A fond saying on Berk was that the peril you leave behind you is what makes you shiver the hardest. Being brave going into battle was an easy thing. The aftermath of surviving it was quite another. He really should have been dead by now. Sure, maybe his actions would have ensured him a place in Valhalla, but he'd still be dead.

The memory of that axe, just waiting next to the block . . . Tuff tried to will the thought away but the image was there, imprinted behind his eyelids. They had been about to behead him. Would it have hurt? How long would he have been horribly aware until he died? Would his body have flailed around in the sawdust, to everyone's amusement?

Yet the girl had spoken up, said something that made everything stop. And her mother . . . why did she know his language? Tuffnut couldn't imagine a woman who looked less Viking. Everything she wore was made of soft, heavy material that seemed impossible to run or walk in and she carried no weapon. The girl at least had a dagger at her waist.

Elinor said a few words, though not to him, beckoning instead to a couple of women carrying laundry. They looked at him and recoiled, except for one who answered in alarm, putting down her basket. She honed in on them, too fast for his comfort; Tuffnut backed away. Elinor's hand squeezed his shoulder in reassurance.

"She won't harm you. Her name is Ailsa – she's very good with cleaning wounds and with bone-setting."

"Bone setting?" Tuff muttered uneasily. He held his arm across his chest protectively.

"It will be alright," Elinor said soothingly. Before Tuffnut could protest further, the women were already leading him into a high-chambered room and toward the narrow bed - if that's what one called a bed. It looked too soft. As Gobber liked to say, any bed too soft to spring up from, battle-ready, wasn't a bed you wanted to sleep on. He would sink into that soft thing and be stuck there.

Elinor was attempting to get him to do something, but Tuffnut wasn't following – too dazed with fear and pain to even think straight. Two of the women tried to gently push him there, talking in sugary sweet tones. He stumbled away from them, unnerved.

Gothi wasn't this nice when you were injured. Gothi ordered you around, and got the job done fast and whether or not she was nice about it, you still healed up alright in the end. These ladies, while they appeared to have good intentions, did not exactly scream 'efficient'.

Red suddenly filled his vision and the girl was leading him by the shoulders toward a table, casually kicking aside the chair. She pointed to him and then to the wooden surface meaningfully.

Tuffnut sat on the table, too overwhelmed to argue, and made a noise of alarm as Merida pushed him onto his back. She carefully stretched his arm out to the side, unbinding the rest of the wrapping that had gotten covered with blood and grime in the fight. Letting it fall to the floor, she gripped wrist and elbow and demonstratively gave a light tug. It sent a sharp pain up to his shoulder, but it let him know what was coming.This girl was no-nonsense about things at least.

{Merida, what on earth . . .} Elinor was surprised at her daughter's bedside manner.

{Mum, if it were me, frightened out of me wits, I'd just want to have it all done and over with. Aisla, come here. Effie, we'll need a bowl of hot water, a clean cloth, some needle and thread.}

He couldn't understand a thing she was saying, but she at least sounded like she knew what she was doing. Carefully, she tugged off his vest and another woman stepped in to help divest him of his tunic. Cold and anxious, Tuffnut watched the flurry of activity around him.

Two other women entered the room with steaming buckets, and he heard water splashing as it filled a tub. Everyone seemed to be talking at once in their own language, which only added to his unease.

He closed his eyes when he felt Aisla's hands grip his upper and lower arm. The red-head rested her hands on his bare shoulders, ready to apply force to keep him down.

Tuffnut allowed himself to relax and held his breath.

Feeling him untense marginally beneath her hands, Merida nodded at Aisla, who yanked sharply. There was a snap and the boy tilted his chin up and swallowed a pained noise. After a long moment, gray-blue irises looked straight up into hers, with more curiosity this time than fear.

He croaked a question and she looked to her mother.

"He's asked for your name," Elinor translated, having relinquished control in favor of watching how her daughter handled this. More and more often, Merida noticed, her mother tended to become a wall flower whenever Merida decided she wanted to take charge. It was empowering to have nobody scolding her for decisions, but also humbling when the occasional unwise decision led to chaos.

"Merida," she answered, as Effie set out the items she had requested. Merida noticed how the boy's eyes categorized them nervously. Not wanting him to work himself up with fear again, she pointed to him and looked expectant. She wasn't sure the answer she got back was a name or a nonsense word. "Tuffnut?" she repeated, tilting her head.

