Can I just say, your blog gives me life??? I'm just bagginshield trash atm and for awhile it would seem, and your recommendations and headcanons kinda just fill me with joy. keep doing what you're doing, and have a great day! :D
A bit of a rush job, but here’s some h/c pre-Mericcup written for and with the assistance of magicalbender. Thank you, love!
“You’re not the only person who can train wild beasts,” she tossed over her shoulder. A hint of annoyance bled into the words.
Unseen by her, Hiccup rolled his eyes. “Never said I was,” he muttered under his breath. “Wasn’t Angus already trained when you got him?” Merida stopped at the rough fence that ringed the paddock and he joined her. But while she leaned against the top rail, eyes assessing the horses milling and grazing within, he stood straight and stiff, his shoulders tight. They should’ve gone flying; there was a good wind for it today, one that tousled the curls around Merida’s face, and her favorite kind of clouds. They grew darker off over the hills, fading from white to steel to charred iron; there’d be a storm there before too long, though if they were lucky, it wouldn’t cross the loch and rain on them. He’d thought she’d leap at the chance for a day of flying, but instead she’d insisted on coming here. When he’d protested she’d accused him of prejudice, and she wasn’t entirely wrong. He didn’t trust horses: they were too shy, too flighty. “Too slow” was what he’d said, a jab that she couldn’t deny but wouldn’t agree with; her jaw had clenched for a moment, and that spasm of muscle meant that the fight had just begun.
“Saddle-broken,” she admitted, before forging on, “But I taught him jumping and all. I can do this.”
Such confidence he couldn’t help but admire, even though he thought it foolish. He glanced over at her; her expression was focused, sharp, more like her mother’s than she’d appreciate. Her eyes roved over the herd and her teeth caught her bottom lip, and a snatch of song he’d heard in the hall came floating through his mind then, something about cherry lips and tumbling hair and getting caught in the maiden’s snare. To quiet the thoughts whispering that getting caught might not be so bad he jerked his eyes away and cast them on the horses.
“See that one?” she said, voice low. He followed her pointing to a spotted mare. Like the rest of the herd, she was smaller than Angus, lighter in color and without the feathery hair that hung over his feet; unlike the others, though, she seemed more curious than anxious, sniffing the air. Merida nudged Hiccup’s side. “She’d be perfect for you.”
He bumped back against her shoulder. “I have a ride, thanks. And even if I didn’t, I’m not sure I’d trust a horse you trained.”
“You’ll soon change your tune. Wait and see.” She ducked between the rails; when Hiccup moved to follow she lifted a hand, motioning for him to stay put. In that unexpectedly lithe way of hers she moved toward the mare, one hand slowly extending as she went, offering the carrot she’d swiped from the kitchens. The mare shuffled sideways but Merida was persistent, dogging her steps. When the horse settled in one place Merida stood patiently, her vegetable bribe not far from wiggling nostrils. Eventually the mare extended her neck and plucked the carrot from Merida’s hand; the girl took that opportunity to step in close to the horse, rubbing her nose. Apparently preoccupied with the treat, the mare did not back away, though she did shake her head a little.
Merida turned to Hiccup, the indomitable grin back on her face. “See?” she called, just loudly enough for him to hear. “And you doubted me.”
He shook his head, debating whether or not an answer would frighten the horse. Before he made up his mind there was a crack from the sky and a flash of light in the distance; the storm had started, and sheets of rain lashed down on the hills. He heard Merida’s voice saying something soothing and then thunder shook the air again, to a chorus of equine shrieks.
When he looked back it was to see her crumple to the ground beneath the startled, shying mare.
* * * * *
It was hard to believe that the motionless body in her bed, dressed in a spotless linen nightgown and with a blanket arranged with manic precision over that, was Merida. And in a way it wasn’t her, because even in normal sleep she had never been so quiet and so small. It wasn’t Merida, because Merida was the glint of light on the top of an arrow; she was loud laughter and the smell of the forest and everything fire-colored.
He spent too long watching her chest rise and fall, listening for the sound of her breathing.
What if she never woke up?
A bit more than a day had passed since he’d rushed into the paddock, shouting her name. There’d been no blood, though that was a small comfort; blood meant that you’d eventually find its source and stop the bleeding, stitch the wound back up if necessary. No blood meant that the injury was somewhere inside, somewhere not easily cured. When she hadn’t responded he’d bellowed for Toothless. Any progress Merida had made with the horse was likely undone by the Night Fury rocketing toward the field, sending the herd charging as far from the dragon as they could get. She’d been in his arms before Toothless touched down, and they were aloft again and streaking toward Castle DunBroch in record time. For the duration of the short flight Hiccup had demanded that she wake up and answer him, but though her pulse jumped beneath the fingers he pressed to her neck she didn’t stir or speak.
The amount of shouting that ensued on their arrival hadn’t really made up for it. He’d nearly stumbled over the threshold, yelling for help. The look on the queen’s face, the way she froze and the color dropped from her face when she saw them would stick with him for a long time. Someone had taken Merida from him, someone else had rushed off for the physic, a third someone had taken a tight hold of his shoulder and demanded to know what had happened. It was such a short story, and he hadn’t even seen the most important part.
It seemed like hours had passed before they’d let him see her. Queen Elinor sat next to the bed, her back to the door, the line of her spine for once not ramrod-straight; she was bowed forward, something he feared was defeat dragging her posture down. It all felt so wrong: the queen in despair, the room too quiet for one with Merida in it, the heavy dread twisting through his gut like the coils of Jörmungandr. He’d stepped sideways and held his breath as she came into view, and held his breath until he’d watched her inhale and exhale, so slowly.
