfully built man, maybe in his early forties, so he was certainly already one of the older folks. His hair was dark and wavy and his facial features were soft.

"But how would I deserve to just get expensive wool like this?" Brittany asked slowly, trying to be as polite as possible. Alberich smiled even wider.

"Just like that," He said. "You are a very pretty girl. What kind of man would I be if I did not appreciate a beautiful girl like you. And that's the least I can do."

Brittany thought about that for a moment. They had already said several times that she was beautiful. They had said it in different ways. Some people like Claire or the other girls from her village said it casually and as a matter of fact and the boys in her village called her beautiful several times with nervous voice. And some did it in a shy, almost hesitant tone.

Brittany chose four strands of wool. A gray-blue one which, as Alberich said, was colored with elderberry; a golden yellow one, a darker red one and an indigo blue one. She stuffed the strands in the small pocket of her dress and thanked him politely, not without promising emphatically that she would tell them about the trader Alberich. He laughed and waved her goodbye.

After they had rounded the market two times, it was eventually time to turn back. The sun had long passed its turning point and was on its way to the west. It was about time that Brittany took her way up north as well. They forced their way through a tumult of people who had formed as someone's just bought goat got out of control and tried to escape. While they continued their way, Brittany looked back once again. She wanted to see if they were able to catch the animal, when something hit hard against her side.

The force of the impact threw her down to the floor.

"Damn it. Can't you be careful?"

Her face contorted with pain Brittany looked around to see whose angry voice just called her. It was a female voice. She sat there a few inches in front of her on the floor- the young woman with whom she had apparently just collided with. She held her forehead as Brittany looked at her. She wore elegant, spanish dresses in red and black colours, decorated with embroidery. Her long, silky, wavy hair fell on her shoulders. It was black. Or was it a very dark brown? Oh God, she was so beautiful... That was probably the last thing she should be thinking about right now.

"Are you okay?" asked Claire, and rushed towards Brittany to help her up. But Brittany barely noticed her. Her eyes were still focused on the girl in front of her, that now she slowly turned around and looked into her eyes. Everything that happened at this moment, Brittany should never be able to tell. It was as if she felt a whip, which was surprisingly not hurting but made her shudder, when deep brown eyes met sky blue ones. At this moment, Brittany froze. It was not as if these eyes would throw their own gaze back at her. It was like they were swallowing it. Like a vortex in wild waters that dragged down small branches when you threw them into it. It was as if those brown eyes were just like this vortex and Brittany was a small branch that fell into this whirlpool. She didn't know how much time passed as they were staring at each other like this, while time stood still. The girl's eyes widened as if she also had the same thought. Brittany couldn't manage to draw away her eyes. Finally, it was the other girl who broke the eye contact and began to shout at her. She jumped up towards them, shaking her fist at the blonde.

"Have you lost your mind hustling me like this?" She cried out angrily, and caused a couple of people around them to stare at the scene. "Can't you see where other people are walking?"

Only then Brittany noticed that around them objects like parchment, wooden boxes and leather bags lay scattered on the floor. She must have had carried them and dropped them at the impact. Brittany stood up trembling.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." she said, rubbing her shoulder. The girl was so beautiful. She could not help but look at her. Her complexion was tan and dark. She must have been from the south.

"Look after your mistress more carefully," she snapped at Claire. Claire's English was not good.

"Je vous demande pardon."

She probably understood Claire's words, because she replied, but in Spanish.

"¡Te arrepentirás! Arderás en el infierno."

Brittany had no idea what she was shouting at them, but a wave of spanish insults flew at her and Claire. However, it was puzzling why she was so upset all of a sudden. Brittany could not shake off the thought that her problem was less the collision but more about their strangely intense eye contact. She began to pick up the items, which were still scattered all over the floor. She would not know how else to apologize.

"You don't have to... don't touch that!"

But Brittany was already on her feet, holding the pile of things to pass to the girl. Their eyes met again.

"I'm really sorry." Brittany repeated, her words were not more than a whisper. And when the girl took the things her fingers brushed against Brittany's arm and left burning cold goosebumps.

"Ju- just be careful next time," squeezed the dark-haired girl out, and before Brittany could respond, she had turned on her heel and scuttled off, back in the direction of the market.

Later when Brittany said goodbye to Mercia and Claire, and climbed into the coach of the two horse carriage, she did not notice the gaze of two dark brown eyes, observing her departure intensely from the distance.

