Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A long time ago in a forgotten kingdom, there was a simple cottage on the foot of the sparkling river. On its door lay a wicker basket wrapped in white linen, and it emitted faint wailing sounds. The door opened, and an old woman picked up the basket to investigate the sound. 

“A wee bairn? Have ye got a mum and dad?” 

The babe wailed in response, prompting the old woman to cradle it in her arms. “Hush now, wee one. I’ll take care of ye.” 

From then on, the old woman took up the babe as if it were her own child, and named him Gartnait. The babe grew into a strapping young man with silken brown hair and inquisitive green eyes, and then, who learned the art of woodcarving from his adoptive mother. Thanks to her, he was well-raised in the wisdom of the world, who later helped him raise his state in life and potentially, to win a bride.

One day, while on a voyage at sea to make a name for himself as a master woodcarver, his eyes caught a glimpse of a fair maiden, whose ebony black wavy hair flew in the wind like a flag on a sea breeze.

“Don’t stare at me like that!” the maiden snapped. “Introduce yourself first, I dare you!”

“Who are you, fair maiden?” Gartnait inquired.

Her proud tone morphed into one with an air of diplomacy meant to greet a visitor. “I’m Anwen, princess of Ystrad Clud. And yours?”

“Gartnait the woodcarver, son of Líadan, the Wise Woman of Fortriu.” He extended his hand for Anwen to shake on. “Pleased to meet you, Your Highness.”

“Pleased to meet you, Gartnait. And please don’t call me ‘Your Highness’ except in public, call me Anwen instead.”

The young man nodded in response. Then he shifted into chatting about trivial matters. “So how’s your kingdom, Ystrad, um…?”

“Clud, Ystrad Clud,” the princess corrected him. “Really beautiful grassy land, with breathtaking views of the sea.”

And so Gartnait and Anwen passed their idle time at sea chatting away about their family, as well as trivial matters. Soon, it became evident that they were meant for each other: Gartnait possessing humble and wise ways, albeit naive and slow-witted at times; while Anwen being diplomatic and compassionate, although headstrong and sharp-tongued. 

But there was one thing that could halt their growing relationship: Anwen’s strict parents, who viewed Gartnait as a nobody who was ineligible for their daughter’s hand in marriage. So the young man had to find a way to impress them with his wood carving skills. Eventually, his clever use of craftsmanship to improve everyday things had won the heart of the Ystrad Clud kingdom, as well as the king and queen.

One day, the king fell ill with a terminal disease that even the best healers of the kingdom could not cure. But before passing into the unknown realm, he gave his blessing for Gartnait to marry his daughter and to pass his crown to the younger man. Thus the young woodcarver became the king of Ystrad Clud, with his new bride becoming his queen. Not before long, Gartnait and Anwen found themselves wandering across Scotland for their new home, eventually leaving Ystrad Clud in the hands of Anwen’s younger brother to rule.

Eventually they settled in Gartnait’s old home in Fortriu, where they built their own kingdom and grew their own clan together. Anwen bore him four sons and a daughter: the eldest was Grifud the Strong, Drest the Just, Talorc the Compassionate, and Hywel the Wise. The youngest daughter, Haf the Summer Lass, was but a little babe trying her best to make her way through life.

The little clan lived in joy and harmony, with Anwen being the doting mother to her four sons, but her favourite one was her eldest son Grifud, particularly because he inherited her brown eyes and her outspoken and headstrong nature. Though, his mother had to resort to applying harsh disciplinary measures because his stubbornness sometimes got in the way of getting along with his brothers. Especially when he cheated and dominated their childhood games with his budding strength.

What they didn’t know was that a grey cloud was gathering and was threatening to cast a dark shadow to their family. Especially when she would oftentimes go out and stare into the sea as if she longed to go on a sea voyage.

It all began when Anwen went through a long and difficult labour while bringing her fifth child into the world. It took her almost a day before a loud cry of a babe pierced through the room. Gartnait’s face radiated with delight when he realized that his wife had given birth to a girl after a long labour, but soon joy turned into sorrow in a span of a few hours.

The fair Briton queen lay still, her face frozen in time, her stiff arms wrapped around the cold form of her infant daughter. The peaceful but chilling image was enough to send her sons into tears, and her husband was overcome with grief, too. 

Anwen’s mother disclosed to her son-in-law that she was a selkie, having been found all alone on the shore as an infant as an answer to her fervent prayers for a child. She had retrieved the little seal skin that she had kept all along and placed it on the boat that served as her daughter and granddaughter’s watery coffin. With tears of farewell, the little coffin boat containing the dead queen and infant was hoisted into the sea, eventually attracting a group of seals that circled it.

