A huge thank you to Noctus Fury for helping me not just with suggesting a good website for Scottish sayings, but for being an all around good person who gave me such amazing advices that made the writing progress easier! Thank you, friend!

Also, I did not make all the small details up. I give credits to all the websites I have to go through regarding infos about Medieval bathing, sleepwear, timeline of corsets, types of bed, and all that good stuff.

Lastly, will you guys prefer to have a certain Rapunzel and Flynn Rider appear in this story? Or would you rather have it purely of HTTYD and Brave? Let me know in the review section!

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Prologue- Part III

What Makes an Epic

The dock was vivid now, wooden plank by wooden plank stapled, protected to each other as they serve as platform.

As always, Merida awaits, her red hair was longer than he remembered. He arose one hand and waved, she returned her own, and laced it with her usual mischievous smile.

Slowly, as they neared, the red haired figure soon articulates to the lines that he already memorized. Though now, looking closely, there were a lot added as well. The sketches in his pad were seemingly obsolete as the girl slowly creeping in his vision was her, but somehow, older.

Unlike the girls in the village, Merida has a gentle sway dipped between the bottom of her chest, down to the rise of her hips. Now, her mother made her wear- he was entirely certain the Queen was the one at fault, a rich green overdress, with a gold kirtle underneath. But what stroked him was a peculiar velvet thing that wrapped around her whole abdomen. It was form fitting than her liking, but made her look awfully mature- almost like a woman, a Queen.

On the outside, she looked calm, poised, as what she was told to be, though when looking in, Hiccup can see the slight signs of her discomfort. Her eyes were almost fuming.

He smiled brightly as soon as he was sure she could see him and all his Hiccup-ness. It became their tradition to greet each other first when going to the other's land. In the circumstance for the last five years, however, their usual get up have had only been practiced with him going to hers. She hasn't been to Berk, and she'd always say "just yet", because she's quite determined she will. He wouldn't hold it against her, he promised he'll let her meet Toothless and he still hasn't as well. Just yet.

If it was fate, or omen, or a message from the gods, he doesn't know. It's just that every time he thinks of it, danger comes and the plan gets backtracked. The last time he was as close to bringing Toothless over was for today. He'd been planning of such meeting for a long while, that it already resulted to Toothless having had enough of his so called Merida talk and called it tell-tale unless he sees her with his huge, green eyes.

But Drago Bludvist happened. His dad was officially dead and his mother rose from one.

He's not sure if the gods hate him, or love him enough to let him be the star of their well thought of tales.

He was awoken from his suffering when their vessel bumped slightly to the platform. Beneath it, Merida had almost jumped, tackling him in her all consuming hug that knocked the air out of his lungs.

He closed his eyes, an instant reaction, and inhaled her earthly smell of apples and wood. There was also something else, a faint hint of fragrant oil at the base of her neck. He couldn't help but breathe her in, calming his still grieving heart with the reminder of her existence. That somewhere beyond his sturdy village, he has a friend who would allow him to crumble. "What's with the bear hug?" he asked, voice a bit wobbly than his liking. "Get it? Bear hug?"

"Eejit," she says, letting go of him and reached out to make eye contact.

Her eyes were saying everything all at once that he couldn't comprehend how to react.

Merida's family had always been open to him, telling him stories of their adventures in stride. The most repeated and most fascinating was Queen Elinor's fight with the demon bear, Mor'du. Highlanders have a rich way in telling their stories, their thick accent and their animate hands make the tales come alive just before his eyes.

Juxtaposed was his' and his tendency to remain enigmatic. At first, he kept the dragons a secret because he's not sure if they're as accepting as he hoped for them to be. Then he decided not to drag them in to such world, because although having them turned his' upside down- which actually made it better, he wouldn't want to put the Highlanders into possible danger, especially now that almost every war the Hooligans had faced were retaliation and revenge with what they believe in.

Thankfully, the royal family was incredibly considerate, taking whatever he can give in stride.

By the second day, he woke up a little later than when he normally does back home. Usually, whenever the sun starts to rise from the seas, so would he. His father's not going to feed himself, after all. But the bed situated in his guest chamber was phenomenal, he had never laid on a soft feathered bed before, as his' was wooden, made from beech, with only a pile of animal fur over it; still sturdy, still sometimes hard on his back when he sleeps wrongly.

