Bog scowled at the length of the line for the meat pies. The one time he didn't bring food, and the line looked to be at least twenty miles long. And no, he wasn't exaggerating. Not at all.

It was all his mother's fault. Griselda insisted on packing a lunch for him every single time he had a Scottish festival, no matter how many times he told her he wasn't in school anymore and was too old for her to fix him a lunchbox. Even worse, as she did so often, Griselda went overboard. She didn't just pack him a lunch. She packed him a three-course gourmet picnic, complete with appetizers and dessert. He usually ended up feeding half of his pipe band with the food she sent. They appreciated it. He didn't.

Unfortunately, she'd more or less gotten him used to it, and the one time she was out of town when he had a festival was the one time he'd forgotten to pack his own lunch. All he wanted was a sandwich. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently so, since his options consisted of meat pies, fish and chips, bangers and mash, and haggis. He wasn't fussy about giant sausages, and he'd had far too many fish and chips in the course of his piping career. So, meat pipes it was. Haggis wasn't an option, even if he was Scottish.

He pulled out his watch, glancing at the length of the line. At this rate, he'd be eating steak and mushroom and tuning at the same time. If he had to lead the band on an empty stomach, he would not be a happy camper. Piper. Whatever.

And if the pipe major ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

He was starting to wonder if he could use his sheer size to intimidate his way to the front of the line. If people didn't want a six-foot-eight Scot in a kilt breathing down their neck (or on the top of their head, as the case may be), well, it wasn't his fault if they dropped out of line, right?

'Marianne, look at the length of this line! You'll have to be back to tune by the time we get up to order!'

Huh. Apparently he wasn't the only one with food problems today. Good.

But did she have to sound so…perky?

'Well if you had been at the sword vendor where I told you to meet me, we could be eating by now. But nooo, I had to track you down at the athletics. On the other side of the fairgrounds!'

The second voice was husky, with a sarcastic edge. And she liked swords. She sounded interesting.

'Swords are boring. Big, muscular guys in kilts are cute!'

'Daaawn!'

'Mariaaaane!'

Bog's lips twitched. He shouldn't be entertained their argument. But he was.

'Anyway, the athletics are off limits, remember?'

'Come on Marianne. It was one time. And all I did was smile.'

'Uh-huh. And all he did was get so distracted that he tossed the caber into the audience.'

'Nobody died.'

He snorted. He could picture it, and the image was terrifying.

'Excuse me? Do you have something to add to this private conversation?'

Busted.

He turned slowly. 'If ye'd wanted t'have a private conversation, maybe ye shouldnae have it in the food line, yeah?'

'He has a point, Marianne.' The perky one, Dawn, elbowed her companion. She was the personification of her name, with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She looked sweet enough to give a person cavities.

Marianne glared at her. 'Not helping, Dawn.' She was the opposite of Dawn, with spikey brown hair and amber eyes. The combination of a scowl and her dark purple make-up threw off distinctly aggressive vibes. He was pretty sure she would punch anyone who accused her of being 'sweet.'

Dawn stuck her tongue out.

Marianne rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Bog. Her eyes widened as she took in his height, and he braced himself, waiting for the comments. People couldn't resist remarking on how tall he was, as if it was something he could somehow control.

'Hey, I know you! You're the pipe major for Dark Forest Pipes and Drums, right? Bog MacAlpine?'

Well, okay. He hadn't expected that. But come to think of it, he knew them, too. 'Aye. An' yer Marianne and Dawn Sterlin'. Ye play wi' Fairfield Pipe Band.'

'She does.' Marianne jerked her thumb at her sister. 'I'm just filling in.'

'But Marianne, you can't let Roland kick you out of the band!'

'I'm not "letting Roland kick me out of the band."' She emphasized her words with exaggerated air quotes. 'I'm leaving because I refuse to be in the same band with him.'

Bog raised an eyebrow. He tried to avoid pipe band gossip, so he wasn't exactly sure what they were talking about. They'd apparently forgotten he was there, anyway. Although if the Roland they were talking about was Roland Greene, he couldn't blame her for not wanting to be around him.