As for the teenage Grifud, he was never the same after the tragic event. Slowly but surely, the dark forces of evil began to creep in his heart, slowly choking out any good traits he had inherited from his father and honed from his carefree childhood. A lust for domination took root after his father Gartnait passed away - apparently still heartbroken over his queen's death - when the burly lad was entering young adulthood. Instead of collaboration with his three younger brothers in ruling the kingdom, he wanted domination for himself.

“Grifud, let’s work together to build a kingdom!” Drest suggested.

“Aye, teamwork is one of the things that holds the kingdom together!” Talorc piped in.

Hywel held his small hand to his eldest brother’s large one. “Would you care to join us as we discuss the future of our kingdom?”

Teamwork. Teamwork was the burly prince’s most hated word, an allergy to his desire for domination.

“Silence!” Grifud roared, his thunderous voice echoing through the chamber, sending his three brothers cowering in fear. “As the eldest son of the king, I am technically the heir to the Galbraith throne. You all, as brothers to the heir, must serve me. Understand?”

The three brothers could only nod, too shocked to question anything.

Once the struggle for the Galbraith throne became bitter to Grifud and his brothers, it seemed that no compromise had ever come up so far. Not even when he slashed his father’s stone tablet of himself and his three brothers with his axe, eventually breaking his likeness away with those of his brothers.

So he had no choice but to go to the old woodcarver woman called Líadan, who lived in the cottage not far from their castle. He wished for a strength of ten men, and she offered him a potion in exchange for the ring his father Gartnait had given him as an heirloom. In addition, she offered him a choice of remedies to the effects of the potion: either surrender and give up his desire for domination and rule together as joint kings, or live his days as a bear until a maiden would set him free. Without a second thought, he chose the latter, for he was too stubborn to surrender.

Grifud returned to the castle and gathered his brothers to discuss a compromise with bottles of whisky. Once the brothers were too drunk to carry on a civil conversation with him, he seized an opportunity his black heart brought him - to drink the potion the witch had given him and to slay them in cold blood.

From then on, everything went spinning out of control for the burly prince. Once he had finished slaughtering his brothers in cold blood, the spilled blood somehow took their hold on him. Unfazed, he went on a conquest to invade the neighbouring clan territories, intending to submit them to the great Galbraith crown. But the soldiers had seen a great black bear instead of a tall muscular young man in command of their army, so he ceased to be called Grifud any longer, but Mor’du, the great black bear. And that was enough for his own army to turn upon their own commander. Chaos reigned in the burning heat of the battle, eventually reducing the once-great Galbraith kingdom into ashes and rubble.

Once the smoke had cleared, Mor’du’s humanity was gone, and he had no choice but to survive as a bear. He was forced to wander away from humans and hunt salmon with his paws and jaws. He learned to hibernate in dug-out holes and caves once winter came.

The way of a bear dominated his mind for years that turned into decades, which eventually turned into centuries, until he suddenly crossed paths with a young fiery-haired lass. But that's another story and shall be told another time.

Chapter Text

The giant rugged bear was sleeping in a well-hidden spot of what remained of his clan’s castle. Suddenly, he was jolted awake – by faint footsteps approaching his territory. And what’s more, his nose caught a scent that smelled vaguely familiar – the fresh scent of a human maiden. But there was a particular scent that was quite as familiar as he had smelled years ago, the same one emitted when she was but a wee bairn curious about the wisps. The sweet smell of a bouquet of herbs mingled with her sweat and unique body odour. It was enough to send him stalking in search of the source.

He managed to keep himself hidden whilst observing the fiery-haired maiden wandering around the ruins of his once-stately home. Part of him was fascinated by the mere sight (and smell) of her, especially that she had grown into a lovely but fierce young woman. Another part of him wanted to take her into his fold, especially that she was the key to setting him free from the cursed bear body. Yet another beastly part of him wanted to eat her up. As she strayed dangerously closer to him, the savage instincts prevailed over him as he bared his face to her, prompting her to run away. But not before she snuck an arrow straight into his head.

Unfazed by the arrow, Mor’du proceeded to pursue her through the ruins. He was stopped by her crawling to safety outside, but still his savage instincts wouldn’t give up that easily. However, he was taken by surprise when he saw another bear grabbing her out of the blue. That alone was enough to make him more determined to capture her with his paws. He would not let another bear take his precious prey, for he had plans for her in mind other than eating her.

