The Once and Future King

Part II: The Noble Knight So Fair

Chapter 2

DRABBLE-FORM READING AHEAD:

Summarized sections in bold. Prose in normal type.

"Okay, let me get this straight."

Despite the initial of misunderstanding, the tension between the two adolescents cleared as the evening passed by. That said, there was still a lot of misunderstanding to be cleared, because our white-haired hero wasn't, well, the sharpest knife drawer.

Jack said, very slowly, "You are not Lord Hamish of Dunbroch."

The redhead nodded too slowly. "Yes."

"Lord Hamish of Dunbroch is your brother," he then continued, his brows knitting themselves together as he recalled all that had just been explained to him, "and he's in a set of identical triplets."

"Yes," conceded his guest, taking another drink from her mug. "My two other brothers are Lord Harris and Lord Hubert."

"And they're all seven years old." His voice was becoming increasingly high-pitched as they went down the information, as if he was becoming increasing skeptical of whatever he said. "And you're a Lady of Dunbroch. Who ran away from home. And dresses up as a guy. And uses her seven year old brother's name."

"Hey, it's justified," she insisted, noting the accusatory in his tone. "My mum wanted to marry me off without asking for my permission. There was this whole ceremony to choose my suitor and well,-" she pulled a face "- the results were off-putting. I had to get away, and the only way I could travel undisturbed was as a guy."

Jack was puzzled. "If the whole marriage thing bothered you so much, why didn't you talk it out with your mother? Maybe ask her to wait a few years, or pick someone you like. You are only sixteen, after all."

Merida made a harsh snort, leaning herself back in the chair. The words uttered were bitter. "She doesn't care about what I want."

"How do you know?" Jack tried to sound cheerily.

"Because I've tried to talk to her before and she just -" the redhead sighed, shaking back her curls. "Just take my word that it's hopeless."

Jack opened his mouth to throw in a well-meant, optimistic 'you don't mean that' but he saw she did mean it, and it was likely she had experiences to back her up. Running from home – from luxury and from security – could not have been an easy decision, and there was something that must have triggered it.

As if she had heard his thoughts, the girl told him, albeit sheepishly, "And she also really mad at me for humiliating her and the suitors during the ceremony."

Jack wasn't familiar with all these 'ceremonies', partly because he was common-born and had little knowledge about the life of nobility till recently, and partly because Dukedom of Dunbroch was located so far off from the central Berk that it had its own peculiar traditions. "What happened?"

"There was an archery competition, in which the winner would have 'earned' my hand," she narrated with a sour expression. "The first born of each clan – there were three clans that came, y'see – all participated. It seemed then that the son of Lord Dingwall would win – he's drooling idiot, by the way - but then I took up my bow and struck three targets straight on the bull's eye. " She pumped a fist into her palm for emphasis. "I shot for my own hand, so technically I won. That should have been guaranteed spinsterhood." She let out a low growl. "My mother took very badly. Very, very badly. That's when I ran off."

Jack chuckled at the story, which earned a murderous glare from her. He had seen how swiftly she had battled the bear in the woods with the bow, so he quickly covered it with an awkward cough.

"So," he began on a more cheery note to brighten out the soberness. "What do you really want then, Merida? To join a nunnery?"

"No, eejit. " The flick that he received on his forehead from her, though much deserved, did hurt, and as he rubbed his wound, he could not help but compare this fiery lady to a certain blonde maidservant he knew. "I want-" there was an uncharacteristic wistfulness in her tone, almost softening her harsh expression "-I want the freedom to choose my fate, I guess."

"Freedom to choose one's fate," Jack echoed thoughtfully. That brought back the memories of the first time his destiny had been announced to him. He never chose to have magic, and he certainly never chose to have use them to protect a walking fishbone – ahem – royal walking fishbone, but destiny was destiny. But there were some nights that he dreamed that he might be stronger than the fate plastered on him – that he was true author of his own destiny. He wasn't sure what he would change about his life, but it was a thrilling idea nonetheless. "What would you do with such freedom?"

The lady of Dunbroch didn't answer immediately, taking another sip of water and stared off into the fireplace. Then, she drew herself closer to him, saying in utmost seriousness, "Don't laugh."

Jack made a show of crossing his heart with a finger. "On my honour."

"Alright." She let out an exhale, tapping her knee. For the fierce front she put up, she seemed surprising nervous. Then, she said, "I want to be a knight. Of Berk. Like an actual one."

Jack's immediate response wasn't the usual 'You're a woman. You aren't allowed to fight, even less become a knight.' That was his second response.

His first response, in accordance to his oath, wasn't a laugh either. Rather, he leaned himself away from her, clutching the edge of the table and his eyes teeming in horror. "What a horrible idea!"

Merida was clearly not used to such a reaction. "Horrible? Because I'm a girl?"

"No!" Disgust was twisted onto Jack's countenance. "The Knights of Berk? Why them? They're a bunch of snotty, self-absorbed blue-bloods that kill-" he bit his tongue before he could say 'magic' "-helpless creatures. Don't you know that they butcher dragons in the town ring as an initiation test?"

