Disclaimer: I don't own Hiccup or Merida, obviously. I'm not making any money off this. Both characters and the movies they come from belong to Dreamworks and Disney, respectively. If you really want to see something to blow you away, go watch the movies. Then think about these two interacting. Then you'll see what I mean.
CROSSING THE HORIZON
Uneasy Alliances
Merida used to enjoy her birthdays. She had many good ones especially as a wee lass. She remembered vividly her father giving her her first bow or her brothers (attempting) to make a cake for her. But the older she grew, the bigger her birthdays became until it was less a personal feast with her loved ones and more of a kingdom-wide social event. She was the only girl she knew who could count her age by the size and sheer spectacle of her birthday celebration.
It wasn't that Merida hated spectacles as a rule. She enjoyed the games, the food and, in general, she liked the company of their unruly neighbors. She loved dancing the eightsome reel, especially when her father and brothers joined in. But now that she was dancing the strathspey, a young lord on either side of her, Merida remembered why, exactly, she disliked her birthdays nowadays.
Unlike the vigorous eightsome reel, the strathspey was a slower, statelier court dance. The eightsome reel required concentration on movement; there were no finer dancers on the floor than Merida and the young lords then. The strathspey allowed for talk; Merida couldn't have been more awkward if she'd tried. It didn't help that her partner for a few minutes, Alan MacGuffin, spoke not a word though most dancers were talking round them. He alternated between looking at her as if she might grow two heads and eat him or tripping over his own feet. Or perhaps he was tripping over the sheer awkwardness hanging over them. Merida felt like she could barely breathe in it.
"Which dance do you like better?" she asked, finally. "I prefer the eightsome reel myself."
Alan mumbled something that was too low for her to understand.
"Uh, could you repeat that again?"
The boy, though already nearing his father's girth and stature, only blushed furiously and glanced at Lord MacGuffin. Lord MacGuffin nodded encouragingly at his son before turning back to Lord Macintosh, Lord Dingwall and Merida's mother Queen Elinor.
"It's insulting," continued Lord Macintosh, his voice loud even over the music and the sound of dancing feet. In honor of the princess's birthday, Lord Macintosh had deigned to change to a new kilt that looked exactly the same as his old one. (Lady Macintosh proclaimed the newness of the kilt in lofty tones; her father whispered its identical appearance to the old kilt in her ear). "He didn't even write back after you invited him—a courtesy no outsider, especially a Roman can—"
"Your eyes," said Alan. The words came in a rush like an arrow being loosed from a bow or water gushing from a newly dug well.
Merida refrained from jumping—but only just. "Err, yes?"
Alan stared at her face desperately as if trying to read a foreign language. "They're so..." he coughed, face red, and then said something in Doric too quickly for Merida to catch. At her raised brow, he took a deep, painful breath and said in slow, formal Gaelic, "Your eyes are... there's... there's two of them."
"Thank you?" She wasn't sure if it was a compliment or an observation—and so wasn't sure whether it was safe to laugh. Alan turned as red as her hair and for a moment he genuinely looked as if he might faint. A mad impulse to escape flitted through her. She was sure there was a loophole in a princess's etiquette that allowed her to leave in the middle of a dance to avoid being crushed to death. But the young heir to Clan MacGuffin was a decent dancer and he spun her away in time to the beat. Merida focused her eyes to their surroundings to give him a chance to recover.
Near the line of dancers, Merida saw Elinor hold up a hand, a gesture that silenced Lord Macintosh. The queen of the Highlands looked especially lovely tonight. Merida's mother wore a deep purple gown trimmed in gold and her glossy brown hair was fashioned in complicated braids that enhanced the golden crown on her head. "General Titus has already told us that his son is coming to visit him from the capital. Considering that he hasn't seen the boy in twenty years, milord can excuse the general's absence."
"Why wouldn't he—" began Lord Macintosh, face flashing contrition then curiosity.
"A dozen hunters must have worked for weeks to gather this much food," said Alan. Merida swung her eyes back to the young lord. His face had gained a modicum of calm but his palms, when their hands touched, was clammy and sweaty.
"Mhmm," responded Merida. Elinor had tried to include Merida in her birthday preparations but Merida was more interested in exploring the new ruins she'd found than assisting her mother. Truthfully, Merida had only a vague idea of the preparations made for her birthday.
Still, Alan's generous estimate couldn't have been far from the mark. The high table was laden with King Fergus's favorite dishes—roasted fowl, leg of sheep, thick slabs of steak. Flagons of ale and mead were placed prominently near the king's seat. Fresh strawberries, fragrant apples, succulent pears and warm, fresh-baked cakes were piled near Merida's end. No doubt Elinor had instructed it just so that the young princes could not so easily get to the desserts. However, judging by the empty seats and the untouched haggis on the princes' plates, Merida could see that her brothers found their dinner elsewhere. All the tables in the hall were groaning under the weight of similar dishes. Elinor could not possibly hope to keep her sons from all of them.
"The kitchens must have spent all of yesterday and today cooking and baking and roasting and stewing." The young Lord MacGuffin was calmer now and his movements were less jerky as he made some trifling observations about the hall. Merida inclined her head. This was better than his awkward compliments even if it was dull as a box of rocks. That was the trouble with Alan. He was as painstakingly proper and polite as if Elinor herself had just roasted him for three hours straight and he'd come out with one of the Queen's teaching rods jammed up his backside. Any deviation for the norm, even something as slight as a little compliment, made him blush and stutter like a mincing virginal lass.
They swept past the lords and Queen Elinor once more. "I don't know why you'd even want Romans here," Lord Dingwall said, pronouncing Roman like a curse. "This is the largest gathering of the clans. With Clan DunFell sworn under the king's banner, all clans, small and great, are now unified into one kingdom. We've never been stronger. Best not to let Romans see that."
"Sworn, aye, " said Lord Macintosh, shaking his head. "But I wouldn't trust DunFell's word. I've heard too many tales of raids and nighttime slaughters. My people in the borders are terrified."
"But all stand to gain with my Lady Queen's trading agreements in place," Lord MacGuffin interrupted.
"Especially since we've agreed to continue fostering," added Lord Dingwall. "When will the princess return to us? Milady Dingwall is most eager to—"
They switched partners. Niall, pale blond hair standing shockingly upright, grasped her arm, swung her around and moved back in perfect time with the music. In contrast to young MacGuffin's soft, almost meek hold, the young Lord Dingwall gripped her with firm fingers that belied his hidden strength. Merida had been dreading this encounter ever since her hasty escape from Clan Dingwall's ancestral home.
"Lord Dingwall," murmured Merida courteously as they joined hands and performed the steps. Niall merely stared at her, unblinking. She couldn't read his expression and it made the girl uneasy. The two circled around a different couple.
"Did you know that different wood makes different sounds even if you make the same kind of fiddle?" Niall asked as their hands joined then parted.
"Erm, what?" asked Merida brushing her loose hair back as she circled round him.
"Nothing. It looks like a full moon tonight."
"Oh, I thought you said something about a fiddle."
"Fiddles? Who talks about fiddles these days? Is that silly? That's so silly. I was commenting on ducks. They're so cute. And delicious."
