Harris and Hamish had been biding their time. The snow that had fallen in the woods was thicker than in town, meaning that it had stuck around and kept piling up. Mam had made them shovel the long drive going up to the front of the castle. but now they were mostly done and realized that the snow piled up on either side of the drive was the perfect place for an ambush.
And wouldn’t you know it, but their sister was coming home shortly.
It was Harris who had spotted their perfect cover, behind a short bush, half-hidden by snow. They had made enough snowballs to have a sizeable stack. Harris kept going over them, making sure they were packed tight and of a good, throwable size. Hamish busied himself quietly making more ammo and digging them out a little trench to access more snow.
It was nice. And fun. It felt like a long time since they’d had fun. Their birthday was coming up and it just felt...disappointing. They were supposed to become knights this year, graduating from squires, but that was never going to happen now. The promises they’d been given their whole lives had disappeared like smoke. Not that either of them minded much, but it was still...weird.
Both were trying not to think about it. This was better anyways.
Merida appeared eventually and Harris whistled quietly for Hamish to get down. He gestured with a hand to his lips, then pointed at his ear. Right, Merida was a werewolf now. She had super hearing. Next, he put his hand out to stay Hamish’s throw.
Hamish nodded.
They waited and waited and waited--
“FIRE!” Harris crowed, jumping up from behind the bush and launching a perfect snowball right at Merida. A second one followed as Hamish threw his own. They both ducked back down with a laugh, grabbing for their next one, hoping not to give their sister an opportunity to fend for herself.
A Princess Does Not...Get a Training Certificate -> [The DunBrochs]
@heart-of-dunbroch
The door to the castle opened and shut with its characteristic boom.
“Ach, that’ll be your sister,” Elinor said as she stood up, the pan of roasted chicken in her arms from where she’d just taken it out of the oven. She had left it warming. “Hamish, fetch your sister.”
“Yes, Mam,” the youngest triplet said dutifully and skipped out of the kitchen, probably grateful to get away from the black cloud of Elinor’s mood.
Harris went back to setting the table silently.
The smell of chicken and roasted vegetables filled the room as Elinor set it on the table and took her seat just as Merida and Hamish appeared in the doorway.
“You’re late,” Elinor said in a voice that made it very clear she didn’t want to hear any excuses. She cut into the chicken. “Wash your hands before you sit down.”
Hamish had already scampered to his seat and it scraped against the stone floor as he tucked in. Harris was already sitting quiet and straight-backed on Elinor’s other side.
As soon as Merida took her seat, Elinor glanced at all of her children. Well. Her eyes lingered over the empty chairs. Not all of her children.
“I was thinking, for the boys’ birthday, we could go up to London.”
"Come now, there must be something you like here, Mishmish,” Elinor said as she flipped through the racks of button ups. “What about this one? It would look lovely with your eyes.”
Elinor pulled out the deep blue sweater and held it up to him.
“Mam, I cannae wear a sweater, I’ll boil alive.”
Elinor clucked her tongue but returned the sweater. This was proving more difficult than she thought. Since when did her boys care so much about how they looked? Was it because they were nervous starting school? They wanted to be impressive?
“Fine, what about this?” She pulled out a green plaid button up.
Hamish made a face.
“Merida, tell your brother that no one is gonna care what he wears and unless he picks something, I’m sending him to school nekkid as a wee bairn.”
In which Hamish sees a ghost...[takes place: late September]
guest starring: @moon-yeongjun (sorta)
[cw -- none]
-> -> ->
Hamish didn’t venture to the Next Town Over very often. He was a homebody and he liked the familiar. He always had. After all, he’d grown up in a small town. He had grown up in the country, where he’d spent most of his time romping through the heather with his siblings. Out of everyone in his family, he was most content to spend his time in the castle, in his room.
It was a good thing, then, that he had a girlfriend who liked to try new things.
If it wasn’t for Star, Hamish would never leave the house, probably.
It was because of Star that Hamish was currently entering a little bakery in the Next Town Over. She had heard about it from one of her friends and wanted to try it. Hamish obliged. He liked sweets too, of course. And what else was he going to be doing on a Saturday morning, first thing? Sleeping? That was for people who cared about proper sleep schedules. Not a seventeen year old boy with a girlfriend who really wanted to try rainbow donuts.
