Dudes, I don't think I've ever had so many follows and favorites from just a first chapter before. Thank you! I hope this chapter doesn't make you regret your decision.
He hadn't made eye contact with Astrid all through Stoick's announcement that the two of them would be traveling to DunBroch for Hiccup to try to win the princess. The responses had been predictable: jeering from the twins; protest from a few villagers who thought that Hiccup should stay, be the next chief, and marry them/their daughters/their sisters; realization slowly dawning on Snotlout's face that if Hiccup moved away, he would have a legitimate chance at the chieftaincy.
"Is this princess hot?" Tuffnut demanded.
"I'll teach you my foolproof methods," Snotlout said. "She'll be eating out of the palm of your hand in no time."
"Which you only want if she's hot."
"What's so special about some foreign girl anyway?" Ruff grumbled.
"She's not just some girl, she's the princess. That's plus ten political power, doubling or maybe even tripling, depending on the size of the kingdom, when she becomes queen. Making an alliance would increase her protection and trade profits." Unsurprisingly, no one else seemed as excited about the statistics as Fishlegs.
Astrid didn't say anything. She'd known about it already—she'd delivered the message, even after Stoick had explained what it was about. Hiccup had offered to go himself, but Dad had said that none of the other suitors would have delivered their own reply, so he shouldn't, either. Besides, it would be good for Astrid, he thought, having a diplomatic responsibility. The trip hadn't taken her very long at all, and a niggling part of Hiccup wondered if she'd actually delivered the message or just incinerated it somewhere. Anyone else would have, but it was Astrid. Her chief had given her the task, and she wouldn't fail to complete it.
Snotlout was already planning a going-away party, and Fishlegs kept trying to explain to an entirely uninterested Ruffnut all the advantages of a political marriage. Hiccup stole a nervous glance at Astrid, who was glowering at her mug of ale.
"You guys are making too big a deal of this," he said, trying to sound casual. "Dad and I'll go down there, he'll be diplomatic and I'll try not to embarrass myself too much, and then we'll be back. Do you really think she'll pick me? Come on." He gestured at himself to remind them all that they were talking about Hiccup, not some prize specimen of Vikinghood.
Tuff snickered and Snotlout chuckled uneasily, his plans apparently derailed, until Astrid's fists slammed into the tabletop. "Of course she will!" she snapped. "Or she should, if she's not an idiot. Haven't you been listening to Fishlegs?" All of them, including the boy in question, shook their heads. To accommodate their stupidity she went on, slower but no less forcefully. "If Hiccup marries her, she gets protection against raids. She gets allies and security. She gets dragons and the best dragon trainer in the world."
For some reason he felt the need to defend the Scots. "We'll get stuff, too. That ally thing works both ways, and it'll open up new trade for us. Who knows what kinds of new weapons we can get if we set up a good trade? And books—new ideas." That thought worked as well as he thought it would; eyes around the table lit up as they considered the possibilities. All of theirs except Astrid's, who wasn't as easily swayed by promises of shiny, dangerous things. "Anyway, it's not all about power and positioning. She wants a husband, not just a pawn. If she hasn't found someone she wants to marry before now, what makes you think it's gonna be me? I'm not exactly handsome and charming, as you might have noticed."
Astrid gave him a painfully incredulous look before exchanging glances with Ruffnut, who rolled her eyes with a little shake of her head. "Yeah, you're not exactly Thor, but you're a solid seven on looks. Personality included, you're up to eight and a half, for being crazy reckless," Ruff explained. From the slack-jawed expression on Fishlegs' face, he'd just fallen in love a little bit.
"Based on that, I'm a ten." Tuff smirked confidently.
"Negative ten," his sister snapped. He tried to punch her from across the table, with no success.
"What Ruff is trying to say is that if she's not blind and totally boring, the princess will like you." Hiccup opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "Yes, enough to pick you. She'd be a moron not to."