"Uhh, yes. Ducks are quite good," Merida said. "I'll let my mother know you like ducks."
"The Queen likes ducks too?"
"Yes."
"Oh," he smiled at with a grin a trifle too broad. Then, just as suddenly as he began the conversation, he dropped his smile and stared at the musicians located near the throne. Merida was left to flounder in the silence.
Merida never quite knew what to expect of Niall. He was the smallest of her suitors and shorter than her, but his size and dreamy mien hid an almost comically terrifying ferocity when roused. He spoke sparingly and when he did, his comments were often nonsensical or entirely out of the blue. Of all the people Merida had seen Niall interact with, it was only with his father, Lord Dingwall, and Osgar Macintosh that Niall managed entire, though brief, conversations.
But other times… Say, for instance, when he cornered her in gardens with his harp in hand…
"You dance well, Princess," said Lord Dingwall's son.
"Thank you, Niall," she said, snapping to attention. Niall merely stared at her unblinking. Merida bit her lip and added, "Ah, you do too."
"I never thought much of dancing before I met you."
"Oh, thank... you?"
"This may be hard to believe, but I've never had training."
"That is hard to believe."
"This is what happens when the music flows through me. It's inspired by nature, by butterflies, by birds, by Osgar."
"Say what?"
"Um, nothing. I've never danced with Osgar before. He never taught me. This is all me. What a silly thing to suggest, Princess," he burst into high-pitched laughter.
"Okay..."
Niall blushed furiously and focused his gaze on the tables surrounding them. Merida waited a few moments before she was sure Niall wouldn't speak again. If he kept dropping out of the conversation like this, then he wouldn't have time to bring up Merida's abortive fostering with the Dingwalls.
Merida had been staying just over a month at the Dingwalls when she started feeling uncomfortable. The first few weeks of her visit went as smoothly as Queen Elinor could have hoped. Lord and Lady Dingwall, though overbearing, were affable and welcoming. Merida, conscious of the freedom she owed to the Dingwalls' good graces and even more conscious of her responsibilities as a princess, was receptive to their attention. A small part of the princess even looked forward to the change. She had never lived away from DunBroch and, while a large part of her would miss her family, there was a small, but insistent side that wondered what it would be like to live away from them.
It only took a few days for Merida to see why their only son was so quiet and reserved. His father took exceptional pride in his heir's martial achievements and encouraged him to practice without regard to his son's apparent love of music. Merida remembered vividly Niall's wide eyes when she told Lord Dingwall that of course she would like to hear Niall's playing. She knew, perhaps more than anyone, how suffocating it felt to not be heard.
After two weeks of listening to Niall's practice and encouraging him to stand up for himself, Niall had started turning up wherever she walked. In castle halls or shaded paths in the woods, she'd hear a noise, turn and catch a glimpse of his pale hair. Once, she'd nearly tripped over him when she exited her room in the morning. Merida wouldn't have minded the company so much except Niall almost always disappeared right after. It was disconcerting, puzzling and a little bit alarming. The garden serenade tipped it from eccentric to creepy. He never blinked or looked away from her as he sang a song about a shepherd's deep commitment to his sheep.
Merida beat a hasty escape from Clan Dingwall that very night. In the months since, Niall's letters to her, for the young lords must always write to her, was as brief and as strange as his conversation ("Today I realized that if you lick someone's elbow while they're not paying attention, they won't notice"). Tonight was the first time she'd seen Niall Dingwall face to face and it seemed as if he intended to continue his polite silence regarding the fiasco.
Merida couldn't have been more grateful. She gave Niall a small smile that he carefully avoided and relaxed enough to let her gaze wander. That was when Merida realized how many faces were turned their way—speculative and assessing. Many ducked their heads as soon as the princess caught sight of them, but Merida's expression froze nonetheless. Merida was used to attention; how could she not? She was the first born of Clan DunBroch, the highest born lady of the land. Still, she could feel traces of shame creeping along her cheeks.
Rumors of her allergic reaction to the sheep raised by the Dingwalls (a little lie that still made her blush with embarrassment and her mother with irritation) spread like fire after her return to DunBroch. Her brothers laughed themselves sick as soon as they heard. Alan wrote to say how sorry he was to hear of her illness. Osgar promised to slay ever sheep of that breed in her name.
Almost as if he was reading her thoughts, Niall said, "You remind me of a sheep."
"Pardon?" Merida said eloquently, fighting the urge to flinch.
"I made a song in honor of your beauty."
Elinor would know what to say. Merida's mother never lost her composure or the right words. But Merida? She could feel her stomach squirming. She opened her mouth but no words came. Instead, Merida coughed awkwardly and looked at everywhere but him.
Niall didn't seem to mind. "You must come back and continue your visit to our hall," he said earnestly, eyes peering intently into hers. "We—we changed our herd of sheep. I even burned my clothes and got new ones in case the wool made you sick."
Merida fought the urge to cringe and laugh at the same time. Behind Niall, she could see Lord Macintosh and Lord Dingwall continue speaking to her mother. She caught her mother's eye. It was only her mother's almost imperceptible eye roll that relaxed Merida enough to respond courteously, "It was a pleasure to visit your hall, milord. My mother the Queen is still deciding when to continue my visit." Niall twirled her around, and Merida nearly lost her balance.
"Aye, and you should continue your visit with Clan Macintosh," said Osgar Macintosh, claiming Merida's hand as her partner. They missed a step due to Merida's stumble. Osgar recovered quickly and flicked his hair just so. Nearby, a group of girls swooned. Merida hid a snort. Lean Osgar Macintosh with his glossy black hair and showy swordsmanship thought himself the handsomest man in the Highlands and perhaps he was. The problem was that he was just as much in love with himself as the rest of the girls were. "In our last great hunt, I killed the largest boar you've ever seen. If you come to our hall, I will personally show you the head of this fell beast and sing you the ballad of that hunt."
He tipped his head and sang a few lines loud enough to attract the attention of nearby dancers. Several ladies clapped enthusiastically.
"Oh, you don't—"
"Shh," Osgar pressed a finger against her lips. "I know what you're going to say. But you just have to wait to hear more. I can't give it all away at once."
Merida jerked her face away from his finger. "That would be…" she took a moment to make sure her voice would not layer her next word with sarcasm. "A treat."
Osgar dipped her, an unexpected flourish that made her gasp, and he winked at the lady standing in the sideline just behind Merida. He pulled her back up again, far too close, and extended his hand so she'd spin out, her skirt flaring. Merida glimpsed a blur of faces watching them.
"Look at the two of them," murmured Lady Macintosh quite loudly from the sidelines. She nodded approvingly at Merida and Osgar as they passed her.
Her daughter, the beautiful Helen, said in a more appropriate volume, "They dance well together."
