brave in the heart. vikings

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 43

The briskness of winter already tainted the air. The water was cool as she jumped over the side of the small row boat, using her hands and knees to push it the rest of the way to show, her shieldmaidens by her side. 

The shores of her Kingdom looked the same. More than a year had passed and yet she could still remember the way to the shortcut through the cliffs, finding the old bear skull that marked the beginning of an ascent over the worn rocks, smoothened by centuries of use. She was much the same since last she had climbed those rocks. Her hair still fell wildly down her back and her hands were still small and nimble, used to the fine pulling of a bow which was strapped to her back. She wore leather around her feet and wrapped around her chest; a tunic draped far toward her knees. Yet it felt different: easier, yes, but different in a way that made her swell with excitement as she guided the way up. 

There were memories in this journey. Her feet and hands remembered each step before she made it, and Merida looked out upon the beach below with tenderness. She thought of Angus, of riding the long way around the cliffs, just so he could sprint freely along the shoreline, splashing salt and seaspray until her dresses were soaked through to the bone. The chill had never bothered her then, nor did it now. The laughter as he bolted across the sands was enough to warm her. Merida wondered where he was now, if he too was mad that she'd left him.

Would her mother be angry or relieved? Would her father shout and rage? Would her brothers care? The anticipation of the meeting overruled her logic. On the journey across the sea, she spoke at length with the three other women about her home, her family, her childhood. If they were truly interested or just being polite, Merida didn't know, but they'd listened and questioned until she could feel her body singing for home. 

She'd detailed the legend of her father, the Bear King and his legacy. Merida had told them about the day she'd first picked up a bow, gifted to her on her birthday. Of the first time she'd hit a centre target. Of the last time she'd hit a centre target in Dunbroch. Of the fight for her hand in marriage. It seemed like another life now. 

Merida had remembered the vast stretch of lush, green forests and the wild river that ran straight through it, meandering down from the great lake upon the hills. She remembered the first and only time she'd climbed the devil's rock and leant out across the height to kiss the water of the firefalls. It was as if that feat had given her a new life, a new confidence, and spurred her to where she was now, for it was that day she'd spotted Ragnar while riding widely atop her horse. 

Yet through all that remembrance, she had forgotten truly what it had meant to leave Dunbroch. Not a word had been spoken to her family before she'd ridden to the cliffs and declared to the Northmen themselves that she would be joining them. A vanished princess, she might be. There was no telling what kind of reception she would be walking back into. 

Yet, deep down, she knew there would be welcome arms. She could see it now. All they'd wanted was the best for her. Even her mother. 

As the women scrambled onto the top of the cliffs, they paused to look out at the great expanse of blue sea. The boat that had carried them was long merged with the blue horizon and there was not a soul in sight. On that beach, Merida had once spoken to Bjorn. In those conversations, they'd seemed so young, so immature to how she knew they were now. 

'You intrigue me, Northman,' she had told him, believing in her words. But it had been so much more than that; had become so much more. It was hard not to favour a man so brave as Bjorn Ironside, especially in comparison to the other three suitors. 

They made it to the forest, trekking through the thick of it toward the sound of rushing water. As they reached the burn, Merida led the shieldmaidens along the river bank, whistling to the sound of birdsong. They were quiet, yet as they grew closer to where she knew the castle would be, that noise of the forest seemed to become silent. They would make it to the falls first- the steep drop where the lake pooled over the slide of the rocky hills, merging into the rivers below. 

She should have heard the rushing of water, and the squawking of the seabirds hiding inland, but silence gripped the scene like chains. The large, towering figure of the devil's rock blocked the sight of the firefalls. Merida quickened her pace, almost running, and stopped short as she finally saw it. 

The sight was unnatural, unreal, so much so that she couldn't allow herself to believe her eyes. Merida heard the gasps behind her, the stifled sound of shock that left Thyra's lips. The water gushed from the high, severe hill above, spilling at a pace so rapid it reminded her of the spurting of blood from a wound. Yet it was not just the speed that reminded her of such. 

The firefalls ran red. 

A small opening for this next part! Let me know your predictions! The prophecies are coming into play now :(