So I take it you guys liked the last chapter. ;) Thanks for all the reviews and favorites. I hope you enjoy this one as well.

He drew back first, brushing his nose against hers before taking half a step back. She opened her eyes slowly, drawing in a shaky breath, gasping all over again at the tender smile she saw, the eyes darker than she remembered them. Him looking like that made her want to grab him by the ears and drag his lips down to hers again. She clutched her hands together in front of her to stop from doing just that. "Say something," she mumbled, more to the ground than to him.

He snorted quietly. "Is that the best you got?"

Her eyes snapped up to the challenge on his face. As she gave in to her earlier impulse she caught the way his lips curved into a self-satisfied smirk; the realization that he'd goaded her into just this reaction didn't bother her too much, not when she could feel his smile beneath her lips.

He was glad when she let go of his ears, partly because it had kind of hurt but mostly because now her fingers were weaving through his hair, catching at the short braid on one side. And he was beyond glad that his gamble had worked—yeah, because she was kissing him again and it was like flying through a thunderstorm while wearing a metal helmet, but also because it was her, the real her. The one who wouldn't back down, who wanted to prove herself just as good as anyone else, if not better: that was the girl he wanted kissing him.

She slid her hands to the back of his neck and pulled herself closer, pressing her chest against his. That made it hard to keep from wrapping his arms around her, and he clenched his fists by his sides, knowing that it was safer to keep his hands off. That way, if anyone happened to see them, it would be clear that his intentions were honorable, and that the princess was under no duress. He nearly snorted; like he could—or more importantly, would—force her to do anything she didn't want to.

Merida was momentarily distracted from the question of why he wasn't touching her by the fact that he had her lower lip trapped between his. She moaned a little at the feeling, vaguely surprised at the sound coming from her own mouth. Then she decided that if she already sounded wanton, she might as well act it, too, and dropped a hand from Hiccup's neck to reach down blindly and catch his wrist; when she found it she guided his hand none too subtly to the small of her back, shivering at the strength of his arm curving around her.

Then his hand slipped forward, pressing gently into her waist before leaving her body. She frowned and pulled back, ready to demand an explanation, though he took the opportunity to brush a kiss against her parted lips and her scowl faded. Her limbs felt heavy and hot, and there was only one way she could think of to stop her lips from tingling. Merida laid a hand against his jaw and leaned forward until he could count the lashes that rimmed her eyes, wide and wanting; then she stopped and stared until he closed the gap, kissing her soft, sweet, sure, and he took her free hand and laced their fingers together.

This time he broke the kiss. He rested his forehead against hers and, eyes closed, listened to the sound of her breathing, ran his thumb over the back of her hand and felt her fingers squeeze his in response, tried not to think of the day coming when she would pick someone else, someone better for the kingdom, and he'd have to say goodbye to her again.

Too little time passed before he broke the silence. "Not that I'm complaining, but that wasn't really what I was expecting when you asked to talk."

Stupid sensible Hiccup. Here he was, able to form complete, coherent sentences, while she was having a hard time standing upright unassisted. Right. They'd been talking about marriage, and how he wanted her to be happy. The thought made her want to kiss him again—that would make her happy.

Hiccup was clever. He was good at analyzing things, seeing the way events fit together; he'd have good advice for her. "What should I do?"

"You know, I'm not really impartial here. Especially not after all that."

"I can't pick who to marry based on who I like kissing more," she said, mostly to herself.

"You've kissed the other guys?"

His eyes were narrowed—was he jealous? Merida felt powerful for a moment. "Aw, did you think you were special?" she cooed mockingly. He didn't look pleased.

Of course he hadn't been her first kiss. He'd seen that Col guy kiss her, though that hardly counted; and it wasn't fair to be jealous, not when Astrid had kissed him so many times, for so many years. And it was probably smart to see if she was, uh, physically compatible with the suitors before she married one of them, and it's not like he had any special claim on her, even though he'd known her longer and better than any of the rest of them.

But if any of them had made her feel the way her kiss made him feel, he was in trouble.

He looked so conflicted, caught between jealousy and understanding, that she couldn't leave him like that. "You're the only one I kissed first," she admitted, pleased when his expression lightened. Her voice dropped as she went on. "You're the only one I kissed more than once. And you're the only one I thought about kissing before it happened."

She was looking up at him through her lashes, biting her lip. He gave up trying to keep out of trouble—it had never panned out for him, especially not when she was around—and brushed his fingertips across her cheek. It was stupid and petty and too soon, but he wanted to make her forget anyone else who had ever kissed her. He cupped the back of her head, tangled her hair around his fingers, and kissed her firmly.

Though she had no skill at flirting, she'd been hoping she could coax another kiss out of him somehow. She hadn't expected this heat, though. His fingers tugged gently at her hair, but his mouth was less restrained. Col licking her lips, the very thought of his tongue in her mouth, all of it disgusted her; but here was Hiccup, tongue curling against hers, and the last thing she felt was disgusted. Her knees felt shivery and she raised a hand to steady herself, resting her palm flat against his chest, feeling the faint bump of his pulse. When she felt sure her legs weren't about to give way she tipped her chin up a bit and ran the tip of her tongue over the roof of his mouth.