"Astrid—"
"And don't think you can go down there and screw up on purpose to convince her not to, so you can save my feelings from getting hurt or something. This is more important than that—this is our reputation on the line. You're not going to make the tribe a laughingstock, got it?" she snarled, jabbing a finger in his direction, and he recoiled. "They need to see that we're just as good as they are."
"Then they should probably send somebody else."
"There is nobody else." She deflated too quickly, the fight fading from her. "You're the best of us."
She watched the moon go through its phases, shrinking, disappearing, and swelling, a far more tranquil reminder of the passage of time than the preparations that went on around the castle. There hadn't been this much activity at DunBroch since the last gathering, and it was heightened by the fact that this gathering would last so much longer—she'd come to believe that entrusting her future and that of the kingdom to the outcome of some game or athletic event was the height of foolishness. Fergus had balked at the idea of a fortnight, and not without reason, but Elinor agreed that Merida would need more than just a few days to make a good decision. There would still be games, and she would watch her suitors compete in them with interest, but they wouldn't decide anything—and she did her best to stay well out of it, going to lessons, practicing her manners, and standing still to be fitted for dresses when she had to, all done with an obedience the like of which no one had ever seen the princess possessed of. Her change in demeanor was the subject of much talk and speculation in the corridors; everyone agreed that she'd calmed down since the incident with the bears, but this was something more. It was hard to appreciate Her Highness' new tractability when it seemed as though a light had gone out of her eyes.
All too soon men arrived and set up camp wherever they could. From her window she watched them gather below and couldn't help but feel on the brink of being besieged. And still no dragons arrived.
The day came for the formal beginning of the gathering, and as before the queen helped her prepare to meet their guests. She stayed quiet through the bathing and dressing, but when Elinor came toward her with the wimple in hand Merida's face fell. "Not that, Mum," she pleaded, shaking her head. "I can't breathe with it on. Please."
The queen hesitated. The headdress wasn't a torture device; it was only proper dress for such a momentous occasion. On the other hand, the last time she'd forced her daughter into it hadn't had quite the intended effect. Elinor folded the length of cloth and set it aside with a tiny twinge of regret that was smothered by the relief in Merida's expression.
Her shoulders were still tense, though, and not only because her hands clutched the edge of the bench, bracing herself against the expected onslaught of the brush. Elinor worked gently, plaiting the hair back from her temples and letting the rest fall down Merida's back.
She was proud of the maturity of Merida's decision, her willingness to put the needs of the kingdom before her own desires. But alongside the pride was an ache in Elinor's heart at the sight of her normally vivacious girl acting so withdrawn, demure and quiet and frighteningly obedient. Elinor finished with her hair and squeezed Merida's shoulders before she stood.
The queen clasped her hands in front of her. Merida looked wonderful, lithe and lovely, in the dress they'd picked together. It was her expression, both sad and determined, that didn't fit the scene—didn't fit her face, which was made to laugh. Elinor faced her daughter and took her hands as she spoke.
"No matter what happens, darling, I am proud of you. Your father and I will stand behind you whatever choice you make, though we're confident that you'll make the right one."
"I wish I were," she muttered, mostly to the floor. She straightened up further, rolling her shoulders back, her countenance rather like a condemned prisoner on the way to her fate. "Any last words of advice?"
The queen could think of only one thing, words that a few years ago would have struck her as foolhardy beyond compare; but now not saying them would have been the thoughtless act, and heartless besides. She smiled easily. "Be yourself."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Merida asked, sounding incredulous and more herself than she had in days.
"I am." Elinor reached out to stroke her daughter's cheek. "Be yourself: your father's lassie, your brothers' idol, and my bonny heroine."
Merida wiped away the tear tracking down her face. "I don't understand how you can call me that. Not after what I did." She shook her head. Sometimes the whole ordeal seemed like merely a bad dream, but more often she remembered the hurt in her mother's eyes, her expression slipping from human to bear, the sound of Merida's own angry words and careless, selfish actions, and she marveled that anyone she'd hurt so much could forgive her, let alone love her.
