Chapter 25

The Dancing Girl of Fire

Merida was flying again. Her red hair drifted out like clouds about her, swirling around her head and seemingly stretching out for miles. She floated above the earth as her ruby hair turned the sky aflame with colour, putting all the sunsets of the world to shame. Around her golden eagles flew, their smoking feathers shooting up sparks into the cold night. Every so often a black dragon would cut across the air then sputter into nothing, seeping into the twilight like ink onto parchment. Merida smiled to herself as the dragon appeared again, roaring across the open sky and sending a shower of sparks into her hair.

Something green and brilliant was riding atop the beast, turning lamp like eyes down to the flying princess. But then Merida fell to the earth, and she was suddenly convulsing on her four-poster bed, her ruby hair sticking to her sweaty face as hands ran over her bare stomach. They felt like spiders, running across her waxy skin. Around her shadows moved like jackals, and frightened faces blurred into fraying tapestries. Merida cried as something was dragged through her skin, and she tried to roll away, wishing to curl into a ball and disappear into nothing like the ebony dragon.

The dragon suddenly roared in her mind, and she was back above the world. The pain was gone, and a boy was smiling at her, his ghostly emerald eyes cracking into a lopsided grin. The boy was made of metal, his hair a mess of rusty chainmail and his body crafted of beaten iron. The dragon roared loud in Merida's ear, and she bristled against it. The roaring was changing, and soon a bears booming snarl drowned out the dragon's call. Merida twisted in the sky and felt woollen sheets tangle around her legs. Fire was boiling her waxy skin as she flailed in the air. Her red hair was smoking at the tips, and pain had curled around her stomach, carving into a wide smile that dripped with crimson teeth.

Merida's hands fisted around the quilt of a bed and suddenly someone's fingers slid into her own. They were not cold, and wind chapped like she had hoped but instead wrinkled and made of something ancient. The hand squeezed hers, and she gripped it back, digging her nails into the palm, wishing it could drag her out of the sky. The hand did not recoil at the fingernails scraping at their skin instead they tightened desperately.

Merida could remember warm threaded cloth and the smell of rain as she held the hand. The fingers were someone familiar, someone, important. Then loneliness swallowed the fire in her veins, and Merida felt tears purl along her closed eyes. There was a charcoal drawing of a girl and a woman holding hands. A footprint smudged their faces, and the little girl was crying. The fingers were ripped from Merida when a tongue of flame licked at her stomach, and a scream was heard off in the distance. The princess hoped they were safe as she struggled in the sky. She hoped he was safe.

Merida fell into her four-poster bed, and a scream burst into the air. It exploded like the fireworks that were erupting in the room, stars dancing above the dazed princess and reflecting in her glassy eyes. More spiders were running along her stomach, sliding on the wet stickiness that salted the air of her bedroom. Merida was thirsty, and her throat burned as hot as dragon fire. Her tongue felt out of place in her mouth, and she wondered for a moment if someone had swapped it for a strangers. Bloodshot eyes looked around as the shadows convulsed. They were circling her like vultures, their black shapes ripping and tearing at her body.

Safe. Merida thought, looking at the carrion birds for someone she had lost. She had to make sure he was safe. But there were no dragons in the squabble of pecking birds, and her eyes misted once again. She needed something, and her hand flailed weakly beside her, fingers stretching out to find it. It was important and shined like beaten metal. It felt like a summer breeze and would lift Merida's hair as it passed. She needed him now, needed his icy touch to cool her waxy skin before she guttered herself and burnt out. Her fingers were taken, but not by him. It was the hand from before, the wrinkled texture pulling a longing from Merida's chest. She held the fingers firm and stretched out with her other hand, looking for the touch of cool metal and dragon scales. They were not there to meet her.

Breath hitching and bubbling like boiling water, hot tears began to roll down Merida's cheeks. The droplets seem to hiss as they touched her blistering skin and smoke rose from her body like a funeral pyre.

"Hush sweetheart," Fingers were combing through her sweaty hair as the choked voice bloomed out of the darkness. "I'm here; I'll always be right here." Merida was five years old again, only this time she was not facing down a bear but instead sitting in a woman's lap. She was safe and warm, the smell of wool surrounding her in an embrace. The panic slowly ebbed away as the hands ran like water through her hair and the sound of rain pounded outside.

"Right here," The voice whispered, and Merida gently fell into the warmth. She clung to the fingers as she slipped backwards. But this time the princess remained on earth, the white bandages tethering the girl to the small bed like a ship harbouring in port. The storm raged on inside Merida's burning body, but she remained firmly in Scotland, her mother holding her hand as she slept.

Blue eyes blinked awake in the cool light of early morning. The room appeared smudged, colours blending like paint before the drowsy girl. Merida lay still and quiet in her bed. Her body felt heavy as if she had fallen into a magical sleep like the heroines of her books. Something tight was done around her stomach, crushing her ribs and stiffening her body. It felt like a corset, the taught fabric hindering the princess's deep breaths. Swallowing thickly Merida raised her head to look down at her chest; a mountain of thick blankets blocked her view. Merida noticed dully that her parents own hand stitched quilt had been tossed over her small figure, its dark green pattern unmistakable. Sighing Merida's head fell back onto her pillow. Her arms were trapped beneath the rolling hillside of thick blankets, and she did not have the strength to lift them free.