"That's because magical creatures like dragons are dangerous," she answered, a brow raised at him. "I mean, look-" the redhead gestured at the bandages on around her ribs "-the huge black bear that attacked us wasn't exactly trying to get a cuddle. The Knights of Berk protect not just the Castle Berk but all of the lands and it people from being harmed. It's not an evil thing, you know. It's pretty downright noble, if I might say so." She folded her arms, daring him to challenge her.

There was no way that he could really explain his perspective without giving away his own 'abilities', and he had to admit that she was right. Magical creatures were often powerful, irrational beings who didn't spare the magical humans any more than the unmagical. Despite his own misgivings, he couldn't really fault her reasoning.

"So you want to want to dedicate to your life to fight monsters with a bunch of sweaty, self-indulgent noblemen," Jack said, mockery laced in every syllable. "That's the dream."

"I'm serious. I've considered it," she told him crossly. "The Knights of Berk is a flawed order, admittedly, but it's one of most powerful forces in the Barbaric Archipelego for a reason – because it's based on strong principles. Fundamentally, a Knight protects the weak and defenseless. He's honest and good. He's chivalrous and valorous. He seeks honor and truth. I'm a good fighter already-"

"I see the humility there," Jack piped in, which earned a sharp nudge from her. "Ow!"

"I am a good fighter," Merida repeated herself, the iron in her eyes warning him from teasing her further. "But I want to be a fighter for good. That's what a true knight is. If I could change my fate, that's what I would be."

He might have been mistaken, but the boy with white hair could have sworn that the conviction in her voice made her sound older and wiser than Tooth even. When he thought of Knights, he thought of boastful fools like Sir Snotlout, or grouchy old coots like Sir Bunnymund, or even the nervous bookworm of Sir Fishlegs. But when she thought of Knights, she thought of heroes. Protectors. Guardians. She dreamed of what the Knight of Berk should be, which his prejudices would not let him see, and it was a dream of hope.

But because he's himself, he told her, "That was so, so sappy."

The damage she inflicted on his forehead probably hurt more than the wounds that the demonish bear had granted her.

There were days that Hiccup really felt that his father had given him a manservant for the soul purpose of torturing him.

"Good morning, your highness!" an overtly bright voice jerked him out of sleep. He could hear the curtain being pulled apart. Warm pouring in meant that the sun was shining. Splendid. "It's a beautiful day and it's dying to meet you."

Hiccup let out a strained groan under the covers of thick furs over the mattress. He said in a between a yawn - "I'm not awake."

"Yes, you are," Jack insisted. Hiccup heard the taller boy marching over to the four-poster bed so he quickly grabbed hold of the furs. When the manservant tried to yank the covers off, he was met with resistance by the prince who held fast to them. "Really, sire, can't you just wake up already? I'll push you off the bed if you don't."

"You're welcome to try," Hiccup retorted instantly, his reluctance bubbling into irritation.

And that's how the young prince collapsed from his bed with an ungraceful 'oomphf', wrapped like a sausage in the covers and his head plonked against the floorboard. He glared daggers at the white-haired boy gazing down smugly at him.

"Now, come on, sire," the manservant said with a grin. "We've got training today. Isn't that fantastic?"

Ah, Knight training! Hiccup sighed as he thought about his now unbandaged left hand. It had just healed up yesterday, and Tooth had deemed him fit to return to knight training. He had pleaded her to reconsider her decision, claiming that there was still a slight ache in his arm muscles that it clearly impossible to do such a task. Unfortunately, that the physician had then told him that exercise and stretching was clearly what his arm needed right now. What's worse was that his father had spoken to her himself, so there was no way Hiccup could fake the diagnosis and prescription.

Shrugging the furs off himself, Hiccup set his feet to the ground with a sigh. Shuffling himself to the table where his breakfast sat on a gleaming dish, he sunk down on the chair and began picking at the food.

"Say, sire," Jack said, as he picked up the furs and beat it off the dirt, "how do you become a knight?"

Hiccup thought this a peculiar question, so naturally he queried, "Why do you want to know?"

"Oh, I don't know." The manservant shrugged in a falsely careless manner as he folded it up in to a neat pile. This had been a result of many, many repeats that the boy had been forced to practice by the head servant before it could be deemed worthy of an heir's bedroom – even if that heir was to be Berk's future downfall. "Maybe, I know someone, well, who wants to be one?"

It was too early to be dealing with nonsense, Hiccup thought to himself as he stabbed his knife through the overcooked meat. The palace cooks were not exactly the finest in the world, but the Viking-blood in Berkians demanded that they warrior types could put up with all kinds of awful food. Perhaps irritation with the poor-tasting meal set the fire off in Hiccup, or it might just be Jack himself. "Forget, Jack. You'll never be a knight. The first criterion is noble birth."

"Oh, no, no, I don't want to be a knight," the manservant hastily put in, throwing his hands at the same time. "But let's just say I know a friend is, ahem, of noble birth who's interested."

