𐂂

𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑅𝑇𝑌 𝐹𝐼𝑉𝐸
ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ

𐂂

That morning, Bjorn had woken her with a pulling of her woven mattress, pushing her straight to the ragged floor of the tent. Not an hour later, he'd disrupted a conversation she'd been having with Lagertha. Merida felt his eyes place on the carved necklace that hung down above her breast as she reached for her bow. Now that she thought of it, ever since he'd given her the gift, he'd bothered her incessantly with his odd remarks and tickling laughs. A smile was hard to force from her face, at most times but even so, she felt herself becoming more and more conflicted.

Fate be damned. She wanted him- that had been quite clear by the kisses she sought on cold evenings when the rest were gathered around large fires. It was undeniable when it was Bjorn that she looked for at most minutes of the day. Once her aversion to the idea of destiny would have ruined that desire, but she commanded it now- if she wanted him, then she could have him.

With her bow in her hand, she started forward, glancing across the vast field as she made her way from the edge of the camp toward him. But before she could step foot into the tall grass, Ragnar interrupted her pathway. He smiled simply, head-turning lightly against his neck. As swiftly as he'd stepped in front of her, Ragnar turned away, walking along the side of the camp, the opposite direction of his son.

When she did not follow, he inclined his head slightly. "Are you going to walk with me or not?"

Merida paused, watching him, but then followed, shortly joining Ragnar's side as he took a turn around the edge of the camp, observing the comings and going's and the stacks of weapons that were being mended beside great tents. He watched with great pride, as any king would look upon such a comforting sight. The true picture of war.

"You've been using your time well while we prepare, I see," he said finally, pulling the piece of straw from between his lips.

She did not know what he had meant, at first, but then his eyes flickered to the bow that was now strapped to her back. "You could say that. The younger ones were good at the archery, even if it was with newly made bows and first-timers."

"You can imagine, archery isn't the most useful thing with an army like ours," Ragnar said humorously.

"No, I understand that. My father fought with swords and axes, but while I was young he wanted me to have distance when fighting."

"I admire your father greatly."

She smiled and was reminded of the fact that Ragnar reminded her so much of the Bear King. "Thank you, Ragnar. He would have liked to hear that."

They walked quietly for a moment before Ragnar found a spot for them to sit in a few metres from the camp beneath the trees. His eyes wandered to the carving that hung from her neck and he smirked.

"Nice necklace."

She clutched it in her hand. "Thank you. Bjorn made it.," she said as if Ragnar was not aware of that very fact. Somehow he always seemed to know these things.

"You and my son spend an awful lot of time together. One must think..."

As he trailed off, Merida looked away. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Do you love Bjorn?"

Such a strong word had her spiralling, with her throat turning dry and eyes widening. What could she say to such a question? Not even Bjorn had asked her such, but Ragnar had always been one to push it, just as her mother once had too.

"Love Bjorn? I like him. I like him a lot. I..."

"Stop hiding from it! Fate is unavoidable," Ragnar said, his voice suddenly rising as he twisted to stand, chucking away his second stalk of straw. "It is shown by the fact that you are so attached to him, as he is to you."

Merida stood as her face began to burn. "You know, everyone here believes so strongly in the immutable nature of destiny. It's stifling, really!" She shouted, beginning to storm in front of him.

"You know better, do you?"

"I didn't say that," she said, immediately turning on her heel, watching him accusingly. She would have begged him to understand her- understand how she felt without having to say the words so explicitly. "I just... I don't think it's so permanent. I think our fate is within us, that we have to be brave enough to command it, rather than let it control us."

"And what would you say of the Seer's words?"

She paused. It was the Seer and his words that troubled her most of all. How something could feel so true and yet so wrong, she did not know.

"If they are true... Can I ask you something, Ragnar?"

"Certainly."

"When you ask the Seer a question, has he ever responded with things that involve others?"

She'd asked this of herself. Why was Bjorn always involved in her own prophecies?

"I suppose he has."

"When our lives are affected by others, it is harder to change. I left Dunbroch, but because I am a princess, I must return, both for my family and for the people. I don't know how to say it but do you see? The Seer tells us the things that we will understand until they have passed. He tells us them because they affect more than just us," she said, her voice strained and quick as if it would make him understand.

"You seem very sure of yourself, princess," he said after a moment of watching her with careful eyes.

"I'm not sure I am," Merida said- slowly this time. "But if- if I love Bjorn, it is because I want to. Not because some other force has willed it to happen."

"You're a fiery one. Either way, fate or not, marry Bjorn and you will make me a very happy man."

That was the last she heard from Ragnar as he disappeared toward the camp. The day was darkening, the colours of dusk beginning to paint the skyline: quaint shades of red and orange like a dusty fire. Merida remained in the place at the edge of the camp that Ragnar had sought for them. The bow strapped to her back felt tighter now.

It was as she headed toward her tent, that Bjorn caught back up with her, slowing her with a hand snatching her waist, pulling her to the side. She glared at him momentarily and then placed her hands on her shoulders to steady herself.

"What did my father say?"

"Nothing that I wish to discuss with you," Merida said quickly, placing a peck on his lips before pulling away to walk again.

