Brand new story!

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Disclaimer: I do not own Brave.

It was lucky that Elinor was a proper lady, poised and elegant no matter her mood, because she had enough anger bubbling inside of her to throw the tantrum of the century. Her chest heaved as she fought the urge to flip over the table and claw apart the tapestries hanging on the walls.

"Why him?" she whined despite her efforts to sound mature.

"Why not?" countered her mother, a noblewoman with hair braided atop her head like a thick brown rope. Her sharp cheekbones were a stark contrast to her daughter's round face, which Elinor had regretfully inherited from her father. His face shape suited him well—even if it hadn't, at least he had would have had his beard to hide behind—but Elinor didn't have the right features filling out her countenance.

Setting her fork down and smoothing the napkin in her lap, her mother said, "He's an impressive warrior, and it's for the benefit of both our lands."

"Of all suitors. . ." Elinor decided not to finish. A lady shouldn't insult people, no matter how boisterous and loud and unrefined and. . .

"Elinor!"

"Yes, Mother!" said Elinor, sitting up straighter. For a moment, she worried that her mother had somehow read her thoughts.

"Were you listening to me?"

"Of course," she lied.

Her mother didn't look convinced but left it alone. Sighing from across the breakfast table, she said, "Prince Fergus may not be the most. . .polished man there is. But aside from that, he has everything a lady could ever want. A title, land, power. . .and everyone I've spoken to about him praises him for his loyalty and courage."

Elinor crossed her arms in a gesture of protest. Prince Fergus was a brainless brute with no class nor civility to speak of. He ate with his hands, and whether he be in a festival or a library, he talked loud enough to wake the dead. Even so, Elinor knew her place and respected tradition. She would have swallowed her pride and married the man without so much as a murmur of complaint, except she was already in love with someone else.

Malcom was a knight's apprentice. She hadn't known him long—less than a year—but he'd managed to woo her after only a few exchanges. He was the man she wanted to wed. The thought of choosing someone over him, especially someone as unappealing to the eyes, ears, and nose as Prince Fergus, made her chest ache. She imagined what it would be like married to that beast of a man, kissing him instead of Malcom and bearing children with wide noses and crooked teeth. Fergus's hair was wild and frizzy. The scars that ran up and down across his throat intimidated her. She couldn't feel safe with a man like that. He could break her in half without straining a muscle, and her mother expected her to become his wife!?

She couldn't!

But she had to. It was her fate. Elinor was a lady, the daughter of nobility. It was what was expected of her. She wished she could marry Malcom. She'd wished it on so many shooting stars, wished it on every well she'd ever come across. . .But alas, this was her lot in life.

So it was with a resigned sigh that Elinor smoothed out the napkin on her lap, just as her mother had, and said, "If it be your wish, I will be his wife."

Her mother smiled softly. She stood from her chair, and with grace, rounded the table to caress her daughter's cheek. "You need not worry. He's a good man. I wouldn't hand my most precious treasure over to anyone who asked for it."

Elinor nodded.

Her mother planted a kiss to the top of her head, pleased that she was getting exactly what she wanted. Meanwhile, everything Elinor had ever wanted was being stripped away, and all she could do as a lady was grieve over the loss.

The next day, Elinor was to meet with Prince Fergus. All night long, she'd dreaded it. At breakfast, she ate slowly and chewed her food more meticulously than she ever had before. Unfortunately, she couldn't avoid the man forever. They were to be betrothed after all.

"Elinor!" he called upon seeing her. "Why, ya look ev'n scrawnier than the last time I'd seen you! Are you eatin' right? A lil breeze would knock a lass like you o'er."

His Scottish accent was thick and his language rudimentary. Malcom was much more articulate. He was a man she could actually carry a conversation with, and his words were silvery and complementary, not littered with teasing remarks about her scrawny figure.

"I eat plenty, thank you," she said with a tight smile, stirring an artificial sweetness into her voice.

They had their horses fetched and rode them to a grassy meadow near the woods. To her relief and delight, Malcom was among the knights escorting them on their picnic. Fergus kept shoving food at her, insisting she eat more, which only encouraged her to eat less and less. Her mouth twisted in disgust as she watched Fergus dig into a chicken leg. At least he wiped his face with a kerchief after.

A while passed where they simply sat in one another's company. The uncomfortable silence seemed to stretch on into infinity until Fergus spoke up. "Uh, Elinor."

"Yes," she said without looking at him.

"You know, I. . .I'd say I've lots more luck than I thought I did."

"How so?"

He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, his cheeks curiously turning just as red as his hair. "Well, yer a real pretty lass. I'm a wee surprised you agreed to be the misses to a big oaf like myself."

It wasn't as though she had much of a choice. It was her mother's will, not hers.

"And. . .you ought to know that I'll be good to you. The best husband yer people ev'r known."