Shows what you know, Merida thought, turning her head to the side so they wouldn't see her scowl. Helen Macintosh was Queen Elinor's ward for the past few months. After the fiasco of Merida's betrothal festival, Elinor sought to soothe the tension between the various clans by committing once more to the tradition of fostering. Merida was sent to the Dingwalls, as a nod of recognition to the Dingwalls' right to have Merida's hand under the old laws. Niall Dingwall's close cousin, Cesan, was sent to the remote fortress hall of the MacGuffins. Alan MacGuffin's younger brother Gordon was sent to the Macintoshes under Osgar's tutelage. Helen, Osgar's young sister, already famous for her beauty and her genteel manners, was sent to be Elinor's ward.
Merida suspected that Elinor wanted Merida to have a companion who was closer to her station in life in the hopes of making her transition to adulthood more bearable. It was one of the few miscalculations Elinor had ever made as Queen.
When Merida was first told of Helen's fostering in DunBroch, she imagined somebody like the boys except less disgusting. She hadn't expected someone who shadowed Elinor's every move, listened with rapt attention to every lesson and who imitated Elinor so perfectly. Having the girl attend to her was like having a miniature disapproving Elinor chained to her hip. It wasn't long before Merida gave up on befriending the girl and took to avoiding her like the plague.
In the end, it wasn't much different from how Merida treated Helen's brother. Except Merida had no good excuse for ignoring him seeing as he was supposed to be winning her heart. Frustration lanced through her chest at the absurdity of their position juxtaposed by the eager, watchful faces around them.
"Who's the latest supplicant?" Merida asked, interrupting him midstream from describing his newest warhorse. She meant to keep her tone playful, but her irritation edged her voice into something decidedly less friendly. "I heard you left Lady Mary absolutely brokenhearted from a tryst with her cousin Lady Rielle."
He blinked, surprise and a flicker of something else breaking his perfectly handsome, perfectly besotted smiling face gazing down at her. "Your jealousy flatters me, but those are only ugly rumors."
"Who's gonna break it to them?" Merida snorted. "You or me?"
"Everyone knows you're the only one who comes close to my noble features and matches my lineage."
Only years of being grilled on princess-like behavior kept Merida's mouth from dropping at that.
When he spun her around, she saw that they were dancing past a group of young warriors from Clan Macintosh. They raised their hands in toast to their young lord and he greeted it with a genial nod. Beyond them, Merida spotted her father sitting in the throne. The broad, red-haired king was laughing at something Kincaid, his most trusted war chieftain, said. They shook hands and Merida could guess they had just placed a bet on something—probably something the Queen wouldn't like hearing about judging by the sneaky smiles on both Fergus and Kincaid's faces.
When Osgar raised their joined hands, Merida had to strain to her tiptoes to keep him from pulling her arm. There was a whistle behind her. When she glanced back, she realized that the Macintosh warriors were eyeing her outstretched form lying against Osgar's lithe frame.
Merida scowled. She was a tool in Osgar Macintosh's arms—an adornment of greater worth than a bracelet but less valuable than a sword. Incensed, she pulled away and was abruptly yanked back. Merida's breath exploded from her as she was crushed against him. She struggled furiously against Osgar's tall frame, hissing, "What are you—"
"Stop moving, princess," Osgar commanded in a low voice. His dark blue eyes were focused elsewhere. "There's something happening at the entrance."
Merida pushed away from him far enough to realize why Osgar had pulled her against him so suddenly. The music had stopped and some of the other couples had bumped into each other. The other young lords had crowded close beside them.
Murmurs rippled throughout the great hall and heads turned. Alan's body blocked her view, but Osgar was able to peer around. "That animal better not show his face," he muttered. Then his grip on Merida tightened and he uttered a low hiss, "What are they doing here?"
"Who is it?" Merida asked, shaking off his grip. When he didn't answer, she stepped forward but was blocked by Niall Dingwall.
"Princess, you shouldn't," he said. His eyes flickered to Osgar's face before continuing. "It's naught to do with us."
"What?" she asked, outraged. He didn't budge; he wasn't even looking at her. At the corner of her eye, Merida noticed her father King Fergus make his way swiftly down the throne followed by Kincaid. He joined Queen Elinor and the clan lords as they made their way to the front. Whispers followed in their wake—loud enough that she could make out some of them. Beside her, the young lords were having their own whispered conversation.
"Half a dozen dirty centurions," Osgar hissed out of the corner of his mouth. "I don't recognize any of them."
"They don't look like simple centurions to me," Niall whispered. "They look… like warlords?" Though he was a head shorter than most, a simple "excuse me" from him was enough to make people move out of his view. The lad cursed underneath his breath and his mouth twisted on the strange, foreign word, "Officers… that's what they call their war leaders."
"The man in the front is a courier from Titus," said Alan, squinting his eyes. He muttered something in Doric, too fast for Merida to hear. At Osgar's frustrated "What?", Alan shook his head and said, "You can tell by the crest on his tunic. But the others... Really good armor and lots of swords and spears."
"Too much for simple messengers," Osgar growled.
Alan shifted to whisper to Niall again and Merida's view was clear. At the entrance to the great hall indeed stood a party of Romans with her mother, father and the clan lords. Nearby, warriors had their hands on the hilts of their weapons. Merida was too far away from them to hear but she recognized the Roman at the very front. He was one of the few scouts the Roman General trusted to make the trip north to deliver correspondence to the royal family.
This was the first time she saw him with more than two other companions, though.
The messenger bowed then gestured to another man behind. He was slight compared to the Highlanders surrounding him, but something in the way he tilted his head to survey his surroundings suggested that he wasn't looking at you so much as he was looking down at you. Whereas his company wore chainmail hauberks or studded leather armor, he wore the scale armor typical of higher-ranking Romans. Underneath, he wore a long sleeved, purple tunic and dark trousers. The dark brown cloak hanging from his shoulders brushed his ankles and was stained by mud and travel. His head was uncovered, though Merida was too far away to make out his features other than short, dark hair and a clean-shaven face.
The man bowed to King Fergus and Queen Elinor and spoke a few words; the messenger hurriedly added his own. Merida realized the messenger must have been translating. As usual, when Merida's father was unsure, he turned to his wife. The king and queen exchanged glances, conversations written in the furrow of his brow and the purse of her lips. The Roman glanced up and spoke a few more words, which the messenger dutifully translated. Queen Elinor responded then curtsied to the man. Behind her, King Fergus nodded reluctantly, though the clan lords merely scowled. Turning, Fergus gestured expansively to the great hall and said loudly, for the benefit of everyone, "Welcome, Lord Andres, to our great hall. We extend you our welcome and bid you partake in our food, drink and company." Queen Elinor clapped her hands and the musicians resumed their playing.
The tension in the room dissolved, though not completely. Osgar took her hand and they began dancing once more. Merida didn't feel much like dancing, but knew that to abandon him in the middle of the song would be shockingly rude. Still, the princess was distracted. While most people in the hall continued their feasting, Merida felt a certain unease in the air. Furtive whispers darted past and many eyes flicked to the Romans who had seated themselves by an empty table or scattered to find food and drink.
"I don't like it," Osgar said. He had been unusually silent throughout their dance and he hardly paid attention to the ladies who were watching him with desperate eyes. He seemed to realize his inattention and gave one lass a knowing grin.
I don't like you either, but here we are, Merida wanted to say. Instead, she breathed out through her nose and asked, in a voice carefully wiped clean of her disgust, "Don't like what?"
