Someone had suggested a picnic. Apparently picnics here were much more involved than they were back in Berk, where it meant throwing some bread and dried fish in a sack, grabbing a little light weaponry, and heading out. Or maybe the tents and pies and the band of musicians were a royal thing; from what he could tell the queen was in charge of this particular excursion, which accounted for the fanciness.

While the royal family and their servants were busy in the castle, Hiccup found the suitors preparing by polishing their tack and brushing their horses. Hiccup didn't think that Toothless would be welcome, especially among skittish animals like horses, but if he wanted to go, he was clearly going to need some transportation. It seemed unlikely that anyone would let him hitch a ride with them, and there was no way in Hel he'd ask any of the suitors to borrow a horse; maybe he could ask Fergus, though. He also wasn't going to mention that he'd never ridden a horse before. It couldn't be that different from riding a dragon, right?

He was turning to go look for the king when one of the men said, "You've no' got a horse, have you?" From the steady, deliberate delivery of the words, he knew it was the younger MacGuffin. The blond man spoke like he was used to being asked to repeat himself, and wanted to avoid it.

"No. No horse." He didn't feel the need to elaborate. Everyone knew him as the dragonrider already; there was no need to bring it up in every conversation.

"Hard luck," someone nearby said. "There's nothing the princess loves more dearly than a good long ride."

From further away another man muttered slyly, "I could give her a good long ride." There were a few crude chuckles, but also voices urging the speaker to show some respect. Hiccup glared in the direction of the speaker, but his attention was drawn back to a piece of leather in MacGuffin's hand squealing as he clenched his fist tight around it, his face clouding. Hiccup hadn't heard of Scots going berserk, but he had a good candidate for it right here. And this wasn't the first time MacGuffin had reacted threateningly to someone being less than polite about Merida. Hiccup figured he knew what that meant, and filed the information away for the future.

He cleared his throat, and MacGuffin's grip loosened somewhat. "Do you know where King Fergus is?"

"What d'you want to talk to him for?" There was a slight edge to the question, though whether that was residual anger or suspicion of him he wasn't sure.

Maybe now would be a good time to work on those friendly relationships. He dropped his voice to a level loud enough for just MacGuffin to hear. "I'm going to ask if I can borrow a horse. It looks like this picnic could be interesting. I'd hate to miss it because I didn't have a ride."

MacGuffin stared at him for a long moment; it was a little awkward, but not hostile. After a brief silence, the man said, "I'll ask me dad if you can take his."

Hiccup hadn't been expecting that. "What, really?"

He nodded shortly. "Aye. You're no' a bad sort; 's more than can be said of some of them."

"Thank you." He couldn't work out why MacGuffin had offered, turning over reason after convoluted reason in his head; in the end he decided that the other man thought he was safe, that he didn't pose any harm to the princess and possibly any threat to MacGuffin's own courting. Hiccup wondered how true that was.

And so not more than an hour later he stood next to a towering grey horse. Said beast radiated an air of impatience; all around them riders were swinging into the saddle, but not his. Hiccup watched MacGuffin mount his horse. It didn't look complicated.

"You have ridden before, haven't you?"

"Uh…no." Hiccup smiled weakly. "Did I not mention that?"

MacGuffin muttered something that sounded like "Crivens," whatever that meant. "Put your left foot in the stirrup and swing your right over his back."

Left foot. Great. "Can't I go right foot first?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's backwards. No one mounts that way."

He never appreciated Toothless more than when he lifted his leg to slip his foot into the stirrup. Didn't horses know how to lie down? That would make it so much easier. When he felt that his prosthetic was securely in the stirrup he grabbed the saddle and pushed up. It took a few tries before he made it up.

"Alright?" MacGuffin was only smirking a little as he watched Hiccup

"Great."

"Stay by me and you should be fine."

Before he could respond Elinor and Merida appeared on their horses. They greeted the men and then wheeled to lead the way.

Getting down was just as complicated as getting up. No one was paying him much attention, though, for which he was grateful. When he'd dismounted safely, if not gracefully, he stood shifting his weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to do, until MacGuffin took the horse's reins and led it away to tie it to a tree. Hiccup watched as he produced an apple and offered it to Merida. She took it with a slight laugh and asked a question, eyebrows raised and lips curving, before she fed the apple to her horse.

It was easy to see why MacGuffin liked her. She was energetic, spirited, teasing—all the things she'd been as a child, though now, coupled with her unexpected beauty, those traits were alluring. They could also be easy to misinterpret. He hadn't been surprised at the rude comment back at the stable; if anything, he was surprised that he hadn't heard more such innuendo so far. Maybe the Scots really were more civilized than the Vikings.

This was exactly the kind of social situation that he was no good at. Not that he was great at any kind of social situation, but in a small group, with people he knew and shared interests with, he could manage not to be too weird. This, though, this was classic pre-Toothless Hiccup, the outcast in any crowd.

