A/N: Haha, writing snappy Elinor is so much fun. Isn't it great how much better her relationship with Merida is after the events of Brave? Sigh… (P.S. I have no idea if they waltzed in 10th century Scotland, but hey, artistic license, right?)

On the evening before the Highland Games, the King and Queen of DunBroch host a celebratory ball of sorts. It is similar to their usual events, except that the band is bigger and dancing is mandatory. Normally, prominent figures of neighboring lands would be invited, but tonight the castle is nearly full to capacity due to the numerous visitors. The party starts out smoothly as the four clans feast together in the great throne room, trading stories of war and loss, of travel and family. Dispositions grow increasingly merry as the drinks continue to flow, and heavy goblets clink as toast after toast is made.

"To the Highland Games!" calls one guest, his helmet jauntily slipping over one eye.

The response is enthusiastic. "Aye!"

Another lad, whose only hair consists of an enormous mustache, raises his mug: "To the fair Princess!"

"To the fair Princess!" the tables repeat, and drink. Ale sloshes over the rims and onto the floor. A poor, unsuspecting servant slips in a large puddle on his route through the hall. No one notices.

"To Her Majesty, the Queen!" comes one more shout.

The response is louder this time, partly out of genuine respect and partly from mob giddiness. The cheering goes on for quite some time, and after a very pointed look from his wife, Fergus rises to his feet to move things along.

"Music!" he declares with a roar, and with his gesture the chorus of bagpipes strikes up a joyful song. At this, the roomful of men musters to the dance floor clumsily. It is a funny sight to look upon, for few of the warriors have had the privilege of formal dance training, and some begin odd jigs while others simply swing their various weapons around randomly.

(There are more than a few near misses.)

Merida hides a grin from where she watches on her throne, and her brothers bounce excitedly on their bench, unable to resist joining the action. After a couple of minutes, Elinor sighs and waves the triplets off, and they disappear into the rambunctious crowd.

For once, Merida is glad that she is expected to sit attentively near her mother. She dreads the thought of what is coming later—she must dance with each of the suitors before the end of the night, and in her head she groans that her life might as well be over.

She glances over at Elinor, who is surveying the scene with her usual calm. They have been on shaky terms since the day before, when her mother lectured on about yet another ancient kingdom. In hopes of putting her mum in a better mood, Merida stayed out of her way all day before the evening festivities, and now is as good a time as any to give her argument another go.

"Mum? Do I, um, really have to dance with those lads?" she asks in a civil tone, careful not to whine.

Elinor glances at her daughter, and upholds her formal stance. Her lips barely move with her answer, and Merida strains her ears to hear the reply.

"Honestly, Merida, to bring this up here. Yes, of course ye must. The fate of this kingdom relies on yer cooperation tonight."

Her face may be expressionless, but the Princess can detect annoyance in her mum's voice. Even still, she presses on.

"I thought 'the fate of the kingdom' rested on the Highland Games," Merida grumbles.

"That's quite enough," snaps Elinor, finally turning to look at the girl. "One dance with each young man will be sufficient, and I won't hear any more about it."

"Mother, it's not fair!" Now she's whining.

"Oh, Merida! It's only a dance, not the end of the world," Elinor sighs. "Your lessons have prepared you," she adds, in case that's what this is all about—perhaps Merida is simply afraid of stumbling?

The redhead frowns upon hearing this. Truthfully she is rather agile in everyday life, and thus adept at the art of movement. However, she despises it in a formal setting, mostly out of spite towards her mother.

But she knows a defeat when she sees one.

"Fine, let's get it over with, then," she mutters.

It's not that she is worried about making a fool of herself; it is the dance partners themselves she is concerned with. Merida can only hope that they know a thing or two about it, and the rest is out of her hands. Elinor offers a small smile (is that empathy? Merida isn't positive, and it's over before she is properly sure) and rises from her seat before smoothing out her skirts.

The room falls silent in a moment, the band dying down unceremoniously after a short delay.

"If the suitors would please step forward for a dance, they will be joined by the Princess for the waltz," Elinor says clearly, hands clasped at her front.

Merida is first ushered into the arrogant arms of Young McIntosh, and the music starts up again. One-two-three, one-two-three, she counts as McIntosh constantly checks whether his blue body paint is smearing, and then whew, it is over. The princess curtsies politely, and it doesn't escape her notice when McIntosh's expression is one of incredulity, as if he cannot believe she isn't falling all over him by now. She resists the overwhelming urge to roll her eyeballs until they stick, and looks to Young MacGuffin for the next dance.

He is surprisingly nimble for such a large lad, and Merida feels more comfortable with him than McIntosh, who while dancing had paid more attention to the placement of his hair than of his feet . MacGuffin leads her easily around the floor, and even lifts her at the end, much to her delight. She doesn't deny that it is fun to feel weightless once in a while, not that she'd ever let on.

Two down, which leaves…oh, dear.

Wee Dingwall shuffles forward, his tartan sash drooping. Swallowing, Merida stifles a wince at the sight and tries not to consider the worst-case scenario. As the lad takes her hand is his own clammy one, her father gives what is probably supposed to be an encouraging smile but end up looking more like a sympathetic grimace.

The boy's knowledge on the subject of dancing soon proves to be lacking, and his vacant stare gives Merida the impression that he has abandoned trying long ago. She soon gives up the act of appearing courtly and feminine once her energy is required elsewhere: attempting not to fall while Dingwall constantly stomps on her thin slippers. She inwardly curses her luck, and settles for sucking in a breath each time his strangely heavy feet connect with hers. Merida can feel the room watching them, including her mother, whose hand has no doubt found its way to her chest in her trademark sign of worry.

When the dance is nearly over, Merida is about to sigh in relief when it happens. Her partner, clumsy as she's ever known someone to be, manages to trip into a tipsy guest, who looks dumbfounded as he topples into another. Merida watches with an open mouth as men collapse like playing cards, ending with no less than three crushed bagpipes and an unconscious dog. The whole ordeal takes less than a minute, and the Princess can only stare at the scrawny lad who has managed to bring half a roomful of fierce warriors to the ground.

Elinor interrupts the deafening silence with a clear of her throat, and professes that the party is indeed over. Merida flees the room the second a hum of confusion starts up, and it is much later when her mother finds her in her bedroom, fiddling with her sword.

"Merida, it was very rude to leave without a proper farewell," Elinor scolds right away.

Merida rolls her eyes, and continues to inspect the hilt of her weapon. "Mum, I'll apologize tomorrow."

Elinor sighs. "I suppose I don't blame ye for runnin' off, considerin' things," she says in a softer tone.

"The whole thing was a disaster," Merida groans, her hands over her face, and Elinor has to agree.

"It was a bit of a kerfuffle," she admits, and absentmindedly rubs one temple while Merida looks on with disbelief.

"A bit? Mum, he knocked out twelve people!"

Elinor brings a hand to her mouth, and giggles once. "It was quite somethin', wasn't it?" she marvels.

Merida flops on her back, the sword forgotten. "He'll never live it down!" she says gleefully.

"Now, now. A princess is never cruel," the Queen says sternly, but her amusement is ill masked.

It feels nice to have a laugh with her daughter, and Elinor lingers in her daughter's room a little longer. Neither of them wishes to think about tomorrow's events, when their good standing will undoubtedly face some hardship as the suitors officially compete for Merida's hand.

Like I'm a prize to be won, she thinks sadly through her smile. If her woe is apparent, Elinor doesn't notice.