Mor’du ventured outside the ruins to continue his pursuit of the maiden and her apparent kidnapper, eventually finding them in a circle of stones surrounded by soldiers. Swatting the men aside – which included his mortal enemy King Fergus, whose leg he had eaten years prior – he prepared to carry on his savage attack on the maiden, but another bear stopped him from fully accomplishing it.

He had the chance to take a glimpse of another bear who took the maiden away from him. It was of the same dark fur colour as him, but a bit smaller and sleeker compared to his rugged appearance. The mere sight of it brought more fury to Mor’du’s instincts as he sparred tooth and claw with it, eventually slamming it against the largest stone. Once the sleek bear was (apparently) down, he turned on the maiden to carry out his savage attack on her. Little did he know that the sleek bear had risen from its injury and managed to slam him back against the stone, which was already cracking away. He had one last chance to drag the maiden to his claws before the stone gave way to its failing strength and toppled into him, crushing his bear form once and for all.

He felt himself rising, leaving his bear body aside. He was now in his transparent spirit form, and his evil side had died away alongside his physical animal form. He managed to glance upon the sleek bear and the fiery-haired maiden and nodded in silent gratitude to them before flying away from their sight. His wisp form sought shelter in the hollow hole of a nearby oak tree where he could watch them unnoticed.

From there, he watched the maiden wrap a large coloured blanket around the sleek bear, embracing it as she wept. All of a sudden, the bear vanished, revealing in its place an older woman with lustrous brown hair, which he had in common with (except that the ends of his hair landed on his shoulders, and hers quite long and had a grey streak running across her face). Regret and remorse flooded him as he witnessed the touching scene of the maiden hugging the woman, which he learned that the latter was her mother. How he wished he could apologise to them in person, but he feared that they would reject him off as dead. 

A red squirrel noticed the blue flame occupying its nest after an acorn-gathering trip, prompting it to seek shelter elsewhere. The spirit of a burly man could only chuckle at the sudden disturbance from a woodland creature. He continued to watch the touching reunion of the maiden’s family from a distance, after which he vanished into thin air.

Once the witch had granted him a second chance in life in exchange of companionship and love of the maiden who saved him from his cursed bear form – which should be accomplished before his next birthday on the day of Samhain – Mor’du wasted no time in finding her and her family. 

He found her practicing archery in the flowering forest, so he found a way to make his presence known to her without frightening her away. But she struck him again with her arrow by accident, further confusing his stealth. He managed to hide by the silver birch tree, but eventually she caught him.

Suddenly, Mor’du was starstrucked, especially that he was able to get to know her a little bit in his stargazing dreams when he was in a nebulous spirit form. Her name was Merida, princess of DunBroch. The maiden who challenged him in his bear form and the maiden who gazed at the stars with him were one and the same. The sudden realisation fascinated him and increased his growing appreciation for her even more. Especially when he earned her forgiveness for his terrible acts to her and her family.

But there was one thing that could hinder his growing appreciation for her. Her own parents. Mor’du shuddered at the idea of meeting them by Merida’s suggestion, for Beltane celebrations were fast approaching in a month or two.

Merida was there to guide him every step of the way, from giving his appearance a much-needed makeover so he would not be viewed in a negative light by the public, to conducting himself appropriately in front of her parents. He was stubborn at first, due to him having forgotten his princely manners his parents had instilled on him during his childhood. Over time, his long-forgotten manners had begun to improve, even going as far as to kiss her hand while she was teaching him how to curtsy in front of important people of rank, especially the King and Queen of DunBroch.

The festivities had finally arrived. It was during a cèilidh that Mor’du accidentally bumped into a woman, who was bedecked in a blue finery with golden borders and bits of gold scattered throughout her dress, giving her an almost celestial appearance. Her long brown hair hung to her back flowing like silk, with a large golden jewelled ring fitted on her head indicating her status as queen. She instantly painted a look of bewilderment and shock which caught the larger man unawares.

“Wait a minute, you look familiar ,” she muttured.

He was trying to process everything amidst the noisy celebration around him. “Me? Familiar to you?”

Elinor could see that despite the burly man bedecked in a completely different garb than in his former one worn while in his spirit form, she recognized him as the spirit of the man who was once the great bear Mor’du. 

“Aye, but jings, crivvens, help ma boab!” the queen exclaimed. “This can’t be. You’re supposed to be dead , right?” She turned around and it was a relief that they were a wide space away from the tail end of the gathered crowd, who were so entranced by the music and entertainment that they barely noticed them at the back. Her suspicious glance shot at her daughter like an arrow hitting the exact target. “Merida, explain this nonsense.”

Merida, caught unaware by the sudden discovery by her mother, tried her best to explain how Mor’du was brought back to life by the witch in exchange for Merida’s love for him, which must be accomplished by Samhain, otherwise he would be condemned to an eternal limbo of nebulousness.

