To say that her mother often worried over nothing would be a vast understatement. Merida had been slogging through the provincial languages all last month, and now Elinor was teaching a Scottish dialect that only one person had ever uttered in their court. And she was nitpicking every single accent that Merida got wrong until the girl had finally had enough.
"Mum, that's it. I'm done. I'm ready for sewing."
"Merida – this lesson is not so bad that you'll be flinging yourself into martyrdom."
"No, the language is really quite interesting, but you – you are fussing! Why do you even care about this? Only Lord MacGuffin's son-"
"Keir MacGuffin," Elinor interjected, tiredly.
"Ugh, Keir MacGuffin then, is the only one who speaks it. Why do I have to know?"
"Because he was one of your suitors and he deserves to be respected. Like the others, to an extent," the Queen replied. Merida was instantly suspicious.
"Are you trying to say you favor him out of all the others?"
"Well, no. Of course not. I'd never say such a thing." She was obviously hedging, and before Merida could pounce on it, Elinor was already answering her first question. "Merida, if I seem to be forcing trivial issues or paying excessive attention to detail, it is because the raids along our coast are making me nervous. The Norsemen have been lured by the treasures of the monasteries and isolated villages. Life holds no regard for them – they will kill anything and anyone to get to the gold. It . . . troubles me."
"Dad and the other Lords can beat back anything that crawls belly-first onto our shores, Mum," Merida snorted, but her tone gentled when she saw how worried the older woman looked. She scooted her chair closer and took her mother's hands. "It'll be alright. Really. Maybe what the monasteries need are weapons and armed men, and then the Vikings won't be so tempted."
"Armed men and weapons? Can you see the monks even thinking to agree to that? It makes perfect sense logically, and I half wish they would take some measure, but it's not their way. You can't make fish to learn how to fly, in order to avoid all the sharks in the water."
Elinor looked at Merida searchingly. "And you should not blame them for drawing the Norsemen. It's those Norsemen who are heartless enough to kill and capture those holy men, who have vowed to never take up arms against another man. Merida, I wish to appoint you a bodyguard when you go out into those woods."
The last sentence was so unexpected that all Merida could do was squeak for a moment.
Elinor silently counted to three, and her daughter did not disappoint. "WHAT?!" she all but shrieked, snatching her hands away from Elinor's as though they burned. Merida stood up quickly, nearly knocking the chair backwards. "You can't! I – you don't understand! I get one day a week – one day when I don't have to be trailed by anyone, when I don't have to be me, and you're taking that away?!"
"No, I'm not taking it away."
"But you're sticking me with a guard!" Merida cried, beyond distressed. "Someone who'll follow me around yelling at me not to climb things, or ride too fast, or even walk off the path - lest I stub my wee toe!" she huffed in disgust. She looked further scandalized by her mother laughing.
"I'm not appointing a nursemaid to you, Merida! A bodyguard is someone who you trust to stand beside you if there's trouble. Who has your trust. He'll be more of a friend than a nuisance, and furthermore you'll be the one who chooses him."
"Me? I get to choose him?" Merida asked, considering.
"Aye, it's your choice. But mind you -"
"Done! I choose Angus."
"Oh Merida! You can't choose a steed to be your bodyguard!" Elinor said, frustrated she hadn't anticipated that answer.
"You said anybody!" her daughter countered.
"I said . . . oh, forget what I said, I meant someone human and you know it! If you wish it, there could be a tournament -"
"Oh no. No more tournaments! No more men prancing about, trying to impress me by doing ridiculous feats. You know what it'll turn into – another contest for my hand in marriage!"
To her surprise, Elinor sighed in relief. "Yes, Merida, that thought did cross my mine. I'm glad it crossed yours too. No tournament. It would only be darkened anyhow by what's to occur this night."
That got Merida's attention. She sat back down, reading the other woman's face carefully. "What do you mean by that?"
{Well, he's a sorry sight, isn't he?}
The voice startled him out of sleep. Tuffnut looked up at the slit in the metal door, blinking in the morning light. Great, another one had come to gawk at him. He was tempted to make a rude gesture, but his arm still hurt and all the really great ones needed both hands.
{Sleep well, lad? Tonight you'll be experiencing the part of battle you missed out on!}
{Aye, the part where we separate your head from your shoulders!}
Were they trying to be encouraging? What was going on? Tuffnut settled for making a face at them, and was not encouraged by their amused laughter. The men seemed to leave off tormenting him, carrying on in their language down the hall. He rolled his eyes and settled his back against the wall, quietly unnerved.
It turned out he had good reason to be.
Not more than a minute later, the door actually opened. Tuffnut scrambled to his feet, but the men that walked in were quick to detain him, pressing him down to sit against the wall. He felt his injured arm stretched out and he shouted in pain, attempting to kick the nearest warrior, but this resulted only in being sat on.
At least he could curse to his heart's content and he wouldn't get hit for it, since nobody understood what he was saying. A small perk was better than nothing.
A band of long stiff fabric was wrapped from his wrist to his elbow, with two pieces of wood as splints. They were attempting to fix his arm? Tuffnut felt indignant and relieved; if they had tried to make their intentions understood he wouldn't have lashed out.
Abruptly, he was pulled up by his arms and forced out of the cell. Finally. Wait . . . where were they taking him now? He dug his heels into the floor which was an exercise in futility – there was no traction here. Even their floors were made of stone. Were these people descended fromdwarves?!
Tuffnut made it outside without biting anyone, but when the smell hit him and he heard the whickering, he completely panicked. No. He wasnot getting near one of those again. Tuffnut mule-kicked the guard behind him in the stomach and sunk his teeth into the hand of another. They shouted and he dropped, scurrying between legs and poorly-aimed kicks and breaking into a run. He didn't get very far.
All around him were walls of stone – the opening was in a completely different direction than he'd started running. And then he ran into a different kind of wall, colliding head-on with the boy. Tuff reeled back from the collision and hit the ground, glowering up into a curious expression that oddly reminded him of 'Legs.
{Since when does a Norseman run away from anything?} the boy asked, and Tuffnut raised his hands in angry bewilderment, wishing he knew what the hell these people were saying. Then the warriors were upon him, angrily bundling him back off toward those things.
Keir looked after them, quietly thoughtful.