"It takes more than mere interest." The cynicism in Hiccup's tone made it clear that he didn't believe in Jack's so-called 'friend'. "Sir Bunnymund screens any prospective knights, and he's a tough judge. Impressing him is no breeze. After that, all knights go through intense physical training which can take up to ten years to complete." He knew that some knights could finish up their training earlier, like Sir Snotlout and Sir Fishlegs, but Hiccup had been one of the unfortunate losers who was undoubtedly going to stay at training level until his was old and grey. "Then only the best warriors get picked out for the initiation tests. That's by killing a magical beast with the public to witness. You should warn your 'friend' about that."

Unlike the pale, frightened expression that Hiccup was hoping for, the manservant only appeared thoughtful, as he was actually processing the information. "Thanks. That was helpful."

After he had propped up the pillows and straightened the furs over the hard bed, Jack made a beeline for the door. Puzzled, Hiccup called out, slightly alarmed that he might have taken the information seriously, "You'll still need to prove you're a noble! You have to present a seal of nobility!"

"Got it!" And without asking for permission, Jack departed from his presence.

Hiccup stared at the empty door for a while, then at his plate, then said to no one in particular, "Why do I bother, really? Even he doesn't listen to me."

He received no reply.

He dug into his meal and plotted on how to get back at the white-haired boy later.

Sir Fishlegs often spent his free time in the Berkian library. He had a love for all things intellectual, but he had a soft spot for magical things. While the practice of magic was forbidden, there were some rare volumes detailing the arcane and the mystical within the archives – all meant for purpose of defense against magic, rather than the use of it, of course. These books were locked away with its keys guarded by the King himself. As a relative rookie of a knight, Fishlegs had no access to such files, but he still held a longing to do so – for study only, of course, not practice.

Nonetheless, a scroll about the Berkian history was what absorbed him this afternoon. He was pulled into the world of unruly Vikings, fierce wars, complicated politics and a recipe of fish bread that was said to have been really tasty. He was considered copying the recipe down on another parchment to bring back home when he heard an odd hissing sound coming from a few shelves down at the archives.

Fishlegs abandoned his reading to rise to his feet, moving towards the source of the muttering. It was then that he found in a crowd of books stacked on a table a slim figure, hunched over one dusty volume. The white hair gave him identification at once. "Jack?"

The boy jumped and the muttering sound stopped. He spun around to find the one who had interrupted him and let out a sigh of relief when he saw who it was. "Sir Fishlegs! Hey, how are you?"

"I heard you reading from the other side of the library," the chubby knight said, tilting his head questioningly. At least, that's what he thought the muttering sounds were.

"Ah, yes, I - " the boy glanced down the book he stood in front of. He had his body stretched back and his two palms stretched over the pages. Fishlegs didn't know better, he might have thought that he was hiding something.

"What are you reading?" the bookish lad asked, leaning to the side to take a glance at the book. Jack quickly shifted himself as if to block his gaze, but the blonde had already seen it. "Is that a genealogy book?"

"Yes, uh, I've been using it to, uh-" the boy seemed so be thinking rather hard "-study genealogy. Tooth told me to examine, um, the relationship between diseases and bloodlines!" His lips spread into a wide, slightly too innocuous smile.

Fortunately, Fishlegs, while bright, was not that the keenest observer of humans. "That's actually a fascinating study idea!" he gushed quite enthusiastically, just managing to stop himself from clapping his hands together. "I could show you a whole bunch of records about royal families that have strange diseases! It's wonderful that you started this!"

"Oh, there's really no need," Jack protested, grabbing a scroll off his book, rolling it up and holding it before his chest. Fishlegs just assumed that that notes that the boy had taken down. "I don't want to trouble you."

"No, no, it won't be trouble at all. I would love to share everything I know with you," the blonde knight insisted. He gestured towards one of the leather-bound volumes near Jack, before opening up one of them. "Now, for starters, the families of the Berserker tribe-"

Her stay at the court physician's wasn't really her idea. She carried on herself sufficient coin for her travels and she could easily rent a room at the local tavern. She had been doing such before in the other towns she had visited, but the woman known as Toothiana had insisted that she stay with them, lending her Jack's room for privacy. She had said that she wanted to keep a close eye on her due to the severity of her injuries, but Merida suspected that now that her secret was out, the physician could not on a clear conscience send a Lady to stay alone at such a 'rough' place as a tavern, even if she was disguised. Merida didn't mind all that much – it meant free food and lodgings for her. Besides, the physician and Jack were good company, though the redhead was sometimes intimidated by how cheerfully forcefully the former was and often vexed by the latter.

A week later, the ache around her ribs had died to a slight sting and she was walking, even running freely. Toothiana, while changing her bandages today, had allowed her to resume her practice of shooting. So Merida had attached a wooden target on the bedroom door and began firing off arrow after arrow, pleased to feel that she could feel the stretch her bow once again.