Hiccup snaked his other arm around her waist again, pulling her closer. As good as it felt to kiss her senseless, it was infinitely better to have her willing and active, fingers curling into his chest, twisting his shirt as they kissed, growing more confident, demanding more with every moment that passed. But if they kept this up any longer he was going to start seeing stars from the lack of air. He eased back slowly, chuckling when she whined.

With hands on her shoulders he led her to the base of a tree and pushed her carefully down. She sat none too gracefully and pouted up at him with swollen lips. "Stay," he said, shaking a finger in mock sternness. He moved a few paces away and sat facing her with his back against another tree.

"New rule," he said, stretching his legs out in front of him and wincing slightly as he did, rubbing his left knee. "No more touching. Not until we've finished talking."

He was probably right, but she glared at him anyway. Very deliberately she stretched out her own legs toward his; her legs weren't long enough to set her soles flush against his, but if she pointed her toes she could poke them into his feet, and did, defiantly. He ignored her childishness.

"I'm pretty sure the last thing you were saying was how you can't pick based on who you like kissing best." He sounded far too smug and pleased with himself; she nearly regretted telling him that now.

"Aye. No matter what any of them say, I'm certain they want the future king to have more to offer than just being good at kissing." As he preened she said, "Oh, stop gloating, or I won't talk to you. Or kiss you." It felt good to be able to threaten that, and for it to have an effect.

She was supposed to be talking, but her thoughts were aswim in her head. Hiccup waited, thankfully not studying her. Him even sitting across from her, the memory of his skin against hers made her thoughts, of duty and loyalty and fate and desire, harder than ever to sort out.

"Did you ever wish you were just someone normal and not the chief's son?"

The question had him cocking his head in faint confusion, but he answered anyway. "I used to, all the time. But even if my dad wasn't the chief, I'd still be a pretty disappointing Viking, so it wouldn't make too much of a difference to me." He shrugged. "Do you think your life would be better if you weren't the princess?"

"Yes! I wouldn't be having to suffer through all this." She waved a hand at him and then back at the castle.

"Thanks."

"Oh, you know what I mean. If I were just Merida the serving girl—"

An obnoxious burst of laughter interrupted her. "Serving girl?"

"What?" she demanded.

"Like those nice, quiet girls who've been bringing our meals without talking back?"

She scowled at the amusement on his face as he tried to imagine her serving wine at a feast; it would inevitably end with her emptying a ewer over some scallywag's head when he pinched her bum. "Fine. If I were Merida the laundress, laundresses not needing to be polite or genteel, I could marry whoever I truly loved. Or not at all, if I never fell in love."

The prospect of her never falling in love sobered him more than a little. "But Merida the laundress wouldn't have a horse she loved, or the time to ride him. She'd work all day for little pay and even less thanks. No one's ever really free. Would exchanging the princess' problems for the laundress' be worth it?"

"You sound like my mum," she grumbled.

"Guess that's a side effect of being really smart." She kicked at his foot. "What kind of guy would Merida the laundress marry anyway?"

She stared up into the treetops. No one had ever asked her that before, who she'd want to marry in a perfect world. She wasn't sure what she was even supposed to want in a husband, besides that he would be a good king someday. "Someone fun," she began, ignoring his mumbled "Of course." "Someone who wouldn't try to tell me what to do all the time. Someone who could understand that I'm not always as kind or patient or thoughtful as I want to be, and who could forgive me if I shouted at him—alright, when I shouted at him, and who wouldn't mind that I never learned to cook." He chuckled quietly, though she still couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Someone who'd look at me the way my dad looks at Mum, like she's rare and precious and he'd do absolutely anything for her." Her eyes dropped to her hands in her lap. Now that she'd said it aloud, it seemed both exactly what she wanted, and too much to hope for.

"He sounds pretty perfect." And nothing like him. His gut clenched.

Merida cleared her throat. "What about Hiccup the blacksmith? Who would he want to marry?"

"A girl who didn't mind loud noises and the smell of metal would be a good start," he said dryly. "Someone who could look at me and see me. Not the failure I used to be, not the hero people think I am; just me."

She had an idea of what it was to fall short of a parent's expectations. But one thing was certain: he was a hero, by any measure of the word, even if he didn't think he was. "They can call you whatever they like. It doesn't change who you are."

"Yeah, who's that?"

There were so many things to say, about how funny and thoughtful and fearless he was, about how he was a good son and a good friend and a good man, that they stuck in her throat. "You're…" She trailed off, tongue-tied, and gestured at him head to toe. "You're just Hiccup."

The searching look he gave her made her wish she had come up with something better. Ugh, she was no good with words. Maybe she ought to try again. Everything that came to mind would sound like the kind of fawning flattery that he didn't want to hear, though, no matter how much she meant it.

And then, against the odds and in spite of her awkwardness, he smiled. Again there was that knowing look in his eyes, and it infuriated and terrified her. "We'd better get back," he said, and she all but leapt to her feet, glad to act.

