I don't own any of the major characters, who belong to Disney Pixar and Dreamworks, or any of the many other things referenced here.

Title from "Lady Percy" by King Charles, the song I listened to over 127 times in the commission of this fic.

Based on FF. net's guidelines, it's possible that this should be rated M for its bad words (in two languages!) and innuendo. But I really don't believe it's an M and have rated it as T-if it was a movie it'd definitely just be PG-13, not R. Just be aware as you proceed.

AU so hard, and not a strict point-to-point AU. As usual, there are snippets of real-world details, but I've also willfully ignored some real-world details as well. Since I know not everybody's been to a Highland games before, I'll do my best to include notes at the end of each chapter explaining some of the things I've described.

Don't expect much plot and this'll go a lot better for all of us.

This seriously wouldn't have happened without Mel(ibells). She made the cover picture for me like a month ago, yelled back at me with good ideas, and encouraged me when I was ready to give up. So if you like this, go thank her (melibells here/melifair on tumblr). If you don't like it, it was all me.

She hopped around the room, holding the mobile to her ear with her shoulder while she tried to pull on a boot.

"When are you coming home, lass?"

"Soon, Dad," she said. "I've work tonight; maybe the day after tomorrow?"

Her mum said the same thing she always did whenever Merida mentioned work: clucked disapprovingly and asked why she had to work in a pub of all places. Merida explained as she always did. "It's a decent place, and the customers are mostly tourists from the hostel. They're nice because they're on holiday. Would you rather I worked at a local full of neds?"

"I'd rather you didn't work in a pub at all."

"You agreed that if my grades were good I could get a job," she reminded her, sing-song, and her mother sighed.

"Yes, but I thought you might find a job working at a shop, or a library." Something ladylike, clean and charitable and safe, was what she meant. Pouring drinks for backpackers certainly wasn't any of those things.

She heard her dad chuckle on the other end. "Elinor, love, why would you have ever thought that of our daughter?"

"That's what I'd like to know." And now, if she didn't hurry, she'd be late for her unladylike but highly enjoyable job. "Mum, Dad, I've got to go. I'll see you soon."

"Be careful, dear."

"I will. Love you, Mum. Love you, Dad."

"You too, lass."

"Love to the boys. Bye."

Truth be told, she wouldn't mind going home, and not just to use a free washing machine. The city was filling up with people for the summer, and the tourists coming in during the hottest months were a wilder breed than the ones who braved Edinburgh at other times of the year. Back home she'd have a chance to rest, enjoy the fresh air outside the city—she loved the capital, but it wasn't called Auld Reekie for no reason—ride Angus, and sleep in her own bed. She'd never realized how wonderful her bed was until the first time she'd gone home at winter holidays and fallen back into its familiar embrace for so long that her mother had thought she'd died during the night.

The pub wasn't too crowded tonight. A few of the regulars were there and she greeted them by name as she slipped behind the bar. As she tied her apron on she heard a familiar voice say, "Why, if it isn't the princess."

"Not a princess, Jamie," she reminded him. And if he called her lady next, she wouldn't hesitate to make it known that his father was a lord as well. Jamie Macintosh leaned against the bar and grinned at her in what he almost certainly thought was a suave manner. She stared back, unimpressed. "Can I get you anything?"

"Stella." He was wearing a tight black t-shirt—did he own anything else?—and his tattoos peeked out beneath the sleeves as he ran one hand through his dark hair. Across the bar a trio of girls watched him, giggling amongst themselves.

"Those girls are staring at you," she said, pushing the pint across to him, though why she should be doing him any favors was a mystery. "Three twenty-five." She saw him glance over her head into the mirror that backed the bar and smirk before reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. The girls' eyes followed his hand to his arse and they giggled anew, just as he hoped and she knew they would. She managed to make change without rolling her eyes at the ovine predictability of the human race; Jamie ignored the change and took his pint, sipping it as he turned casually. One of the girls waved a little before her friends slapped her hand down, but that was more than the encouragement he needed to saunter over to them and introduce himself.

