The kingdom of Dunbroch was a lovely little empire that thrived in the most fertile area of the Northern highlands. These highlands held myths and stories known well to the residents, tales of the past preserved in legends like stone carvings, forever visible to those who dared to look. The forests, the cliffs of black sandstone, the former kingdoms lost to time, all were the keys to the creation of the five clans: Dunbroch, Macintosh, Macguffin, Dingwall, and Clochine.

The wars between the clans caused much strife for the kings and queens of the land, few preferring to settle the matter peacefully until a common enemy forced them to join and defend the land they had once fought over themselves. After the enemy had been destroyed and banished from the highlands, the five kingdoms formed a friendly alliance. That was, until the king of Clochine grew sick and finally died.

He had ordered the kingdom he left to be split among his four sons, so that they each would have a share in title and the land they ruled, acting as the four columns on which the land stood strong. However, the eldest believed his younger brothers deserved none of the land they now possessed, and wouldn't stand for it. He attempted to usurp the three brothers, but at much cost. The once prosperous kingdom began to fade, it's hamlets and farms ravaged by the greed of a prince who longed to be king. After much war, the kingdom fell into war, chaos, and ruin, leaving the other four clans to fight once more over who deserved the desolated lands.

After many more years of fighting, Dunbroch claimed the land of the fallen Clochine, which by this point had regrown, trees and wildlife covering the traces of the misty castle, the bloodshed and pain; its name forgotten, its culture and history lost, and legend retold to the youth to prevent such mistakes from reoccurring.

Some said it was fate, others said it was destiny, and a choice few said it was both. But destiny is something entwined with man, while fate to the land, as much a part of people as they are of it. But when destiny and fate are woven like a cloth, it is often the one thing a person will look for, and fight to change. Most are never lucky to find it, but there are a lucky few; that are led…

332 Years Later…

Deep in the forest, not far from the road, a small tent stood in the center of a clearing. It was pitched to perfection, made from clean, white hessian and twine ropes, while a green flag flew atop its two gables. The flag showed four intertwining circles of gold, to represent the four clans, and a dagger positioned point down in the center, to illustrate the military might and strength it held in the clans.

There was a table stocked with food, the menu being varied from poultry to lamb, various jugs and vases laid in near perfect order on a yellow band of cloth that stretched across the top. The queen sat in her chair, a thick stack of papers in hand, her red curly hair spilling out in great red wisps all over in a near cloud-like pouf. She wore a turquoise blue riding dress, a silver amulet, and seemed to be pouring over the documents in near exact detail like only a queen would.

The king wore a sly smile, his own brown hair cut short and had a wavy texture that was pinned down by a small crown forged of gold with many emeralds position on three sides like eyes. A thin coat of stubble covered the sides of his cheeks, a thick yet well kept beard circling his mouth like a goatee. He had a thin composure that hid the strong muscles that he did in fact possess. The royal, despite being one, dressed unlike one for today. Choosing a plum purple sweater, black sheepskin trews, and a worn leather holding belt draped around his waist, the scabbard for his sword buckled tight.

"Where are you?" He asked the wind in a light and cheery voice, looking around with a playful grin. "Come on, I know you're here somewhere…" He feigned a lack of knowledge.

He strolled past the table, his wife setting down the papers with a grateful sigh. "Finally, done." She ran a hand through her red hair and took a large longbow from the ground by her seat as well as a quiver, the arrows forged of the finest wych elm and the hardest lead tips meant to bring down a fully grown bear in one shot. "Mathuin hiding well, eh?" The queen smiled at her husband's plight.

"As normal dear, he never gets better hiding spots." He laughed off his wife's remarks and continued to look, saying playful threats that inspired fits of laughter from underneath the table. "Where is that little troublemaker? I'm going to gobble him up like a goose when I find him!" He held back his own laughter unlike his hands, which he held in an attack position, wiggling his fingers like claws of a bear, to which his wife gave him a dark stare with her blue eyes.

"Oh, come on now Merida. Yah can't let some harmless fun get to you that easily." He rolled his eyes.

"It's not funny, Conor! I take bears seriously for a reason you know." She stood up and set her bow on the table, much to the king's dismay. He raised a concerned brow, and looked from the weapon to the queen. "Merida, no weapons on the table." He took the bow and handed it back to the queen, who clicked her tongue scornfully.

"You're a splitting image of my mother; that you are." She pressed her lip together in a joking fashion.