He nodded, eyes widening a little as Aisla threaded the needle. Merida longed to talk to him, even if just to distract him from this. Hands still on Tuff's shoulders, she looked up to see her mother coming over. A gentle smile between her and Elinor told her all she needed. Elinor laid a hand on Tuff's brow, causing the boy to look at her rather than at the needle.

Tuffnut said something fast, sounding strained, and she nodded.

"He dislikes needles, Aisla, to put it mildly. So make it quick as you can."

"Tell him not to worry," the older woman said, as Merida washed out the wound on his upper arm and the bloodied skin around it. "I will."

"Tell me of your family. Do you have sisters or brothers?"

"Yeah, a sister. She's my age, her name's Ruffnut. It's just us and our parents, when they're home. They go on hunting trips a lot. Never really bring anything back though. So actually, it's usually just us."

Tuffnut knew he was rambling, but he couldn't help it. Getting his arm set was nothing; between him and Ruff they'd had their bones broken and reset dozens of times. Needles were a completely different story.

A few nights before they'd started dragon-training, he'd snuck out and gotten a tattoo of a dragon on his hip. He hadn't wanted to keep it from Ruffnut, but Snotlout had made an earlier disparaging comment about Tuff being 'owned' by his sister, and thus unable to do anything without her consent. The jerk had also promised to come with him instead, but had been a no-show down at the docks.

The whole thing had been a disastrous idea. Trader Johann hadn't been nearly as fast or skilled as he'd claimed to be, and Tuff had to get drunk in order to bear it. To add insult to injury, the finished work had ended up looking more like a vaguely dragon-shaped smudge than a tattoo. Maybe someday he'd get a better one, from someone who actually knew what they were doing.

"You have a twin?" Elinor asked, sounding surprised. "What is she like?"

"Loud, obnoxious, likes to hit people, especially me. She does it really well too. But she's there when I need her. We usually get into all kinds of trouble. She would've been here too if we'd . . ." He stopped, realizing he'd been about to mention their Zippleback.

Both Stoick and Hiccup had stressed that no-one must ever reveal the truth about their dragons to people they didn't know, no matter how trustworthy they seemed. Elinor and Merida were possibly his allies now, but they would have stronger ties to their own people.

A squeeze to his hand brought him out of his thoughts, as did the pull of thread through the wound on his arm. He hissed, tensing. Elinor made a soothing noise, gently preventing him from turning his head to look. "Easy, it's almost over. Was this your first time sailing? How did you get here?"

"How did I . . . what?" Distracted by pain, Elinor's words made no sense for a moment. After a moment he realized he was going to have to associate himself with those same Norsemen who'd burned down that place, killed all those people. It made his stomach turn, but if he didn't want to betray his village . . .

"I got here by boat. But those Vikings aren't with my tribe – the ones who attacked you. I promise, I didn't kill anyone, and I wasn't going to!"

Elinor made a soft shushing noise, but Tuffnut wasn't certain if she believed him. How could she? He couldn't even tell her the truth, and she had no reason to trust the flimsy excuse he'd just given. "Who are they? Why were you with them?"

He could feel Aisla tying off the thread. The pulling sensation stopped, though he was horribly aware of something beneath his skin. Warm water cascaded over his arm, and he saw pink and red droplets trailing over his chest.

Tuffnut didn't know the answer to her question. He didn't know what to say. If she didn't like the answer or figured out he was lying, what would happen? Conflicted and afraid, he kept silent.

"Perhaps now isn't the time to ask," Elinor was saying. She sounded so kind, enough to make him feel ashamed that he didn't dare tell the truth. What had she and Merida risked to save him?

"I'm sorry." It was lame, but it was all he had to offer, and he couldn't meet the woman's gaze. He didn't see Elinor shake her head.

"Nay, I was attempting to distract you and my own curiosity got the better of me. Distressing you further was not my intent. You need to rest and heal."

Elinor stroked a hand through his hair and Tuff nearly flinched; nobody had ever done that before. It felt good though, and he shut his eyes, feeling a sudden overwhelming need to be home again. Stupid Hookfang. Stupid Fishlegs. Stupid Ruff, for not being here.

"If I can prove I didn't have anything to do with that attack, do I get to leave?" Tuff asked. It was a question he had dreaded to try, because the answer didn't look good. If those warriors had wanted to kill him for amusement, why not keep him prisoner for the same reason?