In which Elinor, Merida, Harris, and Hamish deal with the aftermath of the battle at Best Castle...[takes place: July 02]
@heart-of-dunbroch
[tw -- discussion of death/murder(?)]
MERIDA:
The battle was over.
It didn’t feel that way though, did it? Not for hours later. Not even when she wiped the blood from her split lip and let her curls down, or stepped into the shower to wash off the dirt and grime. As the water washed over her, she closed her eyes and saw the room she and her family had stood in, moments before the glass had shattered. The story wasn’t supposed to end that way– though Merida couldn’t imagine any other ending. And so she replayed it to keep the battle alive. Merida was always more focused and more herself when she had something to fight.
But there were other things to do. Hubert had disappeared– fleeing, she assumed, with the few knights who escaped into the wood, to regroup and form some plan. But Harris and Hamish had stayed behind. Even after watching the glass shatter– they were here.
She’d taken them to a guest room, recently spruced up by their mam. Gave ‘em towels and showed them the shower and how to get the hot water (the system was so old, it took a lot of fiddling.) And as they cleaned themselves, she’d gone back up to that room where she’d looked Elinor in, bringing with her a massive blanket. She’d opened it and found Elinor sleeping, all curled up like a child. Merida put the blanket over her and sat with her until she woke up.
When she did, it all felt like too much to explain. The words were rocks in her mouth, especially when Elinor asked if it was over– and Merida couldn’t answer one way or the other.
But she’d told her the worst of it, in the most gentle way that Merida could (though more for herself than Elinor, if she were honest.)
Da attacked me. You turned into a bear, she said to her mother. And then he fell.
Elinor could fill in the blanks.
Now it was another hour later and the leftovers of the DunBroch family gathered downstairs. Elinor had made tea rather frantically. Merida scrounged around for leftovers for the boys to eat, and came up with some warmed-up beef stew.
She set down the bowls in front of them and collapsed in her own chair. “Dig in then,” she said, because she wasn’t sure what else she should say.
Hamish picked up his spoon and scooped up some vegetables, then let it plop back into the bowl. He sniffled, face all red from crying.
Harris sniffed it and made a face.
“Oi,” said Merida. “It’s edible, ye oafs. Don’t be like that.”
“I hate rutabaga,” mumbled Hamish.
ELINOR:
Elinor hadn’t said anything since Merida had informed her of what had transpired in that cursed tower of the castle.
She hadn’t cried. There had been nothing but cold. All she had done was tell Merida thank you and given her instructions to find the boys rooms and something to wear. Put them together, she’d said, her voice just as it always was when she was doling out instructions, but Elinor felt as if she was very far away from it. Instructions were easy. Elinor could do them in her sleep. Fergus used to joke that she did sometimes, waking him up to tell him that the windows needed to be fixed or there was a piece of fence needing mending in the pastures.
Fergus.
Elinor felt as weak and shaky as she always did when coming down from a transformation, but there was something different about it this time. No matter what, it felt like she couldn’t get warm. She went to her room and turned the shower onto the hottest setting and stood under the stream as her skin went red and angry, but she hardly felt it. Her hands ran through her short hair and she thought about how much Fergus had loved her hair, how he had never wanted her to cut it. How it had been all the way down her back for most of her adult life. Now, it felt too short. There was nothing to grasp.
If she cried in the shower, she didn’t realize it. And when she stepped out, she was still shivering. She dressed in a knit green sweater and a pair of jeans. It wouldn’t do for the boys to see her in a pair of pajamas. They would find that odd and Elinor did not want to make the changes between them all any more glaring.
In the kitchen, alone, Elinor set about making a tea. Merida appeared, silently, and the boys trailing her as they always did like little ducklings. No one said anything. Merida set out bowls for stew. Elinor didn’t know if she could eat it. It was a stew she had made a hundred times. One that she always had on hand. It was a family recipe. A stew for colds. For broken hearts. It could mend anything, her grandmother used to say.
Nothing, Elinor thought, could mend this.
