Chapter Text
The sound of fiddles and bodhráin mingled with undistinguished chatter as people gathered in the great hall of DunBroch castle. Sweet harmonious melodies of love were sung, accompanied by the gentle lilting strums of a harp. Poems and epic tales of heroes from distant lands and times, as well as recent ones, were recited and told for everyone to be heard and awed.
Sitting amongst the dais was the burly warrior civilly known as Murchadh or Murdoch, but he was best known as the resurrected man who was Mor’du in his bear form. His wife Princess Merida was positioned beside him, the bulge in her dress barely evident at first sight but still growing. (Even at that point, he continued to be called by that name by everyone who had known him in intimate terms, especially his wife Merida) This cèilidh marked the anniversary of their marriage, the day when two souls were united as one after a short but fateful courtship which was interrupted by battle. So far, they had faced the challenges of married life, with all the occasional misunderstandings and hardships (especially with Merida’s pregnancy), but above all, they enjoyed each other’s company and of their unborn child.
Once the gathering had concluded in the evening, the couple bade farewell to the guests before glancing at each other.
“Did ye enjoy the gathering, mo ghràdh?” Merida asked her husband, grinning.
“Of course.” He returned the grin with a wink. “I have enjoyed the company of my comrades in battle, especially Anndra the blacksmith. He introduced me to the forge, where I can shape axes, swords, and everyday objects for a living.”
“You’re a blacksmith now? I thought ye were a hunter?”
“Aye, but not a master yet. He doesn’t like my axes to be blunt, so he sent me to learn to sharpen them after the battle. Though I still hunt, mostly for our food.”
“You’re borrowing my bow and arrows without asking?” Her face contorted and her arms folded with disapproval. “That’s why I’m telling you to make your own!”
“Tha mi duilich, m’ eudail! I’m sorry!” he pleaded, his hands folded together as if in prayer while his mismatched gaze focused on her as he knelt down. “I forgot to ask permission from you every time I use them. Can you please forgive me?”
Merida hesitated. But after a long moment, she could sense her husband’s sincerity in seeking forgiveness, so she bent down to kiss him on the forehead. “By my decree, you are hereby forgiven.” Her face softened into a smile.
Mor’du returned the favour, placing quick kisses on her forehead first before moving on to her lips. His lips returned to hers, this time lingering with forgiveness and passion.
Once he broke up the kiss, he whispered, “Forgiveness accepted. Oh, and happy anniversary to us.”
“How do you say that in that old language of yours?” she stammered in confusion.
“A’ guidhe ceann-bliadhna air leth dhut.” His lips moved to the lilting rhythm of the ancient words, enough for her to comprehend. She repeated the phrase a bit slower, but more flowing—ending it with a giggle which he reciprocated.
The next day was spent with Mor’du lending a hand in building their own home, whilst Merida was overseeing the progress and embroidering the new family tapestry with her mother Elinor.