Mind still cloudy the princess rolled her head to the side, looking into the dim light of her bedroom. Her heart rose has she saw a figure hunched in the chair beside her bed.

"Hiccup?" She whispered, her voice crackling like dead leaves. The figure stirred, and a pair of honey brown eyes blinked dazedly open.

"Merida?" Murmured the woman, her voice bringing the longing back into the princess's bandaged chest.

"Mum," Merida choked, a sleepy smile blooming like wildflowers on the princess's pale face.

Fabric rustled and the hand was back in Merida's greasy hair, rubbing up and down in a tired comfort. Merida slender shoulders relaxed and she leant into the touch, her burnt out eyes closing drowsily. "Mum," The little girl cooed, her smile deepening.

"Sweetheart," Came her mother's comforting voice and now the back of wrinkled fingers were rubbing against Merida's forehead. They felt hot to the touch, and Merida winced, wishing for cool hands to run over her body like water. I need to make sure he's safe.

"Mum, where's Hiccup?" Merida asked sleepily, her eyes still closed against the blue light of dawn. The fingers stopped their rubbing. "Mum- Hiccup?" Merida asked again, her words beginning to trip and stumble into one another. "I wanna- see him . . . make sure- he's . . . safe." Her voice felt thick, and her throat hurt to speak. She waited for her mother's answer, leaning into the fingers still stationary on her forehead.

"He's safe Merida," The voice said at last, and the fingers continued their rubbing. "Go back to sleep sweetheart. Don't think about him."

"But I need to see him," Merida mumbled stubbornly, prying her eyes open to see the outline of her mother, worried face all too familiar. "Need- him." She slurred, almost drunkenly.

"Go back to sleep Merida," The voice cooed. The girl made a face and tried to shake off the fingers running through her hair, but the heaviness of the blankets and her magical sleep soon swallowed the girl whole again.

"Hiccup," Merida mumbled, her tired eyes drooping shut as her mother began humming Nobel Modern Fair, the warm hand now brushing down her pale cheeks. "Hiccup promised him- promised . . . Hic." The little girl was asleep again, her breathing slowing to a gentle beat.

Queen Elinor looked blearily down at her daughter, her fingers falling mournfully from the girl's small face. The bleeding had stopped, and her child had stabilised, but a fever was still eating Merida alive, throwing the girl into strange hallucinations. The healers had assured Elinor that her daughter would make it through the night, the slash marks on the girl's stomach miraculously missing any major organs. But the Queen still worried, she had too, it was her job.

Sighing Elinor leaned back in her chair and ran her shaking fingers down her face. The air still reeked of blood and germ jelly. Her head hurt, and an itch stung the Queen's bloodshot eyes. The cool light of dawn was awash across her hunched body, making the ache in her head worse. The room felt too bright and still. It reminded her of young Merida waking her and Fergus up early on birthdays. The smiling little girl was a horrible contrast to the quiet pale one that lay before Elinor.

This was the fourth time Merida had woken from her feverish sleep, and the fourth time she had asked about the Viking boy. The girl appeared to forget every conversation before, the sickness of her injury eating at Merida's brain like an animal. That boy. The Queen thought bitterly, rubbing her aching neck, eyes still on her sleeping child. Damn that boy. Fergus had filled Elinor in two hours ago about the fight in the Dining Hall when he had finally had time to sneak away from the debates to check on his injured daughter.

The Queen's heart still stung from everything that boy had revealed. The dragons supposed innocence, the witch, the slave party, the constant lies, and the plan to run away. She had noticed how her husband's heart seemed to break as she nodded knowingly at that part of the story. It did seem like something Merida would do. She cursed herself for that, wishing she had falsified some surprise to spare her husband.

The headache bit harder at her temples as the Queen sunk deeper into her thoughts. The boy had been abandoned. That part tasted bitter in Elinor's mouth. She hated herself for the small stab of vicious joy she first felt hearing the news. It was immediately swallowed by a wave of hot guilt as she saw the miserable expression on her husband's face. He hated himself, the Queen could tell. Her husband hated himself because he was learning too much about himself that night. "I wanted to say something to him," She remembered him moaning. "But I was too great a coward, too afraid to face one child. The boys had to do it for me- oh Elinor." The memory cracked at that, and the tired Queen blinked quickly.

The woman leaned forward in her chair and smoothed the quilts on Merida's bed. Her daughter slept on, snoring lightly as her mouth lolled open. She twitched faintly in her dreams, and the Queen stilled, worry flaring in her chest at the thought of facing the panicked girl again. But Merida merely nestled deeper into the warm quilts, a half-moon smile tugging at her sleepy lips. She was mumbling something into her pillow as her red eyelashes fluttered in a dream. An odd feeling rose in Queen Elinor's stomach as she watched her daughter smile drowsily into the wool of her bedspread.

