Chapter Text
Scotsmen. The Scots. People of the ancient tribe of the Picts. The servants of the eternal kingdom of Alba. The Franks called them Frekr. The Anglo-Saxons called them the Scottas and the Vikings, their heathen neighbours, called them Skotar, although the term Skrímsli (monsters) was more common. The ancient Romans, warriors from the ages of old, called them the Caledonii. In their own ancient tongue, they called themselves Albannaich. It was an extraordinary people, which a land just as wonderful.
In the north of the British Isles, far from the big cities of the south and the civilisation of the mainland, was a country named Alba. Throughout the ages, its reputation had been one of devilish and obscure warriors and mountains. It was a dark, unruly place, too rough for the romans to handle, too harsh for the Anglo-Saxons to conquer and to merciless for the Northumbrians to defend against.
It was a land of rainy lowlands and mysterious highlands, treacherous glens and dangerous mountains, the home of a people so feared that no sword that had ever existed had sufficed to quell them in their battles. One emperor of a bygone age, from a faraway empire, once build a wall along its borders, in a futile attempt to keep his territory safe from the raids and the terror of the north. His successor, not to be outdone, dared to build another wall even further up north, taunting the Scots by putting his foreign feet on their native ground. But the emperor had gone too far. His insults hadn’t gone unnoticed, and his men, far from home in a land they didn’t understand, did not find the courage to prepare for what was to come.
Many bards and filí would go on to sing the stories about the victories and glory that their people won that day, although joy would only be theirs to have. The outsiders, the Romans, had been slaughtered, their men and women butchered and their children taken as slaves to be sold for ransom. From that day forward, no outsider dared to enter any land above the walls of the days of old. From that day forward, people knew to fear the north and to not disturb its inhabitants. It was a place that everyone knew, but no one knew something about. It was as famous as it was mysterious to the uninitiated.
Within these dark lands, there existed a small kingdom. A kingdom called DunBroch, with its king, Fergus, the last of a long line of warrior-kings. They had reigned over these lands since pagan times, and kept it safe from most of the wars that had ravaged the greater Kingdom of Alba for the last few centuries.
Recently though, the kingdom had stabilised slightly. Old feuds where buried and new alliances made, and all of this was thanks to the new High-King of Alba, Causantin mac Aeda. He had gotten all the smaller kings of Alba to accept his authority, and as such, united them all within one kingdom without them losing their local authority. In a country now at peace, Fergus raised a daughter.
Merida
The daughter in question was, at this very moment, trying to think her very hardest about any excuse she could use to escape the misery that would soon befall her.
Merida cursed inwardly when she entered the dining hall. These evening diners were always moments her mother tried to start talking about marriage again. It was one of those things that had become as certain as the sun rising in the morning. Merida partially understood why. Since she was little, her mother had told her stories about beautiful queens and princesses who married powerful kings and warriors.
After a while, Merida had almost started to wonder if it had been a fate chosen by God, for a woman to end up with a more powerful man at her side. Perhaps that had been her mother’s point from the beginning. Or maybe her mother had just tried to prepare her for the destiny that had been laid out before her, regardless of whether Merida wanted it or not. Maybe her mother hadn’t wanted to become a queen at first as well, only to discover that for her, it worked. If only her mother had as much interest in Merida’s refusal to comply as she had in her mother’s reasons for attempting to marry her daughter off time and time again.
She tried to tiptoe over to her usual chair, if only to prolong the usual questions and topics that her mother would bombard her with whenever they were in the same room together. Maybe another marriage proposal. Maybe another comment on her ‘unwomanly’ ways. Maybe some remark about her lack of skill in knitting, courtly etiquette, Gaelic poetry, diplomacy, or whatever insignificant tiny thing she had decided that mattered that day. Whatever it would be, Merida would rather jump of the castle wall then suffer through it for longer then necessary. Sadly for her though, her sneaking skills seemed to fail her today.
“Ah, Merida. What nice of you to join us.” Queen Elinor said, her voice a trained, pleasant song. It sounded more like a siren to Merida.
“Shit.” She muttered.
“Language dear.” Elinor sighed. “ Please come and join us at the table.”
With a huff and a sigh, she made her way over to her chair and sat down, crossing her arms. She might endure this whole charade, but she didn’t have to pretend to enjoy it. If Elinor was bothered in any way by this, she didn’t show it. She never did, initially.
After what seemed like forever, some servants brought endless trays of food to the table. Meat and bread seemed to be the theme of the meal, with some vegetables to satisfy the queen and her smaller appetite. Merida’s father, Lord Fergus, let out a delighted sigh.