“His evil side was gone, along with his bear form. But I tried my best to refine him with good manners.” She then tapped him on the arm. “May you please introduce yourself?”

Elinor hesitated. The very prince whose legend she told her daughter once as a cautionary tale was now standing before her like a stately oak tree. She felt starstruck at the sight, but her refined manners silenced the sudden reaction threatening to burst from within her.

In an unusual display of gentility, the burly man gave a low bow which was equally mirrored by Elinor. He reached for her smaller hand and brought it to his lips, which earned a small smile from her. “I am called Maol Dúin, the eldest son of the late Laird Gordan of Clan Galbraith.” Gordan was the made-up name Merida had come up with for his father Gartnait to conceal his true Picto-Brittonic origin. Except for the clan name, which was largely forgotten by pretty much everyone in the Highland kingdom of DunBroch due to its Lowland origin.

The queen kept a straight face as she introduced herself back. “I am Elinor, born of Clan Erskine, the queen of the Kingdom of DunBroch.” Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “But you may know me as a bear, right?” 

He chuckled before nodding as a silent reply. “Forgive me for having fought you as a bear. I actually never meant you harm, but my savage instincts did otherwise. That savage part of me was gone, along with my cursed bear form.”

“Och.” Her stern countenance softened into that of pity. The man was surprisingly genteel, despite his large and burly appearance that could crush his enemies in an instant. Still, Elinor warned him. “Consider yourself forgiven . But on one condition that you will never show yourself in front of my husband King Fergus unless I introduce you to him properly. He might never forgive you for what you have done to his leg.”

On the mention of one of his errors by the queen, Mor’du felt a slight twinge of hidden anger flare up in his being, but that was quickly replaced by powerful feelings of regret and remorse. He learned that the king was Merida’s father, after all – and he couldn’t risk her rejection by provoking the king into doing the unthinkable. “I am sorry for your husband, Your Majesty. I can recall he is a fierce warrior, which provoked my savage instincts to cut off his leg. Again, I am deeply sorry – I had no control over this mess.”

Elinor nodded, impressed by the burly lad’s display of forgiveness. She then ruffled his hair a bit and ran her hand to his cheek, to remind him that she had forgiven his past misdeeds to her family. “Again, all is forgiven, Maol Dúin. And next time, please call me Mum, for you are indeed orphaned, I reckon?”

“Aye," he replied with a tinge of sadness in his gruff voice. "My mother died after bringing my deceased sister into the world. My father couldn’t get over our loss. Of all the five siblings, I am the only one left in my line." His sad reply generated feelings of sympathy from mother and daughter that they took turns rubbing him on the back.

Merida was so impressed by her friend’s display of forgiveness that she planted quick pecks on both her friend’s and mother’s cheeks, which they both rewarded her with a group hug.

Once they pulled away from the hug, it was their turn to enjoy an evening of entertainment laden with Gaelic song, dance, and a comedy of sorts. With the chaotic past forgiven and left behind them, the bond between former bears were gradually forged into a kind of a mother-son bond.

Eventually, Mor’du had to face the archenemy of his beastly past – King Fergus, the father of his friend. Would Fergus still see him as the bear who ate his leg and lash out on him, or would he let bygones be bygones by forgiving him?

But that’s another chapter that shall be told another time.

Chapter Text

Springtime had brought flowers to bloom for a short time before being carried away by the wind, or wilted to give way to fresh green leaves. Among the countless woodland creatures, the red deer frolicked and roamed around the woods, omnipresent throughout the seasons. Some of them, mostly the bucks and occasionally does, had their lives sacrificed to ensure the survival of another different species, mostly through humans (and other animals) digesting their fleshly parts into their bodies.

One late spring day, a red buck, bedecked with graceful antlers on its head, was frolicking happily through the woods, engaged in a graceful mating dance with a pretty doe it liked. Until a swift arrow pierced the deer through its back, sending it struggling for its life until gradually ebbing away into stillness. Two large sinewy arms of a human carried its still form away from the ground, leaving a streaky trail of crimson liquid in its wake.

It was a normal busy day for Mor’du and his little band of helpers. Ever since he was given a place to stay in a hastily-made cottage tailored for his large size within the DunBroch castle grounds, he was given a series of menial jobs a normal castle servant would do. From hauling crates and logs in and out of the castle to hunting game animals for the upkeep of the castle, he was basically a much-needed asset. He could haul a wagonful of produce and game as fast and almost effortlessly as a normal man would struggle to do. His towering presence was a cause of much of the initial disbelief and resentment to some of the other servants, which gradually turned into acceptance as they let him do some of the heavy work they would normally struggle with. Thanks to all the work he had done day in and day out, a warrior’s day was quite a busy one in times of peace as it would be in times of war.