A Viking bed, like almost anything that can be seen in Berk, was not made to give relaxation, or a sense of luxury, but rather, something one can get some rest on, something rather practical. Their bed was designed to be flexible, easy enough to bring in voyages.

Either that, or they really must love pain.

He never really thought about sleep, entirely accustomed to its necessity, but not its quality. After all, being a Viking is an occupational hazard. But it definitely didn't hurt to experience a bed as full as the clouds, a canopy and heavy silken sheets that wrapped him in the pretense of dozing under the night sky.

He sat at the side, stretching himself before shoveling underneath, reaching effortfully for his prosthetics. He noted to himself, that although the sleeping experience was nice, one disadvantage was the height of the configuration. That did help him wake up, fueling his muscles to finally come alive when he was certain they were gone. Alas, when he finally strapped himself up after the struggle, he jumped off and was about to start his day.

But unfortunately, his shirt and breeks were nowhere in sight. In its stead, there was a linen shirt, with a strip of tartan poking underneath.

He glanced around manically, one hand hiding his crotch in vain. In any moment, anybody could walk in and he's not one to strut. And so with enough strength he could muster, he ran to the wooden tub at the western section of the room, took off his prosthetic clumsily, and dipped himself in with his back directed to the door.

It was when the sun finally peaked, bright and glaring that Merida knocked on his door. Thankfully, he was already done rubbing his skin with the water and herb smelling oil emplaced on the corner. But unfortunately, he was still bare as the day he was born.

"Wait, wait, lemme just- take a moment" He hurriedly strapped his prosthetic, then eyed the tartan kilt with such terror, he momentarily stopped in his track, finding himself trapped in a foreign situation.

"Merida?"

"Aye?" Her voice was quite muffled, and his heart climbed itself in his throat.

"I don't know what to do with the skirt?"

There was a profound silence, of him dressing himself with the shirt, and relearning how to breathe steadily. Then, as though striking a cord, she was animate once again. His eyes widen as the door was slowly letting light from outside enter, apparently, she decided to lean against the door to support herself because she was laughing from her toes, up to her feisty hair.

With no dignity left to consider, he ran up to the door, placing himself flat in order for her not to see him.

"A skirt!, a skirt the lad says!," she poked her head at the space, and he hurriedly pushed his palm against her face, her forehead softly touching his skin. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm not exactly decent?" She kept chuckling against his palm, her skin heating up and she was red as her hair. She attempts to inch closer just to tease him, but he only retaliated by cowering closer to the door frame. "Al'right, al'right, ye' wee lamb" She removed her head, pulling herself, finally, from his space.

He sighed, lowering his defenses. And she in turn went back to sulking outside his chamber.

"It is the feileadh mor, if ye must kno'"

"Wow, thanks for the newfound knowledge, really" his voice was deadpanned, he immediately heard her snicker, "but you know how I can appreciate it even more? if I am already experiencing it first hand"

"Fine, fine, ye crabbit" as soon as she said it, he breathed in, and she puffed out.

"Boys, where are ye?"

There were soft patterings of running feet, and then there was argument. He kept inclining his head in hopes of hearing anything, but it seemed as though Merida was only talking to herself.

"oh ye nasty wee devils, fine, fine! Me' desert fer a week" there was a pause, "Aye, the lad's inside. Nay funny business, aight?"

He stumbled back, the door opening, and then came three heads sprouted with red hair. They all have the same face, all have the same smirks, probably still the same mind. It was like Ruffnut and Tuffnut three times over, but entirely and surely have faces of cherubs.

It took him one glance and he knew he was doomed, "Odin, help me"

After the torturous and extremely humiliating 'bonding' with the DunBroch triple devils, he found their sister sitting crossed legs on the stone corridor.

As soon as they emerged from the nest, with the speed that could outmatch the efforts of a gronckle, Harris, Hubert, and Hamish ran, pushing one another in an attempt to take lead. He was forcefully included in their competition, but he didn't mind losing, and for the most part, he felt uneasy walking around in the kilt.

He wobbled in front of her, straightening the cloth in front and at the back in fear of walking around with his bum, or worse, his front, free for all to see.

"Hey, this is not bad. The color matches my eyes" He twirled in front of her, chuckling as he does so. However, Merida only stared, her blue eyes shining with confusion and curiosity. He felt conscious a sudden with her raking his form boldly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He tried, leaning his head to look further in her eyes. "That bad huh?"