Elinor was quiet, still stroking his hair. "Truthfully, I don't know if it's possible. How would we get you home? Can you imagine one of our boats arriving safely on your shores?"

Tuffnut swallowed, seeing the impossibility now. It was not a welcome realization that unless he found a dragon on this island and managed to tame it, he would likely never see home again. There was no way to send a message to Berk, he didn't even know how far he was from the island or where he was. He looked up at Elinor, figuring he may as well figure that out at least. "What is this place called?"

"The island? The entire island is called Alba, or Skotland."

A sharp fear lanced through him at that name. ". . . Skotland? I'm in Skotland?!" He started to sit up in his panic and the pain made him lay back down before Elinor could calm him.

Trader Johann had told them many things about Skotland. He'd recounted a trip to their shores, upon which he'd met an army that had told him either he could go ashore and they'd take everything he'd owned, or they'd take everything anyway and kill everyone on board. He'd wisely chosen the former, watching helplessly as they gutted his ship to the bare bones, then laughing as he sailed away with barely enough food or water to make the journey to the next port.

The Picts, as he'd called them, were vicious and hostile and their Gaelic language impossible to understand. The country was beautiful if you didn't mind the horrid fog and bad weather, but you'd likely lose your head for daring to approach it. Tuffnut had thought he'd been terrifiedbefore, but to find he was in such an unfriendly place? Even Outcast or Berserker Island would have been a better choice to land than here!

He had been spared from execution thanks to Merida and Elinor, but to the rest of those dogs, he was a dried fish on a low hanging string. There would be no consequences if he were to be quietly murdered. No-one would come to avenge him, if they even found out what had happened. He could hear Elinor muttering anxiously and realized he was shivering violently.

"You will not be harmed, Tuffnut, that I promise you," he heard her saying. "Do you understand? Do you trust me?"

Tuff managed a nod through the fear clouding his mind. All he wanted was his sister, even his parents – as absent as they'd always been in their lives. But it was a worthless thought and also cowardly; he focused on shutting down his emotions instead.

Tuffnut swallowed, managing to get his tremors and harsh breathing under control, and tried again to sit up – slowly this time.

Aisla and Effie stepped in to help him off the table, and then began to guide him to the back of the room where a tub of heated water awaited. He went along until he realized what it was for and stopped in his tracks.

No. Being made to take a bath in front of strangers was not something the teenaged boy was remotely comfortable with, certainly not right now. He didn't doubt he was filthy from his horse-ride to the castle, but this was one indignity he could not handle on top of everything else.

Elinor came to his rescue again, instructing the women to give him space. "The bath is more of an offering than a demand," she assured him. "The state of your arm may cause difficulty with washing, and that is why we're here to help if needed. We're not here to force you." Her eyes softened and she cupped his face in her hands. "We're also not here to embarrass you to death."

That coaxed a small smile from him at least, and he glanced again at the tub. He wasn't fond of bathing, but at the same time, he did want to get the smell of horse and the pain-sweat off his skin. The water was hot, something that wasn't a practice in Berk, aside from special occasions. When you wanted to be clean, you plunged into a hole in the ice at worst, and into tepid thawed water at best.

He was given a small towel to wrap around his waist as he stepped out of his boots and leggings. Despite the covering, Tuff still felt remarkably exposed as he sunk down into the water. At least Merida had left the room; it was one less pair of eyes on him. He awkwardly drew his knees up as Effie knelt close to apply a clean linen bandage over the stitches in his arm, wrapping it so it wouldn't get wet.

With minimal fuss, Aisla and Effie helped him wash his hair and his back, and then thankfully went to the other side of the room while he washed everywhere else.

Elinor came back to tease out the knots and mats in his hair with a comb, being surprisingly gentle about it. Tuffnut was nearly calm, lulled by the feel of a comb pulling without resistance through his long hair as he'd so often done for his sister. His hand absently went up to the dragon-tooth pendant around his neck, fingers brushing against it.

A bustle at the door made him look up sharply and upon seeing Merida, he sunk down farther. At least the water was cloudy now.

{Brought food!} Merida announced, carrying a tray of chicken, cheese, bread, and a few apples. It was a rather large amount for one boy, but she was rather hungry herself. There was a bowl of broth too, just in case he felt too nauseous for solid food.