It was while she was busied herself with this activity that Jack opened her door. As it was, she had just released an arrow and it was headed straight towards him. Merida opened her mouth to shriek a warning, and the boy opened his to scream in fright, but fortunately both sounds were unnecessary as he ducked in time and the arrow flew past him. Both of them were about let out sighs of relief whenthe breaking of glass could be heard behind them.

"Jack, I expect you to clean this!" Tooth's voice rang up from the apothecary.

The white-haired boy pulled a palm across his face, groaning, "And the pile keeps growing. As if I haven't suffered enough from Fishlegs' lecture." The boy shuddered visibly.

It was then that Merida noticed that he held a scroll under his arm. "What's that?"

Jack gave a glance towards the apothecary, where his mentor was, then climbed the stairs, entering the room. "Close the door."

Merida did, baffled. "What's wrong?"

"It was extremely painful for me to obtain this," he said, holding out the scroll towards her, "so I hope you appreciate it."

With much suspicion, Merida took the scroll and unrolled it. The crest of Dunbroch in the centre of the page surprised her a little, but the name scrolled at the bottom of it was what mystified her. She lifted her head, her eyes gleaming with incredulity at him. "What is this?"

"Consider it thanks for saving my life, and thus my fulfillment of my debt." Jack was beaming at her gleefully. "You want to be a knight? You can be now."

"This bears my brother's name on it, so,-" his idea clicked in her head, "-you suggest that I pose as him?"

"Yep!" He nodded. "Isn't that great idea?"

"No! It isn't! For one, he's seven year old. I'm not clearly not."

"But who would know? Berk and Dunbroch are so far apart that the last correspondence was ages ago! In a matter of fact, I'm sure there are some people here who don't even know that the Duchy of Dunbroch exists! I certainly didn't." That earned a glare from her. "What? It's true!"

"Well, it's dishonest. A knight of Berk should not be dishonest," she protested.

He remained undaunted. "Says the girl who ran away from marriage, dresses like a knight and uses her brother's name – all on her own accord."

Stumped, she glanced down the parchment. It amazed her how flawless it was, how truly official it looked. He probably copied it from genuine records, so if people compared it to those, they would think it's real. Only if someone sent word back to Dunbroch would she be uncovered, and that was unlikely. Dunbroch, though having sworn its allegiance to the Kingdom of Berk, ran most of their affairs on their own with little interference, as most counties did.

Most importantly, it was her chance to create her own fate. To write her own destiny. To be more than a piece of livestock traded off for alliances.

She would be part of a noble cause. She would be a warrior – a protector, almost like the shieldmaidens that legends spoke about. She would be the master of the bow and the master of her own destiny.

"Alright," Merida said, letting out a deep breath, "how do we do this?"

The next day, Merida presents herself as 'Lord Hamish, 1st son of the Duke of Dunbroch' to Sir Bunnymund at the training grounds and asks for permission to enter training to become a knight. Unfortunately, she lets slip that Jack was her friend in the course of her introduction. Due to his own prejudices against said white-haired boy, the senior knight becomes exceptionally harsh on her as when they engage in a duel. Though Merida's skillful on her feet, Sir Bunnymund was much better with swords than her. She loses the duel, and Sir Bunnymund dismisses her as unworthy.

However, Gobber, who happened to be overseeing training too that day, finds her fighting style admirable, especially for someone of her height (she's noticeable smaller and shorter than most other Berkian men) and he argues with Sir Bunnymund. Eventually, Sir Bunnymund reluctantly backs down, due to his respect for Gobber's judgment (despite personal disagreements) and Merida's permitted to begin training. In the background, Jack's fist-pumping and crowing like a madman.

Merida's training takes off like a breeze. She has been trained by her father, a great warrior himself, since young, which makes her good in a variety of weapons – mostly sword and bow though. Sir Bunnymund still remains hard on her, making her complete many embarrassing and difficult tasks like cleaning stables and polishing other people's armor, of which Jack ends up joining her for (because he's being punished for irritating Hiccup, not because he's training). Eventually though, Bunnymund himself does admit that she has genuine talent.

By this time, Tooth does discover Jack's scheming and berates him. Of course, there's nothing she can do about it, and Jack's pretty optimistic that everything will work out fine. He spends most of his free time acting as 'Lord Hamish's' personal cheerleader and turns up to more training sessions than Bunnymund's comfortable with. Jack and Bunnymund occasionally hold stare-offs, to which sly trainees use as break times for their sore muscles, and sometimes 'Lord Hamish' has to drag Jack to prevent a fight.

One day, on the training grounds, Merida does finally encounter the pessimistic, little bony boy that is Jack's master – the prince of Berk himself…

Archery. Whoopee. The only thing he liked about it was that unlike sparring, he didn't necessarily end the lesson with his face buried in mud. Still, yanking the string from the bow was no easy feat and it still took him much effort to combine strength and aim together. His back hurt, his fingers were aching and practice did not make perfect. At all.

The arrow that left his bow flew straight towards the target, before inexplicably going off course and stabbing itself the dirt pile.