“Ah, a feast befitting of a clan chief, if I say so myself.” Rubbing his hand, Fergus dove in, taking a piece of meat in each hand. His three sons followed suit. Merida could only envy their enthusiasm, cause she could already feel her mothers eyes on her, observing if her daughter would indulge like her father, or show restraint, like a true princess should. She chose the neutral route, taking mostly meat but in a quantity her mother could live with. Not too much for a lady, but enough for a Scot. Before long, Fergus had launched into some tall tale about how he fought clan O’Neill once, followed by a whole array of incredible and unbelievable stories about the wars to unite Alba, with the High-King at his side.
The rest of the meal continued in a sort of controlled chaos. After a conversation involving a discussion about carrots, Merida’s brothers decided to use their food as weapons, shoving and throwing pieces of meat around the hall. Fergus was too preoccupied with his own story at that point, standing on the table to mime his swordfight with Domnall The Madman, using a chicken leg in lieu of a sword. Merida had by this point decided that attack was the best defence, throwing a piece of cabbage at her brothers, before crawling on the table to get a better aim. Queen Elinor seemed not to notice the chaos around her, eating her food like a lady was presumed to eat it. Still, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
After what felt like hours, the battle died down. Merida sat down, feeling exhausted from the action, although a smile had plastered itself on her face. Only one topic could possibly infringe upon this moment, but Merida had no doubts about her mother’s intended topic of discussion.
“So, Merida-“
“Nope.”
“About you-“
“Nuh uh. Not listening.”
Queen Elinor was now looking right at her daughter, with a facial expression that would have looked controlled and patient to most, but Merida knew better. Her mother wouldn’t let this go. But neither would she.
After a small sigh, Elinor spoke. “My dearest daughter, can you please take this seriously for once? Lord MacGuffin has sent for us recently, and-“
“Oh please. Lord MacGuffin? His son? You want me to marry a man build like a log?”
“Merida.” Her mother muttered disapprovingly. “He’s a sweet boy from a warm family. There’s no need to insult him so.”
Merida just hummed to signal her doubt. A sweet boy, certainly. But with an accent and physical appearance that would confound most women. More bear than man.
“You can’t keep putting this off forever, Merida. You’ve reached an age now where marriage becomes a duty. The local lords haven taken notice.”
“Fucking vultures.” Merida muttered under her breath.
“Language dear. No man want’s a woman with a cesspit for a mouth.”
“I don’t see how that’s my problem.”
“Merida, please. Don’t be such a child. Growing up is realising that you have duties, and important ones at that.”
“Is it any coincidence that whichever duty I may choose happens to be something a man needs to find ‘appealing’? “
“There is no shame in pleasing a man.”
“I hope not. You’ve been quiet shameless with me.” Fergus blurted out with a forced chuckle, avoiding looking at his wife directly. It made Merida raise an eyebrow, before returning to the discussion at hand.
“I would be ashamed if my life only served some random fat Lord. Some glorified maid, sent of for a political game. Being a princess is a bloody prison.”
“A prison that will be yours.”
“I prison I will escape from if necessary.”
“It’s your damned duty, by God.” Elinor yelled, her voice reverberating through the room. Merida was slightly taken aback by her mothers outburst, although she had no intention of backing down. She opened her mouth to argue back in kind, before someone else spoke.
“I might, ehmm, have to agree with your mother on this, Merida” Fergus winced, seemingly having a sudden interest in the woodwork of his table. Both mother and daughter seemed to be stunned at this, Merida’s face taking on an expression of mortal bewilderment, mouth slightly agape. Elinor, only somewhat less shocked, managed to find her voice.
“And what, my dear, has brought on this change of perspective?”. She asked, her tone vaguely hesitant, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Fergus didn’t answer, seemingly still enraptured by the intricate shapes on his table. His hesitation gave his daughter enough time to recover though, and she was now drilling holes in the side of her father’s head with her eyes. Voice tense, she muttered.
“Yes dad. Mind explaining your little stab in my bloody back.”
“Merida.”
“Mother.”
“Ladies.”
“Stay out of this.” The two women yelled in unison.
“Merida, your father finally accepted the inevitable. You should be glad that……”
“Ow, I should be glad now, shouldn’t I?”
“Merida, please…..” Fergus tried, his voice weaker than Merida had ever heard it sound. It made her feel a little sorry for her father. Only a little bit.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Fergus. You’ve finally come to your senses, yet you’re sitting there like….