"Your Queen Mother is very kind, but to ask Romans to the feast is…" Osgar shook his head. "We have enough trouble with Clan DunFell." His dark blue eyes were cloudy in thought. It was an expression so rare on his face that she had trouble placing it. He blinked when he saw her stare then drew her in, so close that she felt his breath puff at her curls. Merida jerked her head away and glared at him, but he only smiled absently. That was another thing she hated about Osgar. Sometimes she wasn't sure if he was courting, truly courting, or if he was just being an idiot.
Merida spied the Romans still sitting by the table near one of the fires. They were enjoying their food and drink and exchanging excited words with each other. "What's there to be afraid of?" Merida asked. While understanding old prejudices, Merida could scarcely see why the clan lords would feel threatened. Most of her father's warriors towered over all these Romans and there were only a few of them and an army of Highlanders. "I thought you'd like it if it came to a fight," Merida added, her mouth curling, "You've legendary skills with the sword, if the rumors are true."
"I didn't say I was afraid," Osgar said, stiffening.
"No?" Merida asked sweetly. This time it was she who pushed into his space, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Very deliberately, she turned the wrong way and elbowed Osgar. "Then what's not to like?" Merida continued, ignoring Osgar's oomph of discomfort. Past Osgar's shoulder, Merida saw the Lord Andres walk by the line of dancers with Titus's messenger beside him. Titus's messenger looked pale and haggard, but Lord Andres looked composed, even when warriors or clan lords accosted them.
Osgar shook his head again. This time he was careful to keep her at the proper distance. "You wouldn't understand," Osgar said, a frown gracing his lips instead of its usual laconic smile. Merida had once wished that Osgar would treat her seriously, instead of one of the girls he was so fond of chasing and leaving. Now that he wasn't trying to impress her or flirt with her, Merida found that she liked him even less.
"Why?" asked Merida swiftly, anger creeping into her words. "Is it because I'm a—"
Their conversation was interrupted by the song's end. Merida couldn't tell if she was angry because she didn't finish her sentence or glad because it meant she wouldn't have a very public, heated spat with Osgar. Merida bowed, scarcely able to contain her emotions, and begged to be allowed to sit though all young lords pressed their invitations for a dance once again. Lord Dingwall appeared beside her when all but Niall walked away. "Princess," greeted Lord Dingwall, a smile on his ruddy face. "You and Niall dance very well together. Might he have another dance?"
"Thank you, but no," Merida said, unable to keep the flatness out of her tone. "Milord is very kind." And very obvious, she added inwardly.
"Then at least allow Niall to escort you back to the high table," Lord Dingwall said, oblivious to her tone or perhaps willfully choosing to ignore it. Merida wasn't sure which was worse. "The princess should be accompanied to her seat."
Merida's brow furrowed. Her patience was going to run out very quickly if her every step was dogged by a suitor. Belatedly, Merida could feel the attention of the clansman on her. The appearance of the Romans had distracted them, but now she could feel sharp eyes marking her every movement and whispers stalking her steps, assessing and speculating. Who would she pick? Of course she would pick the handsome Osgar Macintosh. No, Lord Dingwall had the most lands. But Alan MacGuffin was the gentlest of her suitors.
"Is it because of the Romans?" Merida asked. At Lord Dingwall's raised brow, Merida explained, "I think I'll be safe walking unescorted in my father's hall." She smiled a little to soften her words though her fist was clenched tightly. "They are only messengers, milord. It'll take a stronger, braver man to harm the princess."
"They're Romans, Princess," Lord Dingwall said, as if explaining a simple concept to a child, "and these are no mere messengers."
"What are they, then?" Merida asked, surprise masking her irritation.
"You don't need to worry, Princess," Lord Dingwall said. "The Dingwalls will take care of it for you." He glanced over her shoulder and when Merida turned, she saw Lord Macintosh gesturing for Lord Dingwall. "Go on, Niall," Lord Dingwall said hurriedly. "Make sure the princess gets back to her throne." With that, he walked off.
Merida focused on letting her breath and frustration out in one noisy exhale. What she really wanted to do was gnash her teeth and rave, but even Niall would notice that.
"Princess?" Niall stepped closer. He was staring at her again with that strange expression in his eyes and Merida felt suffocated—trapped. His arm rose to hover around her back as he gestured to the throne. "Please, come with me."
"No, Niall," Merida batted his hand aside. "This is my castle—my home. I've walked to the throne a million times. No one will attack me. I'm the princess."
Quick as a flash, his hand whipped out and grabbed her arm. "This time it's different. It's because you're the princess that you should have an escort."
Merida stopped, not so much from his grip, but from the shock. His wide, serious eyes and dark frown, so different from his airy absent-mindedness or nonsensical comments, were strange to her.
Niall was very nearly bowled over by an elderly woman in a sumptuous wine-dark gown and a white wimple. Her wine cup clattered to the ground and made a dark red puddle on the floor. "Oh, how clumsy of you!" exclaimed the woman with all the self righteous, insulted pride of an elder woman well used to getting her way.
It was Lady Ailis, her great aunt from her mother's side, and a great terror amongst the noble clan families for her sharp mouth and sharper wit. Ailis was the daughter of the old Lord Graham and the recent widow of Jamie, a renowned war hero and chieftain from Clan Campbell. Now in her advanced years as the sole lady of Eilean Donan Castle, a small estate surrounded by rich farmland and boarded by a river oft-used by travelers, and with her niece as Queen of DunBroch, Ailis had the enviable position of giving her rather strident opinion to anyone at any time.
"I'm so sorry," Niall steadied the older woman. His pale blue eyes were wide with fear. Apparently, Lady Ailis's reputation preceded her. "I didn't realize—"
"Well?" Lady Ailis shook off his hand.
Niall blinked.
"Stop apologizing, young man, and start fetching!" Ailis pointed one talon-like finger towards the tables. "Gawking is not nearly good enough to accompany an apology. When I was a maiden, I'd hardly go a foot without a handsome lad offering me a plate of food, a cup of wine or his arm to lean on much less if he'd knocked into me. Or do you think old women are less deserving of such courtesies because we sag?"
"I—of course, I didn't—" Niall stammered, thrown by her accusation. He seemed to shrink under her glare.
"I don't want to hear excuses." Her face was lined with age, but that only made her scowl even more ferocious. "Just go! I'll keep the princess company."
Niall scurried to obey.
"Aunt Ailis!" Merida hugged her great aunt close, murmuring, "I am so glad to see you."
"Strange lad, that."
"You've no idea." She made sure Niall was lost in the crowds before steering her aunt in the opposite direction. "Quick, let's start walking before he has a chance to get back."
"Running's not your style, my dear," said Lady Ailis in bemusement. She turned willingly, however, and the pair lost themselves in the shifting crowds. "Didn't you once laugh at a boy four years your elder and shamed him from ever setting foot in DunBroch?"
"He proposed to me when I was ten," the princess rolled her eyes. They skirted the dance floor and strode past the musicians with their bagpipes, lutes and fiddles. "Back then, all I wanted was to be a hero. It's not my fault I always beat him in practice sword fighting."
