It was not like Merida disliked her duties. It wasn't like that at all. She most certainly did not want to spend her life aimlessly riding her horse through the hills, shooting at wooden targets. She certainly did not want to live some useless, carefree life; contributing nothing to the world, and avoiding all responsibility. She knew what her place in the world was now, and what it would be.

And how she desperately tried to love and appreciate it.

She did. She really did. Queen Merida of DunBroch. How great it sounded. Her people would admire and respect her. She would be wise and diplomatic. She would be held in awe and feared by their enemies, and at the same time respected and loved by her own people and she would lead them into an age of power and security and reassure them that her parents taught her well. She would protect her people from any clans that dared to threaten them. She pictured herself at the front of the battle with her general to her right and her loyal people behind her. She would lead the charge with an arrow drawn and ready to take the life of the enemy and-

"A lady enjoys elegant pursuits."

And there was the problem.

"A princess should not have weapons."

Merida knew her duties.

"A princess must be knowledgeable about her kingdom."

She cared about her duties more than they knew.

"Pronounciate! You must be understood from anywhere in the room, or it's all for naught."

But she wasn't a perfect diplomat.

"She doesn't make a doodle!"

Or a perfect artist.

"That's a C dear."

Or a perfect student.

"A Princess doesn't chortle."

She tried, she really really did. For the longest time, she tried her hardest to be a Lady. At the age of twelve, her beloved bow found itself locked in a chest under her bed, where it would gather dust for the next several years. She even stopped her training with the sword.

"Above all…"

She came to a realization on her fifteenth birthday.

"A Princess strives for perfection."

I will never be perfect.

Merida was not a Lady. She was none of the things that her mother was, and not for lack of trying either. She tried so hard that sometimes it hurt so bad she could barely keep from screaming.

Elinor loved her daughter; she wanted what was best for her. So she tried to teach her anything and everything she might need to know. It just never crossed her mind that somewhere along the way her expectations might have gotten a little out of control and she never understood why Merida just couldn't seem to reach them, so she did the only thing she could think of and pushed even harder.

And one day, after coming to the conclusion that she would never be perfect, Merida found herself sitting on her bedroom floor, staring at the graceful and elegant piece of woodwork, the bowstring long since rotted away.

Maybe she still knew how to use it?