“It wasn’t by choice.” The old king almost whispered. “ Not mine at least.”
“Whose choice was it then?”
“The High-King, Causantin mac Aeda. My sovereign. The only person who could ever force me to do such a thing.”
“That’s preposterous. Why would the king care about the marriable status of some-“ Elinor gasped “Unless?”
Merida felt a stone drop in her stomach. Queen Elinor didn’t fare much better, turning as pale as a ghost. Her husband, seemingly choking on speaking the fear that now suffocated all three of them.
“Causantin has a son. And he has recently turned sixteen.” The king seemed to cringe a little with every word he spoke. “I received the news an hour ago that he is on his way and will reach the castle this very evening. He wants to talk about a marriage. Doesn’t take much thinking to get what he implied with that.”
“Merida.” Elinor hissed. “Leave your father and me alone for a couple of minutes, will you.”
“What? But I-“
“Now Merida.” Her mother didn’t turn at her while she yelled those words, instead turning to her father with a face more ghostly and panicked then Merida had ever seen her.
Eventually, the whole castle would hear the uncontrolled screaming and yelling produced by its queen, but Merida had already escaped the room before the first word of her mother’s tirade. She was too busy running up the stairs to the rooftop, tears filling her eyes.
The hills of Dunbroch looked sinister and threatening this evening. The last rays of sunshine had by now given way for the blanket of early night, a darkness now enveloping the whole glen. At times, Merida found the sight comforting, especially from her secret spot. A small tower, at the farthest corner of the castle, looking out high and far over the lands that her family ruled. It had been her sanctuary when she was small, when she wanted to be away from the tumult of a demanding mother, loud brothers and the chaotic court that her father ran. The outline of the mountains against the star-studded sky, the reflection of the moon in the lake next to the castle and the soft rustling of the trees around the castle, it all made her feel at ease. It used to, anyway.
Tonight, a sight that had once been comforting, now looked as bleak as the future she now saw for herself. The mountains of DunBroch, once a protecting shield, now felt like a terrible cage.
“Dad…Dumb cunt.” Merida muttered, her voice slightly quivering. Her elbows resting on the battlements, head in her hands, looking out over the surrounding lands. The wind, blowing more strongly than usual, kept her red mane out of her face. It wasn’t enough to dry the tears that where forming on her cheeks though.
“Dad, mom, fucking prince charming. Cunts, the lot of them.”
Merida had always known this day would come, but in some ways, she also hadn’t. Deep down, it seemed like her mind had concocted some fantasy. A world where there were no stupid guys to woo her, no tight dresses to fit in, no roles to play, no horrible mask to put on. Her mother had always scolded her dad for letting her be so rowdy, and now she partly understood, for her destiny as a princess left no room for such behaviour.
A princess was happy, but also not overly enthusiastic. A princess was supportive, but not overbearing. A princess was dainty, sophisticated and restrained. Certainly not rough, opinionated and loud. A princess was supposed to be an extension of her husband, a helping hand, at all times available to support and aide her prince or king. In a way, a princess was nothing more than an extra limb for her prince, without an individual will or want. Whatever she did though, she wasn’t to overshadow her husband, as no limb could overpower or rebel against the body it belonged to.
“Of course not” Merida cursed. “Because God forbid a woman dares to tell some conceited royal exactly where he can put his aspirations.”
Merida wasn’t naïve enough to believe she would be allowed to be anything more than the suffocating reality of what a wife was supposed to be. Her own mother, although fitting perfectly within most expectations for a queen, still dared to boss her husband around. If it wasn’t for the endless tolerance that her father had for this behaviour, she would have been put in her place ages ago.
“I’m not some pathetic ornament for some guy to put on some throne.”
Despite speaking the words out loud, Merida couldn’t bring herself to actually believe them. No amount of posturing could change the world she lived in. In this moment, she was painfully aware of the illusion her parents had allowed her to live in. A world where she was allowed to be as rowdy, insolent and opinionated as she wanted. A world that, as far as everyone else was concerned, didn’t exist.
Merida’s hand flexed instinctively, as if she could grab onto a weapon with which she could possibly defend herself from such a society. She snorted, a humourless sound. No weapon would be able to save her from this. Her mother’s words resonated in her mind.
“I just want what’s best for you”.
“Shit.” She muttered. “Might’ve been right about that one, mum.”
