Rhythm of my Heart: A Mericcup Anthology

Love & Duty

Dressed in an extravagant white gown decorated with fine embroidery and beautiful pearls, she took a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling hands. Her mother had momentarily lost her composure when she'd seen her, with snowy white ribbons woven through her fiery red locks.

The princess swallowed hard, and nodded, careful to keep her own emotions in check.

Today was a day of celebration, she told herself, not one of sadness.

She would not lose her composure.

And then, in what seemed like a heartbeat, Elinor and Maudie were pulling her corset tighter about her waist, and then her three brothers were gently taking her arms, leading her down the aisle, and then handing her off to her betrothed.

He was a braw enough lad, she supposed, with a strong jawline and blue eyes. He wasn't much older than she was, only in his early twenties. He'd look handsomer when his facial hair came in fully, or at least, she imagined he would. He had muscular arms and shoulders, and he seemed as though he would be a competent warrior if he was focused.

He was a little arrogant and self-focused too, but she sensed that beneath all the bravado and machismo, he could be kind and sweet and thoughtful.

But her heart just wasn't in it.

This was the cost of peace between their peoples, and she intended to ensure it was paid in full. Marriage was oft a clause in treaties, and her advisors had told her that this was the safest way to guarantee that both parties abided by the conditions of the contract.

And so, with her heart aching, she stayed focused on her betrothed. Every fibre of her being was telling her to look at him, but she knew if she did, both her heart and her composure would break.

She did not look at the young chief as he began to recite the rites of marriage, switching back and forth between their native tongues as both Gaelic and Norse marital traditions were performed.

When both of their nations had met to discuss terms for peace, she had been fully committed to the cause. She would not lose her brothers as they had lost their father, caught up in endless wars with Norsemen. A viking consort would hopefully discourage further attacks from other viking nations; and even if there were attacks, they would have allies at their side to help.

And Berk seemed to be the most peace-oriented clan in the viking archipelago, but were also fearless warriors in battle. This marriage was solidifying a sensible alliance between two well-matched nations.

And yet, the whole celebration was just making her feel more and more hollow inside.

When their nations had first come to the table, she had never expected to fall in love. But numerous hours together over maps and mead had ignited something in her that she had never expected from a betrothal borne of political and practical necessity.

Only, she'd fallen for the wrong person.

Knowing that her alternatives were limited and that this was the best course of action, she'd tried to focus on Snotlout instead. But no matter how much she tried to open herself to Snotlout's courtship, it wasn't Snotlout who caught her notice whenever he entered a room, it wasn't Snotlout whose jokes brought a smile to her lips, and it wasn't Snotlout who made her heart soar whenever he sat next to her at the table.

Her nation needed her to take a viking husband.

But her heart ached for the one she could never have.

Part of her resented him. A large part, in fact, because this wedding wouldn't have been have been nearly as difficult if she had never met him.

"Merida?"

She blinked, returning to reality so suddenly that it set her entire world spinning. Her brow furrowed in confusion, she glanced around, and realized that the ceremony had suddenly come to a halt. Everyone was staring at her, and several of their assembled witnesses had begun to whisper. Snotlout met her gaze, looking as confused as she felt.

Everyone was waiting for her.

And so, lost and helpless, she did the thing she'd vowed not to – she looked at him.

Her breath caught in her throat and suddenly she couldn't breathe. Her corset was too tight, and her hands were trembling. Her eyes had begun to prickle with tears that she had been doing her best to ignore.

"I – can't-" She said, choking on her words. "I – need – air."

And with that, she grabbed up handfuls of her white skirts and ran, amid a chorus of gasps and whispers that had now swelled to a suffocating volume.

The suffocating feeling followed her, even as she fled the ceremony. There didn't seem to be any escape, even when she ducked into the gardens to hide. She just needed a moment to recollect herself. To push all those feelings and emotions back down where they belonged.

She lowered herself onto a stone bench, and tented her hands over her mouth and nose as she drew a shaky breath.

When she sensed someone had joined her, she hastily wiped her tears and straightened, drawing a deep breath.

It should have been her mother. Or her fiancee. Or her brothers. Or Maudie. Or even Ruffnut.

But it wasn't.

She flinched when he lowered himself onto the bench next to her, her arms crossed over her chest as she fought against the wave of emotions that had welled up once again.

"I just needed some air," She said, trying desperately to hide the strain in her voice.

Because instead of falling in love with her fiancee, she'd fallen for the handsome young chief of the vikings. The sarcastic and sweet widower with warmth in his smile and a tinge of sadness in his green eyes.

And it hurt more than anything she'd ever felt before.

"Snotlout's a good man. He can be a bit full of himself, but he-" His words caught in his throat, and she flinched as though he had struck her. "He'll be good to you."

All she wanted to do was to hold him. To run her hands through that messy brown hair of his. To take his face in her hands and endlessly kiss his freckled cheeks. To feel the tickle of his stubble against her neck as he held her. To hear his heartbeat as she rested her head on his chest. To pull him close and feel his skin against hers. To take his hand in hers and never let go.

But he was a chief and she was a queen, and their own people needed them.

"He'll be good to you," He repeated, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was trying to convince her or himself. "I'm sure you could grow to love him, too, given time. And we'll have the alliance,"

He faltered, and seemed to run out of words.

"I wish there was a way," She whispered, and a chasm of silence seemed to fall away between them.

It was the closest either of them had come to a confession. But if they said it out loud in so many words, it would make it real and harder to ignore. Not that their feelings had been easy at any point.

But they both knew that their people needed them more. And neither could abdicate – their people needed their strength – but separately. The vikings would never accept the rule of a Scottish Queen, and her own people would never bend the knee to a Viking Chief. A power shift would cause chaos and unrest across both of their nations.

Berk and DunBroch could be allies, perhaps even close friends, but they would never truly unite.

"So do I," He said finally.

After a moment of solemn silence, she rose and smoothed her gown, her chest still aching profoundly. And she made her way back towards the ceremony. She paused a moment near the garden steps, and glanced back at him.

He was still on the stone bench, his head in his hands.

"We'll have the alliance," She said softly.

"Yeah," He said, pressing his fingertips to his eyelids. After a moment, he rose, and wiped the heel of hand against his cheek. "Right behind you."