Elinor made the tea. Merida’s black. Harris’ with a dollop of honey and milk. Hamish with a spoonful of sugar. She set the mugs down in front of all of them.
Merida broke the silence first. She said nothing really, but Elinor felt the moment rend through the air anyway, like a clap of thunder. Primly, she sat in her own chair, across from her children.
“Ach, just eat,” she told them both and took a firm bite of her own soup, even if it tasted like ash in her mouth.
Both boys did as they were told. Elinor wondered if this was from years of conditioning, having not forgotten their mother’s command; or if it was because they were afraid of her. Both options made her want to scream.
Elinor knew that she was not a perfect mother by any stretch, but she tried. She wanted to try now, but she had no idea where to start.
“Boys--” Elinor started, then stopped again, glancing at Merida. She didn’t know why. This was not Merida’s responsibility.
“Do you want us to eat or to talk?” Harris grumbled in that sharp way of his.
Elinor cut a look at him. “I just--I wanted--” she fumbled again “--to say I am sorry.” Her own eyes filled with tears for a moment, but Elinor had many years of practice at putting her tears somewhere else. Saving them for later. Or for never at all.
MERIDA:
Merida could count on one hand the times that Elinor had apologized. Her mam had the infuriating flaw of always thinking she was right. (Merida had this flaw too; what DunBroch didn’t?) And so there was the time that Merida became a werewolf and Elinor had apologized before sending her running into the hills of the Sneck, away from her warring father.
And then there was this. Now.
Merida sat there, not touching her own stew, as her mother tried to put together the apology. But it was harder than anything, wasn’t it? More fragile than glass, more particular than a piece of embroidery. Elinor was a woman who made things, whether that was a supper or a weapon within the forge. But she faltered here. Apologies were made of more mysterious things than words, weren’t they?
She felt compelled to say she was sorry too. But she had already. She had a million times. Merida had started to suspect that a sorry said by her meant nothin’ more than a ‘good day’ or a ‘good bye.’ And so she sat there, grim-faced. She watched her brothers.
They were quiet too, either waiting for Elinor to say more or…
It was Harris who spoke up after a few long, tense seconds.
“Are you sorry Da’s dead or are you sorry you killed him?” he said grimly.
Merida frowned at once. “Ach, Harry. Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” said Harris. “It’s a good question.”
“She can be sorry for both.” Merida tried to defend Elinor. Her eyes darted to her mam. “She didn’t– it’s a curse, it’s not like me. She can’t control it. It isn’t her fault. He would have killed me–”
“I know,” said Harris. He was trying to be tough, but the tears had returned. He sniffled. “I know that.”
“I didn’t know the curse part,” mumbled Hamish. His lip wobbled. When he looked up at their mam, it wasn’t with any of the uncertainty that Harris carried, like Harris was trying to figure out if he wanted to stay or go, if they were the enemy or not– if he had made the wrong or right decision.
Gentle Hamish, instead, was simply scared. “Is it like Mor’du?” he asked. “W-will you turn into a bear one day and never come back?”
ELINOR:
Elinor flinched at Harris’ words. Despite the squareness of her shoulders and the straightness of the spine, she felt fragile as glass.
Dead. You killed him.
The women of the Order were no stranger to death. They cleaned the wounds of the dead as the living, before sending them off to their coffins. She had done it for a few DunBroch men, a few Briar ones too. Her hands had touched death before, felt it’s cold but never had it been inside of her. She felt those words now: you killed him, pressed like ice against her heart. She wondered if it would spread. If she would always be cold. Fergus had never talked to her about the burden of killing, even when Elinor used to wash his shoulders in the shower and pretend the tears he cried were just water.
And now—she wished she could ask, for who else was she supposed to? How was one to move forward? Especially when she couldn’t remember it. The last thing she did was Fergus looking at her, his sharp, blue eyes betrayed. And how she had loved him and hated him all at once.
Harris had those same blue eyes. Deep and cold as the lochs.
Hamish’s were softer, a Briar blue like skies. They were wide and wet now as he mentioned the curse.