Her thoughts drifted. Regardless of what would happen the following days, what kind of person would the prince even be? The son of the High-King, a person who would’ve been raised with a golden spoon in his mouth. The heir to a family that had ruled parts of Scotland for at least a hundred years. A guy who would’ve been raised upon the idea that he would receive a wife as obedient as a dog and as domesticated and fertile as a cow.
But, Merida decided, wouldn’t let herself become such a….wife. No matter what this spoiled husband-to-be would want, she would try to resist in whatever way she could. And if she had the chance, she would ride away and live her own life. She would ride or her own horse, deciding her own destiny. No man would be able to tell her what to do. But……..
“Who am I kidding.” Tears ran down her cheek. The wind, slightly picking up, blew her red hair in front of her face, as if to shield the world of her grief.
“No”, she thought. “That fucker is going to try to take my life away from me. If he really wants it so badly, let him fight for it. If I need to spend the coming years a miserable wife, he will spend them as a miserable husband.”
With a sigh, Merida stood up, dusting of her dress. With a scowl she noticed how during her run up the stairs, they had stained and made cuts in the delicate fabric. A hollow, humourless laugh escaped her lips.
“Well, that isn’t very fitting for the future High-queen of Alba, now is it?”
When she reached the door to return to her room, she could still hear her parents arguing. Queen Elinor seemed to have calmed down slightly, her voice sounding strained from the previous shouting. Now, the queen’s voice only eluded despair, which confused Merida slightly. Her mother had always wanted nothing more than marrying her off to whichever local lord seemed to catch her fancy. And here, out of the blue, she got a proposal by the son of the literal High-King of Alba, lord of the Picts, ruler over Scotland.
“……..and you’ve heard what they say about that…..prince.” her mother’s voice came.
“I know dear. I know. By God, do I know. And I wish things were different, but there is no refusing the High-King. He would burn down this whole chiefdom if he had the slightest suspicion that we wouldn’t listen.”
“Can’t you ask him for a favour or something? You fought beside him back in the day. By God, you even helped him unify the kingdom. Can’t you reason with him?”
“Back in the day, I could’ve asked that man anything and he would’ve given it. But age has dulled his mind. From what I’ve heard, his memory is starting to fade, and the memories of his friends first of all it seems.”
A silence hung in the hall, suffocating.
“That son of his…..”
“A spoiled brat.” Fergus muttered.
“A man- No, a boy. A boy that would make our daughter miserable. ”
A silence fell over the room. It took some time before Merida realised that her mother was crying. Feeling like she was listening in on something she shouldn’t have, she continued on her way to her room, a cold grip coming over her heart. She had heard enough, and her mother’s words reverberated through her head. What kind of man was this prince that he could even make her mother miserable at the thought of a marriage?
It wasn’t long before there came a knock on her door. Merida knew this moment would come, but that didn’t make the moment any less miserable.
“Lady Merida. The royal delegation of the high-king has requested to enter the castle. They will be within the dining hall within an hour. The queen requests you prepare yourself for the occasion.”
It was just some servant brining the news.
After mentally debating if throwing her pillow at the servant would be a permissible response, Merida decided to give in, if only slightly. If she was going to fight, she needed to play her part well.
“Tell ma I’m coming.”
“The queen requests you wear your best dress, lady Merida.”
“Typical”, Merida thought. “Tell ma she doesn’t need to worry. I’m well aware of how I need to behave at an occasion as this.”
“That’s exactly what lady Elinor is afraid of, my lady.”
Now what’s that supposed to mean?
“You can leave now, miss Alice.” Merida’s voice sounding harsher then she intended. Before she could excuse herself though, the servant had already left her room.
Merida looked at her closet. A dress peeked out from the side of it, stained with the mud and scratches of her last horse ride. Oh, how she would love to see the face of that pompous prick of a prince when he saw her showing up in that ‘un-ladylike’ monstrosity. But alas, there was more at stake here. The proper dress it would be. And after putting on the restrictive garbs, hiding her hair under the tight head-covering, Merida could only scowl when she looked in the mirror. Gone was the wild woman of the Highlands. In her place stood a wife, constrained and shackled. Only the defiant look in her eyes betrayed her true nature. She huffed.
“Might just as well. No need to make that cunt think he’ll get some sweet little girl as a consort.”
Way earlier then felt comfortable, Merida stood in the great hall, her father and mother at her side. Behind them stood all her father’s warriors and allies, looking like a collection of local troublemakers and rebel rousers. And when the royal troops marched inside through the open gate, Merida could almost see her father slightly cringe in the corner of her eye. In these lands, no lord could match the troops of DunBroch, but this was something else. Line upon line off richly decorated royal warriors poured through the gate, shields and helmets reflecting the light of the torches and candles hanging around the hall, creating an almost mesmerizing effect.