"Is Niall Dingwall better than you at sword fighting then?" Lady Ailis's smile was sardonic. Despite that her aunt's pace was the mincing walk of little old ladies, they were given a wide berth by the partygoers. Ailis surveyed them all with barely disguised amusement in her lively brown eyes.
"I haven't had the chance to find out." Merida slowed her pace to match her aunt, though she was impatient to be on the other end of the hall before Niall returned. Despite Ailis's composure, her grip on Merida's arm trembled and Merida didn't remember her aunt ever needing to lean so heavily on her before. Distracted, Merida continued, "The Dingwalls frowned on having the princess practice with their warriors. Guess they heard about me beating Roland too."
Her aunt laughed loudly, drawing the glances of those around them. Merida relaxed at the sound. She liked her aunt's laugh. It was bold as brass and cared not a whit for the opinions of others. Lady Ailis's visits were few and far between, but Merida cherished all of them. Ailis encouraged Elinor to give Merida more freedom. When she was ten and Elinor so exasperated from having to chase Merida away from the forest, Ailis convinced Elinor to apprentice the wayward princess to a hunter named Linus. Ailis reasoned that nothing was going to stop Merida from going into the woods, so it was better to give her the skills she needed to survive.
As they walked the hall, Merida plied her aunt with questions about the fertile lands south of DunBroch and the beautiful Eilean Donan Castle that was Ailis's home. Lady Ailis told her of the many hunts and the increasing number of traders coming through the outposts.
"Your mum's a sharp lass." Ailis motioned a servant forward with an imperious wave of a hand that glittered with a silver ring set with a ruby. The servant bowed and offered them cups of wine. "She makes trading easy, levies small taxes, and ships starts pouring into DunBroch. It's bold."
"It's kept dad and his war chieftains busy enough for months making sure everyone complied, but it's paid off." Merida remembered the days and weeks she wouldn't see her father or Kincaid or the other war chieftains as they tried to settle some dispute or forcibly maintain Elinor's protection of the trading vessels. The clans hadn't been happy to open up to outsiders, but they'd calmed down once they saw the goods flowing in. "And Linus?"
"He brings half the game all by himself even though he's twice the age of most of the hunters." Ailis kept Linus as the chief hunter for Eilean Donan castle after Merida finished her apprenticeship. It had been years since the princess had seen her old teacher, and she missed him terribly. "He's been distracted by rumors coming from Antonine's Wall, though."
They passed a table with two warriors competing in a drinking game. The crowd around the pair was cheering and counting the cups. Ailis downed her own cup before snatching one from the table much to the dismay of the warriors.
"That's my teacher," smiled Merida, a dimple in her cheek. "Always paranoid." It was a useful quality when out in the wilds by oneself, but Linus's grim predictions tended to take things as innocuous as the shape of a cloud wildly out of proportion. The princess took a cup from the competitors as well, just to make it fair, and flashed them both a grin. The warriors jostled each other at the princess's attention. "Could he not come?"
"Linus would rather hunt lions than go to parties," said Ailis, nodding to a lady with an upturned nose and was trailed by two servants. Loudly, Ailis said, "Lady Rowena, nice to see you." The lady nodded in return stiffly. "Fatter than ever. You must keep away from the sweets, dear."
Merida stifled a giggle.
"This feast does your clan credit," said Ailis, gazing at the spread. Merida nodded. The princess had never seen the castle look quite so festive. The floor was scrubbed, the furniture polished and every nook and cranny dusted. Fragrant threshes were laid out for their visitors and colorful banners festooned poles. King Fergus's hunting trophies were laid out in menacing attention throughout the great hall.
At the head of the hall was the throne—cleaned and waxed so that the wood shone in the soft candlelight and the flicker of the four roaring fireplaces. In honor of the visiting clansmen, three handsome long tables had been set. Near the end of each table hung the banner of a clan—the lyre for Clan Macintosh, the stone of Clan Dingwall, and the cauldron of Clan MacGuffin. Interspersed among the long tables were smaller tables set out for the smaller clans, resident castellans, important members of Clan Dunbroch, visiting warriors, wandering bards, prominent landowners, merchants and crofters. Dogs ran freely amongst the dancing feet and underneath tables. Merida spotted one of her brothers, a huge grin on his angelic, freckled face, riding a vicious-looking hunting hound that, in reality, was as meek as a lamb.
"Aye," Merida nodded, smiling fondly at her brother. She downed her cup, a heady sweet wine that made her head spin. "It's the first time all the clans have gathered together as one."
"It's a shame," Ailis shook her head. Her footsteps turned to a small alcove with a window that overlooked the courtyard. The alcove was occupied by one of Helen's followers, a Lady Brenda who spoke in teasing tones with a warrior. With one look from Lady Ailis, the couple beat a hasty retreat. "The stronger you are, the more enemies you have."
"Now you sound like Linus," Merida laughed. She helped her aunt settle in chair recently vacated by Lady Brenda. The older woman looked tired already though they couldn't have been walking for more than ten minutes.
"I wonder that we all don't sound more like Linus." Her tone was completely devoid of all amusement or irony.
It made Merida frown. "What do you mean?"
"Child, you can't be like…" Her aunt shrugged then pointed towards the newest members of her father's war-band. These were young lads having lately been trusted to take up the sword and the shield in the name of their king. They had none of the experience of the older warriors, but twice the swagger. They cheered as two of their friends began punching each other. "Times are changing."
"I know that." Merida cocked her hip to the one side, lips pursed. "I agreed to be fostered at the Dingwalls, didn't I? Every time any of the young lords come, I'm at their beck and call. I attend all my lessons. I'm present at every important dinner. I can name every lord, his family, their clan name, their banners and their halls."
"Then do you know who he is?" Ailis nodded to Andres who was standing several feet away talking to one of his men.
"Lord Andres." What had Romans to do with anything? "He came with one of General Titus's messengers."
Ailis's brown eyes narrowed in thought, and she shifted so that her back was to Andres. "D'you've any idea why he's here instead of the General?"
"I tried asking but Lord Dingwall said not to worry," Merida shook her head and took a long drink, disappointed when it ran empty. "General Titus probably felt bad for not being able to come and sent someone else important in his place." She waved to a servant to take the cup away. Once he was out of earshot, she uttered a low oath, "I just hate the way the lords treat me." Her thoughts felt a wee bit fuzzy and she realized she hadn't eaten anything at all today. She'd been far too preoccupied "entertaining" her young lords and now her belly was full of wine.
"You should care," Ailis said sharply in the rare tone of voice she'd used when she was seriously displeased with her niece. "Visiting Romans is not something to ignore." She surveyed Merida sternly from the rim of her cup. Abruptly, Merida felt like she was eight again.
"The clansmen give me more problems than Lord whoever sitting on a wall," Merida folded her arms, scowling. "I've got bigger things to worry about than visiting outlanders."
"Linus told me of some strange things south of Antonine's Wall. And the silence from lands held by the DunFells troubles me."
"Aren't there always rumors or terrible stories coming from the DunFell lands?" At her great aunt's reluctant nod, the princess continued, "Now that there's nothing, you get worried?"