"Why not? You saved me."
"After you saved me."
"Oh, that," Elinor said dismissively. She produced a handkerchief and dabbed at Merida's eyes. "Well, if I'd let Mor'du have you, I'd have been a bear forever. I hadn't any choice, really." She shrugged and tucked the handkerchief away again. Merida laughed weakly.
"Thank you, Mum."
"It was my pleasure."
Despite what her mum said, Merida knew that she'd have to behave herself if she wanted this to go smoothly. She couldn't afford to be herself, not really. She had to be someone quieter and kinder, someone more patient. There was too much at stake now to be impulsive and brash; there were too many people to see if she failed. She'd need small steps, soft words, gentle smiles, and to the list she added, as she took her place beside her dad, more patience than she'd ever needed before.
The doors were flung open with the usual slightly-haphazard fanfare and their guests surged in. Merida scanned the assembly for familiar faces as they entered and arranged themselves in the hall. Both Ewan and Domnall looked the same, and why shouldn't they, since it had only been a year since they'd all last met. Of the new suitors, the minor nobles and merchants' sons and the few warriors and tradesmen, none stood out much as they assessed each other and her. With any luck some of them would see her and the competition, decide she wasn't worth the bother, and head for home at first light. She found herself searching the crowd for someone she likely wouldn't even recognize.
From the doorway there was a grumbling, followed by the sound of a solid thunk of fist against metal, and then the crowd parted. There was no mistaking the man striding through the crowd for anything but a Viking, given the size of him and the helmet; the shorter man by his side was bareheaded but dressed in some kind of leathern armor, and one foot made of metal clinked lightly against the stone floor. Merida didn't have to look to know there was a curious expression on her dad's face. That was all she managed to observe before the shouting started.
"Vikings! What are you doing here?"
"Come to raid our very king in his own hall?"
Lord MacGuffin's broad face was red, and Lord Macintosh held his sword at the ready. The two foreigners stared back impassively, though the younger's face twitched as he tried to control his expression. Merida glanced at her parents and then stepped forward and cleared her throat to quell the commotion.
But because she wasn't her mother it didn't have the desired effect, so she had to resort to taking another step, closer to where Lord MacGuffin and Lord Macintosh were all but foaming at the mouth. "My lords," she began; as expected it achieved nothing. She clenched her hands tightly in front of her, praying for patience with meddlesome men, and took a deep breath. "My lords," she repeated, as gracefully as possible at top volume, and they quieted somewhat. She continued in the same vein. "Everyone present is here at the king's pleasure, and mine. I hope all of our guests will treat each other courteously."
"Aye, Your Highness," Macintosh muttered, lowering his sword with grudging slowness.
"As my lady wishes," said MacGuffin.
She nodded to them and then to the Vikings. Fergus stood as she returned to her seat. "As the princess says, we welcome all our guests to DunBroch. Erm, might as well introduce yourselves. And keep it short this time, eh?"
Lord Macintosh sheathed his sword noisily and glared at the foreigners one last time before turning back to his liege. "From Clan Macintosh, my son and heir, Ewan Macintosh." The lordling bowed extravagantly, proud as ever.
"Domnall MacGuffin, firstborn of his clan." He smiled shyly, and Merida found herself returning the smile.
In turn all of the men introduced themselves. Some of the noblemen were already chieftains of their own small clans, and few of the others had their fathers to present them. Some were loud and boastful when it was their turn, but at least one looked ill at being made to speak in front of so many people. Through it all the Vikings waited; the older was nearly expressionless, but the younger's eyes watched his rivals keenly. Finally, when every Scot had made himself known, the Viking chieftain addressed them, and everyone in the hall grew still to hear.
"I am Stoick the Vast, chieftain of the Hairy Hooligan tribe of the island of Berk, and this is my son, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III." Hiccup, that was it. He bowed, a bit awkwardly, face strangely blank. Merida nodded.