Hiccup stuck a hand towards the fallen projectile, raising his eyes theatrically to the sky. "Seriously?"

He could swear that the sky was laughing at him. "That's because your aimin' with one eye, dummy. You never shoot with just one." There was another bout of laughter after that.

Wait…

Hiccup whirled around to find a fellow trainee by his side, clutching his stomach as he chortled. The thick red curls looped to the back of his head gave away his identity at once. In the last two weeks, there was little else heard of beyond the young lord who had come from the West to enter knighthood. He was a gifted fellow, despite his small build, and he had bested many other men who had trained longer and harder than him. Worse of all, he was Jack's friend, which meant Jack did little else but talk about how wonderful he was.

Why did he ever tell Jack about how to enter the knightly ranks? Here was a person barely taller than him and just as skinny who could fight three times as well.

"You must be Lord Hamish of Dunbroch." Hiccup nodded curtly.

"Hopefully it'll be Sir Hamish soon enough," the redhead said with a – giggle? Hiccup found that rather oddly jarring to the trainee's fearsome reputation. "And you must be Prince Hiccup of Berk. Nice to finally meet you. Jack described you rather accurately."

Hiccup crooked a brow. "Let me guess – 'walking fishbone'?"

The redhead didn't even balk, just grinning instead. "How did you know?"

"I called myself that once, and he's been copying ever since." The wiry boy scowled as he pulled another arrow of the rack. "He's not intelligent enough to come up with his own insults."

The brunette expected the lord to defend his friend, but the latter just chuckled heartily. "Well, Jack is quite dense sometimes. Can you guess how long it took him to figure that I'm actually a-" he broke off abruptly.

"You're actually what?" Hiccup prompted him.

Lord Hamish turned crimson, coughing rather pointedly. "Erm, nevermind about that. So,-" floundering to change the topic "-why don't I give you some pointers on archery? I happen to be really good at it."

"I see the humility there," Hiccup quipped sardonically, which he regretted instantly. The lord had been decent to him so far, unlike most of his other training mates, and he shouldn't provoke him.

Fortunately, the redhead eyed him with an amusement instead. "And I see where Jack gets all his snide remarks from. C'mon, your highness,-" Lord Hamish shoved him lightly forward, -"show me how you draw the bow."

He did. Lord Hamish did point out the flaws in how he did – like how he held the bow downward just before he release the arrow, or how his arms shook too much under strain, or how he jerked himself backwards before . But even after all these adjustments, the arrow still ended up in the mud, forming a little palisade on their own.

"Don't worry. My father's been trying to make me a warrior out of me all my life," he told his impromptu-trainer in a way that both comforting and self-deprecating. "It's not your fault that I can't get better. I'm just not very good being who people want me to be."

Lord Hamish had an odd expression etched on his face, a mixture of empathy and irony. As if despite himself, he murmured, "You're not the only one."

Hiccup's curiosity made him ask, "What do you mean by that?"

Lord Hamish didn't answer at once, and when he did, it was in a soft, spoken, not quite fitting with the image of a bold warrior, "I-well, my sister often had lots of problems with that."

Hiccup blinked in surprise. "You have a sister?"

"Two brothers too." Lord Hamish's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "But let's just say I'm closer to my sister – a lot closer."

"So what happened between your sister and your mother?" the young prince inquired.

"My mother tried to make a lady out of my sister. I know, I know – it is expected for a lady to carry herself in a certain way." Lord Hamish's countenance bore a rather pained expression. "Still, she was dreadfully unhappy with it all. She's very free-spirited one. She loves archery. She loves exploring and going on adventures. She wanted more than anything the freedom choose her own path – to be who she wanted to be."

"You said 'was'," Hiccup noted, feeling trepidation knotting up in his stomach. "What happened to her?"

The redhead chose to stare in the distance. There was hardness in his expression, yet a little sorrow too. "She ran away from home. There was a marriage to be arranged for her, and she couldn't stand it anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the prince said both because it was obligatory, and because he did pity her circumstances. He wasn't a woman, obviously, but he knew when he came of age he would be married off for alliances, like it or not. It was one of the unpleasant burdens of being a prince, besides all the other massive, life-disrupting ones.

"Don't be," Lord Hamish scoffed bitterly, still looking away. "She's probably in a better place."

"Maybe." Hiccup shrugged, not really wanting to disagree. "But it must still be terrible to be away from home for so long."

There was a softening in his fellow trainee's eyes. "Yes, it is."

"Oh, right." Hiccup sheepishly scratched his neck. "I realized that you did travel a long way out to come here. You must miss Dunbroch."

"A little," the redhead admitted, before drawing himself straight. "But I think there's much that Berk can offer."

"Like dried fish, curdled yak milk and insane blizzards," deadpanned Hiccup, which made the lord chortle once again. The dark mood was lifted.

After they had resumed practice, Lord Hamish asked him, "For no reason in particular, your highness, which hand do you usually write with?"

The question really did seem to have come out of nowhere. "My left. Why?"