It gave him a chance to observe the others as they jockeyed for places near Merida. Some of them were subtle, but a few were starting to look desperate; their offers to bring the princess refreshments, or inquiries after her comfort, if she was too chilly or too warm or needed any shade, were discomfiting to witness, and must have been all the more awkward for her to sit through. She smiled, though, or at least made a face that seemed to be passing for a smile.

If she'd had her way it would have been a race to the picnic site. But with her mum next to her they rode at a sedate pace, trotting on a path overlooking the loch as the suitors followed behind them. They passed into the forest briefly before reaching the glade, where a pair of tents and tables for the luncheon were already set up. It couldn't have been a nicer day for it: the sun was framed by a few fluffy clouds, the air was sweet and clear. If only there weren't all these people around, she thought with only a touch of bitterness.

She would be happier sprawled out in the grass while her mum read and her brothers frolicked, instead of trying to maintain perfect posture as she sat on a blanket, surrounded by a handful of men who clearly wanted her to starve. Thus far, the picnic didn't seem like the most efficient scheme for any one suitor to advance himself; if that was the intention behind it, it was a bit scatty. She suddenly missed Wullie Dingwall and the days when there were only three lads out to get her. She could be Lady Dingwall now if she'd done what she was supposed to; she could be Lady Macintosh, or Lady MacGuffin a hundred times over, and not beset on all sides by wooing men, if she weren't so stubborn.

Harris and Hubert plopped down on her left and Hamish threw himself to the ground on her right, causing men to scramble out of the way. Harris handed her a meat pie and she took it with a grateful smile, nibbling at it as Hubert told a joke to the men sitting nearby, giving her a chance to breathe. What would she do without the boys? She blinked to clear the mist that filled her eyes at the thought and looked away.

A handful of suitors sat around her, listening to her brothers joke. Beyond them the others sat on the grass in little knots of three or four. Ewan sat between a wool merchant and a lord from east of DunBroch, likely talking about horses; he gave her a shy smile when he noticed her looking. The biggest group, half a dozen men, sat around Hiccup. As she watched one of the others said something and Hiccup answered, leaning forward intently, hands gesturing. His head whipped around as another man asked a question. Even from a distance she could see his expression change as he listened, eyes narrowing in concentration, brows furrowing; his reply ended with the quirk of an eyebrow and a sardonic smile, and the men chuckled. He seemed surprised by the response, eyes darting around the laughing faces. Then he looked straight at her. She started back, like she'd been burned, and dropped her eyes quickly. It took the space of a few breaths for her heartbeat to slow again.

Hamish pulled on her hand. "Come on, Merida, let's take a walk," he all but ordered as his brothers popped up. She excused herself from the suitors, lounging in a post-lunch stupor, and took Hamish's arm, Harris and Hubert behind them.

The boys were better than any armed warrior when it came to encouraging people to keep their distance. Hamish shook off her hand after a moment, and the three of them scampered around her like the cubs they once were. They soon started playing follow-the-leader, Harris weaving them around tree trunks at the edge of the clearing, and Merida fell in line behind them. This could be the last time they played together here. The triplets were almost old enough to eschew such pastimes in favor of ever more elaborate pranks; with a sick feeling she thought that they were probably doing this for her, one final time. Tears pricked at her vision and she dragged her sleeve roughly across her eyes.

Soon Hubert raced ahead to overtake Harris, accidentally bowling him over in the process; Hamish jumped onto Hubert in retaliation, or more likely just because. Hubert managed to wriggle free of his hold and took off into the forest, the others in pursuit. She watched them go with a wistful smile, knowing full well that she couldn't follow anymore.

At least their departure granted her a respite from men. She moved carefully behind a tree to peek out at them: most of them still sat talking, but two were ignoring her mum's displeased frown and lay on their stomachs to arm-wrestle. She rolled her eyes. Two more to leave out, she thought. It came as a shock to realize how few of the suitors she'd actually considered viable choices. It was even more of a shock to realize that after last night the number had dropped to two.

She stumbled forward and sank onto a stump, cradling her head in her hands. Her mind reeled. What she was about to do, what would happen in just a few days, had never seemed as real as it did then.

"Hey," a quiet voice said nearby. Her head shot up and she looked around wildly. Perched on a rock just outside the treeline, his body facing the glade but his head turned toward her, was Hiccup. "You okay?"

She nodded. He twisted in her direction under the guise of cracking his back. "Nobody can see you there if you want to keep hiding," he said, his voice amused but kind.

"I'm not hiding."

"Okay." He turned the other way. "Do you want me to leave?"

She shrugged, but his back was to her. "No."

"Do you want me to stop talking?"

She paused for a moment, then said quietly, "No."

"Okay. I'll just be here, looking like I'm talking to myself." She laughed softly. "I think most of them think I'm crazy already, so it doesn't really matter."

"They might not think you're crazy if they hadn't heard that you jumped off the bridge."

"And landed exactly where I meant to." He sounded indignant, and she saw him spread his arms as he asked, "What's crazy about that?"