Brittany's path led at first through endlessly flat land along the eastern shires of the Midlands. That was not at all exciting, so she leaned back in the coach and closed her eyes for a while. The rumbling of the carriage on the uneven pathway let her body startle sometimes. She put her cup, that was resting on a box, to the floor of the carriage so it wouldn't tumble around. But instead of that she felt her thoughts tumbling through her head over and over. It was hard to think clearly. She was back in England. After all this time. She had missed it a lot. Everything was so different here than in her homeland. So beautiful. Somehow when she thought of England she had to think of a raft that floated quietly in the water. It could not even be outlined by a wave. It would turn with the water, sliding on the surface. Yes, England was just a relaxing place.

"Miss, you are alright?"

Brittany rose, startled. The driver had leaned back and peered over at her through the gap between coach box and interior. She turned back to the window and saw a few sheep graze under the trees along the way.

"We are no longer on the raft," she muttered. Hold on. A raft? Why a raft? What was her thought from before?

"Raft?" the driver repeated in mild irritation before he directed his gaze back straight ahead.

"Maybe you should try to sleep for a while; it makes the time pass by more quickly. We still have a one and a half day journey ahead of us."

Brittany watched as the flock of sheep slowly fading into the distance. Maybe sleeping would be a good idea. When she fell asleep, she could easily get off the carriage the next day and had neither to fight with nervousness nor with excitement. Or at least she wouldn't think about things, wouldn't over-think things. Whenever she was bored she got the craziest thoughts and ideas. Sometimes they were good and helpful but most of the time they drifted to places Brittany couldn't even explain to herself. And that was not really helpful because it confused and disturbed the things that she should really concentrate on. Now for example she should focus on the meeting with her fiancé. But instead her thoughts seemed always to drift back to these moments in the Market Hall.

Thoughts could be like burdock plants. They stuck easily on you and you could only get rid of them when pulled firmly. And if you were unlucky they even stuck to your hands. Or better yet, thoughts were like tears in the clothing. You have to live with them for so long until you could mend it again. Mostly though, when you went out you had nothing to mend it with you. So you had to endure it. Better to watch out that you didn't tear your clothing in the first place. Brittany furrowed a brow. Some people didn't even possess a sewing kit. They would have to buy a new dress. Or they had to run around in torn dresses forever because they couldn't afford a new one. Therefore, could we also have a thought stuck on forever? This idea let her shudder. She pulled her legs onto the long bench she sat on and slid further down until her body finally lay alongside it.

Her hands grabbed the rough wool blanket on the floor. She pulled it over her and was immediately filled by soothing warmth. It was not cold, not yet, but she found that it is always handy to be covered. It was also cozy. And besides, she would not wake up in the cold if they fell asleep. Outside, the sun began to set. They would drive all way through the evening and the night and arrive at some time during the next day. She wondered if the two horses in front of the carriage would ever be able to stand the whole journey. Maybe they had to be changed on the way? She was already looking forward to the time when the journey ended and she could move her legs properly again. She closed her eyes and drifted away from the visible world.

In her mind she ran over those very green meadows, they just passed with the coach. She sucked in the fresh air of the island in deep breaths and noticed that her nose could still remember this certain smell; it recalled memories of the childhood-days she had spent here. She also remembered how the wet, grassy ground gave in, when she moved over it in her boots. And she could feel how the movement brought her spirits to life. Brittany ran along the meadow, heels pressed into the soft soil to get more grip on the jump. She flew away like a cloud in the sky, danced like reed swayed by the wind. Her movements were free and so relaxed. She jumped and jumped until the lawn was no longer grass. The soil became dark, firm clay. A street? Curiously, she followed the trail without changing her body rhythm. The sky above her shone bright blue and Brittany knew that her eyes were reflecting it in the same colour. Perhaps she was a child of the sky? Giggling, they went on, did a cartwheel and then another one. She closed her eyes and opened them again and repeated this. Every time she saw the street again. But suddenly, when she closed her eyes once more and shot them open, she slammed into something hard that made her stumble and knocked her to the ground. That was an unexpected surprise. .How could that happen? She was supposed to be the master of her own thoughts and fantasies. Or was this a dream? Was she asleep yet? Brittany's eyes flew open and stared into the dark pupils of a girl. That girl...