They looked at each other for a moment, and then she shook her head for a no,

"yer a lad, ye figure it out"

He looked around in wonder and awe, taking in every detail, every sharp line, every deep of curve in nook and crannies DunBroch has to offer. He's itching to do some sketching, maybe grasp some designs which are entirely foreign. Maybe pick up a thing or two that could aid them back home.

But at the moment, he'd fare with the thought that the Great Hall, in a whole, is similar to their own one back home. Both made of stone, both impressive, and both have a huge stunning fireplace that lights up the hall into life.

Glancing around the stretched table, he noticed they are only occupying almost a third of it, huddling close to the northern side which was occupied by the King. He was retelling the tale of how he lost his leg. Merida next to him was mouthing her father's words loosely, but her eyes gleamed.

Midway to the finish, he felt impatient tappings against his knee. Looking down, there stared one of the triplets- he's still not accustomed on how to tell them apart. The little devil has one brow raised as though waiting for him to protest. In his little arms were the Scottish delicacy called haggis, a pudding consisting of sheep's pluck. He glanced around the table, seeing the Queen deeply engrossed on her own plate, as well as nodding along her husband's words.

Taking one deep gulp, he scooped all the trade and placed them on his pile.

He took a spoonful, nostrils registering the smell, and finally took a bite. It was not bad, savory even. "-Me sweet bairn, Merida, sought a witch, turnin' her Ma' into a bear"

He blinked, swallowing his bite, before asking. "A witch?"

"Aye, but I didnnae' wan' her to turn into a bear, just change her mind aboot the marriage" Merida tried to defend herself, swishing her own haggis back and forth.

Elinor reached onto Merida's hand upon the table, her guarded eyes switching into warm ones.

"Och, but all turned oot well in the end. Me' Elinor fought the demon bear that took me' leg!"

Hiccup looked at Elinor in shock, his mouth rounding, awestruck. Queen Elinor smiled at him, bowing her head in gratitude for his reverence. He raised his tankard, smiling toothily, "To Queen Elinor, to Merida, to DunBroch"

"Cheers!" All the red haired members, even the triplets with their mugs of water, as well as Queen Elinor, raised their own tankards and clinked.

Merida smirked at him, "Hae any crazy thin's ye done?"

"Being a Viking is an occupational hazard" She rolled her eyes, nudging him in an attempt to make him elaborate.

"like actually enjoyin' haggis, fur one"

"Merida" The Queen sighed in exasperation, and to no one's surprise, Merida did not relent. She only smiled.

"Hmm, I once ate regurgitated fish, nothing fazes me anymore"

To his surprise though, the Queen gasped comically, as though offended. A small grimace on her face. "Yer' aff yer heid" The King, as well as Merida, and the triplets however, looked at him in a new light, as though he had just finally earned their respect.

"Whit aboot yer leg?"

"Merida, wheesht, lass! Yer' don' just ask ho' one los' a limb!"

"Och, fine Mum. Hiccup, laddie, may I ask how ye' lose yer' leg?"

"You know, something stupid and crazy" Despite her obvious distaste to her daughter's tactless behavior, she removed her icy glare to look at him with concern and curiosity. He tried to smile, which turned into a grimace as he found the guilt rise up in his throat like bile. "It was during the most recent war. Faced a bigger enemy than I could, ended up losing my foot in a fire"

The room went silent, glancing at one another as he awaits for sympathy, anger, or accusations of treachery. He knew they all sensed him lying, or at least keeping secrets. And he felt honored and guilty for having been entrusted with their friendship.

King Fergus cleared his throat, making him raise his eyes to meet his blue ones. "Was the enemy killed?"

"Yeah, yeah we did"

"Good lad"

He stared disbelieved. Merida bumped his arm with her shoulder, raising her own tankard up. Soon, Queen Elinor joined, a small smile on her face. Then, lastly, the King winked, clicking his tankard as his boisterous laughter boomed at the early hours of morning.

"Ter' Hiccup's leg"

"and yours too, King Fergus"

"an' mine's as well"

As the day progressed, he couldn't shake the thought of witches in his head. He hadn't encounter such creature before. The closest magical being was Gothi, and she does not practice anything close to what little he'd read of the topic concerning myths from his own people. However, all is the same, isn't it? There are sorcerers who use their ability to help, and certainly, there are those who do not.