If nothing else, working there had brought a new appreciation of humanity's stupidity and variety into her life. Every week she saw the same bad decisions being made, the same idealistic backpackers tramp through the door; but she also got to meet people from all over the world, many of whom were perfectly nice, if occasionally a little naive and/or ignorant about her country. Like the girls that Jamie was chatting to: they were probably American, and probably thought that he was the greatest thing they'd ever seen because of his long hair and tattoos and tight jeans and accent. It was always the accent that got them in the end. Merida wouldn't complain, though; if they went home and told their friends about the (in their opinion) hot Scottish guy who'd flirted with them in the Falconer, it was free advertisement for the pub. And of course some of the tourists weren't too bad themselves, and maybe one or two of them even went home and told their friends about the ginger-haired barmaid who'd served them. She didn't really flirt with any of the customers, but it never hurt to be friendly, especially to the ones who weren't sure if they were supposed to leave a tip or not.

She pulled pints, dispensed crisps, laughed with some of the regulars, washed glasses, and hummed along with the music until her shift was over. Then it was off with her apron and into the back to grab her things before she left. "I'm off," she told the manager, peering around the door into the cramped office.

"Aye, and you're off back home, too?"

"Yeah."

"Can't say I blame you." He arched his back, cracking it loudly. "I'd rather be swanning around a castle in the countryside than stuck in this madhouse of a city myself."

She scoffed. "Have I ever swanned anywhere in my life?" She helped with all of the tasks around the pub, all without a bit of swanning.

"Don't know," he said, deadpan, "I've never seen you in your natural environment."

"Piss off," she said cheerfully. "I'll see you later."

"See yous," he said as she walked out.

Jamie was standing alone on the sidewalk outside. She narrowed her eyes; he hadn't been waiting for her, had he? Maybe she could sneak past without him noticing her.

That was his cue to hail her, obnoxiously as usual. "Where are your new fans?" she asked.

He gave a mocking smile. "One of them drank a bit more than she could handle and her friends took her back."

"So what're you hanging around for?" She knew she shouldn't sound so hostile. Her mum always insisted that he wasn't as terrible as Merida made him out to be, and she knew that was probably true. It was just so hard to deal with him sometimes, him thinking he was so great and everyone ought to feel privileged to be in his presence.

"I walked them to the hostel and I was just heading home myself. Want me to walk you home as well?"

Not especially, she thought, but it was safer than the alternative. Merida was independent and confident that she could take care of herself, but she wasn't so stupid to think that walking home alone from a pub at night in the city was perfectly safe. And Jamie Macintosh ranked low on the list of people who might do her harm. Try her patience, certainly, and get on her final nerve, but never actually threaten her. Their fathers had been acquainted too long, and he'd been afraid of her dad when they'd been younger. She nodded shortly and they started to walk. Merida crossed her arms tightly just to make sure she didn't send any encouraging signals.

"Are you going home soon?"

"Day after tomorrow."

He nodded. "I'll see you there, then."

"You're coming?" she asked, then immediately frowned. Of course he'd be there, him and his parents and the MacGuffins and the Dingwalls. They'd all be there, and her mum would encourage her to socialize with the lads while their dads talked business and politics and golf and she'd do her best not to throw herself off the tower.

He shot her a look. "D'you think my dad would miss the DunBroch games and the chance to take the piss out of old Dingwall?"

"Of course not," she sighed wearily. Because heaven forbid the other lords actually act like grownups. Outside her building Jamie waited at the bottom of the steps as she climbed to the front door. Merida knew she should thank him for walking her home, but her lips clamped shut as she fit the key in the lock.

It didn't bother him. "See you soon, princess," he said, and she waved, resisting the urge to turn it into a ruder gesture the minute his back was turned.

