The ride was a hellishly long one, and it was worse on his arm. Hours went by like days and every time the Clan stopped to rest their mounts, Tuffnut tried his best to make someone understand that he wanted off the damned horse. He wasn't foolish enough to hope they'd actually let him down, but the struggle to communicate helped to take his mind off his suffering.

They had forced him to ride face-down over the saddle for his earlier attempt to escape, tying him securely to it. Tuffnut could feel every jolt of the horse's hooves resonating in his injury, not to mention his stomach. Several times he'd wondered if he could just pass out.

It was sunset by the time they'd reached their destination – another of those stupid rock-buildings. This one was even bigger, so it would probably be colder. Tuffnut could only glimpse it sideways and he was not impressed. He struggled anew against the ropes holding him, and as usual they didn't give an inch. Being exhausted and in pain probably had a lot to do with it.

"Why did you take me to this stupid place?" he complained, since it was the only thing he could do. Even if they couldn't understand him, at least this way he could hear his own voice talking sense. It was raspy since they hadn't given him water, but stubbornness was stronger than thirst. "I mean, didn't we leave a pile of rocks just like it this morning?"

His words brought amused looks and laughter from the other men.

{I can't understand what he's saying,} said one to his companion. {Was that an insult?}

{It sounded like it from the tone. The sound of his language is interesting; too bad we can't find someone who speaks Norse. I wish to ken his last words.}

They were talking now, since Tuffnut had broken the silence. Not to him, but all around him, probably about him. It filled him with anger, terror, and despair. Tuffnut longed to scream at them until they understood – he just wanted to go home. Swallowing dryly, he looked at the ground as it flew past, blurring in his vision.

Tuffnut desperately thought of Hookfang, hoping against hope that the dragon had somehow made his way back to Berk. Maybe Hiccup and the others were on their way right now, following Hookfang's lead.

More than likely the easily distracted Nightmare would dally, chasing butterflies and admiring squirrels as he slowly made his way back to the island. But even then, the others would have been searching for him, right? Dragons could cover vast distances, but Tuffnut didn't know how long he and Hookfang had traveled. Nothing looked familiar, certainly not the dress code.

They were in an area where summer existed for one thing; there weren't even any melting patches of snow. And all these men were wearing light fabric (skirts even!) with confusing colors and lines – it hurt Tuffnut's eyes to look at the pattern for long.

He felt a hand wrap around his good arm, steadying him as the horse stopped. Tuffnut hated the abrupt stops even worse than the galloping, as those usually threw him against the pommel. He was going to have more bruises on his ribs from this than his sister had given him in a month.

Fingers were working at his bonds now and he took an elated breath. Finally! He'd wait until the bonds gave enough, then he'd make another run for it. Of course, that didn't happen except in his fondest dreams. Tuffnut could barely move his limbs even after the man had let the rope fall to the ground.

He growled to himself and slid off the saddle, ignoring the shouts from the warrior who'd been mounted behind him. The meaning behind the foreign words suddenly rang clear as Tuffnut's calf muscles seized. Yelling in pain, Tuff toppled to the ground, curling up on his side as the cramps swept through his body like wildfire.

"Heh, would you look at that idiot."

Lord MacGuffin rolled his eyes at the statement, coming from the stout man beside him – otherwise known as Lord Dingwall. "What else could you expect from a savage culture like his? Norsemen aren't known for their intellect."

"You're certainly right about that." Dingwall sighed, then. "MacGuffin, laws are laws, but I'm ashamed we have to do this. He's just a lad."

"A lad who helped kill thirty monks and burn down the abbey. He knew what he was signing up for when he sailed across those waters. Even if he didn't spill a drop of blood, he clearly wanted to."

"Really now? That's what he said when you asked him?"

"No, of course not. How could I have? He only speaks that flittering Norse of his," scoffed MacGuffin. It was Lord Dingwall's turn to roll his eyes.

Tuffnut was still on the ground, panting and trying very hard to ignore the laughing warriors. Several of them were even mimicking his show of pain – howling, falling over, and clutching their legs. Face red with shame, he closed his eyes, needing no grasp of the language to understand he was being ridiculed. Dingwall caught the crestfallen look and started to walk over to the boy.

