Heroes

Lileas sits by the bedroom window, mending an old tapestry. The peaceful cloak of night soothes the day's troubles. Her hands expertly mend the fabric. She hums quietly to herself as she works and her voice drifts through the room.

If not for her fiery hair she wouldn't be associated with her mother. Her hair is held in tight braids so as not to appear unruly and wild. The immaculateness of her appearance is reminiscent of Queen Elinor. She's often compared to her grandmother for her personality and composure.

In stark contrast to the atmosphere is the old tapestry. The faded colours depict an ancient feud. The clan emblems have become undistinguishable as were her mother's wishes. Forget the past, she'd said, we live in the present and we make our own fate; not the grudges of people who don't know. It isn't the largest or the grandest but the tapestry holds a lot of sentimental worth.

"Is it done?" Queen Merida enquires.

Lileas smiles at her impatience. "No, I've only just begun. You of all people should know how long these things take,"

She huffs and rolls her eyes. "I didn't teach you to be slow,"

Lileas stifles her laughter and shakes her head in amusement. She smooths the old tapestry gently. Her expression of deep concentration is a carefully made mask. She daren't show her ever-growing fears. That isn't the person that she wants to be.

Queen Merida sits up. "You can tell me that it won't be done in time. I won't be angry… Lileas, stop doing that; you'll tear the fabric,"

Lileas nods enthusiastically. Her head turns away to hide the sudden tears that have crushed her defences. The atmosphere falls cold. An empty longing and desperate pride take joy's place. She blinks away her tears in a desperate attempt to finish her work.

A hand falls on her shoulder. She jolts and spins around to find Queen Merida out of bed. The tapestry falls from her lap. It flutters to the ground silently. Lileas leads her back to the bed with little notable resistance.

Merida scowls. "I don't like this. I'm no old,"

Lileas frowns with the air of a disapproving parent. "Mother, you are old. This is your… This is your time to sleep so go to sleep!"

She shook her head. "I'm not a child and we both know that-"

The tools crash against the wall and Lileas rises. "Don't be negative, mother. You won't see the tapestry if you think like that,"

She gathers the tools up angrily. The sharp point slices into her palm. A small trickle of blood slips to the ground. Lileas laughs bitterly and drops them again. She meanders over to the bed and sits next to her mother.

Merida strokes her daughter's head. "The tapestry's no important,"

Lileas frowns. "I thought dad tried to make it,"

Merida nods slowly. Her mouth curves into a frown. The wrinkles around her eyes deepen; a reminder of how greatly times have changed.

"Keep the tapestry," she murmurs quietly.

Lileas looks up, alarmed. "Father made it for you. He wanted you to have it,"

She smiles. "It's yours now,"

Lileas looks over to the chair by the window. The tapestry lies at its feet in a crumpled heap. The images are distorted.

She sits up. "Why did he make it for you?"

Merida's old eyes light up suddenly and a wide, mischievous grin spreads across her face. "It's an old tale about a kingdom and brothers. The kingdom fell; that was how I met my fate. Not all heroes are legendary warriors, your father said; then he made that,"

"Aren't you a legendary warrior?" Lileas enquires pleasantly.

Merida shakes her head. "No, but I am well known for the fate that tapestry got me into,"

The two settle into a silence. Lileas' eyes wander to the tapestry curiously. Then they flicker to the tools she so carelessly threw down.

She slips off of the bed. "I'll mend that for you. You should see it right for one last time,"

Author's Note: Not the best. Not the worst. Better than the original idea! That's something, right? Anyway, I know the dialogue doesn't fit. I was going to look up the Scots 'slang' and decided not to. There are grammar systems to what is supposedly slang! I'm not doing that much work. I didn't do that for my manuscript I'm not doing that here! Anyway, this has a lot of thanks to give towards Wǔxiá. I love that genre and if you don't understand then you can always search for the lyrics to I Will Not Be A Hero. The name Lileas is Scottish. I looked the name and meaning up. Feel free to look the meaning up yourselves. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. I'm sorry if you're disappointed.

Part of the Revival Collection.