"I'm sure, Prince Fergus."

He scooted closer to her. "Aw, come on, Elinor. You can juss call me Fergus."

She merely nodded her head.

The prince gave an awkward laugh. "You don' look none too excited to marry me."

"Don't fret over me. I'm just not feeling well."

"Aye, is that why you won' eat? Let's get you back 'ome then."

Elinor would have loved nothing more, but her mother would surely interrogate her if they returned this early in the day. "No, it's alright. I'm alright."

"I wish I could believe you. Are you worried about somethin'?"

"Like what?"

"I don' know. 'Bout me not bein' good to you. 'Bout me not bein' faithful."

"My mother says you're a good man. She's confident you'll treat me well."

"But are you?"

Elinor sighed.

Fergus held up his hands, which looked even more massive than his head when they were flanking it. They were so large, Elinor thought he could close his entire fist around her waist. "Now, it's no offense to me if you aren'. I'll prove myself eventually."

"Good prince," began Elinor in a honey-like tone that ladies always spoke in. She smiled sweetly, but she knew if she dared a glance at her reflection in Prince Fergus's eyes, it would have looked stiff and unnatural. "What about you? Aren't you at all concerned?"

His expression scrunched up in confusion. "About what?"

"This arrangement. After all, you know nothing about me. It's only fair that I warn you I am very temperamental. And very feeble. Wouldn't you rather have a warrior for a wife? I think someone like that would be a better match for you."

"Nae, I won't have you talkin' like that! Yer juss as fierce as a warrior. Yer small and thin, but it's only because you don' eat. I'll make sure you get plenty of food in you when we are married."

"I do eat!" she said indignantly before catching herself and willing her smile to return.

Fergus dug through their basket for more food, but he'd already eaten most of the meat. He offered her a bone with some chicken still stuck to it. Elinor blinked at it. She was growing weary of this conversation. She wanted to be alone, away from Fergus.

"Forgive me." She stood to her feet. "I need a moment."

The hulking prince reached out his thick arm and grabbed her hand.

"Let go!" Elinor cried, fearing for her safety.

"You shouldn' go off on yer own. What if you get lost?"

Though it was unladylike, and her mother would reprimand her if she ever found out, Elinor swatted the prince's hand away and said, "I know my own land, thank you. I don't need your help to navigate it."

"But—"

"Please, Fergus!" she pleaded, dropping his title without meaning to. "I just. . .I just need one moment to myself."

She didn't wait for him to answer and simply walked off, gracefully ducking into the woods nearby. Elinor picked a mushroom and snacked on it. She lived in this kingdom and meandered through these woods long enough to glean which foods were poisonous and which were edible. After a few minutes of futilely wandering about, wasting time circling trees and watching red squirrels so she wouldn't have to head back to the picnic grounds, Elinor heard a twig snap. She whipped her head around and grinned.

It was Malcom. She ran to him and hugged him tight, again not being very ladylike. But then, Malcom never judged her when she slipped up.

"I was worried," said Malcom into her ear. "Are you alright?"

"With you here, yes."

She felt content as he rested his chin atop her head, and she wished she could freeze time so they could stay in each other's embrace forever. Then, she remembered that she was a lady—an engaged one at—and she broke away from him, folding her arms across her chest to compensate for the missing warmth.

"If only things were different," said Malcom.

"If only," Elinor agreed.

"I did want to be with you."

"Did? So you don't anymore?"

"I do. Of course, I do," he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb, rough and callused from practicing swordsmanship without near enough respite. "I love you, Ellie."

"What if we go to my mother together? She might change her mind when she sees how happy we are."

He was already shaking his head. "I can't risk it, Ellie. They could kick me out of the land. I'd lose my apprenticeship. I'd never become a knight. They might even imprison me."

"My mother wouldn't resort to that. I wouldn't let her."

"I can't chance it."

"I understand," said Elinor, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. "But I wish you would fight for me. Even just a little."

He placed his free hand on the other side of her cheek, so that he was cupping her face. "I'm sorry."

"You spoke such sweet words to me. You serenaded me with such beautiful songs." She laughed bitterly. "It all seems so pointless now. Why treat me so preciously if were only going to leave?"

"I'm sorry, Ellie." He folded his fingers underneath her chin and lifted it until her eyes were locked on his. "I wasn't thinking. I didn't expect this to happen. Believe me, if I could control fate, I'd make you my wife this very day. But it's out of our hands, and I think you realize that."

She nodded sadly. "I'll never see you again."

"Maybe so." He pulled her face closer to his. "I feel terrible. At the very least, I should give you something to remember me."

His breath tickled her lips as he spoke. She watched him lean in to close the distance, and she was tempted to let him. Then, she remembered who she was and who he was. She was engaged, and he wasn't her betrothed, so she turned away. "No. You're right. We can't be together. Prince Fergus is to be my husband, and what sort of a lady will I be if I betray him before we are even wed."