After what seemed like forever, two men walked in, and it only took Merida a single glance to realise that she was now in the presence of the king, an older man with a grey beard filled with jewellery. And next to him, the person who was going to be the bane of her existence. One look at him was already enough to make her want to run for the hills. Standing tall above his older father, the prince didn’t look that unattractive at first sight. His body, clad in red and blue fabrics, only accentuated a build that could have only been achieved through years and years of hard training.
A face, seemingly sculpted in likeness of the old Roman statues that could still be found around the British isles, his jaw sharp and nose in perfect proportion. Dark long brown waves of hair accentuated his face like a crown, giving his smile a touch of the divine. His light blue eyes peered into the hall, seemingly seeing everything all at once.
Merida felt like her stomach was doing a somersault. In some abstract way, she understood that this guy had been almost divinely created to appeal to a future wife. Looking around, she could see multiple maids and servants look at the boy with eyes that betrayed intentions that tended towards the carnal. A perfect husband.
Despite all the superficial indications of being an exemplary specimen of a man, Merida saw how his smile never reached his eyes, how his hands clenched his sword just a little too tight and how his eyes seemed absent of the twinkle of joy. A man bred to placate and act, sans any conviction and honesty. Merida felt like shooting an arrow at him, just to see if he was an actual person and not just some empty shell that walked through their gates.
Eventually, a squire broke the silence.
“Le seo tha mi a’ cur nan uaislean a leanas an làthair dhuibh uile. An toiseach, Rìgh na h-Alba, Causantín mac Áeda, agus a mhac naomh, Máel Coluim mac Domnaill. Fada beò an Rìgh! Fada beò Alba!”
“I hereby present the following nobles to you all. First, the King of Scotland, Causantin mac Aeda, and his holy son, Mael Coluim mac Domnaill. Long live the King! Long live Scotland!”
So that was the bastard’s name. Mael.
As if the prince sensed her thoughts, his gaze fixed itself upon her. A small smirk rest itself upon his face, seemingly satisfied. Merida felt sick.
“ Oidhche mhath, my dear friend”, king Causantin bellowed. Only now did Merida gaze upon the old man next to Mael, now slowly moving to greet her father, arms spread to invite an embrace. His grey beard and hanging shoulders betrayed a man that had led a life that had drained him, his smile a pained expression on his face, but not any less earnest.
“Oidhche mhath, ye dirty old bastard.” Fergus answered, earning a gasp from multiple attendants, including his wife. King Causantin didn’t seem to mind though, his smile now turning into a knowing grin.
“You’ve grown fat.” The king stated.
“You’ve grown crooked.” Fergus answered, now also grinning from ear to ear.
“It’s been too long, my old friend. “ Causantin stated, his voice sounding almost relieved. “How many years has it been since we last shared a pint, ay?”
“Too long, my king.”
“My King, my King,.. Rubbish. Call me your friend, dear Fergus. It’s the most honourable title you could ever bestow upon this old ruler.”
“No more honourable than that I can call you a friend, dear Causantin.”
“I may hope so. I don’t give such a title lightly. Hah. Enough with formalities. Now, let’s get to the feast and see if you’ve lost any of that old appetite, ye bastard.” The king sniggered, his right hand mimicking him rubbing an enormous belly. Fergus let out a polite laugh and pointed to the door of the great hall, indicating to all that they could enter and eat. The warriors and clan leaders of DunBroch didn’t waste any time to race to their seats. The royal troops, more restrained and disciplined, walked into the dining hall in pairs of two and remained in silence, even after being seated. King Causantin walked in last, accompanying Fergus, both sitting at the head of the table. It was only then that Merida realised that she herself hadn’t moved, as if her body tried to postpone what was going to happen.
“May I guide you to your seat, my lady.”
Mael’s voice was lower than she expected. For some reason, she had assumed some sort of high screech, as if to show at least one single imperfection in this man. No such luck.
The prince had knelt before her, and Merida had to force herself to extend her hand, allowing him to kiss it. His lips, cold though they were, only confirmed what she already felt about him. A beautiful, almost divine package. But nothing more.
Mael guided her to her seat as protocol would have wanted it, Merida noticed. He pulled, but not to much and he never allowed their arms to stretch to much, so the whole thing would seem less one sided. Merida could already imagine the beaming smile her mother would have had if she saw her daughter walking like that with a suitor, let alone the crown prince of Alba. Now though, her mother just looked at her, her lips a thin line, her make-up being the only thing hiding her pale complexion. It was surreal.
