Wanderlust

Chapter 8: Whining

Alright guys, Imma say right now there's alcohol n'stuff in this chapter. If you don't want to read this fluff and stuff then just skip ahead. I'll try recapping in the next chapter what's happened in this one. Also yes, the title of this chapter is stupid. <3

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Merida walked slowly down towards the festivities below. She trailed a hand across the stone walls as she made her way down the ancient steps. Entering through the kitchen, she evaded guests and servers alike as she headed through the dining room, a few side rooms, and finally entered the spacious throne room. Her father, King Fergus, sat in the front of the room surrounded by a crowd of fellow warriors. By the way he spoke and gestured, Merida could assume they were comparing war-stories. She watched as her father stood proudly, flaunting his prosthetic leg. Merida wondered if Hiccup felt similarly about his own missing limb.

The princess took a chalice of a dark red drink (she assumed wine, but didn't care much about specifics) from one of the tables, and began to make rounds about the room. She shifted through the guests, saying hello and having polite conversation for what felt like an eternity. Merida stopped when she spied a familiar boy her own age and darted in his direction. The lad was a mountain of a man, blond, and almost always silent.

"Young MacGuffin," She said modestly, curtsying when she approached him. The boy looked down at her, bowing a little and smiling, but -she assumed- choosing not to say anything. It had been years since their first encounter, but Merida was no better at understanding him, and they both knew it took MacGuffin more than a bit of effort to be clearly understood. Even after all this time.

Merida examined the boy, trying to piece together things she could remember about him. It had been about two years -give or take- since they last met face-to-face. Although they had exchanged letters, especially during the queen's absence. He was a stoic, somber, and thoughtful boy to say the least.

One of the things Merida had managed to realize about her fellow Scotsman, was the he was utterly handsome, and his silence was more than a little endearing. It had taken him a less than a year -Merida had read- to find an equally lovely, chocolate-haired lass from his own region. Rosemary, Merida had thought her name was. An English girl who'd grown up in his family's domain. It made sense than he would want someone who was as gifted at understanding him as he was with words, a talent that was revealed in the many letters Merida and he had exchanged. "How is Rosemary?" Merida quizzed, trying to be polite.

"She's a jewel." Came the reply, slow and in an unintentionally focused in tone.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, just standing still in a crowded room. Yet it was still a comfort. Merida enjoyed the pause in her otherwise hectic evening. The young lord wore a long-sleeved gray tunic, although it was clearly not very thick. The weather had been warm so there wasn't any use for winter clothing. He also had on a dark blue kilt.

The moment seemed to drag and Merida thought quickly on a way to escape the growing awkwardness between them. Though upon hearing the young lord clear his throat to speak again, Merida's head snapped up to meet his face, glad for a break in the silence.

The gentle giant leaned down to close the space a smidgen between them. When making an effort to be understood, Young MacGuffin was even hushed than in his normal voice. "How is the viking boy?"

"I'm not sure." Merida sighed honestly, looking down into the wine in her glass. Noting how it pulsed to the beat of the party. She looked up to meet his gaze. "Should I be worried?" She quizzed, desperate for any hint of what to do. MacGuffin had been on the hunt after all, he would know and be as willing to speak as anyone. "Should I?" She repeated.