"It's only one kiss, Ellie."

"Even so, it isn't right, is it? That bearish prince may be loud and rustic, and it annoys me when he pokes fun at my size, but I cannot deny that he's been considerate of me ever since we met."

Malcom withdrew his hands from her. He frowned, cocking an eyebrow. "This didn't stop you from embracing me a moment before."

Her cheeks heated, her face a hearth for embarrassment and indignance. "I was clinging onto the hope that you would save me from this fate, but now I see that your decision is final."

"One kiss, Ellie!" he exclaimed. "Just one to savor this moment. You'll sleep more peacefully with the memory of a kiss in your dreams. And think of the repute I'll have, being known as the man who won the lady's heart."

He laughed, as if he were only joking, but Elinor failed to find the humor in that last comment. "Is that what all of this was about?" she asked, taking a step back as she pressed her hands over her heart. It was her way of shielding herself, but Malcom's words had already dealt their blow.

His grin dropped. "What? No," he said. "I just thought that if we can't be together, then at least we should both walk away from this affair with something to show for it."

"This wasn't an affair!"

"Call it what you want to, Ellie." He sighed, as though this conversation was becoming tiresome. Suddenly, Elinor disliked his nickname for her.

She opened her mouth to ask him to refer to her by her actual name from now on when a loud snarl emitted from behind. Elinor watched Malcom's eyes grow wide and panicked. His hand instinctively flew to his hip, where his sword handle stuck out from its sheath, but he wouldn't withdraw it.

"What is it?" Elinor whispered, though she had her guesses. Still, she waited for Malcom to answer her. Instead, he muttered without moving his lips, "When I say run. . .run."

"Okay."

"Run!"

Elinor bounded forward, kicking off her uncomfortable slippers in order to run faster. Unfortunately for them, this animal was quick, and it wasn't wearing shoes that would slow it down, so in a matter of minutes, it was nipping on their heels. Perhaps because Malcom had more meat on his bones than Elinor, the animal attacked him first. She saw that their assailant was a huge wild dog. Foam dripped out of its mouth like a slobbery bubble bath. Elinor scouted the ground for something large or sharp, something she could use as a weapon. All she had to work with were rocks and sticks, so she grabbed the largest stone she could find and hurled it at the dog's head. It had been her hope that she would manage to knock the dog unconscious, or even kill it with one blow. Alas, the feral beast merely shook its head clear and turned on her.

To her horror, Malcom seized this as his opportunity to flee, and he left her behind. She screamed his name, but he didn't even glance back at her. Elinor wanted to believe that this was all a horrible nightmare. She tried running away again. It was a pathetic attempt at escape. The dog caught her in what seemed like an instant, jumping atop her shoulders and tackling her to the ground. They rolled over dead leaves and exposed tree roots, a chaotic ball of fur and dressy fabric. The dog snarled in her face. Its eyes were so dilated, they may as well have been black. Its peeled back its lips to reveal yellow teeth, hacking as if something was caught in its throat, and since its breath smelt so much like death, Elinor assumed it was the dog's last meal trying to climb back up.

She froze, knowing this was how she would die. By the time this dog had finished mauling her, Elinor would be unrecognizable even to her own parents. All she could think was that she should've listened to Fergus, shouldn't have wandered off alone, as those canines came hurtling towards her.

Miraculously, Elinor was saved. Something flung the dog off of her seconds before she would've been without her nose.

Malcom! Elinor exclaimed to herself, thinking that he had returned to rescue her. It wasn't Malcom, though. To her great astonishment, her hero was none other than Fergus. He'd clubbed the dog away from her with his foot. Whining from the pain but unwilling to surrender the fight so easily, the dog shook off the hit before launching itself at Fergus's face.

"Watch out!" cried Elinor, but Fergus required no warning. He'd been ready for the strike, and within the next minute, the dog was dead. Its open mouth was so full of foam, she couldn't even make out its tongue.

With his victory secured, Fergus rushed to her side, hollering, "Elinor! Elinor! Are you hurt?!"

"I. . .I. . ." It was as if Elinor couldn't breathe in enough air to speak. Maybe she was in shock. Or maybe Fergus's bravery had left her speechless.

"Shh. It's alright, it's alright now," he soothed, resting his broad hand on her shoulder. "Take a minute if you need ta calm down. Then tell me where yer hurt."

"I'm not hurt. I don't think I'm hurt."

"Yer trembling like a leaf in the autumn chill. And yer not wearing yer shoes. Don't get me wrong. You have pretty feet, but you can't be walking around like that. Let me take you 'ome."

She didn't protest when he hooked his arm underneath her knees and picked her up off the ground. In fact, she clung to him, burying her nose in the firm muscles of his chest. "Thank you," she said, feeling that he deserved that much. And certainly more.