The warrior's antics abated as they stood aside respectfully for the aged man, whereas before they might have openly mocked him. All the once bickering Lords had united their forces after the princess' speech, just in time to better combat the worsening threat of invading Norsemen.

They were a ruthless enemy, but if Lord Dingwall had learned anything in his years of combat, it was that not all people shared their culture's worst traits. Maybe the boy had shed blood, and maybe he hadn't. Regardless, he was being forced to pay for the crimes of all his people tonight, so humiliating him seemed just a little excessive.

"Here, lad; I don't speak Norse, but I understand about dignity. Get up if you can." Lord Dingwall offered his hand, to the murmuring astonishment of all. Tuffnut hesitated, but reached for the man's hand as though expecting it to be yanked out of reach at the last moment. He was surprised when the man actually gave aid, helping him up to his feet.

Lord Dingwall brushed the dirt off his back, an act which made Tuff flinch a little, but he didn't attempt to jerk away – his legs were still shaky. MacGuffin let out a roar which nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Ach, what's the sense of all this? You're only prolonging his suffering, now let's get him inside!"

The elder Lord patted Tuffnut's shoulder before the boy was hustled away. "Easy on, lad. It'll be swift and you'll be in Valhalla before you can blink twice!" he called after, and the only word Tuffnut understood from that at all was 'Valhalla'. The man hadn't pronounced it right but he was more concerned with the fact it had been mentioned at all. Panic crawled up his throat and made him struggle in vain against the hold on him.

"Well now he's got the boy nice and riled," grumbled the warrior on his right. They entered a room full of light and noise and people and Tuffnut went limp in their arms, eyes darting around the room to try and guess his fate.

"It's not too late, Merida," Elinor was saying as they approached the hall. Merida walked beside her, fairly thrumming with nervous energy.

She had never seen an execution, and in her father's rule it was carried out sparingly. But this was a public death of their most hated enemy, of an enemy that had killed women and children and had done deplorable things to people. It would raise eyebrows if she was not present, at her age.

That didn't mean her mother wasn't going to try and talk her out of going. "I can say you've taken to bed, you do look a bit pale."

"No, Mum, I'll see this through. Maudi's got enough on her plate keepin' the triplets contained."

"Merida . . ." Elinor sighed. "I do wish . . ."

"Oh, I know. I don't want to see this either, not really. But I've got to, haven't I? He's a . . . a threat to our people. And I'll look him in the eye as he dies for it."

Merida couldn't help but realize that she sounded a lot braver than she felt. It wasn't the blood that would bother her. It was the fact she was going to have to be cold and uncaring that a man was going to be killed right in front of her.

Elinor turned and hugged her tightly. "I am proud of you, my girl. And I'm sorry." She stepped back, regaining her smooth composure almost immediately, and Merida wondered how many executions Elinor had seen in her life.

The question died on her lips as they walked up to their seats. It wasn't the time to ask. Merida sat on the left side of her father, her mother sat on his right. Fergus tried to give both of them a reassuring smile. He didn't look surprised to see his daughter had chosen to attend, but there was a sorrow there in his eyes. Her father raised his head and called for the prisoner to be brought in.

They were going to behead him, Merida had been told. There was a wooden platform off to the side, sprinkled liberally with sawdust to catch the blood. An axe waited ominously beside the grooved block that the man would lay his head across.

She suppressed a shudder, looking away from it. Her mother couldn't be pleased that they were doing this inside the castle. No, she was steadfastly not smiling at Fergus, even as he tried meaningless small talk.

She looked to the door, attempting to look collected. MacGuffin strode in with Keir at his side, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. Merida felt a pang of sympathy for him and then looked for the prisoner. Her jaw nearly dropped, not expecting what she saw.

The poor boy was nearly being supported by his two handlers, eyes moving frantically across the room, searching for either escape or some form of comfort. For a moment, his gray blue eyes locked with hers, nearly pleading. Merida was clenching the arms of her chair, scarcely able to stand it. She could not watch this, she absolutely could not.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother stiffen as well, shooting a glare at Fergus. "You said they had captured a Norseman, covered in the blood of monks," she whispered reproachfully. "A mad raving lunatic who tried several times to escape!"

" . . . well, obviously, someone exaggerated," Fergus muttered unhappily.