Eventually, his presence earned a bit of suspicion from King Fergus, especially in times when he stole glimpses of him while giving orders to the servants. Other than that, the short glimpses were quite uneventful and didn’t affect Mor’du’s industriousness.

Until news of an invasion of a nearby coastal settlement by the Vikings compelled Fergus and the other lords of the three main clans to assemble at the great hall of the castle, along with their soldiers. However, he sensed that they needed a strong warrior. 

“I remember that new servant who does all the heavy work like he was the master,” Fergus recounted. “Shall we bring him?”

“Aye, bring him in!” Lord MacGuffin bellowed in reply.

The other lords echoed his affirmation, prompting them to locate the brawny servant. 

Queen Elinor was merely passing by when she sensed the commotion going on. “Now what is going on here?”

“We need a warrior strong enough to defeat the Vikings,” Fergus explained. “D’ye happen to know the burly servant?”

“Aye, but he’s away on a hunt. I’ll summon him to you as soon as you can.”

Mor’du was filling his wagon with fresh kill of the day, and now he was ready to haul it back to the castle. 

“Maol Dúin!” a female voice cried in between huffs due to running.

“Mum! What is it?”

“You need to come to the castle quickly!” Elinor said, her voice a tone of urgency that must be responded to as soon as possible. 

“But Mum–”

Although Elinor could sense Mor’du’s hesitation, she wouldn’t have any of it, especially that he would be needed by her husband for an important matter. “You come along with me! But first, you carry the wagon to the castle grounds, then let other servants take care of the rest.” 

Mor’du found himself face to face with four men at the great hall, and that reminded him of an episode in his beastly past. 

A circle of stones, surrounded by several men. He had fought them on his old savage quest to reclaim Merida from the paws of another bear–which was actually her mother Elinor. He still felt a tiny flame of anger burning at the distant gaze of his mortal enemy that was Elinor’s husband. The equally burly but older king was sporting a wooden peg leg, as a result of another episode of his beastly past when he ate the latter’s leg out of instinct. 

But before he could allow the flame of anger to rise any further, he sensed the gentle squeezing of a small female hand on his large one, which pulled him to the direction of the king. He spun around a bit to face the stern but kind face of the queen who took him up, as well as another familiar face in the distance. 

Merida.

The fiery-haired lass – who was his prized prey from the final part of his ursine days – became his first friend since his post-ursine youth. She was basically the reason why he obtained his freedom from the curse which had imprisoned him as a bear for a few centuries. Now he found himself being drawn to that lass little by little. At first, he had developed a friendship with her for quite some time, but then came an unexplained nagging feeling that was troubling him. It stemmed from another side of him when he first saw her as a bairn in his own ursine eyes. The feeling of a growing fascination for her, which would eventually blossom into love , which we would delve into detail later on.

The sight of Merida encouraging him with a smile, along with Elinor’s pleas to speak to Fergus, was basically enough to take action – albeit very slowly.

“Your Majesty,” he began in a low voice as he bowed before the king. “I am Maol Dúin, your lowly servant at this castle. I was the bear you once sought to kill.”

“Mor’du!” At those words, Fergus flew into a rage, but his wife and daughter quickly silenced him.

The burly man took a deep breath, then continued. “But I am no longer the bear anymore. Your daughter set me free from that cursed bear, and I was brought back to life to repay the kindness she has brought me. I am sorry for your leg I had eaten long ago, so forgive me for this mess, if that’s fine with you.”

Fergus had nothing else to say for a while. The man who was once the bear he had once sworn to kill for his leg incident long ago, was standing in front of him, asking for forgiveness. But the king could see in his quick glances before the meeting that he excelled in his labours in the castle thanks to his astonishing strength that enabled him to carry heavy loads of cargo with ease. 

Finally, Fergus spoke. “Aye, lad. I was wrong about you in the first place. You were not like the other bears I’ve hung in this place. But once I saw you working here, I know you’re the right man capable of fighting the Vikings.”

“The Vikings?” Mor’du’s brown eyes widened.

“Aye, lad. They are fierce Norse warriors who are troubling us for quite some time now. That’s why I need you to fight them with us because of your strength.”

“But what about my job here?”

Elinor chuckled. “You can always go back to work when you return alive. But there’s a risk that you could get killed or injured in battle, so I cannot always guarantee that.”