"It just doesn't make sense. Ever since the new lord ascended, that area's been dead quiet. Usually, it's full of petty clans fighting each other."
"With the help of Lord Macintosh and Kincaid, Lord DunFell settled the fighting."
"Is that what your parents told you?" asked Ailis in the same tone that made Merida rethink her words. Merida gave her aunt a disgruntled look and Ailis finally laughed. "Just take care," Lady Ailis said. "Times are changing, princess."
"Enough about me," Merida tossed her hair to the side impatiently. The wine made her flush with warmth. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you've avoided all questions about yourself."
Lady Ailis avoided Merida's gaze and looked out at the hall. "Only boring things happen to little old ladies, Princess," Ailis raised a cup to her lips.
Merida hesitated then bent down, brow creased, "We were so worried when Lord Jamie died."
Lady Ailis stiffened, her wine cup centimeters from her mouth. Merida eyed with her concern. After a few moment's silence, Merida added, "Mum wanted to come right away but Lord Donal said…"
"Aye, Clan Campbell wanted to keep it to themselves," Ailis said with a strange, bitter smile on her face. "Can't have strangers seeing family wounds, can we?"
"Aunt?" Merida asked. Abruptly, she jerked back into the shadows as much as she could. Alan MacGuffin passed within a few feet of them. His eyes were red-rimmed and he clutched a tankard of ale tightly in one fist. He looked as though he were near tears or too far gone into his cups. Strange. Alan was one of the few warriors she knew who didn't drink until they were overcome. Thankfully, the lad passed her without ever noticing.
"Tell me, are your suitors so frightening that you must run away from them at your own birthday?"
Merida made a face at her aunt. "I'm not scared of them," she said, scowling. "It's just... everywhere I go, everywhere I turn, I trip over a young lord. And there's people watching, always watching, and waiting for me to magically fall in love with one of them. I need some room to breathe. That's all!" It was lucky that the room was so noisy. Otherwise, her outburst might have drawn some attention. But the Great Hall was full of people laughing and talking, of music and the sound of dancing feet, and the clatter of cups and trenchers.
"A sheep-free breath?"
Merida blushed. "Has the whole country heard that?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"No doubt it's passed Antonine's Wall and has gone as far north as the Barbaric Archipelagos," smirked Lady Ailis. "Really, Merida, if you couldn't come up with a better story, then you should have just told the truth."
"Oh, that'll go over very well. Lord and Lady Dingwall, I can't stay in your hall anymore because your son keeps staring at me and can't seem to tell me why and now he's started singing to me and I don't know what do about it anymore."
Lady Ailis guffawed. "I know Elinor keeps you sheltered, Princess, but I'm sure even you know what it means when a boy can't speak to you about his feelings."
"He doesn't even know me. And I don't know him. I only stayed in their hall for three weeks. He's a good lad, decent really, but he's just so … queer."
Ailis's hand on Merida's arm stopped her short. When Merida turned to look at her little aunt, the woman's face was solemn. "A decent man is rare these days, Princess," she said. "Do not sell that quality short in spite of his other less attractive features."
"That's easy for you to say," frowned Merida. "Your husband was one of the greatest warriors in his time. Women lost their hearts to him."
"As I said," repeated Lady Ailis. "Decent men are rare. Now, I think I'll go up to my chambers, my dear. I'm feeling very tired."
After Merida escorted her aunt to her chamber, she picked her way through the busy throng and tried to dispel the effects of the ale. The castle had never been so crowded. When her mother decided to expand the castle, she thought her mother mad. Castle DunBroch was beautiful exactly the way it was. But, as usual, her mother proved herself a wise woman. With the unification of the clans, the castle had never housed more people. Warriors and visiting lords populated the halls and used the newly renovated rooms. The servants' quarters had also been expanded to accommodate the needs of the various castellans and visitors. Using the increased revenue from trading policies she'd firmly enforced, the Queen redecorated and renovated existing rooms for increased comfort, efficiency and elegance. Elinor was known throughout the lands for her excellent taste and the refurbished Castle DunBroch was testimony to that. The feast should have felt chaotic and claustrophobic, but it didn't. There was an order to the chaos, an invisible dance to which the servants and even the lords moved to, and she knew her mother was the one pulling the strings.
Pausing, Merida observed her mother. As usual, Queen Elinor was surrounded by a bevy of people. Lord Dingwall, Macintosh and MacGuffin had been replaced with their ladies and attendants. They were surveying the great hall and murmuring amongst themselves. She knew her mother couldn't have been comfortable. Merida knew from experience that Lady Macintosh was prone to criticism, Lady Dingwall full of feigned graciousness, and Lady MacGuffin demanding. But none of it showed on Elinor's face. Her composure never slipped, her shoulders never sagged and her voice was always calm and even. Elinor was beautiful, wise, gracious and mature—qualities Merida tried to but could never really emulate. Elinor would have known what to say to Osgar Macintosh, Lord Dingwall and Niall Dingwall.
Her name spoken aloud caught her attention. Merida realized that she had wandered near the Lord Andres and Titus's messenger. The messenger had some more color to his cheeks now that he held a flagon of ale, but his eyes were still anxious. Small wonder with several Highlanders staring at them with open dislike. The messenger spoke to Andres in their own language but she heard her name often enough to realize that the messenger was telling Andres who she was. He nodded to Merida and gestured to the dance floor. Andres glanced once at Merida. Merida was surprised to find him handsome. She rarely thought that of men and she'd seen many parading around her in the hopes of catching her eye. But Andres was handsome, startlingly so. He had sharply defined cheekbones and dark curls framed a face that looked surprisingly young for one with so severe an expression. He couldn't have been that much older than her. He looked slim compared to her father, but Merida realized that Andres was by no means thin. He lacked the brute muscle of many Highland warriors but he didn't lack in strength. The long, lean lines of his body suggested the lion rather than the bear. His eyes, though, were the most striking feature of his eyes. They were light gray, a striking contrast to his dark hair, and they glanced at her, through her, then dismissed her. Andres shook his head and grinned sardonically. Merida didn't need to hear the words to know she'd been slighted.
The princess narrowed her eyes. Andres glanced at her once more but only bowed mockingly in her direction. Merida started forward, the spirits making her bold and short-tempered, but the sound of her mother's laughter stopped her. Merida glanced over her shoulder to see the Queen laughing with Lady MacGuffin. Of the three ladies, Merida knew Elinor found Lady MacGuffin the most difficult. Merida sighed and made her way back up to the high table where Kincaid was conversing with Fergus. As soon as she drew near, they stopped abruptly. Merida pursed her lips in annoyance, but this soon faded when Kincaid wrapped her in a bear hug.
"Well, well, if it isn't the little red-haired lass I used to rescue off of rooftops," Kincaid said, laughing. Kincaid was one of her father's most trusted warriors. He grew up with Fergus and served in Fergus's father's war-band before the old Lord of DunBroch died. Through fire and sword, Kincaid remained one of Fergus's strongest supporters and a formidable chief in their wars against the Vikings. He often went out with a company of warriors to decide some dispute or handle small raids. Queen Elinor favored him because, unlike many of Fergus's warriors, he was a calm and patient man who preferred to wait and assess the situation rather than rushing into battle. He had only recently returned to the castle after settling the dispute with the DunFell clan.