She locked the door behind her and then dropped her forehead against it, groaning. Apparently it was too much to ask the universe to let her enjoy time at home with just her family; she'd also have clan members, hordes of tourists, and the lords, who, for some unfathomable reason, wanted their charming sons to marry her, to deal with. There was only one way to prepare for the upcoming week, so she fell face-first onto her bed and slept.

He was totally aware that he sounded like a petulant four-year-old, but he asked anyway. "Do we have to go, Dad?"

If anything, his dad was more patient with 20-year-old him than he had been with four-year-old Hiccup. He doubted that he was any less annoying now than he'd been then, so maybe his dad had mellowed. "Yes, son. It's family."

"We hardly know them! Gobber's more family than those guys."

Stoick could hardly argue with that—his best friend was like a brother to him, and had arguably helped raise Hiccup (arguably because Hiccup wasn't sure Gobber wanted any credit, or blame, for how he'd turned out so far).

"Family is important."

"Right. That must be why we get Christmas cards from them all the time."

He wished his mom were there. Maybe she'd be able to convince Stoick that they didn't have to go. "I don't see why I have to go, though."

"Because it's family." Dad sounded like a broken record. "It's our heritage. Besides, do you have something better to do?"

Without his dad there, he could get a truly epic amount of game play in. He couldn't very well say that, though; 'Leave me here with my video games' just wouldn't fly.

"You used to love going to the gathering. What happened?"

Hiccup tried not to sigh. "Dad, that was like, nine years ago. Then everybody else went through a growth spurt and started being able to toss cabers one-handed and suddenly none of them wanted to associate with the tiny skinny geek for some reason."

His dad didn't even try to deny it. Then again, his dad had probably come out of the womb able to flip telephone poles, and couldn't possibly understand what it was like to be a late bloomer. "Aren't geeks cool now?"

"In theory, yes. In the real world, or, alternately, a world where people dance over swords and men throw huge weights over their heads, not so much."

Stoick glanced over at him just for a moment before turning his attention back to the laundry. "Come on, Hiccup. Things have changed."

Things have changed was probably the understatement of the century. The last time they'd gone to the games he'd had two standard-issue legs. Okay, after the initial shock had worn off he'd kind of come to appreciate his prosthetic, but it still led to some social awkwardness, on top of his natural social awkwardness. After the crash he'd been a minor local celebrity for a minute—saving innocent bystanders from almost certain death seemed to have that effect, but there'd been nothing else he could have done. He'd told the reporters that he'd just done what his dad would have, leaving out the part where Hiccup's doing nothing would have disgraced Dad and his club. If he'd done that he would have been better off dying in the explosion. As it was he lived, his dad was made proud, and he got a shiny new lower leg.

When he'd graduated he'd thought he wanted to book it out of Berk as soon as he could, to study anywhere he wasn't the hero or the cripple or the manager's son, but it was harder than he expected to leave his dad and especially Toothless. Dad hadn't been a fan of the stray dog at first and he still tended to call him the Black Beast of Berk, but the dog had been the only thing that had gotten Hiccup through the long, endlessly frustrating hours of physical therapy and the dark times when he wished he had gone ahead and died and saved everyone the trouble. Now his dad wanted him to go see distant family who'd ask nosy personal questions under the guise of concern. The accident had done wonders for their relationship; surely Stoick could work out why he didn't want to deal with all the questions again.

But his dad, who was clearly oblivious to the way the real world functioned, said, "It'll be fun. You can get some fresh air and meet people your own age. In the flesh. Maybe you'll even meet some girls."

Hiccup dropped his face in his hands. "Ugh, Dad." After he'd gotten out of the hospital some of the club's female fans had taken a shine to him. At first the attention had flustered and confused him; he'd never had pretty, popular girls acknowledge him before, let alone pay him attention and buy him coffee. It didn't last long before most of them had lost interest when they realized that he really was just a weird kid and not a big hero. Except for Astrid. She'd actually liked him more over time instead of the other way around; they'd gotten along really well. Surprisingly well—so well that he'd been holding out hope that he'd soon join Augustus Waters in the ranks of one-legged teenage non-virgins when Stoick had again turned down her application for a trial with the team. Then she'd dumped him when he didn't pick a fight with his father on her behalf.