When they finally reached her seat, Mael turned himself to face Merida, laying his empty hand on her shoulder.
“You look as beautiful as a man can wish for.”
His voice sounded like a rough, low whisper, and Merida felt her stomach contract. She only managed a weak ‘thanks’ before sitting down. Mael just let out a soft, warm laugh, before sitting down next to his father.
“Now now, you old bugger. We’re all seated. Would you now be so kind to tell me why you’ve come all this way? I remember reading something about a marriage, but your letter was rather unclear.” Fergus bellowed. Merida could see her father was playing dumb, his jovial smile seeming forced. What exactly did the letter say?
“It was vague on purpose, dear friend.” Causantin wheezed, some bread falling out and getting stuck in his long grey beard. “You see, I’ve recently been faced with quiet a problem. Multiple one’s, even. And, sadly, both of these have a similar solution.”
“Which is?” Merida realised to late she herself was speaking.
“A marriage, of course, dear child.”
“Do tell” Fergus said.
“And tell I will. Much has changed since my father took the throne. Much goodness, if you can believe it. The central authority of the High-Kings has given these Scottish lands stability for the last few generations. Before that, we used to be a dived land, tribe fighting against tribe. In ancient times, the Picts used to unite under one king in times of need. This led them to greatness, building a naval and land force fierce enough to crush both the Norse and the Romans. But after that, we wavered. The Picts got invaded. Our kings squabbled and schemed against each other. The common good got forgotten, replaced by local politics and similar rubbish. In those dark days, we lived through hard times. Invaders from the north, east, west and south destroyed our people. The Norse, Irish, Franks and Anglo-Saxons took our lands, raped our woman and killed our children. The glory days of old where but superstitious whispers, until my father came along. Áed mac Cináeda, the man who started my dynasty, the last Scotsman of Royal Pictish blood, the last descendant of Cináed mac Ailpin.”
“Fada beò an rìgh, fada beò Áed mac Cináeda.” The kings-warriors roared. Long live the king, long live Áed mac Cináeda. King Causantin gestured them to calm down before continuing.
“My father, as wise as he was, couldn’t foresee everything though. He may have bested those within our own borders, but he couldn’t have predicted that God would test us with a whole new enemy. This enemy turned out to be the Vikings.”
Merida frowned. She swore she could remember having heard that word before, during one of her mother’s long history lessons. It just so happened that she tended to never listen when those lessons where happening. King Causantin, seemingly noticing her look, suddenly turned his gentle but stern look at her.
“You people here have probably not noticed much, but in the ancient northern lands of our kingdom, we have known them before long. Do you, sweet child, know of the Vikings?”
Merida shook her head softly. “No, my liege. I mean….ehm. Yes, but…It seems it has slipped my mind.”
Causantin nodded, apparently pleased to continue the story himself.
“Barbaric beasts of the north, who torment and have tormented our people for eons. In the past, the Vikings where but a rabble of criminals, easily bested when we had our old united kingdom. In the dark years after, they seemed to yield, losing themselves in their own squabbles. But no more. Now, just when our country has finally united and regained some stability and glory, those demons decided to appear again. And this time, our calamity might be even greater.”
“How so?” Fergus mumbled, his voice only being noticeable thanks to the complete silence that hung in the hall.
“They united. Just when we got back on our feet, just when Alba united under me and my father’s rule, just when our own future seemed secure, they bloody united.” Causantin’s voice, although still dignified, started to get an edge, seemingly containing his hatred.
“They. Those worthless, cold-blooded, heathen, godless barbarians. They’ve spent an eternity in chaos and disorder, and now they decide to actually unite under one bloody king. A demon among demons.”
Causantin paused, taking a long gulp from his wine, as if to calm himself down. The silence in the great hall was such that Merida could almost hear her own heartbeat.
“Tell me, Fergus. Ever heard of an unholy monster called Harald Fairhair?”
“I don’t seem to recall.”
“No, You wouldn’t. And count yourself lucky. He is….beyond evil. A ruthless murderer, incapable of feeling love or fear. A man that, with the help of God knows which demon, succeeded in not only uniting all the Norse tribes, but now also seems to influence the kingdoms of Denmark, Sweden and all other regions under Viking rule. This is a man who, against all odds, managed to create a kingdom from a region inhabited by bloodthirsty animals. A man like that is beyond God’s grace, Fergus. Beyond human even.”