The mention of new enemies on the horizon gave Mor’du a renewed sense of strength. He was a natural-born warrior in his youth, capable of slaying a bunch of men with his axes. But he would need to set that aside to be used for the battle itself.

Before he knew it, he was slowly introduced to three other lords – with mixed reactions at first, then overwhelmingly turned into praises for his astonishing strength.

Finally, the time had come for Mor’du, Fergus and the other men to leave for battle. They were gathered in neat lines just outside the castle gates as they were assembled to travel to the Viking camp at the coast.

Farewells and exchanges of hugs and kisses were a common sight for the send-offs, and this one was quite emotional.

For Mor’du farewell to Elinor, it was a sort of mother-son banter.

“Don’t forget to bring us Viking souvenirs,” Elinor chuckled as she returned his powerful hug. “And return home safe and sound, aye?”

“Aye, Mum.”

He released her, turning his sights on Merida. Her face portrayed a mixture of anxiety, sadness, and longing when she said her farewells to him.

“Take care, caraid . I know that with your unstoppable strength, you will always triumph.”

He responded by grabbing her smaller right hand and lifting it to his lips. “I will return home soon, Merida. Always remember that.”

But before he could return Merida’s farewell further, a piercing sound of a ram’s horn signalled him to pull a significant distance away from her and mix into a crowd of men.

With a heavy heart, his gaze was fixed on Merida and Elinor, who were waving goodbyes at him (with other men as well) with tears on their faces. He waved them in return before joining the departing Highlander army, their gallant forms gradually disappearing into the horizon.

Chapter Text

Mor’du and his men were assembled in the field, lining neatly in columns with only their kilts on their waists as they found themselves face to face with an army of northerners. Those northerners were known for their expert skills in seafaring and navigating, but they had the capacity to disrupt the peace of the people of Scotland by raiding and pillaging their villages, abducting the inhabitants and brutally taking away the dignity of their women. Even sacred places like churches were not spared from their savage acts, as evidenced by testimonies of monks from the nearest recently-raided abbey who recounted that their crosses, books, and sacred relics were stolen by the Vikings.

Those harrowing testimonies were enough to send Mor’du’s blood boiling to the point that he was ready to slay every last Viking that ever set foot in his homeland. His thoughts shifted to DunBroch castle, where he had resided since his resurrection by the witch. The people there had been kind enough to offer him a job and a place to live. He had been acquainted with the DunBroch royal clan little by little, but the first person he’d ever acquainted with since his resurrection was Merida. He couldn’t bear the thought of her (and her mother) being taken away—and being endured terrible things—by the savage Vikings. For them, he was ready to fight—and to die if fate decided to alter its course against him.

“Odin owns you all!” 

“ Buaidh no bàs! To Clan Galbraith! To Clan DunBroch!”

Mor’du growled and bellowed in his deep and booming voice as he brandished axes in his large hands toward the advancing army of enemies in sight. The other men followed, including King Fergus of Clan DunBroch and the three other lords of Clans MacGuffin, Macintosh, and Dingwall. Soon, metallic clashes of weapons were heard as well as cries from both men as they pitted themselves against one another. And men from both sides fell to the ground in random numbers, fresh blood coursing from their dying bodies.

But the most astonishing sight was of the burly blue-tattooed man slashing the Vikings with all his strength, a few at a time by the brutal swings of both of his large axes. In return, he was greeted by a series of stabs and slashes across his large body.

Could Mor’du survive the onslaught of the Vikings’ revenge?

Work at Castle DunBroch had never been this hard and slow since Mor’du left. Some of the muscular men tried to take up hauling cargo to and from the castle, but they were tested by their limits. Although they had shown brawn by their muscular build, they were easily distracted in some way or another—whether by their boredom, irritability, or unexpected lust. Even Young MacGuffin, one of the burly young ones in the kingdom, showed no interest in the back-breaking job, for he concluded that only the strongest one like Mor’du could do it with astonishing efficiency.

For the royal family, life went on as usual, with Queen Elinor acting as regent in her husband’s absence. With her diplomatic no-nonsense experience in ruling inherited from her Erskine parents, no doubt she was the first person her people would run into whether they had various problems to deal with, whether territorial or personal.

Every day, Elinor would teach her daughter Merida on how to be an effective ruler, as well as lessons on marriage and child care. That was perfect timing, because Merida was nearing the second decade of her life. Soon, she would be married, but on a different term than the previous thanks to that harrowing experience years ago—when they had an argument about the marriage that ended with a series of fateful events that tested their relationship for the better.