𐂂

The hours before battle were a strange sort of time. The air was tainted with an unfamiliarity, an uncertainty; it was like a drug, going straight to the heads of the warriors that breathed it. Before a fight, one did not know whether they would live or die. The only thing the Northmen could know was that they would go to battle with fire in their hearts and drive in their heads. Life and death did not matter to the men and women who died a warriors death.

The eve before battle was filled with the type of recklessness known only to children. A great fire roared in the centre of the makeshift camp, far larger than they'd ever had before. It filled the black sky with pummels of smoke, flaking with hot embers that floated like falling stars or fireflies or misshapen will-o-the-wisps.

To treasure or to doom, Merida wondered as she stared up to the sky, trying to draw her eyes away from the tiny fires. The wisps could certainly lead the Northern army to either. Or were the Frenchmen watching on, gazing at the dots of light like the fools who travelled in the woods of those tales, waiting to follow toward the attackers? That would be a certain fail for them. No man nor woman could meet a Northman in battle without the defence of their own land.

"Merida, Merida, Merida, enlighten us with your archery tricks. The celebrations cannot go on without them. We've already had Rollo's fighting ring," Bjorn shouted as he dropped giddily down beside her, horn sloshing in his hand.

She sat up, a little light-headed. "Who told them about my tricks?"

"That doesn't matter. They want to see it," he said excitedly, nudging her in the arm.

"No."

"Some of these men may die tomorrow. I may die tomorrow."

"Don't say that," she said, hitting him back harder, sending him falling to his back. "I can't do it on any horse anyway. Angus knew what I would do."

Bjorn let out a barking laugh. "But I told them you can do it on any horse. Try, for me. I'll be there to catch you."

She looked over to him and from the grin on his face, she knew he'd already convinced her.

"Have a drink. For courage," he said quickly.

Bjorn handed her his sore drink and she knocked it back, taking his for seconds. Merida stood abruptly, only to notice the numerous eyes that were resting on her.

"Someone get me a target!"

At the same time, as a piece of scratched wood was angled against a far off tree branch, someone brought her a horse. He was a calm breed, stolen from one of the tiny holdings just off the river. As she ran a hand across his nose, he nuzzled into her. Merida swung her leg over into the thin saddle and felt her feet around for a holding higher up- it would panic him to do a straight leap to her feet. By then the crowd had gathered with Ragnar stood in the front, his expression expectant. He'd already seen the trick once before.

"You can do this," Bjorn said as he met the side of the horse, patting its rear. "It's easy."

"Sure, it's easy," she repeated, half mocking him and half trying to reassure herself. "Come on then."

They started off in a canter and then she knocked her heels, making him pick up speed swiftly. The trick was not to lose momentum- at least that was what she thought- and as they grew closer to her target, she threw her arms forward, gripping onto a reign, her bow still held in one hand and an arrow in the other, and hoisted her feet up. Then, in one rapid movement, she stood, stomach bent forward and backside in the air.

There was a whistle and then she stood, knocked her arrow, and sent it flying toward the target. Seconds later, they passed the splintered wood, of which now had an arrow planted in the middle of it. There was a roaring cheer and the music began again. Merida threw herself from the horse, leading it back from the camp.

"You did it," Bjorn said.

"I did it," Merida said as she swallowed. She placed a hand on his elbow and tugged him forward. "Come on, I've had enough of the crowd."

They reached further into the trees. "Wait here, I'll make us a fire."

As Bjorn busied himself with chucking wood down for the fire, Merida settled herself by the tree.

"What did my father ask you?"

It was the first thing he said as he sat beside her with a fire crackling just past their feet. She would have been lying if she said she wasn't expecting it.

"Has it been killing you to know?" Merida asked as she leaned into him.

"Yes."

She paused a moment, watching the smirk that would soon leave his face. "He asked me if I loved you."

Bjorn seemed to hold his breath. "What did you tell him?"

"I gave him a long answer about how fate is another outcome of free will mixed with destiny. I don't really know why I felt the need to say all of that, really," she said, feeling his arms snake lower down her waist. "Let's not worry about any of that. The fight is tomorrow."

"What if I die?" Bjorn said. "What if I die tomorrow and I don't know your answer?"

"I wish you wouldn't joke about that."

Despite it, Bjorn grinned. "Why? Because you love me?"

"Stop. Besides, if you died, the answer would not matter."

"It wou-"

Merida pushed herself away from him, crossing her arms over her knees. "How would you feel if I began talking about me dying tomorrow?"

"They wouldn't be able to kill you."

"Yet they would you?" Merida said loudly. "Bjorn Ironside cannot be touched by the sword of an enemy."

"I can be touched by something else."

He silenced her with his lips, pulling her back toward him with a strong arm. But again, she pushed away, a lopsided smile gracing her lips.

"Ah ah," she said as she patted his lips with a finger. "Live through Paris, and you will have your answer. A truthful answer."

"Until then?"

Merida placed a hand against his shoulders, pushing his back against the tree as she grew closer toward him. He gazed up at her, eyes widened in anticipation. The eve of battle was a strange time. Recklessness resides in them like a drug.

"I can think of something to sustain us."

𐂂