"That I am," Conor chuckled and suddenly put a finger to his lips, and mimed that he heard something by holding a hand to his ear. "But I never lose with you." He winked and got down on his knees, tearing the tablecloth upwards in an effort to surprise his son with a quick "Gotcha!".

But when Mathuin wasn't under there, he pursed his lips and released a small sigh, standing tall once again both both hands on his hips.

"Where are you, you little rascal? I'm gonna find you and grind your bones to make my bread!" He smiled mischievously and turned to see Mathuin trying unsuccessfully to sneak around his father. He screamed and started to run, but Conor pounced on him like a wolf, pulling him close and pretending to chew on his neck like he would with a puppy. His fun was momentarily distracted by Merida, who cleared her throat and motioned with her blue eyes to the table.

"Ah," He breathed and stood up, leaving Mathuin on the ground for a moment and kissed his wife, who still had the carved longbow in her grip. The boys eyes lit up at the weapon and he ran up to Merida, grabbing the bow from her hand and trying to play with it. "Can I shoot one, please, Mommy, please?" He begged as the weight of the bow caught up to him and he fell backwards into the green grass, balancing the bow on his knees with a hopeful smile.

"Hmmm," The queen mused for a moment. "That bow is a bit… big, eh?" She asked her son, who slowly nodded. "Well," Merida's lips curved into a sweet smile. "Why not… use your very own?" She turned around to the table and grabbed his present.

It was a bow carved plainly from the sturdiest ashwood, and curved beautifully. The tips were the drawstring tightened between two silver buttons, decorated with the four circles of the Dunbroch crest. Mathuin's blue eyes lit up at the sight of it, his smile growing wider and wider at the elegance of the weapon.

"Happy birthday m'wee boy!" Merida handed the little bow to her son, who instantly burst into a fit of joyous squeals trying to draw the bow.

"Hang on, hang on," The queen crouched to Mathuin's height, placing a hand around his shoulder. "I'll teach you how." She chuckled and picked up her large longbow, which laid forgotten on the grass, outdone in Matuins eyes by the one his mother had given him.

Ten minutes later, the small boy blew the red curls from his forehead as a light breeze blew past the clearing, offsetting the miniature bow and arrow from its target, a large painted drum positioned about five feet from the struggling prince. His mother leaned close on one knee, trying to give him pointers on how to fire the bow correctly.

"Alright, now breath… that's good! Very good," The wind blew her red hair past her face as Conor stood back, worried a fair bit that this wasn't a good idea for a five years old to be handling a bow and arrow, no matter how dull the tip was.

"Okay, now you've drawn it back; look forward with your good eye, and…" She trailed of as the prince began to blink like a firefly's behind. "Loose!" She said quickly as Mathuin let go of the drawstring, the bow sailing far past into the forest ahead.

"I missed." The boy frowned at his inability to do as good as his mother, glancing at the numerous bows that had yet to came within two feet of the brightly painted target, the turkey feather fletchings sticking up from the earth in all sorts of jagged angles.

"Well," Conor took the bow gently from his son's hands. "Go on and get it, son." He stood tall as Mathuin nodded and dashed off into the woods after the arrow, leaving the parents alone for a discussion. He waited until their son was out of earshot, his red hair still easily visible behind the dark cover of the alder and wild junipers.

"Really, Merida, a bow? I think he's a little young for that." He remarked as the queen crossed her arms with a smile.

"Mock all you want wolf king. The boy needs to learn one day." She shot back with a playful punch in the arm.

"I hate it when you do that…" The king grumbled silently at his wife's playful jabs.

Mathuin scurried through the grass and mud in search of the arrow he had misfired, the shade of the trees feeling cool against his back. His feet came to a rest in a small clearing observing the beauty of the woods around him still under the shade of the ashwood and junipers.

He hopped over a fallen tree branch covered with toadstools that stuck on the outer layer of the peeling park like stepping stones, light creeping through the green leaves of the forest canopy. Looking around silently, he saw the shaft of the bow had embedded in the mossy trunk of a tree, and stood on his tiptoes in an effort to retrieve it.

He dislodged it from the green moss with no effort, observing the tip to see if it had been damaged. The arrowhead was still clean, as if it had never left the drawstring at all.

Suddenly, a soft crunch came from the area to his right, like ruffling leaves. The prince released a small gulp and forgot the splendor of the woods, realizing with fear that he may not have been alone.