Again, Elinor did not know what to say. The truth was that yes. She could disappear into the bear and never return. They didn’t know. Howl had warned of it. Elinor felt it, every time she came back: the ache in her bones to return to the bear and never think about all of these complex, human emotions again. She did not remember much of the bear, but she did know that it was simple. It wanted simple things. Oh, how Elinor wished she did as well.
“Donnae fash about that.” Elinor tried to smile but it was thin and thready as her nervous heart.
“Donnae treat us like bairns, Ma,” Harris said again, harsh despite the tears in his eyes. “Tell us straight.”
When Elinor looked at her boys all she saw was the wee bairns that had been laid on her breast. But now she looked at them and they were taller and leaner, some of their baby fat having dropped away, though it still clung stubbornly to their cheeks. Harris especially looked much older as he struggled to hold back his tears.
“It doesn’t matter right now. It—it isn’t going to hurt you,” Elinor fret. “There will be plenty of time to discuss all that. We—we must get you settled first.”
“Ma—“ Hamish protested softly.
“Eat your stew!” Elinor commanded, taking a bite of her own. She did not say it harshly, but with all the force she could muster. Her voice was still thin and frail. “You mustn’t go to bed on an empty stomach.”
MERIDA:
Merida’s eyes darted from her mam to her brothers, following the back and forth. This was strange. It was strange because it was not strange at all, but exactly the same as it might’ve been if she was back in Cawdor and all those old stone walls were listening in. Though Merida had been gone years and years– though age had given Hamish and Harris height and dots of acne on their faces– they were still the same. This was her mam. These were her rowdy, too-smart brothers. If Merida let herself, she’d get weepy, as she realized how grateful she was to be sat here at the table again, listenin’ to Elinor nag them both.
But she’d weep for other reasons, if she let herself get started. After all, the table was not complete. There were only four DunBrochs here. Four sets of spoons clatterin’ against bowls. Four glasses on the table. Merida was used to an empty table, for many years it was just herself, but now it felt emptier than it had then when she looked to where her da would have sat, when she heard the places where bold and brash Hubert would have chimed in.
He would have probably said something right now about how he wouldn’t finish his stew until Elinor told ‘em the truth. He was always the first to step out of line and not care about the consequences. That’s what set him apart from Harris, who stepped out of line plenty, but got away with it more.
He should be here now.
Maybe it was out of missing, then, for her last brother, the brother most like herself and like Da, that Merida spoke up. “Mam’s dealin’ with the curse,” she said. “It’s not gone as far as Mor’du and it never will. It’s triggered by anger and– ye know Mam–she’s got it handled.”
“How’d it even happen?” said Hamish glumly.
Merida shrugged. “Dunnae.”
“Probably the Order,” said Harris. He scoffed. “Bunch of hypocritical gits.”
Merida blinked, sitting up straighter at that. Even Hamish glanced at his brother in surprise.
“Well they are, we all know it. Everyone goes along and never says shite, but innit that the reason you left anyway?” said Harris as his sharp eyes landed on Merida.
“Well… sort of,” said Merida. “I think the whole murderin’ innocent people thing was more the reason–”
“Same thing,” said Harris. “Everyone says one thing, and does another. We say we don’t mess with magic, but we get fairy gifts and enchanted weapons and curse people who disagree with us. I thought maybe it was just cuz the king but– he died and it didn’t change. Mam’s curse just proves it.”
Merida sucked her teeth. “Yeesh. You always were too smart for yer own good.”
ELINOR:
Merida came to her defense. Elinor blinked, thrown off by this, not sure if she had heard correctly. She was quite used to being the bad guy. It was usually Hubert and Merida on one side. Harris, well, it depended on the argument, and Hamish did not like to take sides, for he did not like arguments. And Fergus—well, he had never been any help when it had come to discipline. He had found Merida’s disregard for ladylike tradition to be funny, until it was too big of a problem and then, he had blamed Elinor for not having controlled her better.
Her and her daughter never agreed. Elinor could not remember a single time that Merida had ever thought that Elinor had something handled.
The funniest part—in the most ironic way possible—was that Elinor did not believe she did. After all, she had just lost control and killed her ex-husband. Part of her didn’t understand why Merida would take her side at all. She wanted to protest. To tell Merida to hate her, because wouldn’t that be easier? Better for all of them?