While it was good to see she wasn't the only one bothered by this, Merida longed to beg her father to call all of this off and to spare the boy. But what could he do? A King could not back down from decreeing the execution his people had cried out for, whether or not they'd possessed all the facts at the time. Her father was not a cruel man, nevertheless he couldn't stop this from happening now that it had gotten this far.

Merida's mind raced as Lord MacGuffin began recounting the tale that led to the capture of the enemy, trying to build everyone up. Behind him the boy gave up his struggle and bent forward slightly, looking ready to either throw up or pass out. It rather spoiled the effect of the brave tale for her, she thought, but the other men seemed to be lapping it up.

They roared in approval at certain parts of the tale, which seemed to shock the boy out of his panic. Merida watched him, rather than MacGuffin, silently wondering what he was thinking.

If Tuff had ever wondered how the dragons felt when they had been introduced to their killer, with a mob of screaming Vikings cheering in the background, he now had his answer. His hands tightened into fists, as he fought to gain control over his panicked breathing.

Tuffnut had already seen the axe, and the block. He knew what they were there for because of their placement, all set out for a show. He was supposed to be part of that show. They were going to kill him for amusement, and even worse – he'd actually done nothing to deserve it.

So far, these warriors had forcibly taken him to this place, had humiliated, frightened and hurt him, all for what? It would be a dishonorable death, to be dragged over to that block and beheaded as though he were a chicken slated for dinner. No. If he was going to die, he would not die like this.

Where there had been fear, there was now rage. Tuffnut grit his teeth and did what he did best during a fight; he threw off the enemy.

The warriors felt him suddenly go deadweight and they adjusted their grip, both leaning in to check if he'd fainted. A blow to the knee bested one, and he'd had the dagger out of the other's belt, slicing wildly at him. The warrior jumped back with a shout, going for his own weapon, but Tuffnut was already charging another, who was carrying a spear. Daggers weren't Tuff's weapon; he preferred the spear since it gave the most distance and leverage for his speed and build.

Besides, most of the warriors here had swords, they would knock the dagger from his hand in seconds. He rolled and dodged grasps, moving like an eel in the rushes, delivering fast blows where he could. One young painted man charged him with a yell, doing a whole lot of fancy sword moves.

Tuffnut dodged them easily, almost amused by the show – the guy even did an over the shoulder toss with the blade. He tilted his head, not certain whether his fancy opponent wanted to fight or if he wanted applause. His response was to simply bring his leg up, kicking the young warrior where it counted.

As the young man squeaked and fell over, Tuffnut launched over him and grabbed a hold of the spear-bearer, delivering a head butt that sent the other man reeling. He spun himself, dealing blows to anyone who came within range and careful to not waste his energy. Adrenaline was the only thing really keeping him upright and focused right now, but he was going to give them a show that they would remember forever.

Merida had half-climbed onto her seat, elation warring with dread as to the fate of the Norse boy. He fought like a wounded wolf, all traces of his earlier fatigue and despair gone. Had he been wily enough to fake it? She was doubtful of that – Merida had watched a sort of transformation take over his expression as Lord MacGuffin spun his tale.

But the boy couldn't hope to hold his advantage forever. One of his arms was clearly broken, and already he was slightly stumbling from fatigue. He narrowly dodged an attack, hitting the man square between the eyes with the butt of his spear. Over the shouts and curses of the men, the moaning of young Macintosh, and the clack of weapons, Merida heard her mother's voice. "Fergus, do something!"

Her father shrugged helplessly at Elinor, but then sighed and started to stand. Merida beat him to it, eyes alight with sudden inspiration. She knew what to do now.

"STOP!" she yelled, forcibly enough that all eyes at least briefly turned to her. Merida only hoped the boy was too exhausted to try and take advantage of the inaction. She was honestly amazed he hadn't killed anyone. Weren't Norsemen supposed to be bloodthirsty? Ruthless murderers? "Stay your hands! This boy, this Norseman, will not be executed!"

"He won't?" Fergus asked, blinking.

"Merida!" Elinor hissed. "What are you - " Her mother gasped then, working out quickly what Merida intended to do.

"Because I choose him as my bodyguard!"

There was silence for a handful of moments. Then everyone raised their voices in argument all at once.