"We thank you all for joining us here. In the coming days we will all have the chance to meet and talk as we enjoy the friendly competition of the games." No matter how much her mum tried to use subtle reinforcement or how much her dad threatened, someone was going to end up getting hurt, Merida thought, watching the men jostle each other as they filed out of the hall. Boys, especially grown-up ones, really were tiresome sometimes.
A few of the suitors lingered, hoping to get a head start on the competition. The Macintoshes got there first, the elder lurking behind as his son stepped forward.
"Hullo, Princess Merida," Ewan said from the foot of the dais.
"Welcome back to DunBroch, Ewan. How was your journey?"
"I would have got here sooner if I hadn't had to wait for the rest of the men. I've just got a new stallion, you see, and he loves to run. Perhaps you'll join me for a ride later." His eyes sparkled, knowing she'd be hard-pressed to say no.
"I'd like that," she admitted. His grin widened, and his father looked triumphant. With a bow to her parents the two departed.
Domnall MacGuffin took their place. "Good day to you, Princess," he rumbled slowly, cheeks spotted with pink.
"And you, Domnall. How is your sister?" She was an adorable, chubby-cheeked blonde girl ten years old who'd been absolutely delighted to attend the Dingwall wedding and eager to show off her new dress.
He smiled wider. "Very well, highness. She asked me to send you her love." At the final word he blushed violently.
Merida winced, hoping she didn't look embarrassed as well; she'd hate for anyone to get the wrong idea, especially not poor Domnall. Flustered, he bowed hastily, eyes averted, and retreated before she could pass on her thanks to his sister.
Then Stoick and Hiccup approached. The father was much as she remembered, but the son had grown almost to the point of being unrecognizable. She tried to find something familiar in his face without appearing impolite. "Thank you for inviting us, King Fergus, Queen Elinor, Princess Merida," Stoick said.
"It's wonderful to see you again."
"We have much to talk about."
"Later," Elinor said firmly. "Are you sure your encampment is comfortable enough? We've still empty rooms here in the castle." Unlike the majority of the suitors, who were sprawled throughout the castle grounds, they had chosen a spot on the rocky lakeshore. They didn't seem worried about appearing antisocial.
Hiccup spoke up for the first time then. "For right now it would be better for our…companions to keep their distance from the others." The boy she'd known seemed closer at the sound of his voice, but the unsettling feeling of there being two of him, boy and man at once, was forgotten at the mention of their companions. The dragons. She leaned forward in her seat.
"Perhaps we'd better have a look at these companions of yours," Fergus suggested, scarcely able to conceal his curiosity. Merida would have laughed if she hadn't felt the same, eager and anxious and scared, the thrill of the unknown curling in the pit of her belly.
Stoick looked to his son, who shrugged. "If you want," Hiccup said. "Though it'd probably be best if we didn't attract a crowd along the way."
"Oh, aye," her dad agreed readily. "I'll just go along with you to make sure you've everything you need at your camp." He winked in a distinctly unsubtle way.
And did they suppose they would leave her behind? "What about me?" Merida burst out. "I want to go, too!"
Elinor sighed quietly. Hiccup looked from the princess to her father, hesitating just long enough for the queen to interject. "Later," she repeated. "It will arouse too much suspicion if you're seen in the company of a particular one of the suitors already."
"And our dads," she mumbled, but the damage was done and her face burned red. The prospect of seeing dragons had made her forget why they were here, but reality came crashing back at her mum's words. He was like all the others, merely trying to woo her; he probably thought his dragons would impress her. She slumped back dejectedly, reminding herself yet again that this time it was her idea and her fault.
"You'll see them soon, princess," Stoick promised gently. She managed a smile at him and sat up straight again as Fergus rose.
"Let's take a look at your camp," he said overly loudly, clapping Stoick on the shoulder. Stood next to each other the similarities between them were pronounced: the height, the dark ginger hair, the barrel chests. Together they made a fearsome pair, one that anyone with any sense would think twice about provoking. The sight made an alliance with the Vikings seem a better idea than ever.