"I was just wondering-" Lord Hamish took the bow from the prince's hands, then slipped it back in, only this time making Hiccup hold the handle with his right hand and the arrow with his left.

The smaller boy peered at this change with skepticism. "That's not how bows are supposed to be used."

"Perhaps for most people, but you aren't most people, are you, your highness?"

Hiccup scrunched his nose in puzzlement. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just try it."

The boy sighed as he loaded the arrow up, not feeling quite comfortable with doing a mirror of his previous practices. He made sure to follow the rest of instructions that Lord Hamish had told him before he took aim. Then he released the arrow.

As expected, the arrow flew towards the target at first, then abruptly took a dip. However, instead of slamming itself into the mud as expected, the metal tip stuck itself on the outermost border of the target. It was no bull's eye, but it was a marked improvement littering on the ground.

The smirk on Lord Hamish's face summed up his own triumph.

At the end of the whole training session, Hiccup concluded that the redheaded lord wasn't all that bad, even if he was friends with a certain insufferable manservant.

News of 'Lord Hamish of Dunbroch's' abilities spread through Berk. He's said to excel in almost all forms of combat, be it with bow or sword, be it on foot or horseback. So people crowd the training grounds just to catch a glimpse of him. Someone even erects stands there so that people can sit and watch. Peddlers set up stalls to make the most of the interest, and the profit is quite a tidy one.

Within just four weeks of training, 'Lord Hamish' enters the Kill Ring for dragon training – a post granted only to those who are soon to enter initiation to become knights. Trainees who have been slaving for that level for the last four years gnaw on their tunics and cry injustice – in private. In public, they reluctantly hand out congratulations.

Even King Stoick comes to know of this bold warrior. The town speaks of nothing but him – even Hiccup (at this point, 'Lord Hamish' and him are pretty good friends, despite the latter's annoyance still with Jack) - and decides to pen a letter to the Duke of Dunbroch to congratulate him on the success of his 'first-born son'.

Jack fortunately hears about this and intervenes, stealing the letter from the messenger and replacing it with a list of unfunny jokes about fish. Astrid, however, happens to witness this theft as she was on the castle grounds at the time. Noting that Jack had been acting rather strange since the arrival of 'Lord Hamish', she follows him quietly and finds herself at the Court Physician's. She presses her ear against the door and hears Jack talk about the letter to Lord Hamish, except that he doesn't call him 'Hamish'. He calls him 'Merida'.

Astrid pushes open the door and finds the rather shocked teenagers staring at her, with the King's letter half unscrolled on the table. While Jack babbles some excuses, Astrid's eyes are locked on the redhead by his side. The hair is untied, hanging loose, and she was draped in a robe that, while sufficiently modest, didn't cover the fact that she was she.

Astrid wordlessly turns on the heel and leaves.

Jack's frozen to the spot, but Merida's on the move. She chases after the maidservant and a fierce scuffle ensues. When Jack snaps back to his senses, he rushes out to help her – meaning Merida, of course.

It somehow ends with Astrid being locked in Jack's room while the two others pace outside, deciding her fate…

"We could kill her and hide the body, I suppose," mused Merida out loud, as she spun around for the twentieth time, making sure not to collide with pharmacy cupboard as she did.

"YOU ARE WELCOME TO TRY!" the blonde hollered through the thick oak door. There was a slight strain in her voice from yelling on the top of her lungs earlier. Fortunately, the physician's quarters were located on such a far corner of the castle that no one could hear the screams. That didn't mean she try spitting threats at them. She was Astrid after all.

"Let's try to avoid that," Jack disagreed, pulling a face. "She's sort of my friend. It wouldn't be a nice to do that."

"JUST WAIT TILL I RIP OFF YOUR ARMS, YOU WHITE-HAIRED TWERP!" emerged from the bedroom. "THEN I'll BASH THE REDHEAD'S FACE IN!" There was a 'thud' that could be heard against the door every five seconds. Jack had a bad feeling that she was using his bedroom stool to pound against the door. He sighed. There went his furniture.

Merida muttered to him in a low voice, "You sure that you guys are friends?"

The boy made a non-committal shrug. "Well, we bond over mutual grievances about Hiccup."

"LET ME OUT SO THAT I CAN BEAT YOU BOTH SENSELESS!"

At some point, Tooth did return to her quarters and found the two teenagers standing out Jack's bedroom, listening mutely as the fearsome voice within dished out another set of threats. The elder woman didn't even try interfering, grabbing a tonic flash from the table and left without a word of advice or even a reprimand. Jack took note her departure nonchalantly, then returned his attention to the matter.

"Look, Astrid," he called out to their prisoner, "why don't we make a deal?"

The pounding against the door ceased for a moment. He could imagine the blonde maidservant scrunching up her face in suspicion, but still curious enough to listen a while.

"We'll let you out -" Jack said, slowly. Merida raised a questioning brow at him but he waved her off, "-If you swear on your family's honor you won't tell anyone."

"You mean about how 'Lord Hamish' is an imposter?" the blonde sneered.