But she simply stayed silent. That was something else Elinor had learned over the years. How to be silent. For all her ability to corral her children, she also had learned that sometimes, she was simply speaking to several brick walls. It had been useless, so she had just tucked her anger somewhere under her ribcage and stayed silent.
She stayed silent as her son so succinctly summed up what had taken her entire life to realize. The guilt burrowed itself deeper, like a worm inside of her heart. How long had Harris thought this? How long had he been alone? What would have happened if they had not gone to war and torn the Order out by its teeth?
“Yes, it was probably the Order,” Elinor said after a long moment.
Harris’ eyes turned back towards her and behind that sharp expression, he could see that he was still wary.
“I wish—” Elinor paused again, her words twisted on her tongue. “I wish I would’ve taken you with me, when I left.”
“We wouldnae come,” Harris said simply and dipped his head to take a bite of his soup.
“I woulda,” Hamish mumbled but followed suit.
“I dinnae want you to get hurt or—I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to find Merida or that she’d want to see me or…what she was like but—” Elinor reached across the table to touch Harris’ hand, then Hamish’s. “We’re together now.”
“Not Hubert,” Harris reminded them all harshly.
“No.” Elinor’s face crumpled.
“He’s a git,” Harris continued.
“I-I am sure he is just…confused. Hurt.”
“Or he’s a git,” Harris repeated, more angrily.
“Harris.”
Harris shrugged and went back to slurping at his stew.
“Donnae slurp.”
Harris slurped louder.
MERIDA:
Merida snorted at Harris. Typical Harris. Couldn’t he be amiable for at least a moment, for Mam’s sake?
But Merida knew the answer to that, because she was the same. She saw parts of herself in all of her brothers. Hubert, she shared the most with. They were both reactive, bold, mouthy and take-charge. He only ever listened to Harris the same way that Merida really only listened to Belle these days– both Merida and Hubert hard-won, but once you did win ‘em, you had ‘em for life. And so she understood why Hubert hadn’t stayed. He had taken the first opportunity, in the madness of battle, to split and run back to the people who he trusted. The people who had raised him. The people he owed his loyalty to. And after watchin’ his Da get murdered by a bear? ‘Course he didn’t want to stay!
If they were going to win him back, it would be Harris who convinced him.
And Harris– Merida was stubborn like Harris. She could be moody and grumpy, though she got over her moods faster than he ever did. Harris treated his moods like an ol favourite bone he carried around to chew on.
And as for Hamish– honestly, Merida struggled to see what she shared with him. She wasn’t a people pleaser. She didn’t cry easily. She wasn’t as fond of music.
But she did love her family. And Hamish did love them all, more than music, more than he’d ever loved the Order.
So yeah, this conversation was goin’ about as well as any. Since when had the DunBrochs ever had a conversation that wasn’t a mess?
“Anyway,” Merida declared (doing her normal take-charge thing; she was the eldest anyway!) “The only thing we can do now is move forward. We’ll eh– we’ll sort out rooms and all that. Get yourselves settled in.”
“Wait,” said Hamish. His spoon clattered into his bowl. “I thought…aren’t we all goin’ back to Cawdor?”
Merida scoffed at that. “Wha? No, we can’t. The Order would come and stab us in our sleep!”
“Well, I thought since we won the battle–”
“Won’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Merida said.
“But,” Hamish said, huffing. “But if Da’s not– then why couldn’t we–”
“It’s just too unstable right now, Hamish,” mumbled Harris next to his brother.
Hamish pouted. “I guess.”
“It’s alright, you’ll like Swynlake,” Merida tried to comfort him. She glanced at Elinor. “Right, Mam? It’s a wee town, but not so bad.”
ELINOR:
“No, it isn’t bad,” Elinor allowed, smiling small and grateful at Merida before looking at her sons.
“It’ll be an adventure,” she encouraged them. “And, maybe, one day, we can return home. Just not…just not now. Things are dangerous and I don’t want anything to happen to either of you.”
