Just Trust

Chapter 1: Lonely

Summary: It wasn't often that Merida got lonely.

A/N: This is my very first Brave fanfiction. Like, my first purely Brave fanfiction. So it might suck. Glad we got that out of the way. I've written crossovers, like the Big Four and stuff, but I've always wanted to write something just for Brave. So, this is it. Yep. Other chapters will follow, this fic might be horrible, I'll probably expound on scenes from the movie, I might even take lines from the movie, and I'll hop around quite a bit in the timeline. This chapter is set a few weeks after the movie.

I thought this was something that was probably haunting Fergus after the events of the movie, after seeing his daughter so near death, and seeing her fighting him. I think that when he first taught Merida to fight, and insisted on it, he didn't really think about it, but now realizes that those kinds of battles are the lot of a warrior, not a princess. And being a warrior himself, he understands how truly dreadful those battles can be, and longs to protect his daughter from that.

It wasn't often that it happened. But sometimes Merida got a little lonely.

This, as you can imagine, was difficult for the other people in her family to comprehend. She spent entire days alone sometimes, only riding back to the castle at nightfall, leading Angus to his stable and slipping into her rooms, exhausted but pleased with herself. She could spend hours shut up in her bedroom, staring vaguely out the window and doing absolutely nothing at all, and when people tried to talk to her, she replied rather dreamily and absently, unable to speak comprehensible sentences, just fragmented musings. Worse yet, she sometimes sat and gazed instead at the tapestry she had torn, running her fingers along the line she had stitched, though it was gone now. She still remembered it, the stress and panic of that night. When she spent a day like that, she tended to be less dreamy, and sadder. She was prone to fits of temper also in this state, but was instantly contrite again, remembering it was her own temper that had caused all her problems in the first place.

So, when Merida got lonely, as she did on this particular night in late autumn, there wasn't much for her to do about it. The servants, while they enjoyed her company, were always nervous and reserved around her, as if they expected her to suddenly go crazy and start telling them they were doing everything wrong. Which didn't make any sense to Merida, because these people had watched her grow up, and they knew she wasn't a particularly demanding person.

She also remained woefully unable to sleep, and knew that if she stayed up in her room, as she did during most of her lonely stages, she would only end up depressing herself, and staying up later than she ought to thinking about it all. And, although her mother had put in real effort to quit telling her what to do every second of every day, she still insisted that a princess should rise early (although, in a way, this might have been good for Merida, because without Elinor, she might never get up on days when she didn't feel like it).

So, pushing her hair out of her face and tugging her nightgown closer to herself, for it was chilly in those autumn nights, she decided to take a short walk throughout the castle, maybe go out for a bit and look at the stars. Angus was surely asleep by now, and she couldn't wake him to go charging off into the forest at this hour; that would be getting an early start even for her. A few of the servants gave her odd looks, beholding the princess in her nightclothes, a stumbling and sleep-deprived mess heading for the back entrance to the castle, but nobody stopped her, so she eased herself outside and settled herself on the back steps, but instantly noticed that she had company.

Her father, King Fergus, appeared to be in the sort of melancholy mood that ordinarily took hold of his teenage daughter more than he, and he gazed absently up at the stars, his chin resting in his hands.

It might have been cold, but the cool night air relaxed Merida as she looked at her father, his profile sharp in the darkness. She was so used to seeing him smiling, to seeing him as her father, that seeing him in this sort of mood made her realize, in the hard lines of his ruddy face, that he was a warrior as well. "Dad," her voice seemed loud in the silence, and she expected a servant to swoop down on them where they sat and demand they go back inside immediately. "What are you doing out here?"

The king seemed surprised to find his daughter sitting on the steps beside him, even though she had made quite a lot of noise opening the back door. "Merida, lass," his voice sounded wheezier than it did in the daytime, somehow, "what are you doin' out here so late? It's cold out here."

"I couldn't sleep," Merida's admittance hung in the air between them for a moment before she added, "I'm going back inside in a minute. And you should, too. If it's cold to me, it's no better to you."

"Ah, I'll…I'll do what I want," he waved a hand, dismissing her words in a way he could have easily done in the daytime without arousing suspicion but somehow, in the darkness, it seemed to have a deeper meaning.

"Dad?" Merida scooted a little closer to her father on the steps, surprised to hear the telltale crackling of frost and, looking down, seeing her bare feet nudging a bit of ice. Winter would be here very soon. "Are you alright? You don't…seem yourself." It was the only way to summarize it; whatever troubled the king, it was turning him into a different person.

"I'm alright, lass," the king's eyes slid from the stars to his daughter. "I'm alright."

The way he repeated himself seemed to suggest that he was not alright. "Dad…" Merida dragged out the word a little, hoping to coax him into revealing himself that way.

"It's same as you, lass," the king's voice was blunt and short. "Can't sleep."

Merida rested her shoulder against her father's, feeling the strong knot of muscles in her own and knowing it resided also in her father. People might have said that her archery led her to strong arms and shoulders, but she also thought it was partly thanks to her father's genes within her, for even before she'd become serious about furthering her skill, she'd been a strong little girl, always able to beat the boys in arm-wrestling contests.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"Merida…" the king shifted, jolting her shoulder. She didn't move again until he did, twisting to look at her head-on, and taking her chin in his hands. "Will you promise me somethin', lass?"

"Oh…yes," the words tumbled off her lips; how could she say no to her father, when he was clearly as distressed as he was right then?

"Promise me," his voice was serious; he was not at all his usual joking, cheerful self. "Promise me that you will never go into battle unless you absolutely have to. Promise me you won't fight all the wars like I've fought – promise me you won't spill blood unless the situation absolutely and inevitably calls for it. When you are queen, other kingdoms and clans might try to start wars. Maybe even the Vikings will attack, but Merida, please, lass, you must tell me you won't go to war unless you have to."

Surprised, nearly speechless, Merida could do nothing but gape at her father, remembering the gruff words he'd grunted at her: "Can't sleep." She thought she knew what might be keeping him awake now. "Princess or not, learning to fight is essential."

"No, Dad," she shook her head, "I'll fight the wars I need to fight, but I'll keep my peace as long as I can."

"Your brothers, too? You'll look after them when you're queen, right? You'll look after them, too, right? Make sure they don't start anything?"

"Yes." Merida nodded, putting her hand on her father's arm, patting him consolingly. "Dad, we'll be okay. No matter what happens, we'll be okay. We've got each other."

Well, it hadn't exactly been the cure Merida was looking for, but it was the truth. She had no reason to be lonely, as she was never really alone. She carried a small bit of her family with her, always, and so she would never truly be alone.