"Come on. You don' need to thank me."

"I do. You were very brave."

"Nae. Dogs are easy. It's the bears you've got to be careful of."

Her brow furrowed. "I don't think there are many bears in Scotland."

"There are some. Too many. But then, that juss means more warm and fuzzy coats for me. 'Less you want one."

He rubbed her back, and she held him even tighter.

"Yer mother is gonna have me hide."

She laughed. It was quiet and weak but also genuine. "For saving my life?"

"You wouldn' need savin' if I'd been here sooner."

"That's not your fault."

"Elinor!"

She flinched at that voice, the same one that would have sent butterflies rippling through her stomach only yesterday.

"Thank goodness!" said Malcom, running up to her and Fergus with the rest of the knights in tow.

Without realizing it, Elinor had narrowed her brown eyes and pointed a glare at Malcom. She told herself she shouldn't be too angry because he'd been just as scared as she was, and at least he ran to the knights for help. But then she remembered that he was aspiring to become a knight himself. He was supposed to protect her. She was a lady, better at wielding a sewing needle than she was a sword, yet she loved him enough to help him when that wild dog had Malcom pinned. The second the roles were reversed, the only person who'd stepped up to save her was Fergus.

"Here, Your Highness, I can take her." Malcom moved to grab her from Fergus. Elinor edged herself deeper into Fergus's arms. She readied her tongue to protest, but Prince Fergus beat her to it. "Nae," he said, his tone suddenly much darker than the one he'd used when addressing her. "First, answer me this. Where were you when the lady was in danger? You followed her here. I saw you. You didn' leave her to fend for herself, did you?"

"I. . .I thought she was right behind me!" he sputtered. He looked at Elinor, eyes pleading with her to believe him, but Elinor didn't know what to believe. "Really."

Fergus shifted Elinor in his arms so that he was holding her tighter and further away from Malcom. "No disrespect, but I think she'd be safer with me, lad." Though, the way he said it implied that he wasn't too worried whether Malcom felt disrespected or not.

Malcom didn't reply, nor did he drop his arms. He just stood there, looking at Elinor, as if waiting for her to speak up, only Elinor didn't say anything.

Fergus turned to the other two knights and announced that they were heading back. For a few minutes, Fergus carried her without either of them uttering a word to the other. Elinor dared a glance up at him, and she spotted that scar on his throat. The first time she'd noticed it, it had unnerved her. Now, she merely felt curious about it. "Fergus," she began.

He made a noise of surprise and looked down at her.

She pointed at the jagged line of discolored skin. "May I ask, how did you get that scar?"

"Oh!" he burst out enthusiastically. Elinor thought he would've been embarrassed or grim. Instead, he seemed thrilled at the opportunity to tell her the story. "A harsh battle it was, lady! There I was. . ."

Elinor listened to his tale with keen interest, and the longer she listened, the more she realized how wrong she'd been to think of him as an oaf. He wasn't an oaf, nor a beast, nor a brute, nor any of the other things she'd unfairly compared him to. Fergus was a hero.

"Uh, ya know, Elinor," he began suddenly, having finished his story, "if you don' want to marry me, you don' have to. I'll have a chat with me dad, make sure yer family stays safe. He might be annoyed but he'll live with it."

"Fergus," she said. She met his eyes for the first time since they'd been introduced. Before, there'd been times when she'd come close, but Elinor never quite let herself look for longer than a second. They were beautiful, she realized, almost like someone had broken off two pieces of the sky and stuck them over his nose. His teeth were still crooked, and his hair even frizzy now that he was sweating, but oddly enough, she found these features more charming and desirable than ever before. "I'm really sorry. I misjudged you."

"Nae, I'm juss lousy at first impressions."

"I doubt mine was much better than yours."

He scoffed. "Oh, now yer joking! I was astounded when I saw you. And relieved. My father warned me I might be marrying an old witch, but he was only pulling me britches. You were beautiful and smart and fierce! Oh, you still are, o'course! Couldn't ask for a better lady, not me!"

She smacked his chest. "Stop!" she said with a laugh.

"Aye, I'm only telling the truth."

Shame scorched her as she thought of how she'd been so eager to cast Fergus aside for not being more eloquent and well-mannered. She found she couldn't meet his eyes anymore, which was too bad because they were so beautiful. "I should've been kinder to you," she said in a voice that was only a hair above a whisper.

He was quiet. Elinor had been hoping he'd object and tell her she'd been plenty kind to him, but to be fair, she hadn't. Perhaps, he hadn't heard her, but she didn't want to repeat herself.

"Well," he said with a shrug and a huge, toothy grin. "You can be kind to me now, can't you? Nothin' stoppin' you."

She smiled. "No, I suppose not."

Thank you! Hope you enjoyed!