Merida tried her best to absorb her mother’s lessons, for she would be better prepared for the realities of a maiden like her. Remnants of her childishness were still evident–like her impishness she shared with her triplet brothers (who were nearing puberty) as well as her recklessness, but various experiences, whether good or bad, had shaped her into the brave independent young woman she was now.

But there was one thing that was threatening to test her independence.

That nagging feeling that was crawling from the bottom of her spine.

No matter how well she absorbed her mother’s lessons, she couldn’t take her mind off Mor’du. His past was much darker than her own (thanks to her mother’s stories as well as her terrible first encounter with him as a bear), yet she found out that she had one thing in common with him—by their rebellious spirits. As she got to know him even more, little did she realise that she was falling for him–even though she had first befriended him in her dreams as a friendly spirit. His striking appearance must have helped her fuel that butterflies-in-her-stomach feeling. She had found his naïveté about various things quite endearing—especially when she first taught him the basics of hauling a wagon, with hilarious results of him hauling the empty wagon the wrong way. 

One night, as the royal family were feasting on their dinner, Merida was the first one to ask a question.

“Mum, will Dad and Maol Dúin come home soon? It’s been a while!”

“Merida, we don’t know what the battle might turn out to be,” Elinor chided. “But let’s wait and see—the important thing is that your Dad and Maol Dúin will return home triumphant, whether dead or alive.”

The words dead or alive struck Merida with uncertainty. The thought of them coming home wrapped in blankets shuddered her with fear, but eventually hope triumphed. She had resolved in her heart that her father and her friend would march home unharmed, especially Mor’du, who was renowned for his astonishing strength–he had demonstrated this as a bear, so no doubt he would do the same in his labours and in battling his enemies as a resurrected human.

Later, as Merida fell asleep, she had a dream.

She found herself near the battlefield where the Scotsmen from various clans and the Vikings were pitted against each other. She was astonished to witness the amazing sight of the familiar burly man hacking and slashing the Vikings with brutal swings of his axes. But as her eyes squinted to get a better picture of him, she found a few daggers stabbed across his large body as well as numerous slashes gushing with blood, sending her in alarm and realisation that he could die at any moment.

Soon, the remaining Vikings surrendered and ran away in retreat. Merida rushed to Mor’du’s side, who was lying on the ground, bathed in ghastly amounts of blood due to wounds and stabs inflicted upon him. As she tended to his wounds using torn pieces of her own clothes, she felt his large hand caressing her cheek. His mismatched brown eyes painted an expression of gratitude and fondness for her, and she could not help but smile at that.

As she slowly bent down her face to glance at him, she could sense him cough violently, sending in a rush to lower her lips down to his in a gentle kiss. With her gentle brush on her lips came his last breath. It was enough to send her weeping for her lost friend, but suddenly her world faded to black.

Chapter Text

Merida had to put on a mask of normalcy. She carried on with her duties as a princess as usual, including overseeing the workforce in the castle grounds, learning important leadership lessons with her mother, watching over her younger brothers as they gradually grew from wee boys to teenage young men, doing needlework, lending a helping hand in everything from tackling difficult problems to doing her part in selling merchandise for a friend—all while convincing herself that everything was fine. But on the inside, a dark cloud of thoughts was threatening to obscure her mind.

Whatever she did, she couldn’t take her mind off Mor’du. He was the best friend she could ever have, even if he had a past much darker than her own—and when he left for battle, she felt that he had taken a piece of her soul with him. Most of all, she couldn’t believe she had fallen for him—especially when she had mindlessly kissed his lips as he died in her nightmare. The more she convinced herself that it was a nightmare, the more she thought otherwise, that it might be real. She waited for a messenger for any news of him or her father, but so far no one had come forward.

Elinor, sensing her daughter’s tense face, tried her best to comfort her with a hug—but most of the time, Merida shrugged off, telling her mother that it was best for her to be left alone. There were some nights Elinor glanced into her daughter’s room to see her quietly weeping. She wanted to comfort Merida, but all she knew was that it was best to honour her daughter’s wishes. So the queen walked away, an expression of anxiety and sorrow evident in her regal face.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks turned into months.

Months gave way from one season to another.

Spring turned into summer as fresh greenery flourished everywhere and temperatures soared.

Summer was gradually turning into autumn as the sun warmed everything up, while occasionally bringing rains, storms, and floods.

It was now the feast of Lughnasadh. Athletic men of all ages and clans—who had not been away for battle—competed for the crown and the glory that came with it. Some of them on horseback and in chariots raced against each other. Others showed up their might and strength by pitting themselves against one another. If Mor’du were there, he would break away from all competition with ease.

