She'd tossed and turned half of the night away, and finally Merida sat up, exasperated. She wasn't even thinking of anything in particular; she was just restless and fretful, and lying there any longer wouldn't change a thing. There'd be milk in the kitchens. That would help her sleep. She rose and padded down the stairs and through the silent great hall, wrapped in her robe; when she reached the kitchens her dad was there, having a snack. She slipped around him to the buttery, peeking into jugs for plain milk. Once she found some she poured it into a cup and joined her dad.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, sliding a plate of biscuits toward her. There were crumbs in his beard and his eyes were bleary; until he'd spoken she hadn't been sure if he was actually awake or sleepwalking.
She took one and shook her head.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
She was a bit surprised to find that there was. "What if he doesn't come back, Dad?"
"He will if he knows what's good for him," he grumbled.
"Dad."
He sighed. "Lass, I've no reason to think he won't come back. In fact, I'm willing to bet that he'll do everything in his power to come back to you."
Here and now it was cold comfort. "Tell me the truth. Will it be best for the kingdom if I marry one of the others? And don't tell me the lords have agreed to whatever I want." As he opened his mouth to give her some pat reassurance she repeated, more fiercely, "Tell me the truth."
He shut his mouth and finished chewing his biscuit before reaching over to her cup and taking a swig of the milk. She let him stall for time; she couldn't demand the perfect answer right away, not at this time of the night. He rubbed his eyes.
"You've grown so much these past few years. You were..."
"Selfish and childish?" she suggested dully.
Fergus shrugged one shoulder. "Well, you were a child. But now you're a young woman. You've learned so many lessons, survived kidnapping and ending up in a foreign land. You've changed, we can all see it."
"Changed for the better, I hope."
"Yes, love," he said patiently. "Before there was a little girl willing to risk war to get her way; now there's a princess who knows the best way to fight for what she wants, but also knows to ask whether or not what she wants is the right thing for all of us. That's what the kingdom needs," he said, gently but firmly, as she looked up. "Not some daft lad who thinks he can charge in and protect you from danger, thus saving us all. DunBroch needs a princess, and a queen, who loves and dares and thinks. And if the man who marries her will help her with that, the way Hiccup does you, then the kingdom will be in safe hands."
"Thank you, Dad," she whispered. They stood in silence as she sipped her milk and he brushed away crumbs, trying to hide his presence.
Before he left he gave her a squeeze around the shoulders. "Feel better now?"
"A little." She tried to smile up at him, not wanting him to worry about her, not any more than he'd already had to worry, but she could only manage for a second before the smile slipped away. "I just wish I knew that he was going to come back."
"I wish I could promise he would."
If her father had his way, she'd always be safe and happy. But then again, if he'd had his way, she never would have been kidnapped in the first place, which would mean that she never would've met Hiccup. Sometimes she wondered what would have happened if she'd gone home when she was tired that day instead of deciding it was safe to nap in the woods. Would she have given in to one of the heirs and be married by now, Lady MacGuffin or Lady Dingwall or Lady Macintosh, living in a manor far away? Would any of them let her ride and shoot whenever she wanted, or would they expect her to stay at home, only venturing out by her husband's side? Surely they wouldn't; surely they understood and respected her enough not to deny her the solace of her favorite pastimes.
Maybe it was time to give some serious thought to which of them she'd pick if, for whatever reason, he didn't return. Her whole heart rebelled, calling her a coward for not trusting in him, as if the strength of her belief alone would be enough to draw him back. But that was her heart; her mind stood firm. It would just be a contingency plan. Better to think though it now, calm and patient, and not have to use it, than to be caught unawares on the day. Right. She sat on a low chair in front of the huge kitchen fire and stretched her toes toward it. And no comparing them to Hiccup, she reminded herself firmly. This would never work if she brought him into it.
Wee Dingwall was a funny lad, though often not on purpose. She didn't think it would be too kind to choose him (as second choice, her heart reminded her) if she'd be laughing at him the whole time and him not knowing why. For what it was worth, she supposed that Young Macintosh was the handsomest of them, and she wouldn't deny that she liked the clan's blue paint. She thought it would suit her. But someone as vain as he was would surely want a wife who was mostly decorative, and she was not made to be a statue. Young MacGuffin was shy and unassuming; she'd easily be able to ride roughshod over him, and while she'd be free, after a fashion, it wouldn't be any fun. Besides, he reminded her too much of Fishlegs. It would be hard to look at him without thinking of Berk and what she couldn't have. Macintosh or Dingwall, then? Macintosh might be less boring—she could probably start some good rows with him, but then again she might kill him in his sleep. Dingwall might be easier to get on with, if she could manage to stay awake.
She fell asleep without having decided, and dreamed of her first and last and only choice.