"You can't be serious, Princess!" Lord Macintosh protested, helping his dazed son up. "He's a savage beast! Unintelligent, dull, animalistic-"

"Well, he just showed quite a bit of intelligence in getting the upper hand," Merida countered. She heard the gasps and knew she was bordering on insult.

"By fighting dirty, of course. Which is how Norsemen fight, isn't that correct? The reason I need a bodyguard at all, which I'm sure you've all been informed of, in case I chose any of you-" It was a correct assumption; her mother was nervously clearing her throat. "It's because of these Nordic invaders. So who better to defend me than someone who can match their style?"

"Princess, that makes sense. But how do you propose to communicate that with him?" Lord MacGuffin questioned, gesturing towards Tuffnut. The boy was panting, aware something was going on behind him, but not about to turn his back on his former captors to find out what. Merida opened her mouth to answer, but then realized she had none. She was not aware of her mother getting up, until Queen Elinor was standing beside her.

"Mum, I -"

"We'll talk later," was her mother's terse reply. She looked at Tuffnut and said something in a language Merida had never heard her speak before.

Tuffnut froze at the simple words, almost too afraid to turn around. He did anyway, staring at the tall woman.

"What . . .?"

"I said, put down your weapon. You will have nothing to fear," Elinor said. Tuff glanced nervously at the axe and the block and back to her, silently seeking a promise. The woman's eyes softened. "I swear it. You won't be put to death if you do exactly as I say. I need that promise from you."

Tuffnut nodded, hearing his language spoken was significantly calming. The only bad thing was that it was allowing the anger to slip away. Anger was all he had left to keep the crippling terror and pain at bay. "Anything, just . . . please, I don't want to die just now. I have a sister, I have a home. I just want to go home."

Something like sorrow briefly passed over Queen Elinor's face. "I'm sure you do," was all she said. She beckoned him to approach her and the red-headed girl by her side. Tuffnut might have leered at her if he were in a better situation; he'd never seen hair that color. It was pretty, like fire.

Instead he moved forward, dropping the spear and stumbling slightly. Elinor put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him or simply keeping him there. "You will need rest, and a healer for your injuries. There will be more talk in the morning. Can you kneel?"

"I . . . think so?"

"Then do it now, quickly."

Awkwardly, not sure if he'd be able to get up again, Tuffnut did as she asked, having to brace his hands against the floor at the onset of dizziness. Elinor raised her voice, addressing the men behind him. He watched blood roll down his arm in fat droplets, from a gash he wasn't even aware he'd received.

"He has agreed to the proposition of being my daughter's bodyguard. I know there is much doubt and worry about this arrangement, and I agree with you that it needs work. However, his knowledge of Norse language and war tactics may prove to save my daughter's life, along with his skill with fighting."

"My lady, I must still protest. You trust him too easily; this could have all been a plot to impress yourself and the princess!"

"Lord MacGuffin, if this boy has managed to predict my daughter's actions so flawlessly, then he will have an enormous advantage in keeping her safe." There were knowing chuckles accompanying this, and Merida rolled her eyes, willing to be slightly ribbed if it meant the boy would live.

"Furthermore, she won't be going anywhere with him, or without him, until they understand each other's languages. Perfectly."

Merida just managed to keep from throwing a fit at that. She was looking at language lessons day and night, and she'd study Norse until she was bluer in the face than Lord Macintosh, the sooner it meant she could ride Angus through the fields and woods again. Oh her poor Angus, how he would chafe to go running for however long this took. She only hoped the boy was a fast learner.

Glancing at him she gasped to see that he was nearly white and slightly shaking. Elinor noticed as well and her eyes widened marginally. "I'm sure there's many other of your concerns to address, but for now, I invite you to enjoy our hospitality and our wine."

The voices that raised still in protest were drowned out by cheering.

"I'll drink to no more bear stories!" one of the Dingwall clansmen shouted, earning a dark look from Fergus. At this rate, there was going to be another one of the famous brawls of Castle DunBroch. Merida could feel the temperature drop as her father said something similar about thetall tales of the Dingwall Clan, and she decided they better make good their escape.

Her mother had coaxed the boy to his feet, on which he stood unsteadily. She was either talking lowly or simply making soothing noises, and the poor lad was obviously in need of such kindness. Merida walked on his other side as they left the hall and all the shouted arguments behind.