Just the thought made her feel ill. She was already starting to fret over Hubert. The Order wouldn’t hurt him, of course, but he was a sensitive boy. He was going to be angry about what happened and anger could allow him to be twisted. Elinor just wanted him here too, so that all her children could sleep under the same roof again for the first time in years.
“Now, finish dinner. We will find you your rooms. Would you like to be separate or together?”
Hamish and Harris glanced at each other with expressions that Elinor could only just read.
“Together,” they said.
Elinor smiled. At least, some things had not changed about her sons. They were so much taller. They looked like young men. It was as if in the last year they had lost all of their baby fat. (This was not true, but it certainly felt that way now.)
“Very well. I will look into what it will take to get you enrolled at school.”
“Like--school school?” Harris asked, looking sharply at his mother.
“Yes, proper school.”
Most Order boys were homeschooled until university. They moved around too much as squires to have a proper education in a public or private school. Elinor had been in charge of their lessons until they’d gone off to squire. Then, their squiring families had taken over their education.
Hamish looked like he was going to be ill, but Harris had sat up somewhat.
“Do we have tae?” Hamish whined. “Cannae you just do it?”
“No,” Elinor said, “I--have to work.”
Hamish made another face.
“Come now, finish your dinners. And then it is off to bed with ye. All of ye.” She glanced at Merida too, her expression firm, though her eyes were still tired and watery. She just--needed to know that all her children were alone and safe in their beds tonight. Tomorrow…well, she didn’t know what she needed, but it didn’t matter. She knew what her children needed and she would do that. She would always do that.
Archetype — The Explorer
Birthday — December 5, 2007
Zodiac Sign — Rising Scorpio, Sun in Sagittarius, Libra Moon
MBTI — ISFJ
Enneagram — Type 5: the Investigator
Temperament — Phlegmatic
Hogwarts House — Ravenclaw primary, Hufflepuff secondary
Moral Alignment — Chaotic Neutral
Element — Water
Harris is the oldest, by 5/19 minutes respectively. Though, he is not by any means the ringleader. Instead, he is the most cerebral of the three. Definitely a planner and a plotter, enjoying the more hands off parts. Excellent at board games and prefers reading and strategizing to fighting. He usually takes up the tiebreaking role between his two younger brothers. If a prank has been well planned out, you can be sure that Harris was behind it. He can be withdrawn, moody, and irritable--sharp-witted and intelligent.
Hubert Lachlan DunBroch
Archetype — The Dreamer
Birthday — December 5, 2007
Zodiac Sign — Rising Scorpio, Sun in Sagittarius, Libra Moon
MBTI — ENTP
Enneagram — Type 4: the Individualist
Temperament — Sanguine
Hogwarts House — Gryffindor primary, Gryffindor secondary
Moral Alignment — Lawful Good
Element — Fire
Hubert is the most individualistic of the brothers. He often wants to strike out on his own. Could be considered the ringleader, he has caused the most trouble for his parents over the years by goofing off. He takes the family’s legacy the most seriously of the brothers and has trained hard since becoming a squire, dropping much of his boyish joy. He is very much integrated in the Order world and wants to prove himself to everyone. (Bit of middle child syndrome.) He still finds time to goof off among his training, but he plans to restore the DunBroch name to glory. Can be stubborn, recalcitrant, but also laidback, funny, and joyful.
Hamish Callum DunBroch
Archetype — The Artist
Birthday — December 5, 2007
Zodiac Sign — Rising Scorpio, Sun in Sagittarius, Libra Moon
MBTI — ISFP
Enneagram — Type 6: the Loyalist
Temperament — Choleric
Hogwarts House — Hufflepuff primary, Slytherin secondary
Moral Alignment — Chaotic Good
Element — Air
Hamish is the youngest and the softest of the DunBroch brothers. The most likeable of the three, even though he is quiet. (Maybe that is why.) He has a soft spot for animals and nature too and can often be found in the stables or swimming in the loch. Honestly, he isn’t much interested in fighting and would prefer to spend his time on “softer” pursuits like music. While Merida was constantly chastized for not fulfilling feminine duties, Hamish gets away with slacking on his masculine ones, considering his two brothers. He is shy, reserved, gentle--but can also be bratty and, frankly, he cries a lot.