“Every man can be defeated, old friend. You should know that better than anyone.” Fergus countered.
“I have tried to get information on him, my dear Fergus. I have tried to find concrete proof that this guy is anything else then an ancient trick by the fae. I sent my best spies to Norway, Sweden and every other corner where that wretch’s influence reaches, and do you know what I found, dear Fergus? Nothing. Nothing but legends and hearsay. This man seems to have appeared out of nowhere. And then there is his appearance. Fergus, I’ve been told there’s no woman in the whole of Alba whose beaty comes close to his. He looks like maiden from Arthur’s tales, clad in dark dresses and immaculate horned crows, his face appearing like a pale black haired goddess. “
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Unnatural is what you mean, Fergus. Each and every spy I sent gives me more and more insane stories, and none even get close to reaching his ever moving court.”
“I’ve heard enough.” Fergus sighed. Merida’s father had never been one for believing in far-fetched legends. Especially not if these legends seemed to have an unexplainable ability to stay out of his axe’s reach. To Merida’s father, there wasn’t a single issue that couldn’t be solved by bashing its head in, magic or demons be damned. “When do we set sail to put down this silly crossdressing scoundrel, Causantin? My sword has been itching for years. It’s time we got to enjoy some good old-fashioned battle, don’t you think?”
Causantin just sighed, although a small smile appeared on his old face. “Age doesn’t seem to have dulled you taste for battle as much as it did mine, Fergus. But even with the armies of the whole of Alba, we wouldn’t be able to fight him. Not without losses so enormous that it guaranteed that all our other enemies could invade without any pushback. Irish, Franks, Welsh, you name it. It’s a risk that I’m not willing to take.”
“You’ve baffled me, friend. How do you think of solving this if not with a good proper punch on the noggin?”
Merida suddenly realised which direction this was going, and she felt a shiver go down her spine.
“ I’ts the marriage I’ve sent you about, dear Fergus.”
“You don’t mean to say th-“
“Oh yes, Lord of DunBroch. “ Mael interrupted, his face still decorated with that lifeless smile. “You’re little chiefdom, thanks to its reputation for bravery and strength, has been chosen as the perfect stock from which to send a perfect candidate for a political marriage that will unite both Scots and Viking kind. That way we solve the conflict between our people without any bloodshed. From one High-king to another.”
Causantin nodded, before adding: “We never got close enough to Harald, neither spy nor diplomat, to ask him directly what he wanted so he would spare our kingdom. Luckily for us though, we did reach some people who could work as an intermediate, although I don’t think you will like who that turned out to be.”
“Not my dear Lord Mackintosh, might I hope.” Fergus muttered. “I don’t think the poor old Dingwall would survive if his rival got such an important position at the kings court.”
Causantin let a small smile grace over his old face, making way rapidly for a concerned frown. Merida could also see some apprehension in the man’s look.
“God no, Fergus. If only.” He sighed. “It’s a king you might not be familiar with. His name is Guthfrith.”
Fergus grin faded.
“Doesn’t ring any bells. Doesn’t sound all too Scottish though.”
“That’s because he isn’t. Guthfrith is what he calls himself. His own subjects call him Guthred. But neither of these where given to him at birth. According to some of my trusted sources, he was born as Guðrøðr Hardacnutsson.”
“But that means-“
“Yes Fergus. By God I know, he’s a-“
“A bloody viking.” Fergus yelled, his voice booming through the hall.
“So it seems, my dear friend.”
“Since when do we treat their kind with anything else than an axe to the head?”
“Maybe in the old days, Fergus. But I’m a king now, and Guthfrith is as well, and as such I treated him as a guest when he reached out to me. At first, I was surprised. I had heard rumblings from my spies that the kingdom on Northumbria was having some difficulty with Viking attacks. I even remember their king, Ricsige, begging me for aid, which I didn’t give. I would spill no Scottish blood for Anglo-Saxon rubbish. I didn’t even answer a year later, when it turned out that Ricsige had died and Ecgberht II had taken the crown. I’ve come to regret that now. In my absence, the Vikings conquered the whole Northumbrian kingdom. They kicked out the Anglo-Saxon nobility and replaced them with their own. They burned down churches and cast out the priests. They replaced almost all the leading figures in their army with Vikings or local collaborators. It has been a heathen, barbarian kingdom ever since.”
“How long?”