Face tightening slightly in apprehension the woman leaned forward further to hear what the sleeping princess was murmuring in her dream. The mumbled words tripped and stumbled into the air. They were quiet and innocent, whispered as if a secret was passing from daughter to mother.

"He . . . meant it," The princess sighed into her woollen pillow, curls rolling onto her pale cheeks as she burrowed deeper into the bed.

The Queen pulled sharply away, the odd feeling now boiling her stomach. How close were Merida and the boy? She had seen them together. She had watched them run hand in hand to some secluded spot of the castle. She had noticed her daughter smile more and seen the quiet, timid nature melt away from the boy like ice. Both she and Fergus had watched the two children race across the field together, stuffing dead leaves down each other's shirts. She had seen all of it. But she had never stopped to wonder about it, to question her daughter's new habits.

What had the boy said to Merida? The Queen thought feverishly, biting down on the nail of her thumb. Merida had always been so stubborn, so determined to choose her own path that the thought had never occurred to the Queen. How could her feisty, wild Merida fancy anyone she had picked out for her? He was the least traditional of the four. Maybe that was what had caused the princess to see the Viking boy as the exception.

Feeling slightly sick the Queen stood and began walking briskly towards the door. Downstairs in the main hall debates were raging on about what was to be done. Lines in the map were being crossed; alliances that stood shakily were being tested. It was all going on because two children had somehow managed to ignore everything. Or ruin everything, depending on your perspective and moral compass. Queen Elinor thought drunkenly, one thousand silly worries entering her head. Had she ever had a conversation with the boy? The woman frowned at this, her hand gripping the cold metal of Merida's door handle and turning her knuckles white.

What had the boy and girl been doing alone together all those afternoons? Should she tell Stoick or did he already know? Who had filled the water jug of Merida's room full of daffodils? Was it Hiccup or one of the maids? Queen Elinor blinked at this and quickly shook the thoughts from her mind like cobwebs. The first rays of sun were kissing the windows behind her and dripping onto the floor like honey. She had stayed up all night. Sighing deeply Elinor stepped out of the stuffy bedroom; she needed to breathe.

Alone in the hall, Queen Elinor pressed her back against the cool stone of the passageway. Her daughter's blood was trapped in the outline of her nails, making her hands shake as she wrapped them around her. This is what you wanted after all. Sneered a nasty voice inside her. Just didn't get it the way you wanted.

"Elinor?" The Queen blinked, disturbed from her thoughts by a familiar voice. Looking up the red-eyed woman found her husband staring shakily back at her, his warrior figure quivering from lack of sleep.

"Oh Fergus," Elinor sighed, shuffling forward to lay her stinging forehead against her husband's chest. The King's eyes widened at this. It was something they had done in their youth, within the first few years of marriage. Gingerly Fergus rested his head on top of his wife's, bringing his large arms around the slender woman. "They fancy each other, and I never even knew. How could I be so daft? She's my own daughter." King Fergus had no clue what his wife was talking about but decided not to press the matter now. He simply held her, and she held him back. Finally, they broke apart, both parents eyes over bright. "What is happening downstairs?" Elinor sighed, not knowing if she wanted to hear the answer. Her husband's moan confirmed the Queens suspicions.

"The Vikings are furious." The King began, rubbing his eyes. "Not a single one had any idea. Some of the thicker ones are even calling for blood."

"What?" Elinor gasped, a rage building in her chest. She was surprised by it at first, but she was quickly learning how significant the Viking boy was becoming to her family. "That can't happen." The Queen said sternly, thinking back to the half-moon smile spread over her daughter's face.

"No, you're right, Stoick wouldn't let them," Her husband nodded, missing the look his wife tossed over her shoulder at Merida's closed door. "The other kingdoms are also simply spitting. Lord Dingwall has demanded the games be called off entirely. Load of uptight duffers-" The King continued on a colourful description of the Lords. This would usually have received a scornful look from the Queen. However, with no night's sleep and her daughter's blood still trapped beneath her fingernails, Lady Elinor had changed her mind.

"Those bastards," The Queen growled, her face darkening. King Fergus's eyes widened, and he took a tentative step back from his fuming wife.

"Love?" The man asked cautiously, his large hands coming up to protect his shocked face.

"They're whining about a damn competition while our daughter bleeds to death," The Queen was shaking as she glared in the direction of the staircase, "Stay here with Merida dear; I'm going down to deal with the Lords."

"You do that my love," The king nodded, stepping aside as his red-faced wife stalked away, her chestnut hair flicking as she turned the corner. The large man stood alone in the hallway. Already the shouts from downstairs had grounded to a halt as one angry bellow rose above the rest. The debates would be over in a matter of hours now. "That's my Queen," Fergus smiled, counting himself lucky in more ways than one. Then the father turned hurriedly to the closed door. He lowered his head as he crept inside, squeezing himself painstakingly into the tiny bedroom.