Merintosh x frozen knave the kingdom of arendelle makes an alliance with dunbroch for reasons and elsa has some words of wisdom for a young ruler who is reluctant to pursue romance
It’s a summer day that lasts forever, sun gleaming on the munros and burnishing the distant lochs to flame, as Dunbroch turns out in full kilted, hairy, loudly bagpiping splendor to meet its visitor, its first official engagement since Merida became queen. It’s particularly important to give Elsa of Arendelle a proper welcome, as she is the kind of ruler who can be influential to Merida both as a fellow monarch and a woman who understands the challenges of managing a large and occasionally unruly kingdom. Merida herself stands anxiously, silver crown flashing on her tumbled red curls, as the older woman processes up from her ship, turning to graciously acknowledge the cheers of the people. She’s slim and blonde and beautiful, dressed in light blue, a contrast to Merida’s own dark cobalt gown. When she reaches Merida, she curtsies elegantly. “Your Highness, it’s wonderful to meet you.”
“And ye.” Merida’s voice squeaks a bit, and she coughs indignantly and returns the gesture. “Welcome to Dunbroch, Your Majesty.”
The two queens clasp hands, a healthy roar goes up, and once they’ve drunk a ceremonial toast of whiskey from the great silver quaich, they are escorted by a brigade of clansmen to the state table that has been prepared for Elsa’s visit. They sit, are properly saluted again, and then once the pomp and circumstance is finally through, can finally begin discussing the issues that have brought them here – namingly, the possibility of an alliance against any more aggression from Camelot (though one thinks Arthur will be keeping his fool gob shut and his fool head down for a while). There are also trade pacts to propose and fishing grounds that both Dunbroch and Arendelle have ancestral claims to, and other such business. That’s what today is for. There will be the Highland Games tomorrow to put on a show, music and revelry and, doubtless, plenty more whiskey where the first cup came from.
At last, as the sun is low over the glens, Merida and Elsa conclude their talks and withdraw while the clansmen and the queen mother, Elinor, prepare for the feast that night. They’re walking in the fields, comparing Merida’s marksmanship to Elsa’s ice magic, when they become aware of the sounds of an intense scuffle from up ahead. Exchanging a concerned glance, they speed up, hop down into the long grass, and –
Merida’s heart skips a beat to discover none other than bloody Macintosh, holding an unfamiliar young man against a standing stone with one hand and cocking his fist with the other. Said young man, with big dark eyes and prominent ears, is spluttering his utter confusion that someone could ever have put him in this position, he bein’ the outstandingly wonderful bloke that he is, until Elsa yelps, “Will? What are you doing?”
“I’m not doin’ nuffin! Not me fault Braveheart here faffed up and got his knickers in a twist – or would, if he wore any knickers! ‘Stead it was that plaid skirt thing of his!”
Macintosh turns an even more interesting color. “It’s a kilt, ye arsehole!”
Elsa and Merida exchange a long look. In a resigned tone, Elsa says, “What happened?”
“He said something impertinent.” Macintosh glares heatedly at his foe, who is apparently named Will. “Didn’t ye.”
Elsa appears to be chewing her cheek hard. “Knowing Will, I find that extremely likely. My lord, you have my apologies for any insult he – “
“He said something about the queen.” Macintosh is clearly not inclined to let this quarrel go quickly. “Said he couldna believe that curly-wig was in charge, then wanted to know if he could look at the kingdom’s treasures – I’m no stupid, he was going to steal them. Wasn’t he.”
“Will.” Elsa’s tone is awful.
“I was tryin’ to be a good visitor! Learn about their traditions, yeah?”
“Will.”
At this, he cringes. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “No harm meant, eh?”
Macintosh eyes him loathingly, as if thinking that it very much was, but at a loudly cleared throat from both the women, the two men slink apart, straighten ruffled feathers, bow to their respective queens, and stalk huffily off in opposite directions. Elsa still sounds as if she’s biting her tongue when she remarks, “I should remember it’s impossible to bring him anywhere.”
“Will? Is he your – “
“Of a sort.” Elsa smiles softly, wryly. “It’s still new. And you – I assume Lord Macintosh is your consort? Defending your honor as valiantly as he did?”
“What? No!” Merida is horrified – and furthermore, aware that she is certainly protesting too much. “He’s a wee pain in my hindquarters. No more.”
“Mmm.” Elsa is too polite to directly contest this, but her smile lingers as they start walking again, toward the noise and glow of the great hall. After a moment, she says abruptly, “I used to be like you, you know. Thought that I had to do everything alone, and I couldn’t let anyone in, that it was my task alone. And I just want to encourage you not to be afraid. To let it go. To share the burden.”
“What?” Merida is uncomfortably aware that the flush on her cheeks must be visible even by twilight. “I – I wouldna know. Anything. About how – about how to.”
“What makes you think I did?” Elsa asks gently. “But doing it is the only way to learn. Just something to consider. You could do worse, you know.”
Merida coughs. She can’t help but steal a glance behind them, as if afraid Will and Macintosh might have snuck up to eavesdrop, but it’s still just them. She can hear the distant sound of the pipes from the hall, and straightens her crown. “Well then. Shall we?”
“Shall we.” Elsa starts to descend the hill, graceful as a dryad. And after a moment, still telling herself that she is certainly not going to say anything to Macintosh at the feast, Merida squares her shoulders, and follows.