“Eight years, give or take. At first, the viking warlord Halfdan ‘Hvitserk’ Ragnarsson ruled the whole cesspit with an Iron fist. For reasons that are still unknown to me, he disappeared. Whatever the case may be, it all laid up to the rise of this Guthfrith. And he was the person who reached out to me to solve our little ‘viking’ problem.”
“A traitor to his own, or a snake to us. Loyal to none, it seems. Why would we trust a man like this?’
“He’s a man outside of Harald Fairhair’s influence.” The king sighed. “He’s the best we have, for the time being.”
A silence now hung in the dining hall of DunBroch.
“So…” Fergus mumbled, breaking the silence, hanging over the hall as a cold breeze. “What do you propose. With this whole marriage thing, you know?”
“Fergus, I’ve always known your domain to have been the best and most peaceful region of my kingdom. It’s people are some of the most beautiful, honest, hardworking and noble subjects a king could ever have.”
Fergus seemed to hesitate. “But-“
“Yet…” Causantin interrupted, his voice sharp and demanding. “Your people are also the most foolhardy, tactless, boorish, short-tempered and uncultured bunch of brutes I have ever met, from DunBroch to Dal-Riata. And as such, I consider you to be the most viking-like that our lands have to offer. “
“Don’t insult me, Causantin.”
“No insult intended, Fergus. Although, you would be wise to keep such accusations to yourself in the future. But come, we have to discuss the finer parts of this plan behind closed doors. Tomorrow we will go into town and choose a suitable bride. And we might even discuss some….dynastic matters.”
During his last words, the king’s eyes suddenly came to rest on Merida, his tired look seemingly disappearing within the blink of an eye, determination now resting in those orbs. The possessiveness in his gaze made her stomach drop. ‘Oh no’ she thought.
Both her father and the king hadn’t managed to properly leave the room before she ran to her room.
After what felt like hours, Merida still hadn’t decided if she wanted to cry, shoot something with her bow or stab her bedpost. Her festive dress now laid on the ground, her green travel dress having replaced it. The though fabric, the agility it allowed and the loose joints already made her feel freer than she had felt the whole evening. With her knife in hand, she had taken to carving more patterns in her bow, although it turned out to be more difficult then she had initially thought, her constant shaking making it rather difficult.
“Shit.” She hissed through clenched teeth. She couldn’t comprehend how fucked her situation had become in what felt like just a couple of hours. Not only was she to marry some stuck-up son of some deluded old king or a crossdressing northern lunatic. Not only was she going to become a pawn in the sick royal games of Causantin and a deluded Viking-ruler half a world away. No, as the cherry on top, she had to endure the thought that even her own mother, who longed for nothing more than her daughters marriage, couldn’t stomach what was going to happen to her. And it scared her. Merida wouldn’t have admitted it in a million years, but these last few hours had scared her in a way nothing ever had. It seemed her world had not only crumbled to the inevitable, but decided to give her yet another scoop of misery to go on top of it.
On some level, she had always realised that this day would come. Het mother was way to persistent for any other future to have been possible. And yet….
And yet she had dared to dream that maybe, just maybe, none of this would happen. She would run away and live of the land, hunting and traveling wherever she went. She would convince her mother of the idiocy of her plans, and get to live out the rest of her live in the castle. She would battle each and every suitor until the whole of Alba knew better than to attempt a marriage with her. These had all been scenarios, as impossible as they had been, that had occupied some corner in her mind. Some corner where she kept the hope alive that anyone or anything would stop this whole ‘marriage’ thing from happening. Maybe even God would grand her some mercy. Not such luck. And all because she was a-
“My lady?”
Merida sighed in frustration. The voice coming from the other side of the door was miss Alice.
“I’m not in the mood now, miss Alice.” Merida muttered in a tone more harsh then she intended to be. Instead of the usual reply of a hastened ‘excuse me, my lady’, she was just met with silence.
“Miss Alice?”
No reply came to Merida’s voice. An uncomfortable silence now hang in her room. Merida couldn’t help but grab her knife, still sheathed on her belt.
And then came a knock. A single, strong knock. Merida swallowed. She knew her apprehension at this moment was slightly ridiculous. She could think of no one in the castle that could possibly intend to harm her, but something about this made her feel tense. Walking over to the door, she hesitated for just a moment before opening.
There, standing before her, leaning on one side of her doorframe, was Mael. His smile could barely hide the lack of emotion behind his eyes.
“Isn’t it unbecoming of a woman to make a man wait?” he said, his voice a soft, cold blanket, carrying itself inside Merida’s room. “And stop looking like you’re surprised.”