'You should make Roland leave!'

'I'm not making anyone do anything. You know the only reason I'm here at all is because he isn't.'

Dawn clutched her sister's arm dramatically. 'But I don't want to be in the band without you!' she wailed. Then she brightened. 'Maybe I should leave, too.'

Marianne smiled indulgently. 'What about Sunny? He'd be so lonely in the tenor section if you left.'

'I'll get him to come with me! We'll form our own band!'

'You need more than two tenors and a piper for a band, Dawn.'

That actually gave him an idea. But it was a really bad idea. It could benefit them both, though. But he would probably regret it.

He cleared his throat.

Marianne jumped, her eyes flying to his before narrowing. Yep, she'd definitely forgotten he was there.

'Look, your right, this isn't the best place for this discussion, but do you mind turning around and pretending you can't hear us or something? Give us some privacy, even if it's fake?'

Bog crossed his arms and concentrated on looking immovable. 'Ah was here first. If ye dinnae like it, ye can leave. Ah think the fish an' chips line is pretty short.'

She wrinkled her nose. 'Ew, no thanks. I've had waaay too many fish and chips in my life. The chips are okay, but if I ever see another piece of fried fish, I'm going to start killing people. And unlike most, I keep my sgian dubh sharp.' She pulled the knife out of her sock and waved it for emphasis.

Bog raise his hands. 'Woah, Tough Girl. Ah b'lieve ye. Please dinnae cut me wi' yer wee knife. Ah could bleed out slowly over the course of sev'ral weeks. It'd be a slow, agonizing death. An' then Ah'd have t'come back an' haunt ye. It'd be hard fer ye t'compete if Ah'm wailin' in yer ear ev'ry time ye strike in.'

She tried valiantly to maintain her glower, but he could see her lips twitching. She stuck the knife back in her sock. 'Fine. But mention fish to me one more time, and I will end you.'

He leaned down. 'Give it to us rrraaw and wiiiiggling. You keep nasty chips.'

She blinked, then grinned, shoving him in the arm. 'Yer 'opeless.'

He grinned back, pleased she'd not only gotten his reference but responded in kind.

'Oh my goodness, Marianne. You've finally found someone who's as big a nerd as you are. You should marry him now and have lots of nerd babies together.'

'Dawn!' Marianne's cheeks were bright red, and he was pretty sure his weren't much better. She shoved her sister, but Dawn was unperturbed.

'Actually, I pity your children. I've seen your Etsy feed.'

Marianne held up a warning finger. 'Don't you even.'

'Stormageddon onesie.'

'I will stuff you in the base drum. Nobody would even know you're there.'

Okay, she liked Lord of the Rings, Doctor Who, and she played bagpipes. Not to mention the violent tendencies. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

'Ye know, Ah actually have an openin' in mah pipe band. If yer interested. Ah mean, it's alright if yer not.' He cracked his neck. 'This is prob'ly a bad idea,' he muttered.

'Are you kidding? It's an awesome idea!' Marianne grinned at him. 'I love your band's music. And I'd get one of those cool kilts!' she gestured to the purple, green, and brown tartan he wore. 'Isle of Skye, right?'

He smirked. 'Aye. An' yer right - the kilt is pretty cool. It's certainly better than yers. Yer like the only band that wears Royal Stewart.'

'Hey, it wasn't my choice, believe me.'

'I like our kilts.'

'Dawn, we look like Scottish elves. And not the cool ones, either. Santa's elves.'

'I know. That's what I like!'

'You're embarrassing me. Please stop talking.'

'You're just jealous because you don't have my sense of style.'

'I have style. You have frighteningly bad taste. Seriously, how are we even related?'

'Trust me, that's something I ask myself every day.'

'Uh, excuse me, are you going to order something or what? You're holding up the line.'