"Right." When he didn't join her immediately she put her fists on her hips and demanded, "Are you coming?"

He stood and brushed bits of leaves from his trousers conscientiously, taking his time, knowing full well that he was testing her patience. Finally he straightened up and met her gaze, steady and a little challenging, and her stomach fluttered. "If you want me to."

"I'm not sure I do," she groused, but when he offered his arm she took it.

His leg on the table in front of him and a stick of charcoal in hand, Hiccup worked automatically, sketching springs and joints, drawing magnified views of the smallest parts. One edge of the parchment was covered in formulas involving tension and mass and surface area. None of it was new to him, so his mind was free to wander while he drew.

Ever since their talk that afternoon Hiccup had been fighting down nervous excitement. It seemed he had a chance after all. She wouldn't have asked him all those things, about what kind of girl he wanted to marry and what he thought it might be like were the two of them to wed, if she wasn't seriously considering him, right? Part of him wanted to believe that he was the only one she'd asked those things, though another part of him knew that he wasn't that special. Maybe he should have asked her where he stood in the rankings; it hadn't occurred to him when she was so close, though. She did say she'd kissed at least one other of them—and then she'd said she liked kissing him best. He stared unseeing at his foot, a vague grin on his face.

He was sure of one thing: in their little hypothetical world, Hiccup the blacksmith would love Merida the laundress. He'd love her laugh and the way she rolled her eyes whenever he said something silly, though she wouldn't be able to hide the fondness in her expression. He'd love the calluses on her hands and her endless sense of adventure and how she always pushed him for more. He'd make her a ring and build her a house, and he'd kiss her every morning and every night.

As the princess it was her right and her place to ask. That didn't mean he couldn't tell her how he felt first. And if the words wouldn't come out right, he could always show her, the best way he knew how.

Merida walked aimlessly through the room, picking things up and putting them down again. Elinor smiled at her stitching, wondering when or if her daughter would admit that she wanted to talk. She'd wait as long as she could stand it before she asked Merida what she was thinking of; perhaps the girl was just working up the courage to speak. She had no problems expressing her anger or excitement, but she shied away from discussing matters of the heart.

After a particular gusty sigh, Elinor looked over her shoulder. "Something on your mind, dear?" she asked mildly.

Apparently that was all the encouragement she needed to drop onto the floor near her mum's feet. "I have to decide soon," she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, "and I don't know what to do."

"Surely you must have some idea of who you'll pick. You have at least narrowed it down."

"Yes, I have. Down to two, really."

"Two?" That was better than she'd dared hope. Elinor thought she had a good idea which two suitors Merida had in mind, though she wouldn't ask if Merida didn't offer.

"One of them likes me, rather a lot. He might even love me. He's a good lad; he's strong and kind. Most of the clans would be happy if I chose him, and I know he'll be a good husband." That was Domnall MacGuffin, Elinor was sure.

"And the other?"

Merida sighed and played with her hair all the more. "He's…" Hiccup, Elinor supplied; the name alone was a sufficient summary. "He's the smartest man I've ever known. He's brave and humble and good—better than me by miles. When he went through a rebellious phase, it actually improved everyone else's life, and he didn't have to turn anyone into a bear."

She didn't seem to realize she was speaking aloud as she went on. "With him everything feels natural. I don't have to explain, or hide who I am, because he knows me. He knows me, and likes me anyway, and doesn't want me to be anything other than what I am." She seemed amazed by the idea, and Elinor could understand why she would be, after all the years her mother had spent trying to shape her into someone else.

"It sounds as if you know already what you want," the queen said gently.

"What I want, aye." She saw Merida touch her lips and smile, then duck her head shyly. After a moment Elinor realized that she shouldn't have been surprised that their affection had been expressed physically; she remembered what it was like to be young and smitten with a handsome lad. Any disapproval of their actions was outweighed by her heart swelling to see her daughter so happy. She'd had her doubts about the boy at first, but he'd been the only one to voice concern about Merida, maybe the only one to even notice that something wasn't right with her; that went a long way in convincing a mother of his worth.

Merida looked up at her mum. "But is what I want what's best for all of us? Will I always feel this way? Will the lords accept him, or will they protest, since he's not a Scot?" She'd either forgotten, or had given up trying to pretend that she wasn't talking about Hiccup. "I can't make the kingdom suffer for what I want right now, when I don't even know if it's what I'll want in the future."

Elinor put her needle aside and turned on her stool to face the girl. "No matter whom you choose to marry, the way you feel about him now will most certainly not be the way you always feel about him. The way I feel about your father isn't the same today as it was the day I married him; it's changed, because we've both of us changed. I love him more now than I did then, and I hope you'll be able to say the same one day." Merida blushed lightly.

"The lords promised to abide by your decision, and your father will see to it that they do. He and I will support your decision. Either of the young men you've talked about would be a fine husband to you, but the choice is yours to make. In your heart you know the right decision to make, for yourself and for the kingdom—the two needn't be at odds. Trust your instincts and be bold."