"Now it's my brothers you have to rescue off rooftops," Merida laughed after he set her down. Kincaid pulled out a chair and Merida sat down gratefully.
"No, no," Kincaid said, "You are the first and last DunBroch I'll help off rooftops. Your brothers are much smarter and know how to get themselves down from high places." He sat down beside her, easy and laughing. Merida hadn't realized how much she missed him.
"Too smart for their own good," Fergus rumbled from the throne. Merida's father looked imposing tonight. The king had not escaped Elinor's clutches, though he had certainly tried. Elinor had gifted him with a brand new chainmail hauberk, the finest the smiths of the kingdom had ever crafted made from the hardest steel, and he wore the ceremonial leather armor of the DunBroch lords over it. The fur cape he wore belonged to his grandfather who, legend had it, wrestled with a bear barehanded and won. It gleamed rich and dark in the firelight. But for all that he looked every inch the king tonight, Fergus was and always would be a father to Merida first. Fergus winked at Merida before draining his goblet. "For the life of me, I couldn't understand how you got to the roof without knowing how to climb down. You gave your mother such a fright and scared years off my life."
Merida shook her head, grinning. "I don't remember much of it," she confessed.
"Well, I do," said Kincaid, slamming his flagon down the table so hard ale spilled out. "You were crying tears enough to fill the lake because… who was it, milord?" Kincaid paused in his retelling to bite an apple and spit the seeds out. "Some young lad, her playmate was going away… Aye, it was milady Queen's friend—Valhallarama's boy!" Kincaid snapped his fingers and tossed the apple away. "Barf? Burp? Some strange name, I don't recall. You were told that the young lad wasn't coming back and you swore you wouldn't come down until he did."
"I'd never!" Merida snapped, blushing hotly. "I don't even know who Valhallarama is."
"You don't?" asked Kincaid, shooting her an odd look. "Valhallarama used to visit your mum all the time when you were young. You'd run off and get into all sorts of trouble with her son. I thought—"
"Leave her alone," Fergus said. Merida felt a fierce gratitude to her father. "Now she's got three fine young lads vying for her hand." The gratitude died a quick death. Merida glared at her father who only laughed.
"Phew," Kincaid said, standing up and taking his flagon with him. "I forgot how terrifying your glares are, Princess. I'll take my ale to someone who'll appreciate our wit." He winked at Merida, bowed to Fergus and walked away. When Merida turned back to her father, Fergus was still wearing the same huge grin that let her know she wasn't off the hook yet.
"Don't you start," Merida said, rolling her eyes as she walked over to her seat next to her father. Servants whisked the dishes Fergus emptied and replaced it with newer dishes bearing desserts. As if by magic, Hamish appeared with hands outstretched to grab a cake. Merida caught her younger brother in her arms and sat him on her lap. "Now, it's your turn to sit by me and keep away those suitors," she said, shaking a stern finger at her brother. "You promised to help me tonight."
Hamish only laughed and patted her cheek.
"Oh, all right, ya wee devil," sighed the princess. "Go on and have your dessert then." The boy took three cakes and ran to the dance floor.
"Maybe you've got them wrapped a little too tightly around your little finger," said Fergus, biting through an apple with a loud crunch. "Want me to have a talk with them?" Fergus smiled and cracked his knuckles ominously.
For a moment, Merida seriously considered it. Her father could give them a stern talking to—maybe even a stiff scare. But for what? For why? Unbidden, she recalled Lady Ailis's words. They were decent lads. They hadn't done anything wrong. They were just… being suitors. "The boys aren't… bad," Merida said reluctantly.
Fergus raised a wiry brow at her in disbelief, "No one else can hear us at the high table, you know."
"It's true," Merida protested weakly. "Niall can be strange sometimes, Osgar cocky and Alan shy as a newborn foal but… They're good lads. I can be friends with them." Merida's brow furrowed and she added, "Probably."
"If you say so," Fergus said, raising a toast to a warrior who just entered the hall. Then he shrugged, "Aye, you're probably right. I had my misgivings about the other lords too but nowhere will you find truer friends and allies." The king sampled a cake and sighed in pleasure. He offered his daughter a taste but Merida wasn't hungry. "What's the matter, lass? You look far too troubled for your birthday."
" It's just…" Merida hesitated. For once, she let her insecurities and worries crowd her young face though she was in front of all the clans. "I want to do right by the clans, Dad. I know that means becoming a proper lady to one of the young lords. But… I don't know if I can."
Fergus smiled and cupped Merida's slim shoulder in his wide hand. "Merida, you've got the strength of your father and the wisdom of your mother," he said. The warmth of his hand seeped through the fabric of her beautiful green gown—an early birthday present from her mother—and gave her some small comfort. "You'll make a fine lady—just like your mum was when she was your age."
"That's just it, Dad," Merida sighed, shoulders drooping. She plucked at the bell sleeves of her dress. Though they were celebrating her seventeenth birthday, Merida suddenly felt like she was a child again dressing up in her mother's clothing. "That's not me. I'm not… I'm not like mum…"
Whatever she was about to say next was interrupted by Elinor's arrival. The queen reminded them that it was time for the gift-giving ceremony. Her father gave her one last encouraging pat then Merida straightened up quickly and moved to her place in front of the high table. Many of the visiting clan lords gave her small treasures. An emissary from Clan DunFell presented her with a small silver bracelet. Lady Alerie, the current Lady of Clan Campbell, presented her with a beautiful night blue silk cloth. But the gifts Merida treasured most were from her family and the residents of Castle DunBroch. Kincaid gave her new bracers. Her brothers gave her a very interpretive drawing of the castle. Lady Ailis's attendant gave her a gold brooch in the shape of a bow and arrow. The Romans were near the end. The messenger stepped forward and translated haltingly Lord Andres's words.
"General Titus wishes to convey his deepest regrets to the Princess for not being able to come to her birthday," said the messenger. But Merida wasn't even paying attention. She stared coolly at Lord Andres who kept his face bland as he gazed back and said words in his own language. Though his manner was polite, something in his eyes expressed disdain. "My Lord Andres was told by General Titus of his affection for the royal family and bid him bring his present in his stead," said the messenger. As the messenger finished, Lord Andres stepped close. He smelled like rain and leather and horse and something else—a spice or perfume that she'd never smelled before. Though he was slender, he had a way of filling up the space around him. He stood no closer than the others who had given her presents, but it felt far more intimate—or intimidating, Merida couldn't decide.
Lord Andres gave her a small package. She unwrapped it with steady hands though she could feel his unnerving gaze on her. Underneath was a small box filled with seeds. She looked up in askance at Andres but he didn't speak. He simply stared at her face. Merida could feel a growing rumble around her. She thought she heard Lord Dingwall's agitated whisper. Merida didn't care. If he thought he could scare her, then Lord Andres knew nothing, knew even less than the clan lords. She was the daughter of the Bear King, the firstborn of Clan DunBroch. She was not afraid. She lifted her chin and raised a brow.