"For your information, I don't think my brother really minds me using his name that much," Merida retorted, jabbing a finger at the door though the other girl wouldn't be able to see it. "He's too young to care."

"Why should I help you hide your deception?" There was disgust in her voice. "Why should I let you spread your lies so that you can steal glory and honor that isn't yours?"

"Because you of all people should understand how difficult it is to be a warrior when the world only sees you as a weak little girl."

Silence filled the space between them after Jack had uttered those words. Even Merida seemed a bit stunned. Astrid certainly was - though with the door before them, they couldn't say for sure. Maybe she had just passed out on the floor.

Then finally – "You just want me to swear not to tell, that's it, right?"

"It has to be on your family's honor," Jack added.

"Fine, on my family's honor." He could almost hear her roll her eyes. "But that's it right? No obligations to help you hide your mess or run your errands?"

"Nope." As an afterthought, Jack put in, "Well, unless you're willing, we could use ano-"

"On my honor as a Hofferson, I promise not to split that Lord Hamish is not who 'he' seems and actually possess a bosom – which is pretty flat actually. No wonder you can get away with dressing like a guy."

Merida was indignant. "Hey!"

"Okay, now will you let me out?" There was weariness in Astrid's voice. "I really need a drink of water."

"My bosom is just fine, thank you! Yours isn't much, either."

"Excuse me? Why don't you say that to my face!"

"Stop fighting like a bunch of girls, for goodness sake," Jack chided them both as he fit the key into the lock. "And yes, the irony of my statement has hit me."

Some days after this little fiasco and after Merida and Astrid have somewhat settled their differences, 'Sir Hamish' continues his training and is amongst those chosen by the villager elder for the initiation test. Come sunrise on the morrow, he is to slay a dragon in the Kill Ring before Berk, and finally join the Knight of Berk.

Merida's elated, of course, she's so close to achieving her dream – achieving the fate that she had designed for herself.

However, this little announcement has pricked Jack's conscience. He had done this little scheming out of good-will, but letting Merida become a knight of Berk, she too one day be used for the persecution of magical persons, as according to Berk's law. After much contemplation, he decides that he will tell her the truth about his magic and hopes that if she's as good a person as he believes her to be, she'll not condemn him for it.

So on the night before her initiation test, he sits her down in his bedroom and prepares himself to tell her. Of course, nervousness has him stuttering like crazy and he's choking on words. The incoherent mess which he descends into frightens Merida…

Suddenly, she shrunk back, shaking her head, "Oh, no, no, no. You can't do this."

He blinked at her, his temporary lapse of coherency dissipated, as with the topic that he intended to convey. "Huh?"

"We're supposed to be friends and I refuse for us to become anything more!" She stamped a foot on the ground determinedly. "I'm sixteen! I'm too young for this!"

"What?" Then it hit him what exactly alarmed her about the whole situation. "Oh, no, I wasn't going to -"

"I've had enough of – oh, wait, you weren't?"

"Yeah, well, you're like a better fighter than me and you're kind of scary." It struck him that what he said might be offensive, so he hurried added, "Not that there's nothing wrong with girls who like beating the daylights out of things, and you are kind'a pretty too, but … I've just never thought of you that way. So, yeah."

"Oh. Good. Eh, I never thought you that way either."

Awkward silence ensued as both parties twiddled with their thumbs.

"So, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Talking about magic suddenly wasn't that difficult. "Oh, right, I just wanted to let you know that I have-"

And then the castle bell rang right over his voice.

"Sorry, you have what?"

Then nervousness set back in. "You know what? I'll tell you later. Let's go see what it is first."

They learn that the demon bear who had attacked Jack in the forest had come to the castle and was wreaking havoc. Soldiers on duty are caught by surprise at how strong the beast is and within a minute, casualties start piling up. Jack's dragged off by Tooth to tend to the injured, while Merida takes up her bow and quiver to help.

With half the town's army struggling to get awake and don their armor, the Mordu mauls it way through the city. Bolts do not pierce its fur and spears are snapped by its claws and teeth. Civilians lock the doors of their homes, but the beast has no limits and breaks into a few homes any way.

Warriors like Gobber has no issues about that though. The one-leg, one-hand smith strikeshis mallet against the Bear's head when the ghastly creature sticks his nose into the smithy. It takes swift revenge though by biting Gobber's peg leg and throwing him out against the wall. (In the background, you might hear the stocky smith grunt, "I'm okay!" Until a bunch of metal tools fall on his head, to which he wheezes, "Less okay.")

There's a face-off between the demon bear and the full force of the Knights of Berk in the town square next. The knights take courage in their numbers, but the Mordu is smart. He never lets any of them get too near to him, picking off the knights on the front and throwing them against one another, knocking the ranks of their feet. Swords, spears and splinters of shields clatter to the cobble ground.

