Bravely(46)



Hamish watched with serious eyes as she loaded his arms up with sugared fruits and preserved meats and spiced baked goods, all the royal luxuries they’d brought for the journey.

“But don’t make a fuss—act like we don’t know if they already have these things, okay?” Merida added. “Let them have their pride.”

Later they sat around a big, roughly hewn table outside, enjoying a meal in the still-bright light. (Merida suspected the insides of the beehive houses were too small and dark for comfortable dining, and those living in them might not want to spare the rushes and animal fat to light them.) It seemed like it might be late, but it was hard to say what time it was. These summer days went on forever, and it would be bright until midnight or later. Fergus sat at the head of the table and the earl at its foot, and villagers packed the benches on either side and spilled into the grass as well. The tale of the wolves had already been told several times over. Every time it was told, Ol’ Flower got thrown another bit of meat. She moved quickly despite her great size, and no matter how quickly Brionn tried to intercept the flying food, Ol’ Flower always got to it first, to everyone’s great delight. Well, everyone but Hamish, who was still terrified of her.

Hamish had calmed down a little, at least. With his big eyes he now watched the villagers savoring all the foods he took for granted. He also stared at the lute leaning against the bench a few feet away.

The woman beside it caught him looking at it but was smart enough to not bring it up directly. Instead, she said, “Thank you for these treats, little man.”

He blinked up at her. The woman glanced at Merida, who shrugged a little.

“But what’s nicest is your company,” the woman added. She took the lute up into her lap. “A new audience to play for!”

As she began to play, voices whooped around the table. Some of the villagers banged cups against the wood in time with the tune. Merida watched Hamish’s spidery, cold fingers subconsciously move along with the tune. How he loved music. He only had to hear a melody once or twice to be able to play it back.

“Does the prince play?” asked the lute player.

“Hamish is a wee beast with all stringed things,” Fergus said. “Pity those wolves didn’t have strings.”

Immediately, the woman passed the lute to Hamish. He didn’t move his arms in time to take it, so she simply plopped it down in his lap. “I’ll trade you a tune for your dish of pears.”

Hamish sat there, a frozen little creature with big eyes. Pinned to the bench by fear and by the lute.

How badly Merida wanted him to be able to play fearlessly for this group. Not for their benefit, but for his. How was it that his sense of fun had been replaced by a sense of fear? She whispered to him, “You could play ‘Crosses and Squares.’”

Still he was frozen.

Maldouen said, “Don’t you think you owe Ol’ Flower a tune for saving your life?”

Maldouen was being playful, but he had, without realizing, hit upon the only way to make Hamish perform: obligation. Hamish let fear rule him, but not at the expense of other people.

Hamish whispered, “All right,” and then added, to the dog, “Ma’am,” which made the entire table laugh uproariously.

Hamish began to play.

The villagers began to clap in time with him. Hamish played faster. They clapped faster. Hamish played little riffs and twirls, and the villagers got up and danced along with the well-known tune. With the lute in his hand and the tune ringing out strongly, it was almost possible to believe Hamish wasn’t afraid, but Merida knew better. This was how it always went. When Hamish played for other people, he always looked liked a different person. Straighter, surer. More like Hubert or Harris. This was part of a good show, after all, and he felt obligated to give Ol’ Flower a good show.

Merida thought to herself that Hamish was actually much braver than she was. She did wild things all the time, but she wasn’t afraid before she did them. Hamish was terrified to do almost everything, and he did a lot of things anyway.

She wished she could believe that playing for these people would change him. Convince him to not be afraid on the other side of it, since nothing bad happened to him during it. But then the tune came to an end and it was as if the music itself had propped him up. Hamish shrank back down into his usual shy self and handed the lute back. His eyes dropped away from everyone and he did his very, very best to disappear.

Merida had no idea what it would take to change him.





IT WAS funny for Merida to see Fergus get excited as they grew close to Kinlochy. He began to point out landmarks and wave his arms and tell fragments of memories that trailed off as he realized the group he was traveling with hadn’t been there for them and that it would require rather a lot of work to put them in context. He seemed rather like Hubert when he was like this, scattered and enthusiastic, too happy to focus. Well, rather like the old Hubert, pre-Ardbarrach, the Hubert she used to think would grow up to be like Fergus, big as a house, with his big Norseman hair and big Norseman beard. She had no idea what he would turn into now, with his hair shorn short and his blue beads abandoned beside his bed.

“Kinlochy!” shouted Fergus with enthusiasm as they rode into the town.

They arrived at the outskirts of Kinlochy just as the long, long day was coming to a close. The brief night seemed even less convincing here than it was at DunBroch, however, because Kinlochy was a kingdom on the sea and the sun lasted forever out there over the ocean. “Night” was simply a gray-brown version of day. Even though Merida couldn’t see the ocean, she could smell it, that clean, fishy scent, and she could see it in the sky. Skies right by the ocean always had that strange, open look to them, as if the light was coming from all directions and the clouds couldn’t be bothered to remember which way was down.

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