AN: Emma is getting married. So I wrote her a story.

Spoilers: Movie

Disclaimer: So many ways in which I do not own this.

Rating: Gen

Summary: Merida builds a kingdom, in her own time.

Three Whole Years

"I've been thinking," Merida says at dinner, using that cultured tone she'd finally perfected when her mother pointed out that it made her more likely to get her way. Her bow hangs on the back of her chair and her hair is neatly braided, though it is not pinned.

"Oh?" says Elinor. The queen no longer does paperwork at the table, but she's always thinking and is therefore sometimes distracted.

"Do tell, lass," says Fergus, holding the dogs at bay with one hand, eating what amounts to an entire hart with the other, and attempting to pay some measure of attention to his sons, if only to better anticipate any incipient chaos.

"Well," Merida says, "when the lairds made you king, you knew them. You'd fought a war together, and made our kingdom out of it. I know all the stories, but I don't really know the people. I'm to be their queen, and they don't really know me."

"We could have another gathering," says Fergus with a wink. "I thought the last one went rather well."

Elinor rolls her eyes, but holds her tongue where before she might have berated them both for taking matters so lightly. Fergus is never going to be a politician, she's accepted that now, but between his strengths and hers, they make a very good King.

"I was thinking something a bit more long term," Merida says. Across from here, Harris is baiting the hounds, distracting Fergus while Hubert dumps an entire cellar's worth of salt on their father's plate. All those lessons in keeping a straight face keep coming in unexpectedly handy. "I was thinking a year."

"A whole year?" says Fergus, setting down the bite he'd been about to take. Hamish looks disappointed.

"Each," says Merida. "One year for each clan."

Fergus makes noises like a surprised fish, but Merida is looking at her mother. The queen is thoughtful, as always, and a bit sad. She had not married Fergus blindly, as he was well-known within the clan even before he was made king, but she had never planned on ruling. She had done her best to prepare Merida, though the difference in their natures proved more ill than good. Since then, she has done her best to consider what might best suit her daughter. Merida remains adventurous, and perhaps time away from home, learning the kingdom with her feet instead of through books and lessons, might do her better.

"I think it's a good idea, dear," Elinor says. "We shall miss you, of course, but I think you're right. The clans will get to know you before you're queen, and you'll get to know your heart when it comes to them."

She means marriage, of course, which is a subject they've not revisited since the lairds left those months ago. Merida knows she can't put it off forever, but at least she and her mother have come to a middle ground about it. Meeting all the lads on their home ground might help, and seeing the other clan strongholds will help Merida rule them later.

"Right, then," says Fergus. "Three conditions. One: you get married here, three years from now, regardless of what happens between now and then."

"Fergus," says Elinor, but Merida cuts her off.

"No, mum, it's all right," she says. "You know as well as I do that the marriage will happen someday, unless you decide to marry the boys off one apiece to each of them."

Harris pauses in the middle of building a fort out of his trencher and stew, looking horrified, and then his face is covered with gravy as Hubert takes advantage of the distraction to fire his make-shift catapult. Hamish is fastening the lid back on the cellar, and Merida isn't sure he's heard, but Harris's reaction is enough for her at the moment, particularly once the hounds realize what's happened and try to lick him to death to get the drippings off his face. Elinor coughs politely, and the boys attempt to marshal themselves, but Merida can see the way her eyes dance.

"Two," her father says. "You'll come home in August for the harvest, and again for Yule."

"I'll look forward to it," says Merida. Yule is a time for family, and she hadn't looked forward to missing it. The harvest she could take or leave. Her mother has taken to showing her the accounting, rather than allowing her the freedom of the fields, and she's rather less fond of that.

"And three," Fergus picks up his shank of meat again, and doesn't notice that he immediately has the rapt attention of all four of his children. "If you don't like it, you can come home whenever you want."

"That seems very fair," Elinor says. She has done all the calculations long before her husband had, of course, but his straightforward way of stating things helps her muster her thoughts, and as much as it galls her, he and Merida do think similarly about many things. Elinor appreciates the translation.

"Will you excuse me, then?" Merida asks. "I have some letters to write."

"Of course, dear." Elinor looks at the boys with a pained expression. "Boys, if you're going to play with it, you might as well be excused too."

"Come on, lads," Merida says, and chases her brothers up the stairs.

"Three whole years, love!" Fergus says, collapsing back against the chair when they've gone.

"Most fathers lose their daughters to marriage entirely," Elinor points out. "At least you know Merida is coming back."

Fergus nods morosely, and is about to set into his plate again when Elinor comes over and puts her hand on his arm.

"I wouldn't, dear," she says.

"Ah, poor bairns," he says, grinning. "With you to spoil their fun."

She turns her head to avoid be blasted when he roars "BOYS!" in the direction of their chambers. She hears giggling in the distance, all three sons and her daughter too, and Fergus's closer rumble.

In the morning, three messengers go out, one each to Dingwall, MacIntosh and McGuffin. That afternoon, Merida begins to pack.

TBC...