The girl had also landed on the floor with a loud thud. She stared at Brittany for a moment, completely absent. As if she was struck by lightning and unable to move. She had probably not been prepared for the clash either. And before anything else could happen Brittany suddenly knew where she was. This was not a thought fantasy; it was not a dream either. She was back in the market hall. She had returned. And she had seen the girl again. Just as she was about to open her mouth to speak, Brittany interrupted her hastily:

"You..!"

The girl's scowled. It was a sardonic smirk that, as Brittany saw it, did not suit her at all.

"I've been waiting for you." the girl said. Brittany shuddered.

"R- Really?" she asked hesitantly. The dark girl nodded and held out her hand. As Brittany took it she could feel the same cold goosebumps on her arm as she had felt it the day before. It sent shivers down her spine. They both still sat on the floor. The girl pulled towards her until she was sitting so close to her that she could feel her breath on her neck.

"What's your name?" Brittany asked. She felt the two hands lightly caressing along her back and then her arms. She didn't get an answer to her question. The girl let her fingertips run over Brittany's neck and her collarbone and then travelled slowly over Brittany's small breasts down to her waist. Brittany swallowed hard. A feeling that she had never felt before took over her. She did not know what it was, but it made her whole body tremble and sweat. Her pulse was beating faster, and it was like her blood shot twice as fast through her body. The girl did not hesitate when her fingers reached the hem of Brittany's dress. Who was this girl? She would like to know her name so badly. She wanted to know what she was doing. It made her feel so good. But when she looked up to meet her face, dark eyes were gone and in its place were blue. Instead of dark curls she saw blonde ones. Shocked, Brittany was startled when she looked into her own face. She wanted to jump up and protest but at this very moment those fingers touched a particularly sensitive and moist spot between her legs. Brittany gasped out loud, and shot out of her sleep.

It was dark and very quiet around her. The steady rumble of the carriage reminded her where she was. What had just happened? She had never experienced or dreamed anything like this. She wiped her forehead with the hem of the blanket. She was sweating and her dress clung to her body everywhere. When she tried to adjust it and changed her lying position she realized startled that even her thighs were sweaty. It seemed to be particularly sticky between them.

Brittany's thoughts dwelled on the dream for a while until sleep caught up with her again. And although she was surprised and overwhelmed by the all the past events, the dream she had was a lot better than the nightmares in which people gave their lives or were evil animals that found their way into her house. And who was this girl? She was beautiful, so incredibly beautiful...

The next day they changed the horses in an old little town called Berwick. In its local Inn, they bought and ate a loaf of bread and a pitcher filled with wine. The name of the coach driver was John and he stood out as a pleasant fellow, but at the same time he seemed not to be brightest and most tactful person, because now and then he made jokes about the French and, whenever he had the chance, praised the English longbow army and how they perfectly massacred the ranks of the French in the Hundred Years War.

It turned out that for the most of the rest of the journey Brittany was without dreams. And she slept a lot. She couldn't do more than watch the landscape and count sheep. And counting sheep made her tired anyway. So she slept. The landscape to her left had already become a little hillier and sometimes on her right she was able to take a glimpse at the sea. She imagined how her family would be there, on the other side of this sea, hoping that her daughter would be alright in her new home. Behind Berwick lay the border to Scotland, but once they had crossed it Brittany eyes fell shut again as the wine wrapped her into a light doze.

When she saw out the window the next time, the landscape had changed again. The grassy green hills and small streams had become fields covered with heather and moss. Piled up on her left there were mountains, bigger than before and possibly even greater than she had ever seen them. The sky painted a delicate grey and the setting sun on the horizon seemed deep orange, just as if a raging fire burned through the clouds. So this was Scotland? It was the best thing in the world, she found. A broad river meandered its way along the trail. Brittany could hear the steady chatter of the coach and the soft ripple of the river. She peered through the twilight and simply couldn't turn away her eyes from the mountains. The scenery gave her a warm and fuzzy feeling in her stomach. It filled her with nothing but peace. Compared to England this was so much more. It felt like home. Was that even possible? Was it possible to call something home before you had even sat one foot there and before you knew anything? Was it possible to fall in love within a landscape within just a few moments?

"Miss", the coachman John spoke softly and pulled Brittany not the first time out of her trance.

"We are cross- are you awake?"

Brittany straightened up her body and looked ahead.