He wasn't.

A small wispy breathing sound same from behind Mathuin, and he turned to face it, the arrow shaft held tight in his small hand. But as he looked, what he saw made him question his vision for the days to come. Floating only three feet from him, a smoky blue apparition, no bigger than the flame of a candle, seemed to be beckoning to him forth with its glowing blue wisps.

His first thought was shock, next came fear, but finally, came happiness. "A Will O' the wisp!" He whispered to himself, looking in awe at the strange mythological creature floating right in front of him. The prince could barely contain himself. "They are real…"

Mathuin held his hand forward, trying to touch the aspiration, but it backed away and dissolved into a puff of smoke, a high pitched whine coming from the supernatural creature.

Then, suddenly, a second one appeared farther back than the first, and the prince ran up to it, grasping wildly at it just to see if it was truly there. But again, it disappeared.

Then, he saw what seemed to be an entire trail of Will O' the wisps leading up a steep hill, cries emanating from their presence. The child kept following them, giggling with glee everytime he 'caught' one. He came to the top of the hill to see the tent his family had pitched, the crest of Dunbroch fluttering in the wind.

"Mathuin, come on now! We're headin on back!" Merida's motherly voice called him back to the site, where the guards were beginning to pack up the food and tent.

The young prince clutched the arrow in his pale hand, running up to his parents in small strides until he reached them, out of breath. "I-I; I saw a wisp," He panted bending to balance both hands on his knee, the arrow dropping to the ground.

Merida smiled and got down on one knee. "A wisp, you say? I haven't seen one of them in a long time." She sighed picking out the arrow. "You know, my mother used to say that the wisps lead you to your fate." She looked into her son's large blue eyes.

Next to her, Conor rolled his eyes, doubting what his son had seen. "Yeah," The king took the bow from his wife and observed it. "Or an arrow, son." He chuckled and began to walk off to get the horses. "Now, come on. We've had a long day. Bet be headin back before we see pixies, or a dancing foxhound…" He trailed off as Merida scooped up her son and tucked him close.

"Your father's never believed in magic." She said softly tucking her black cloak over her shoulders as the pair walked back to the horses with the king ahead.

"Well he should;" Mathuin smiled. "Because it's true." He leaned his head onto Merida's chest and blinked his eyelids before he saw something and released a loud scream.

What stood in front of The queen and prince was a bear, but not a normal bear. Its fur was matted and stuck out in black spikes all over it's enormous body, which stood at least fifteen feet high. His eyes, like a bears, were black. But unlike a normal bear, the eyes melded into the rest of him, leaving only two white spheres that reflected on his furry face the only indication that he even possessed eyes. His mouth opened wide as the head of a hatchet as he roared, flecks of frothy saliva dribbling out of his open mouth as if he had rabies. A scar, barely visible underneath all the black hair, ran its way across his right eye and down to his nose, where the silver head of an arrow remained lodged and embedded like in a pincushion. The rest of his body was shaped oddly enough, like a man's. A broad chest, muscular arms, and numerous broken off spear and arrowheads, as well as chunks of iron one could only assumed belonged to a sword.

He released a roar that made Merida back up quickly, muttering one word.

"Mor'du." She breathed as a sharp cry sounded from the guards, who grabbed their weapons and charged at the beast, spears and longbows poised for action as Merida ran with her son snuggled close to Conor, who was charging back to fight as well.

"Take him and go!" She yelled shoving Mathiun into his arms right as they were grabbing a sword.

"No! I-"

"Listen to me! I've dealt with him before, just take Mathuin and go!" She countered and grabbed one of the shields before her husband could stop her.

Merida dashed up to the beast with a sword in hand, the demon bear swiping the heads of the spears off like toothpicks. The numerous arrows shot at it embedded in its skin, but had no effect, as if they were shooting cotton swabs. He cleared three of the fifteen guards in under five seconds, the queen ducking the blow and shooting arrow after arrow at the monster.

Mathuin watched his mother fight the savage bear like he had heard his grandmother do in stories and legends the whole scene eerily reminiscent to how he had imagined it. King Conor rode the bouncing horse away with his son watching behind them from his lap. They turned the bend as the prince was able to cast one final glance at the queen.

"I'm not afraid of you, bear!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, the bear leaving an echoing roar as the horse turned out of sight, keeping the little prince from witnessing further…

A/N I might be continuing this, given good time, of course.