"General Titus knew… General Titus said you often liked hearing about his campaigns to the east," the messenger said, uncomfortable with the silence. "These are seeds of flowers that bloom in lands far to the east and south. He thought they might remind you of his stories."
It was a thoughtful present, Merida knew, even if she had the worst green thumb. If given by another man, another Roman, she would have smiled and thanked him sincerely. Instead, Merida inclined her head and said tersely, "Lord Andres honors me. Give General Titus my thanks and tell him that the princess desires his presence in the next occasion. His replacement is unsatisfactory." Andres quirked his brow and the messenger looked stricken. From behind her, she heard his mother whisper her name in warning. Merida didn't care. She treated Andres to the same smile he'd given her earlier, "Gifts are sweeter from the giver. In all other respects, Andres lives to the reputation of Romans." The messenger translated her words. She waited for Andres to frown at her, irritation or anger blazing in the depths of his light eyes. But there was nothing. His composure never broke; he didn't frown. He simply nodded and bowed.
Merida let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Abruptly, she heard the whispers circulating the room around her, even above the sound of music. She blinked and handed her gift to her mother who was frowning at her. Merida shrugged and turn to face her remaining gift-givers. At the end of the line were the young lords and their fathers. These were the important ones—the young lords' gifts represented the goodwill of their respective clans.
"Princess Merida," Osgar gave a deep excessive bow.
Merida fought not to roll her eyes.
"For your birthday, I present you this looking glass," he took a moment to check his reflection before continuing, "so that you may admire your beauty at any time." As usual, the end of Osgar's speech was punctuated by the swooning of several ladies. Osgar's father, Lord Macintosh, nodded approvingly. The looking glass was a beautiful work of art. The bright glass was set against a wooden frame with small, jade stones punctuating its circumference. The back of the frame was inlaid with the carvings of bears, swords, lyres and fish. Carved against the handle was a small inscription, "For the fairest face in all the land." No doubt Osgar was thinking of himself when he asked the craftsman to carve this.
"I—thank you," replied Merida in a high stilted tone, "It's… exactly what I wanted." To the side, she saw her father barely hiding his laughter while Elinor elbowed him. Her mother gave her an encouraging smile. "I will treasure this gift as a sign of our continued friendship," Merida finished by rote, setting the present aside.
"My dear Princess Merida," the Lord MacGuffin approached her. Merida blinked in surprise. She expected Alan to present the MacGuffin gift. Alan was nowhere to be seen but there was a young woman with brown hair and eyes dressed in the plain attire of the servants. Lord MacGuffin clasped Merida's hands in his. "My son begs leave to be excused but an important message from our hall arrived and needed to be attended to. Instead, I will present his gift to you." He gestured to the young woman to approach. This close, Merida could see the expression on the girl's face—sadness, hurt and, most of all, fear. Her hands trembled though she tried to hide it in her skirts. She bowed unsteadily to Merida and kept kneeling.
"M-my princess," the girl said in a voice that tried not to tremble.
"This is Sima," Lord MacGuffin clasped the girl's shoulder. "Sadly, her family was killed by raiding Vikings but she was saved by my son Alan in a heroic, bold rescue. Though her life is owed to my clan, I thought the princess of DunBroch would have far better use of such a servant. Sima is a sweet, gentle lass—useful, skilled at needlepoint, a very good cook and soft-spoken. Everything a princess should require of a companion!"
Merida tried not to let Lord MacGuffin see her horror. She had no objections to Sima, but the thought of handing off a servant who belonged to one clan and passing it off to another—as though they were objects and not people! She knew that some servants were attached to households. They owed their life to the clan family whether through debt or honor and the lords held ultimate control of their fate. But such servants of Clan DunBroch had always been treated like family. She could never imagine her father or mother giving one as a gift to another clan. She could see Fergus's frown and the other lords whispering amongst themselves. She glanced at Elinor who was staring intently at Sima and then at Lord MacGuffin. The Queen noticed Merida's stare and nodded.
"Sima is most welcome to the service of Clan DunBroch," said Merida abruptly in a silence that had perhaps gone too long. Sima's face had grown deathly pale in the interim and she hadn't stopped trembling. Merida held out her hand and drew Sima up. The girl had a square, thoughtful face with a large mouth. Long, sooty lashes framed her brown eyes. She was not a very attractive girl but something in her expression and mannerism spoke of much warmth. She looked disconcerted to be holding the hand of the princess and tried to curtsy again. "Sima," Merida touched the girl's shoulder gently. The girl glanced up at her. "I hope we become great friends." She turned back to Lord MacGuffin and said in frostier tones, "I thank you. I will treasure this gift as a sign of our continued friendship." The lord bowed to the princess and moved on. Merida gestured for Sima to stand beside her. The girl did so, still trembling.
Finally, Niall approached—the last of the gift-givers. Thankfully, a servant did not accompany him. Instead, Niall had in his hands a lyre and a familiar glint in his eyes. "Princess, your beauty inspired me to write a passionate song declaring my fervent admiration." His voice stumbled and color rose high in his cheek. To the side, his father elbowed his neighbors and pointed at his son, clearly pleased, before snapping his fingers. Nearby, the minstrels readied their fiddles, lyre and pipes. The song commenced and Niall began to sing.
"Oh, hells, he wasn't joking about the cursed song," Merida muttered, face turning red. The tune was actually quite catchy and she caught more than a few of the guests nodding their head or stomping to the beat of the song. When he tried to liken Merida's hair to that of a sheep, Merida felt her guts start shriveling up out of shame. She caught Osgar and his father snickering in the corner. Merida thought that Fergus was having the shakes until she realized that he was only trembling in the effort to keep his laughter silent. At the corner of her eye, she caught the Romans standing to the side. Andres's face was tranquil but she caught the messenger grinning and whispering to the others. The few minutes the song went on were the longest few minutes Merida had ever experienced. The last note had barely trailed off before she said in a loud voice. "I thank you for such a beautiful ballad, milord. I will treasure this gift as a sign of our continued friendship."
The guests applauded and Niall bowed, for once alert and pleased with himself. Osgar asked for an encore of the song and Niall gladly obliged. She was so focused on keeping the horror from her face that she didn't notice Sima glancing curiously at her. When the crowd asked for a third rendition, Merida could bear it no longer. She curtsied to her mother and fled the room.
Author's Notes: Yeahh, Merida's part is huge compared to Hiccup's. I had a lot more ground to cover in terms of reintroducing old characters, introducing new ones and alluding to significant political changes in the Highlands. I swear I tried breaking it up, but it just ended up being a lot in the first go. The chapter lengths will even out later on. Let me know what you think! Constructive criticisms and words of encouragement are greatly welcome.
On that note, a big thank you to everyone read/reviewed/liked the story so far! I'll usually send a thank you note or response to a question if the review is signed. Otherwise, I'll try to give you a shoutout here. So thank you crossovergirl and EvieLiz!
I should have mentioned this before, but CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see Hiccup and Merida interacting right away. They still have a ways to go before they meet each other.
Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on tumblr ( .com ). If you want to see more, come check it out!