In time the queen had raised her hands to her face, straightened bit by bit, and finally stood. Hiccup had felt the same guilt flood him that had when he and Merida had been scolded by her mother for their mischief when they were kids; he felt young again, and small, and helpless, and at the pallor of the queen’s face and the red rimming her eyes the feelings grew stronger. There had been no reproach, though he’d almost wished for one; but all Elinor had said was “Stay with her”—as if he’d leave, as if he’d dare to take his eyes from her again—and gone to find the king. He’d stayed, and stared, and not moved until he’d fallen asleep and woken in his own room, only to hurry back to her again.
What if she never woke up?
No. He shook his head before the thought had time to make itself at home. Eventually she would wake. She had to, if only because she would think this a very silly way to die, and unfitting for a horsewoman like her.
But…what if she woke up and didn’t remember him? Her family? It was not uncommon with head injuries; there was something about the mind that didn’t like being shaken or struck. More than one Hooligan had incidents they couldn’t quite remember, past events somehow shrouded from the rest of their minds. And while cuts and stabs and wounds that could be seen could be treated easily, those hidden inside were more difficult, more dangerous.
The idea of losing her sent an icy spike of pain through him. It was selfish, but he couldn’t bear the thought that she might look past him the way others had. If she forgot him and all of the days they’d spent together, all of their fights and scrapes and lessons and jokes, he would be just another admirer of DunBroch’s beautiful princess. Without their past together, there would be no reason for her to want him around anymore. The possibility, and his helplessness against it, galled him.
Or maybe he was not as helpless as he felt. Forgetting was a kind of death, but stories carried life.
“Remember…” The word did its best to choke him; he dropped his forehead into one hand as the fingers of his other splayed against the blanket, desperate for something to cling to. They brushed the cool skin of her hand and without a thought he slipped them around her palm. He took a breath and cleared his throat. When he began again it was quieter, steadier. “Remember the time when we were seven and we climbed the biggest, oldest apple tree in the orchard? Everything was fine—and you were right, the apples at the top were the best—but then your dress got caught on a branch. And not just a little snagged, really very securely caught. Neither of us had a knife so we couldn’t cut you out, and you wanted to leave the dress there, but didn’t want to get all scraped up climbing down in just your underthings…” Whether or not she heard he continued the story, laughing under his breath at their youthful misadventure and squeezing her hand when despair threatened to take his voice again.
* * * * *
The next night King Fergus tried halfheartedly to chase him off to his own bed, but couldn’t muster the necessary intimidation to make a convincing job of it. Hiccup dozed in a chair by Merida’s sickbed until just after midnight, when a faint, scratching cough broke the silence of the room. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, but as he leaned forward they rolled to him. She blinked, and his heart stopped for an instant.
“Hiccup,” she breathed, then coughed again, frowning. “Can I have some water?”
“You’re really awake?” He bolted from the chair and leaned over her, watching her eyes adjust to the glow from the embers in the hearth. “Oh, thank Eir, you’re awake.” He kissed her forehead and then filled a cup with shaking hands. With an arm slipped behind her he helped her sit up and sip from the cup; when she’d had enough he eased her back down.
And then the dam burst. “You’re an idiot, did you know that? You’re pigheaded and stupid, and the next time you decide to do something reckless I may not be there to help you. I may just let you go ahead with your next dumb idea all by yourself. How would you like that?”
Her smile was innocent, though weak, and his heart leapt to see it. “What if the next reckless, pigheaded idea is yours?”
“I’m serious, Merida.”
“Of course you are, Hiccup.”
He slumped into the chair again; the spike of energy borne of relief was waning, leaving a deep weariness. Absently he took her hand, and rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he admitted, “I was so scared. Your parents were…” He paused, then continued honestly, “Your dad is a mess, your mom is worried sick but she’s still holding everything together—”
There was a rusty chuckle. “Like always.”
“I should get them. They should know you’re awake.” He half rose from his seat, but she tugged him down again.
“They’ll know in the morning.” In the dim light she looked down the bed, and his gaze followed hers to where their hands were joined. Over the long hours of waiting it had become a habit to take her hand; now he wondered if he ought to let go. The answer came when her grip tightened. “I felt this,” she whispered, and he shivered. “I felt your hand, and I knew it was you.”
“How?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Partly because of the calluses.” She twisted her hand to run her fingertips over the raised, rough spots, and his fingers curled toward her palm, greedily seeking more of her touch. “Dad has them, too, but his hands are bigger. But I knew because I know you, and because I wanted it to be you.” He could make out two bright spots of color in her cheeks as their eyes met. It wasn’t fever, he was sure of that.
“I felt it, and I knew I wasn’t alone. Thank you.”
Despite the dark he too blushed. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled. “Are you, um…are you sure you don’t want me to get your parents?”
She shook her head gently, eyes sliding shut. “We’ll see them in the morning. Stay, please.” She curled onto her side and readjusted the blanket, their hands clasped between them. He watched her breathing, deep and even and healthy, until his head dropped and he joined her in sleep.
I just wanted to say thank you for shipping Figrid, and thank you for actually spending time to write about these two <3 You're awesome and talented and great, so yeah!
You are welcome! I love the little lion man and his lake maiden. :D
I just really like the very unoriginal idea that Bilbo makes Thorin flower crowns and Thorin wears them to council meetings with a straight face instead of the kings crown and no one can say anything
Thorin also wearing flowers in his beard. Thorin wearing a little ring made out of flowers. Thorin just wanting all the flowers from Bilbo’s garden adorned on him.