"Nothing, nothing at all."

He hmphed at the sing-song lilt in her voice. "Those were some interesting songs last night."

"You were there? I didn't see you." Why did she wish he of all people hadn't witnessed it?

"I was talking to some of the guys from Clan MacGuffin. I might've been behind the chief." He glanced at her quickly, eyebrow quirked, and she giggled.

"You don't sing?" She scooted around on the stump to face him.

"Nope. It wouldn't have helped me any to embarrass myself in front of everyone, either."

"Discretion is the better part of valor, Mum says."

He let out a short bark of a laugh. "Try telling that to my dad. Or yours, for that matter." He leaned down and picked up a stick, angling his body toward her as he straightened again. Head down, he stripped the twigs from the stick in his lap as he spoke.

"Anyway, being able to sing didn't actually seem to help the guy who won."

"He thought he could manipulate me and get away with it," she said, glowering. She didn't want to admit that he'd succeeded; he'd gotten her to agree to judge the contest, to name him winner, to reward him with what he wanted. The thought of it, his machinations and her failure to avoid them, still made her angry. Her voice was hard as she went on, "Anyone who thinks this is a game and I am the prize will soon find himself disappointed."

Hiccup looked up at her. Despite her defiant tone her chin had dropped, her expression dimmed. He didn't care about any of the other guys there; he just hoped she wouldn't be the one who ended up disappointed.

This could be a nice life.

To her surprise, Domnall had approached her as they packed up the picnic and suggested target practice in the morning. He couldn't have come up with a better idea; she hadn't touched her bow since the gathering had begun, and the idea of shooting made her grin in relief. His broad face had shone with happiness when she nodded her agreement, and they met on the field where the targets were still set up after the competition—one that she had neither participated in nor watched. The tug of the string against her fingers as she drew, the restrained hiss of the arrow in flight, the thud of the iron head into the target was immensely satisfying. She fired nearly a dozen arrows before remembering that someone else was waiting to shoot; then she blushed and gathered them up before she watched him shoot, holding her tongue the entire time.

Though he was a terrible archer, Domnall was sweet. If they married he would eventually get over his tendency to go red-faced and stammering when she smiled at him; though to be honest, his reaction made her feel beautiful. Deep down, though, she knew that that wasn't enough.

She kept thinking as she took her place to shoot again. Even if she never found herself madly in love with him, if all she could muster was an appreciative fondness for his quiet presence, they could be happy. She could bear his children and be a faithful wife; she could be the kind of wife he deserved, excepting that she'd never love him as ardently as he seemed to her. But they could have a nice life all the same.

It was his turn, but he didn't move to the mark. Instead he stood before her, looking down into her face, bow clutched in one hand. As tall as he was, he really needed a longer bow, she thought distantly; that would have to help matters. "Merida," he said, flushed but determined, "can I kiss you?"

Her heart stuttered. It wouldn't be her first now, no thanks to Col, but in terms of permission it would be. Would it be his first as well, or had someone else come before? Should she say no, wait to share this moment with her betrothed? Or would it be better to erase the last experience, to try it with someone who cared more for her than for his own pride? He stared, hopeful, and she admired him for asking when he knew that she might say no, and that her mother likely wouldn't approve. If nothing else, his courage deserved a reward, and she'd rather have his kiss to think about than Col's. She nodded.

He leaned forward, his face slowly filling her vision until she shut her eyes, if only to stop from feeling overwhelmed. His lips were hesitant and warm, moving gently against hers, demanding nothing.

It was nice.

When they parted and she opened her eyes it was to a rapturous expression on his face. "Thank you," he said huskily. "Now if you pick someone else, I'll at least have had that."

She smiled and did her best not to cry.

By the end of the first week more than a few of the men had gone. Some had sneaked away, as if no one would notice, but more had begged leave of the royal family, citing the need to return home for various reasons or saying nothing, graciously not acknowledging that they knew they'd no chance.

After a group of them had said farewell at midday Fergus let out a sigh of relief. "That's good news for the larder," he said, and Merida nodded. He gave her a too-searching look that she saw him wear with distressing frequency these days. "I hope you're not disappointed, lass."

"Not really." Maybe she should have begged them to stay, or made a show of sadness; that wouldn't have been right, though. False feeling would be more insulting than a cordial acceptance of their parting words, though, and she respected them who had the sense to cut their losses. And she was glad there would be fewer people around. She felt like she could breathe more easily than she had done in months.

What was it like to be courted by only one man? Imagine being able to devote all of one's attention to a single suitor, to have months to learn about his habits and quirks, to accept a proposal already knowing that one loved the man. Her dad had courted her mum, even though their marriage had been arranged; whatever he'd done had worked, because the pair of them loved each other deeply. They'd all agreed to let a suitor win her heart before her hand, but that mightn't—probably wouldn't, really—happen at this rate. Maybe it would have to be enough to offer her hand to someone she could grow to love over time, someone who could eventually love her in return, someone who could understand and wait with her.