"I thought you said you could fight your own battles," he'd protested.

"Oh, I can!" She'd crossed her arms under her chest and that had totally not helped the situation at all. "It'd just be nice to have your support."

"You do! I totally support you, you know that. But I have a hard enough time with my dad without finding something else to disagree with him about."

That hadn't been good enough. She'd shaken her head. "I can't see you anymore. Actually, I can't see your dad anymore, and you would just remind me of him."

Funny how he'd been wanting that for so long, and now that he heard it it meant that he'd lost something he cared about. He had been heartbroken, and on top of everything else, he felt like he'd let John Green down.

Now Hiccup stared up at his dad incredulously. "I don't get why you think girls would like me more when they can actually see me."

And again Stoick didn't bother to disagree. Just the normal show of confidence in his son.

"Who's going to take care of Toothless? We can't bring him with us." Ha. He crossed his arms over his chest. Take that, Dad.

"Gobber's already said he'll keep him."

There had to be some other reason he couldn't go. Maybe he could break his prosthetic. No, that was a terrible idea. His dad would kill him and then drag him along anyway just to make a point.

Then his dad played his ace. "It's at the castle, you know. Think of how much more you'll appreciate it now that you've had a few architecture classes. They give tours, and you could do some drawings." He should've known Dad would fight dirty eventually.

Of all that he remembered of the past gatherings, the castle was always there in sharp detail: the thick walls, the gate with spiked portcullis, the round, slope-roofed tower rising above it all. There was no way he could say no to the chance to see it again.

Hiccup knew by his face that his dad could tell he'd given up. At least he didn't gloat about it; all he said was "Don't forget to pack some nice things, too."

"Fine," he grumbled as Stoick walked away. "But I'm not gonna wear a skirt."

Even through the rain that streaked the windows she could make out her dad, wearing shorts despite the wet and standing under the overhang, his gaze scanning the train. She burst out of the doors the second they opened. "Dad!"

His face lit up as he turned and saw her rushing toward him. "There she is! Hello, darling."

"Hi, Dad."

He cuddled her close. "It's good to see you, love."

"You, too."

He released her, manhandled the pack from her shoulders, and picked up her duffel bag. "Is this all?" The bags looked small in his hands as they walked toward the carpark.

"It should be more than enough, unless you've sold all the things I left in my room."

"I told your mum we should've not just given them all away." Merida laughed and her dad grinned.

"Can I drive?" she asked eagerly as he unlocked the mud-splashed Rover. Driving was one of the things she missed most when she was in Edinburgh. In a few minutes behind the wheel she'd find herself again, things she hadn't known were off-center clicking back into place.

But if there was one thing her dad could deny her, it was the keys. "Indeed you cannot. You've had a long journey, you've probably not slept enough recently, and it's raining. Maybe tomorrow." She pouted at him and he ignored her as he climbed in. She also knew from experience that he would drive away and leave her standing there, so she got in.

"Are the boys home yet?" she asked, buckling her seatbelt.

Dad shook his head. "They should arrive tomorrow."

"And they've not been sent down yet?" Merida whistled in disbelief. "This must be a record."

He had to defend his sons. "Ah, now, they're maturing. Maybe not as fast as some people—" He poked a finger into her side and she giggled. "—but they're getting there. And it is a military school, after all."

They chatted about work and school and the preparations for the games as he drove. Talking on the phone wasn't the same as being there with her dad as his laughter shook the car.

The rain had let up by the time they rolled across the bridge. Merida stared up at the building as she climbed down from the passenger seat. She'd never really thought of it as a castle, not really; it was just their home, though she'd known for years that other people didn't live in such grand buildings. She also knew how lucky they were to still have their clan's ancestral seat. The economy hadn't been so kind to everyone.