{You brought soup, good. He's rather ill at ease.} Elinor said, eyeing the selection. She smiled at her daughter, knowingly. {And you should eat too if you're so famished.}

{I brought some for you too, Mum. And anyhow, I had to load up and hurry in order to shake off the -} Merida's explanation was cut off with an exasperated sigh as three blurs shot past her through the doorway.

Tuffnut looked with surprised alarm at three identical faces clustered at his side, staring at him unabashedly. Elinor copied her daughter's sigh, though more fondly. "Tuffnut, these are my sons - Hamish, Hubert, and Harris. If there's any mischief in this castle, be sure they're usually at the center of it."

He offered the triplets a nervous smile and they positively beamed back at him, one jabbering and pointing to his necklace. "He wishes to know what animal that belonged to," Elinor translated patiently.

"A bear," Tuffnut answered quickly. Once again he had to lie to her, and he was surprised how much he was starting to hate that. "Our parents said it was a bear they killed a long time ago, on a hunt."

Elinor paused in combing his hair, but then kept brushing. She was silent as she tied his hair back, and then cleared her throat as though shaking something off. Had he said the wrong thing? She told his answer to Hamish and he blinked, before whispering to his brothers. In a flash, the three had disappeared again, scampering out of the room.

"Okay . . . what was that about?"

"Never mind it, they've got a lot of curious things to poke their noses into tonight," Elinor said, picking up a towel and handing it to him. She walked toward the table, back turned to him to give the boy privacy. Merida hastily did the same. "They'll likely be back later, full of more questions. Can you drink some broth?"

Tuff stood up shakily, drying off and then tying the towel around his waist as best as he could. It gave him a great deal more coverage than the small one he'd had to bathe in. "Uh . . . I'll try," he said, looking around in distress for his clothing. There was a folded pile on the bed, but he overlooked it completely in favor of his leggings, vest and tunic.

"Ah," said Elinor when she saw what he was looking for. "Your clothing is being washed. So in the meantime . . ." The articles she gestured to actually made Tuff recoil a few feet.

"No. No way. I am not wearing a skirt. What happened to not embarrassing me to death?"

"It's called a kilt. And you'll get your clothes back once they're clean. It'll be better than a towel around your waist."

"I'd almost rather have a towel around my waist," he snarked, glaring at the blue tartan. Elinor leveled a look upon him and Tuffnut met it for a full five seconds before fidgeting and breaking eye contact. He glanced again at the offending garment, grumbling to himself, and then resigned to his fate with a sigh.

"How do I put it all on?"

There had been a standoff about the clothing; that much Merida could gather. She was actually impressed he'd tried to meet her mother's infamous chilled stare for as long as he had. Most men she knew looked away and gave in before it could land on them.

Her mother was demonstrating how to fasten the plaid around his waist and though the boy was watching closely, he was clearly sulking. She hid her snort of amusement by biting into an apple, and the crunch brought his attention to her. He looked startled, as though he'd forgotten she was there. Tuffnut scowled and adjusted the towel tighter around him, tilting his head rudely toward the doorway.

She raised a challenging eyebrow. Was he ordering her to leave? Why just her? Aisla and Effie were busy emptying out the tub, and Elinor was standing not two feet away. She had every right to be here and besides, she was hungry.

Merida didn't budge, and he did it again – this time more forcefully, glaring at her meaningfully. Her mother enforced it with a shooing motion. Merida rolled her eyes to let him know how ridiculous he was being before snagging a chicken leg and stepping out into the hall.

His behavior was puzzling and irritating. She had three younger brothers that still ran around naked on humid summer days; it wasn't as though she was some sheltered maid who'd never laid eyes on a bare bum. Why had he wanted her to get out? In a snit, Merida gnawed at her chicken, leaning her back against the closed door.

After a few moments, however, her indignation at being singled out so rudely cooled into shame. This time last summer she had cared about no-one's feelings or point of view but her own. All that had changed when she'd nearly lost her mother for her pride. So perhaps before she let pride get the best of her again, she should try to see things from the boy's side . . .

He was in a strange place, everyone speaking a different language, all the while dragging him across the land to have his head cut off – he'd probably not even known what was aft until he saw the axe waiting. That must have been terrifying. Honestly, he had every reason to be wary and vulnerable after what he'd just been through.