As Merida watched the proceeds of matchmaking, her thoughts suddenly wandered to Mor’du. What if he was matched to some other woman instead of her—just as she had nearly matched to any of the lords’ sons? It was a matter of tragic fate in which she couldn’t escape if it caught her in its hands, like she had witnessed some female acquaintances matched with husbands who were oftentimes incompatible. One friend of hers had a husband who would beat her while drunk. Another acquaintance’s husband had been unfaithful as he brought a random lass into their house to have his way with her. She vowed she wouldn’t allow that kind of fate to befall on her.

Despite having bugging thoughts that had gone unanswered, Merida found herself enjoying the flow of the festival with her little company of female friends by her side, namely Maudie’s niece Seònaid and Marsaili the orphan lass. With hastily-made wreaths of wildflowers on their heads, they scaled the highest hill belting out Gaelic songs of their childhood, and with a fond farewell, buried their wreaths and first fruits of their family harvest on the summit. It signalled the end of summer, according to tradition. 

Just as they were wrapping their sacrifices in fresh earth, a loud trumpeting of a horn interrupted the festivities. It was a messenger from the eastern coast. Merida and her friends rushed towards him, in hopes of hearing the good news.

“I have come here to deliver thee the great news: the Vikings are defeated; now King Fergus, Maol Dúin and his men are beginning their triumphant march home.” He was greeted with loud boisterous cheers from the crowd—including Merida, whose heart leapt with joy upon hearing this. “But given their distance, it may take until around Samhain to reach DunBroch.”

There was a second of silence which was broken by cheers and sounds of jubilation at the news that their enemies had been defeated in their corner of Scotland. But they didn’t matter to Merida. What if Mor’du didn’t make it in time for her to declare her love for him? It would be too late—he would vanish into his spirit form forever, as the witch warned her in one of her dreams. If so, rushing into his way seemed like a tempting idea!

Merida reminded her friends that she would be going to some secluded spot, to allow herself a moment to think. They happily obliged, for she would be rejoining them afterwards.

Once she found herself a suitable quiet spot to think, a contradicting idea dawned on her. What if the messenger was guessing the arrival date wrong, and Mor’du and Fergus would be arriving sooner than expected? Maybe it was best for her if she would wait. But she vowed to herself that no matter what would happen to Mor’du, she would love him as a companion who would bring sunshine into her life, despite his dark past.

Somewhere near the battle site at the eastern coast, the Scottish army were celebrating. After weeks of battles and negotiations, the remaining Vikings had agreed to retreat to the north, giving the Scots another precious moment of victory and relief. 

Meanwhile, the burliest warrior was also celebrating, not only because the Vikings were vanquished near the DunBroch area, but because he couldn’t wait to go home. Home was where Elinor and Merida were waiting to welcome him in their waiting arms. Most of all, he couldn’t wait to confess his true feelings for Merida. Because she was the inspiration for his astonishing bravery and fierceness on the battlefield, it was her fiery spirit that kept him alive no matter how hard they had tried to bring him down. He was known for his brutal strength throughout his whole long life, but the height of his strength had drawn to his final battle with the thought of the fiery-haired lass in mind—just as he was about to succumb to his numerous injuries. Basically, he had dedicated his newfound victory to her .

But he remembered the witch’s warning. He had to earn Merida’s love before his twenty-fifth birthday on the day of Samhain, or else he would return to the wisp form for all time. He was technically around three hundred and twenty-four years old if he counted his three centuries as a bear, but in his human form, his body was stuck in his twenty-fourth year. By then, everything and everyone he had known and loved in his previous life—including his birth family and first wife—was gone, having lost in the chaos of his pursuit for domination that led to him becoming the infamous demon bear in the first place. Although he had some regret and remorse for losing the joys of his previous life, he was glad he had found a new purpose in his new life—to repent for his mistakes and to start over with a fresh beginning. Of course, he couldn't do it without Merida, who was bound to him in many ways from the day he first saw her during his last years as a bear. So he vowed to himself that he had to return to her before Samhain. 

After the celebrations were concluded, Mor’du informed Fergus and the other men that they had to return to DunBroch castle as soon as possible. Soon, the camp was hastily cleared up and words of gratitude and goodbyes were said to the villagers whom they defended. As tokens of gratitude, horses were given to the warriors for free to hasten the warriors’ return. For Mor’du, a simple crown of flowers was presented by a little girl from the village, which he accepted with gratitude. At least he had a simple but beautiful present to give to Merida.

Soon, the warriors were ready to depart with renewed energy and spirit. The loud clacking sound of hoofbeats, coupled with the heartfelt Gaelic song of victory, were all the villagers could hear, which grew fainter until they disappeared into the horizon.