The air was cooler now, smelling of wet earth and the loch just beyond the walls. Her mum was standing at the door, looking as elegant as ever with her long dark hair hanging loose down her back. She held out her arms. "Merida!"

She grinned. No one else said her name quite the way her mother did. "Hi, Mum."

Elinor held her daughter at arm's length to take a good look at her. She worried too much, which Merida knew was a common problem among parents, especially those whose firstborn had moved away to the big city. Mum studied her for a moment, as if trying to see if anything had changed about her face, and then pulled her into a hug. "I'm glad you're home," she said into Merida's hair.

She was glad to be home. "You just want me for the free labor," she teased. Her mum tickled her in retaliation and she squirmed and giggled in her grasp. Then Fergus wrapped his arms around both of them.

"What a lucky man I am, with my two beautiful ladies." He squeezed them tight and dropped kisses on both of their heads before letting go and picking up Merida's bags again, carrying them into the hall. Elinor looped her arm through her Merida's and they walked into the house together.

At dinner that night, as she passed a bowl of broccoli to Fergus, Elinor remarked, "Clarissa Macintosh said you saw young Jamie recently."

Merida groaned. Lady Clarissa was a relentlessly gossiping biddy who was dead certain that Merida was completely in love with Jamie and that it was only a matter of time before they got married. She gave her mum a disgusted look. "He came into the pub and ordered a beer from me and then flirted with some tourists so hard that one of them got sick." Her dad snorted.

"Honestly, Merida, it's not as though I encourage any of this." Her mum shook her head. "You know how I feel about Clarissa." She felt about Clarissa the same way Merida felt about her son. The only difference was that Lady Elinor was able to hide her personal feelings and act cordially toward people she didn't much care for.

"I know, Mum," she sighed. She wished the other lords weren't coming. Suddenly she froze. "We're not doing the big dinner thing, are we?" Please, no. Anything but that.

"You know very well we are." Her dad didn't sound any more enthusiastic about it than she felt. The dinner was formal, which meant that he'd have to wear his Prince Charlie jacket and a bowtie and all with his kilt, a far cry from the football top and cargo shorts he was currently wearing. Merida didn't mind dressing up, but the dressing up wasn't the problem for her. The problem was the company she'd be forced to keep.

"It's traditional," Elinor said briskly. "You'll all be there and on your best behavior and I'll hear no whining."

"That's what you think," Merida muttered under her breath. When her mum shot her a sharp look she smiled innocently.

Fergus let her drive to pick up the boys at the station just after lunch the next day. It was fine and clear, and workers were already setting up the carpark outside the castle grounds. The household staff had been cleaning the interior of the castle bit by bit, but now, with only a few days left until the opening chieftains' dinner on Thursday night and the knowledge that the triplets were coming home, a hint of franticness crept into their efforts.

"Merde!" Harris cried as he jumped off the train, closely followed by his brothers. For a moment she imagined having brothers who hadn't discovered that her name bore a slight resemblance to a French swear word. Then she shook her head. That'd be no fun at all. The boys gave her brief hugs and she kissed them overenthusiastically, delighted to have the chance to embarrass them again.

They chucked their bags into the back and clambered in, after only a momentary disagreement about who got to ride up front, worked out through some secret triplet code. It was Hamish who won. "Is Mum going crazy yet?"

"Not quite." She reversed carefully and headed out of the carpark toward the road home. "Maudie is, though."

"Maudie always is," Hubert scoffed. How the housekeeper had survived the boys' childhood was a source of mystery to all of them; Dad had more than once suggested that they give her a nice pension and let her go, for the sake of her nerves, but for some unknown reason she'd stuck around.

"Can we get ice cream before we go home?" Hamish asked.

She pretended to think about it for a minute. "I suppose so," she sighed in mock-weariness, though there'd never been much of a chance that she'd say no and they all knew it. "I hope you know that the driver never has to pay for her own ice cream."