Afterwards, he'd been treated to having his broken arm reset and wound stitched up . . . all acts of kindness, yes, though painful and also frightening. Even now with the food she'd brought up, he had no control over what he was offered; no freedom of choice. They had saved him from death, not from being a prisoner. Was it fair for her to expect gratitude?

Her heart dropped, realizing how rude she was being. Had she been in the same position, she would have demanded the same amount of respect and privacy, probably thrown something at his head. He was behaving surprisingly well under the circumstances. At length, chagrined by her realization, Merida turned back to the door and knocked lightly.

"You can come in, Merida," she heard her mother call. She reached for the door handle, and hesitated.

"Ask Tuffnut if it's alright," she called back. There was a pause and Elinor exchanged words with the boy, who sounded surprised when he answered.

Given the go-ahead, Merida entered and was treated with a sheepish though genuine smile from the boy. If she had still been angered, that smile alone would have melted it away. She returned it as she took in his appearance. Aisla had fashioned a sling for his injured arm, wrapping the injured limb with wool. His long hair was loosely tied back with a cord, and his face was clean of blood and dirt from the earlier melee. A woolen dark blue long-sleeved shirt covered his torso beneath a blue tartan plaid, belted at his waist above the kilt.

He wore the DunBroch colors well, as uncomfortable as he seemed in them. Merida noticed there was a strain in the boy's eyes as he fidgeted with the sleeves and belt, obviously not sure what to make of all this. Again she realized that the style of clothing was one more thing he was denied control over and she longed to know the words to comfort him with.

At least she had some means to communicate with him that didn't rely on translation. Merida held up her bitten apple, taking another bite and then gesturing to the tray, indicating he could help himself.

For a moment, he looked as though he was about to shake his head, but then he looked curiously at the fruit. Merida wondered if he'd ever seen an apple when he snatched its twin off the tray, turning it over and over in his hand. He sniffed at the red skin and then taking a small experimental bite.

The taste seemed to surprise him and he grinned, taking another larger one. Merida giggled at his thunderstruck expression. At least he was learning that not all surprises in this place had to be bad ones.

Merida had surprised him by asking permission to enter; he hadn't expected that at all. Merida was the one who lived in this weird place; she really could have just come back into the room without knocking. But she'd made a point to ask him.

He finished off the crunchy sweet fruit, barring only the seeds and stem, and did the same to Merida's apple core when she offered it up in amazement. For some reason, it amused her greatly to watch him eat apples and he wondered why she'd stopped while there was still so much fruit still left on it. The cheese and bread wasn't half-bad either, though he couldn't bring himself to eat the chicken past a few bites. The grease made it unappetizing, possibly due to nerves.

It was late when Elinor bade him good night, looking pointedly at Merida to do the same. She'd squeezed his good arm, telling him something, and though he couldn't understand it, he got the meaning well enough. Before he could reply she was out of the room, red hair disappearing out the doorway.

"These are your chambers tonight," Elinor told him, placing a gentler hand on his shoulder. "I advise you to stay in, at least while the other Lords and their men are here."

"Lords?" he asked, not understanding the term. "Do you mean the warriors?"

"Aye, the men that brought you here," she explained and he nodded, swallowing uneasily. Tuff watched her head for the door and bit his lip, wishing he could ask her to stay. He'd decided he didn't want to be alone after all. The moment came and passed, and after a final good night, Elinor had left the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Tuffnut looked at the too-soft bed again and sighed. He may as well try and sleep, since he didn't want to try his luck with the famous hostility of the Picts. Lying down on the bed, he attempted to relax. Everything hurt when he laid on his back or side, and sleeping on his stomach was impossible due to his arm. And how in Thor's name did anyone sleep on such treacherously soft surfaces? This was getting stupid.

He snagged two pillows and the comforter off the bed and headed over to the seat by the barred window. It offered a clear view of the sky and he paused while laying the blanket down over the cold stone. Numbly, he sat down, resting his arm over the pillow between his chest and knees and wondering what Ruff was doing or thinking just now.

Something seemed to hit him hard and fast in the chest, and the events of the day crumpled him from within. Hitching on a sob, the first of many, Tuff curled over, burying his face in comforting darkness. His hand curled around the dragon-tooth pendant hard enough that his palm would bear an imprint the next morning, but at length, he finally fell asleep.