That's until one, not yet a knight, bearing no armor other than a simple chainmail and no arms other than a sword, darts forward and slices the beast in the flank. The Mordu howls and lunges at the assailant, but the warrior is too small for the beast to grab and he darts to another side, striking once again. The fallen knights and guards who are still conscious after all their injuries feel a surge of hope in their hearts as they watch fiery redhead battle the beast. It's almost as if the legends have come to life, and it isn't the young lord from the West, but one of a hero of the ancient sagas, that's holding himself against the giant monster.

But a single warrior, especially one so small, cannot fight forever and 'Lord Hamish' in the course of the skirmish loses his sword. Injuries that were supposed to healed start smarting under his tunic, and he clutches at them. The beast has him pinned to the ground at one point and roars in his ear, and even 'Lord Hamish' can't help but shrink back in fear.

Observing this from a distance, the white-haired physician's apprentice hesitates and recalls a whirlwind spell that he had learnt from during his studies. While self-preservation eggs him not to, conscience prods him otherwise. A friend is going to die, for goodness sake!

But just as he lifts his hand towards the beast and begins the chant, trumpets – some really, really out of tune trumpets, which he learns later are bagpipes – sound in the night. Men on mounts ride into the city square and with the element of speed, strength and surprise chase the wounded beast from the citadel. All cheer and hurrah in victory, though something tells Jack that the beast would return soon enough. He put these thoughts aside to help Merida back up to her feet.

Public attention turn to the 'saviors' of the day, who are an odd looking crew donning tunics with checked patterns and bearing arms unfamiliar to them. King Stoick conveniently turns up only now, riding forth to check on the damage inflicted on lower city. He greets the leader of these foreign people, who introduces himself as Lord MacGuffin of the clan MacGuffin.

He informs the King that war has erupted in the Duchy of Dunbroch between the four clans and the MacGuffins were here to seek Berk's intervention, hopefully to end this feud. At this point, King Stoick brings Lord MacGuffin's attention to 'the valiant Lord Hamish of Dunbroch', who was at that point trying to subtly sneak away with Jack. Unfortunately, the chubby fellow riding by Lord MacGuffin's side (none other than his son) gasps something in a thick brogue that no one but his father understands, and the recognition dawns on in Lord MacGuffin's eyes. After all, his son had tried for her hand.

At this point, Merida knows that it's all over, so she shrugs away Jack's protective hand, and stares up to the bearded blonde man...

"Lord MacGuffin, wee MacGuffin," she greeted them icily. She didnot give the ladies' curtsey, for her chainmail prevents her from doing so, but she spoke as she was taught, "How do you do?"

"Lady Merida of Dunbroch," the grim blonde lord boomed at her. Ripples of shock spreaded through the crowd. Everyone was astonished, and suddenly, as if the moonlight cleared their eyes, all could see that all along Sir Hamish was most certainly a woman. How could they have made that mistake?

Jack just wished that the black bear turn back around and attack them again.

S/N:

There's a lot of heavy Brave influence here, so for non-Brave watchers/fans out there:

MacGuffin – The big-sized blonde head of the MacGuffin Clan

Young MacGuffin – Son of MacGuffin, one of Merida's suitor, the one who's really strong and speaks with such a thick accent that only his father can understand it.

Hamish, Hubert, Harris Dunbroch – Merida's little brothers. Described as 'Wee Devils' by her.

Mordu – The Big Black Bear from the movie. It's really quite powerful and near invulnerable to all kinds of weapons. If you don't remember, it was introduced in the last chapter.

Should have explained this in the previous chapter, but I kind of put Dunbroch as a Duchy under Berk's rule, slightly west of Berk. If not Merida, under the guise of Lord Hamish, would not be able to enlist as a Knight trainee. The four clans featured in Brave – MacGuffin, Macintosh, Dingwall and Dunbroch itself – are ruled under the Duchy, while the Duchy is ruled under the Kingdom of Berk.

My knowledge of knight training is of course rather sketchy, and I'm making most of this up. Of course, Merlin itself has serious errors too. It should take years for even a nobleman to become a knight – most of start training at boyhood as pages, before becoming squires, then knights. So the entire episode of 'Lancelot' (and most of Merlin) obviously isn't based on historical fact.

Up Next: What should be the final part of 'Noble Knight So Far'.

A/N:

Hello everyone! Long time no see.

I've been kind of occupied writing two of my other stories, which is why I haven't updated this in like two/three months. Sorry about that. Fortunately, both of these stories have taken a rather dark turn so far, so I decided to write some good fun and humor in my writer's block haven – Once and Future King! (Man, I get away with a lot of nonsense here.)

I can't say when the next chapter would be out, but hopefully not long from now since I've got mostly planned out already. Writing in 'drabble-form', as I call it, helps to cut down writing time a lot, and it also helps me get away with writing a lot of fighting scenes (obviously). Let me know how guys feel about this form of storytelling. Does it annoy you? Is it very jarring? Is it unclear? Yep, feedback helps me decide how and if I'll use this format in the next parts.

Reviews and questions are welcome.

Especially reviews.

Because I'm realize that I'm quite a review monster.

But yeah, it's up to you. Anything goes.