They'd agree to almost anything for sweets, so swindling them out of a cone was no problem. Merida licked her scoops of strawberry and peach and listened to the boys tell stories of nearly getting caught out of their rooms after curfew and leading a raid on the kitchens to liberate biscuits. They'd only actually gotten kicked out of the one school; the other two had each declined to issue them an invitation to return for a second year. They weren't bad boys, not really. They were mischievous and didn't always think things through, but they never meant any real harm. And they always worked together, which meant that instead of any blame being spread among three unrelated culprits, it was heaped collectively on the DunBroch boys, and that made them look more troublesome. Merida didn't worry about them, though. They were bright boys, and soon enough their maturity level would catch up with their energy level and they'd be right as rain. And now that they were here, they'd keep Mum and Dad and Maudie busy, and she'd be free to do what she wanted.

Being on the plane meant it was too late to avoid it, unless he wanted to do something that would get him arrested. He buckled his seatbelt and asked, "Where are we staying on this grand adventure, anyway?"

One of the advantages of traveling with someone the size of his dad was that business class was the only option, and luckily they could afford it. The flight was only a few hours long, anyway; when they arrived in Aberdeen they'd pick up their rental car for the drive to DunBroch, and wherever they were staying.

"With the Jorgensons, at their vacation home."

"What? No!" This was terrible news. "Because number one, Jorgenson isn't even a Scottish name, and number two, that guy hates me."

"Haddock isn't the most Scottish of names, either, but here we are. Besides, Snotlout doesn't hate you, and nor does Spitelout. Snotlout's going to be competing in the games."

"Of course he is," Hiccup muttered. "Just another thing he can be better than me at."

"It's kind of them to allow us to stay with them. Try to remember that."

They were distant cousins, somehow—Stoick's family thing again. Hiccup didn't believe that Snotlout had the capacity to be kind, but then again, their staying with the Jorgensons couldn't have been Snotlout's choice. The last time they'd seen each other he'd already been taller and broader than Hiccup, with a permanent sneer on his face. Hiccup couldn't imagine the years had made him any smarter or more tolerant than the guy who'd given him wedgies and made fun of his haircut. With any luck Snotlout would be so busy preparing for the competition that he wouldn't have time to harass Hiccup.

At least he had his sketchbook. If he got nothing else out of this trip, at least he'd be able to see the castle again, and get some good studies of it. And his dad would be happy. He'd survived growing up in Berk; he could survive this weekend.

Notes:

ned = juvenile delinquent-type person

football = what most of the world thinks of as football, i.e., not American football

merde = "crap"/"shit" in French

I know DunBroch wouldn't necessarily be the family's last name and Haddock wouldn't be Stoick's in actual real Viking nomenclature. It was just easier to use the names we all already know.

Toothless would be the best dog ever. I'm not sorry for making him one here.

Scottish/Highland games = like the gathering in "Brave." I've never been to one in Scotland, but I've been to several in the US. Schedules and attractions vary; some have sheepdog trials or demonstrations, some have historical and/or military reenactments, some have a ceilidh on Friday night and/or a Celtic rock concert on Saturday night. They all have pipe bands, Highland dancing, lots of tartans, and the throwing of heavy things:
-caber = a large log that participants attempt to flip end over end; closest to 12 o'clock wins the most points
-sheaf toss = athletes use a large pitchfork to throw a burlap bag of straw weighing about 16 pounds (7 kilos) over a bar; whoever throws it the highest in the fewest attempts wins
-weight for height/weight over the bar = throwing a weight, from 28 up to 56 pounds, backwards over a bar
-also stone put/throw (like regular shotput but with a heavier stone, not a smooth ball) and hammer throw (like regular hammer but on a stick instead of a chain and thrown from a standing position); sometimes also wrestling and races

Athletes must wear kilts...and shorts underneath.