"I am.", she replied. "Where are we? I like the mountains."

"We are about to cross Stirling Bridge," said John. "At this place an important battle happened over 200 years ago, where William Wallace fought back the English. One of the few battles the Scots have won," he added with a smile.

"Who is William Wallace?" Brittany asked curiously. She looked out and noticed a narrow bridge that led over a river. It was just wide enough for another horse to fit next to the two- steed coach; if at all. She had heard of conflicts that the kingdoms of England and Scotland had with each other, but she was more confused about it than knowledgeable about it. France and England were enemies, she knew that. And she also knew that Scotland and France were once allies, and that they had stood side to the French once in a great battle against the English. But about the conflicts between Scotland and England, she knew nothing. How many enemies did England have? The coachman continued with his explanation.

"William Wallace is a hero here in Scotland. There are quite a few stories existing about him. One of them says that apparently his height surpassed that of any ordinary man and that he can shoot fire from his eyes."

Fire? So burning hot like the sky looked at the moment? John continued.

"You have to know the Scots are very gullible people. In their world three-headed dragons, unicorns and water lizards exist."

"Unicorns? Really? I would really like to see them!" It broke out from Brittany joyfully, but John violently shook his head.

"No! They are all a bunch of pinheads," he said gruffly. He scratched his nose. "And they all have red hair ... That means they must be devil's work anyway."

"But it seemed to have helped them when they could beat the English like this," Brittany said. Did John expect that she was against Scotland as he was? For some reason actually, she was filled with more fascination than disgust. And the idea of wondrous things that could happen by these mountains in front of her put her into pure excitement. Thus, a unicorn she would just love to see. She had heard of mystical creatures, but the adults had always preached to her that all this was just created in the minds of devil possessed witches and pagans, and that she would do better to pray to the one God. So she prayed to the one God and asked him every day to meet once a creature of legends.

The coachman scowled.

"The magic clearly didn't give him any advantage, because in the end his head stuck on a pike on London Bridge for a while. Haha, Did I not pick you up in Smithfield by the way? That was where they had quartered him. "

Okay, that sounded really anything but nice. Somehow, the English seemed to be huge spoilsports. They pulled over the bridge. The river far below them roared and snapped satisfactorily when it was splashing over the rocks of the riverbed. It was not very deep at this point, and whoever crashed here over the bridge, would find a painful and miserable death. The poor English ... But in spite of pity she felt for them somehow she wasn't sure if it was fair to tear a man in four parts while he was alive.

From the bridge, it went straight on a paved road. There were small wooden huts with thatched roofs and reeds that lined up to appear soon, when the carriage rolled a little uphill and then downhill again. It was getting darker quickly, and so the only ones being still awake in this town were the soldiers who were patrolling along the way, and the Junkers, who were boozing with the money of their fathers in the pub.

Soon the road led uphill again and this time it did not go downhill but steadily up. On the right window of the coach Brittany saw nothing but a grey rock wall on the left and saw that the trees that grew up the hill were blocking her view of the houses which became smaller and smaller. John had lit a lantern and this seemed to be the only light, since they drove along the side of a large chunk of a hill. As they turned into a street Brittany was just able to catch a glimpse of a large stone wall that seemed to stretch along the cliff of the hill. She leaned out of the window as far as possible to see where the wall ended, but it seemed so endlessly high. Whoever it was protecting- it would protect them well.

The road led them to another street with very small wooden houses between a couple of enormous stone houses. A little further up the path Brittany spotted the outline of a fairly large masonry. A monastery, perhaps? A few minutes later they found themselves in front of the doorway of a large horse barn, which joined in a modern-looking, light-colored stone house. Two torches lit up the entrance. Then someone said:

"Your request, Sir?"

John answered: "Miss Brittany Pierre is here to meet Sir Kurt Hummel. Her fiancé. "

"Have you got a document?"

The driver must have nodded probably, because Brittany heard a rustling of parchment and a cracking sound as if a seal had been broken as the guard unfolded the note.

"You can pass. The stable-lad is present. If he is not in the stables, he'll be in the small room to the right of the horse stalls. Tell him he will take care of the horses."

Then he peered through the window of the carriage, as he would want to convince himself that Kurt's fiancée was really the only thing the driver was hiding in the coach. He smiled at her briefly.

"Welcome to Stirling, my lady."