Bog blinked at the meat pie vendor. He hadn't even realized they'd been steadily moving during the entire conversation. He turned back to the girls. 'Well lassies, what'll it be? Mah treat. It's the least Ah can do b'fore mah band destroys yours.'

Dawn beamed at him and reached up – way up – to pinch his cheek. 'Aw, thanks Boggy!'

He made a face. 'Bog.'

Marianne laughed. 'Yeah, thanks. I'd like the steak and mushroom, please.' She leaned towards Bog. 'Don't think I'm going to go easy on you, just because you tried to bribe me with food. You're going down, MacAlpine.'

'Ye first, Stirlin'.'

d-throw tachum d-throw d-strike

In the end, a visiting band from Colorado won. It didn't bother Marianne, though. This was her last competition with Fairfield, and she had more important things on her mind. She tracked Bog down at his band tent, where he was helping dismantle everything for the trip home.

She still couldn't get over how very tall he was. She'd seen him around the games, of course, but somehow he seemed taller now that she'd actually spoken to him. Probably because she'd never been that close to him before. At 5'7", she wasn't exactly tiny, but he dwarfed her by at least a foot, maybe more. And how could anyone have eyes that blue? They made him look like a character from Lord of the Rings. It didn't really matter which one, since the vast majority of the cast had ridiculously blue eyes. Although since he was so tall, he'd probably be an elf. An elf with crooked teeth. Or maybe an ent. He had a certain spiky, tree-like aura, with his sharp cheekbones and dark, messy hair. Whatever. He was certainly too tall and skinny to be a hobbit.

She snorted. Dawn was right. She was a nerd.

(In her defense, she'd favourited that onsie back when she was still engaged to Roland, and the prospect of one day having children wasn't nearly as unlikely as it was now. But even if she never had kids, a onsie that said 'Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All?' How could any self-respecting Whovian resist? Although Dawn would be the first person to tell her that 'self-respect' and 'Whovian' didn't belong in the same paragraph, let alone the same sentence. But Dawn had never appreciated Doctor Who.)

She couldn't believe she'd never talked to him before. Just from the time they'd spent in line, she'd discovered they shared a lot of interests. More important, they shared a sense of humour. And that accent of his didn't hurt, either. It was amazing the way a simple attempt to obtain sustenance had become a bonding experience. It even made her forgive Dawn for breaking her athletics restraining order. Not that she'd ever tell Dawn that.

He glanced her way and saw her watching. She gave him a jaunty two fingered salute, and he waved her over.

'Hey Bog! Congratulations on getting aggregate!'

'Thanks. It was the piobaireachd that did it. Ah'm surprised ye dinnae win anythin'.'

She lifted a shoulder. 'Eh, I'm not playing at solo competition quality right now. I wouldn't have done band competition this weekend, but I'm still officially on the band roster, so I was able to fill in since they only had five pipers. And the band competition music is dead easy. What piopaireachd did you play?'

'Flame o' Wrath.'

'Cool! That's my favourite!' She smiled mistily. 'Sometimes when I play it I imagine I'm circling Roland's burning house. It's my happy place.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Ye an' Roland must have some…int'restin' history.'

She snorted. 'You have no idea.'

He thought about it for a minute, and she braced herself for the questions. People always wanted the gory details. Instead, he shrugged. 'Fair enough. Why dinnae ye come an' meet the rest o' th'band?'

She beamed at him. In the back of her mind, she realized it was her first real smile in a long time. 'Lead the way, pipe major MacAlpine sir.'

He waved her forward with a long arm, and she hitched her pipe case higher on her shoulder.

'Ye can put yer case wi' our stuff, fer now.'

Thanks.' She set the dark purple case down next to an assortment of pipe and drum cases. Between the colour and ridiculous amount of patches she'd stitched onto it, she had no fear of misplacing it.

'Hey guys, c'mere fer a sec.' The band dropped what they were doing and came over, their curiosity obvious. 'This is Marianne. She's int'rested in joinin' the band. Marianne, this is Thane, our pipe sergeant.'