That night, as he laid inside the confines of the canopy, the darkness it emitted swallowed him whole. He dreamt of a shadow gliding on top of a sleepy forest, a girl who has the fire blazing forever upon her head, and faces of people he doesn't know, staring at him through blank eyes, pupils turned into slits.

Before he could groan, and wake up to forget his dream on the next day, the shadow gliding shook his head in surprise, green eyes wide and staring at the frail bodies below, whispering, "maleficium"

His hands flexed and climbed upon the hand that was still nestled on his shoulder. "Thank you, Merida" She withdrew from his chest, tilting her head to look at his eyes. She has such expressive ones, he couldn't hell but succumb to her honesty, let it cleanse him from all the hurt and grief.

"Noo, let's get oot, took yer' so long to visit" They stepped on the edge, pushing some strength to climb the steps up to the lands.

"Sorry 'bout that, being a Viking is an occupational hazard"

"No need ter' apologize" She said, softly, her usually boisterous voice lacing seashells, the air passing her words into his ear, gentle sounds of comfort and reassurance. DunBroch it echoed. The sea- her, always calling him, pulling her back with the waves.

"Am jus' really glad yer' fine. Yer growin' a beard as well!" He scratched his stubble as she leaned closer to stare at the growing hair. He blushed despite himself. Merida had always have such beautiful eyes, but up close, she owns the soft spring skies. As though hope, they're as bright, circling around the black orb of her night.

"So' have yer' brought him yet?" It took him awhile, flustered as she kept her position, tilting her head, as he was sure her eyes swallowed him into their never ending abyss.

His thoughts clouded for a moment, trying to figure out who she might mean. Thankfully, as in any other time, Toothless saved him once more, appearing in his head with a humanly scoff, and rolling eyes.

"H-he um, afraid not. But soon, Merida, I promise"

"Bah, promises, promises" She shrugged him off her spell, turning around as he breathed out air he didn't realize he was holding.

He stared at her when she was not looking. Her hands snaked their way at her back, clawing their way onto the complicated knots of the mysterious structure constricting her abdomen.

"Och, am pure done with this! Am dying in this devil tort're device!" She started cursing then, and he chuckled as he came near.

"Haud yer' wheesht, and take this off mei, noo" She made one last attempt to pull it out, but she only stumbled back on him, groaning loudly in the process.

"Fine, fine, quit moving, and let me figure this out"

He held her waist in place- something he knew he'd probably think about later, and slap himself in shock and amazement of having to have done without fainting in the process.

They stood in a comforting share of silence. Her, staring, brooding over the distance, watching the forest as she contemplates. And he, with his skilled hands, trying to make sense of her complicated life in general.

"Mum's making haste ter' marry mei off again"

His nimble fingers stopped. "I thought it's by your own choice?"

"Aye, but am already 20. I hae been lucky ter' postpone that long, before, but not noo." Against his hands, she bowed back slightly, a sigh of defeat leaving her stubborn mind, and sharp tongue.

"Surely it won't be that bad, if you pick a good man"

"Nae, it's no' that. This is a nev'r ending process, ye' kno'? This won't jus' end when I choose ma' betrothed. The lad should someday bei King. An' ma' life will be all aboot being stuck in a castle, always thinkin' aboot whit ter' do, whit ter' act, even how ter' breathe. I fear I'll die without hain' ter' live ma' life. But before then, will I resent it? Resent the kingdom, ma' people, ma' own self?

"Hiccup?"

"Yeah, Mer?"

"Lets run away, yer' an mei' an' of course, Toothless an' Angus"

He smiled amidst the the sadness that crept up. What a terrible idea. A terrible idea that's weaved with hope and promises of adventure and happiness. Suddenly, he thought of it. They will find a new island, one where no war can touch, and no responsibilities resting upon their shoulders. In the morning, they'll run alongside Angus, exploring forests and swimming in streams. At night, they'll fly with Toothless, discovering places yet to be seen. He'll show Merida how bright and perfect the moon can be during the times she was supposed to be asleep. He'll know of acceptance, and she'll know of freedom.

Somewhere along the way, they'll already navigate the whole world, but they'll never be finished exploring the different facets of each other.

What a terrible idea. A terrifying idea.