A short man with slightly buggy eyes and a friendly grin waved. 'Call me Thang.'

'That's Steph, our drum sergeant.' The plump woman next to Thang saluted with her drumsticks. 'We also have Finn, Brutus, Ben, Maxine, Leticia, Lizzie, an' a few others who've already left. Ye'll meet them at band practice.'

She got a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest at his casual assumption that she would be at their practice. Naturally, she refused to let it show. 'I assume I'll need to audition?'

He didn't seem to have thought about that, but he nodded. 'Aye, sure. We willnae have practice this week, on account o' the competition, but come next Wednesday. D'ye know the Dark Forest?'

'That's your bagpipe supply store on the edge of town, right?'

'Aye. We have band practice there Wednesday nights. It's in an old warehouse, so there's plenty o' room for everyone t'spread out.'

'And the pub will be open then, too,' interjected Steph. She had a surprisingly deep voice.

'Pub?'

'It's easier t'explain when ye see it. Anyway, come t' the Dark Forest next Wednesday at six. Play what ye like, and we can get ye started on the music. D'ye need directions?'

'Sure.' She could probably google it, but it couldn't hurt to have directions from someone who actually knew what they were doing. Besides, she was old-fashioned. She liked having the written instructions. 'So you don't have anything in particular you want to hear, like a 6/8 or a strathspey or something?'

He shrugged. 'Surprise me.'

'I think I can do that.'

'Well, in that case,' he held out a hand, which she shook firmly. Her hand looked absolutely tiny in his. 'Ah'll see ye Wednesday.'

And now for something completely different!

I've heard rumors of Bog in a kilt, and I've seen a couple of fan art on the subject, but nobody seems to go all the way and have him play bagpipes. So I will. Both Bog and Marianne are pipers, because I see it as this universe's version of the big duel. There will be dueling bagpipes at some point. Dawn and Sunny are tenor drummers, because neither of them feel like pipers to me. I think they would both like twirling mallets in pretty patterns. Roland is also a piper, and he's better than I want him to be. But he had to be pretty good with a sword in the movie, so if I'm sticking with my analogy…

Instead of my usual formula of plagiarizing two different universes (Strange Magic + X = fan fiction), I'm going to be basing most of this off of my own experiences as a piper and stories I've heard from other pipers (not that my career is necessarily that interesting, it just gives me a jumping-off point to embarrass Bog. And Marianne. But mostly Bog).

Bog's last name is my attempt to be clever. Clan MacAlpine were the original kings of Scotland, so King. But Scottish. Sterling sounds sorta kinda fairy, but it's still Scottish, as well.

Sgian dubh is pronounced 'skean du,' and means 'black' or 'hidden knife.' It was a small, last-resort kind of weapon, but it's mostly decorative now. It's worn in the sock or 'kilt hose,' with the handle visible. They're usually dull (because drunk pipers have been known to stab themselves in the leg trying to put them away), but like Marianne, I like to keep mine sharp. Because knives are cool. Also like Marianne and Bog, I never want to eat fried fish again. Way too many fish and chips in my career.

The Stormageddon onsie is a real thing. Check it out. It's awesome.

Piobaireachd is pronounced 'pe-brock.' It's the classical music of the bagpipes. It made up of a 'ground' or theme, followed by several variations on that theme. Piobaireachds can last anywhere from seven to twenty minutes. A grade one piper, which is the top level competition in America, and which for my purposes both Bog and Marianne are, has to have three piobaireachds memorized and ready to play for competition. The judge decides which one they want to hear on the day.

A Flame of Wrath for Squinting Patrick is an actual piobaireachd. The best-known story goes like this: To avenge his brother's murder, a piper set fire to the village where the murderer was hiding. While the town burned, he played the Flame of Wrath. Piobaireachd is groovy. I could easily picture Marianne playing it while Roland burned.

So, yeah. This will be pretty open-ended (and semi-educational!). I'll try not to have so many notes at the end of each chapter.

Sound interesting?