"Merida-"

As he untie the knot stuck in the middle of the wretched device, the gold of the lace shimmered against the sun, mocking him to remind his position in her life.

"Or Hiccup, yer' could marry mei?"

He was a Viking Chief

She was the future Queen

His hands went limp as what separated them from her fall down to the sand. He stood, fingers splayed in front as though he was about to clasp them together in a position made by her people who pray.

"Merida, I'm-" he looked around, eyes frantic until he found hers among all the greens in the background. She turned and looked at him now, eyes all hopeful as a smile awaits to falter.

He didn't realize and thought Merida thinks of him as a better man than the rest of them. He holds her in such deep regard that he wouldn't allow himself to think of anything that could disrupt their unorthodox relationship. But a life with her, a life to spend laughing and getting frustrated, but ending up having fun, will be such an honor, and the perfect dream.

However, he couldn't, right? Not when they're living in two different worlds, with weights upon their shoulders.

The gods must really hate him

"-when my father died, I was immediately made Chief" There was a profound ache in his chest, of having to remember his dad and knowing he won't be seeing him causing ruckus for the rest of his life. And he wasn't ready yet, both as a heir, and also as a son.

His mother was now his adviser, but her years living in the wilderness without any form of human contact had taken a toll on her own capability of being human. She does not understand any conflicts regarding the heart anymore. Not dismissive, but profoundly confused. And so as she looked at his situation with the instincts of a mother, she decided to seek counsel and had thought off a solution.

One that he hadn't realize will change his' and Merida's story forever.

"and I'm not prepared to lead a whole village. I-I've never really thought I'd inherit it to be honest, but here it is, and I have to face it.

"I can't marry you, Merida. My fate's already set. I am to be wed to Astrid after this" He watched as her face fell and his chest ached and it hurt. Maybe he'd been entirely optimistic in viewing the situation, but it did not cross his mind that possibly, someday, she'll just be another person who happened to have had just walked by his life.

He looked at her, truly, openly without any resolve. Despite the bravery, the confident stance Merida has for herself, she still cowered. Her face, a canvas of moving paint dance around from one emotion to another, now putting the sadness, the weariness affront.

The ocean in her eyes leaked from her the sides, spilling over as droplets of waterfall cascade down her skin.

He tries to engrave her in his mind for safekeeping.

For until when will he remember every freckle, every stardust in her eyes? Will he always note every change? Will he always be there to see lines be created and multiply as life make her laugh and cry?

Will he believe in fate if fate does not have her in it?

Somewhere outside the wandering eyes, a lonesome hut was standing tall, dark fog oozing from what little space the door has from the ground below. Inside the dim quarters sat a woman who looked incredibly younger than her biological time. Her lips were the redness of blood, skin shining like pearls any man would desire to touch, and hair of silken black. Yet her eyes were weary like they have seen wars come and go.

She's been called with different names. A witch, some will profess. A demon, a monster, spawn of the devil, most will agree. Yet, a sorcerer, she very much preferred. However, the rotting heart which managed to still beat inside her chest refused any of those things. In the sanctuary of what little was left that remained pure, she was still human.

Her pale hands crept up erratically, stopping midway as her fingers flex as though wanting to jump from her body.

Inside her head, which was left rooted in where she stands in the realm of the present, she saw a flash of green. Then, the flesh underneath the bones of her limbs soon erupted as a trace of scorching heat traveled. Soon, she was writhing in her chair wrapped in silk. Her mouth combining syllables no man in such time and normality could comprehend.

The pain was unbearable, something she had forgotten what felt for a long time.

It was consuming, stripping her one by one. First, her skin, then her blood, her magic, her anger, until she's gone with the ashes. She'll be no different than the weaklings who had managed to almost destroy her.

"Mother, are you alright?" she was awaken by the sharp tone of her child's voice, his brown hard set eyes already shaking her from wandering far too long to the vision.

As soon as the pain that held her prisoner had gone, her rage boiled yet again the blood, the magic that cowered and begged against the fire.

She grabbed his wrist, her claw like nails digging in his flesh. He squirmed, yet knowing what was best for himself, he tried to stay put. "The time has finally arrived, my son. The Kingdom will be ours for the taking"

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Eejit- idiot

Crabbit- a bad-tempered, or grumpy person

Haud yer' wheesht- be quiet

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There you have it! A snippet of what will transpire to DunBroch soon!

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