When Frost meets Ice (Jelsa)

The DunBroch Family

"BOYS!" Merida wailed, she threw open the door to her room. Her hair was in a bushel of a ponytail, some girls doubled, tripled, and more to keep their hair in a ponytail. Not Merida, she used a whole hair tie or an outdated scrunchy from her awkward, ok awkwarder, junior high years just to keep her hair out of her face.

Standing in the portal of her door at the top of the stairs, she stood in a pair of black short shorts and a grey band tank top. She held in her hand her 'war' scrunchy: a dark green camouflage one she used whenever she really had to tumble with her three younger brothers.

Her brothers burst out of their room and bounded down the stairs passed Merida, she snagged one of them but he wasn't the one who had what she needed. Her shoe's, in preparation for the day that Cole would finally ask her out she had purchased a pair of heeled shoes and painfully broken them in, today they were missing, and as if reading her anger the boys ran through the house with them. Merida chased after them but every time she caught one, he would throw his cargo to the night in a demented game of keep away.

After ten minutes of rowdy house destroying antics, Elinor, their mother, returned home from work.

"Children!" her shrill voice pierced their bones while Merida had one in a headlock, one trapped between her legs and had the last one in a vice grip by the leg. The four children paused when their mother approached, "what is the meaning of this?"

"I need my shoes for a date tonight, and these devils-"

"Date?" Fergus, Merida's father, appeared from the yard with ears like a trained hound, it fit his temperament to be completely ignorant if not supportive of rough housing in his house, 'it's not call rough-yarding Elinor' he would defend himself to his wife, and he then he swiftly enforced Elinor's will. He was a beast of a man who almost needed to turn sideways just to fit through a doorway, not because of his weight but because of the sheer mass and broadness of his wide muscular shoulders. He had a prosthetic limb that people would never know was there until he playfully pulled it off and started shaking it at strangers or houseguests and threatening to bludgeon them with it. "What date?"

Elinor was equally as surprised, "a date?" she whispered, and then a knowing smile swept her face.

"Merida and a boy sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G," The boys simultaneously chanted.

"Quiet you little trolls!" Merida increased pressure where she could on the boys, they squeaked in agony before they laughed and mocked her.

"A boy... that explains why you have been acting so strange," Elinor put a finger to lip as if contemplating what to do with the newfound information.

Fergus completely ignored Elinor, and in one fluid practiced motion he placed one hand on Elinor shoulder, grabbed his leg by the ankle, and pulled off half of his leg, he then proceeded to swing his prosthetic leg around like a club. "No huddy scunner is coming near me princess, it's not that Mor'du lad is it? He's finally turned his gaze to me princess after getting bored of Parr's. Well, Bob may tolerate that wanker, but I'll give him a play by play of how I lost my leg in the war, and then we'll see how often he comes around with two broken legs." The veins in his neck bulged as he continued to yell reverting to his most Scottish of accents while his face went as fiercely red as his own autumn locks of hair. Anyone who knew Fergus knew it was all empty threats though, he looked like a large warrior born fighter, and he had been, but deep down he was a teddy bear at heart.

Fergus had lost his leg in the war, and then came home without a surplus of immediate work options, but he kept fit and quickly became good friends with the owner of the incredible gym, Bob Parr. After a little schooling as suggested by his wife and a little life coaching from Bob, Fergus had become one of the best physical therapists in the state and worked at Parr's gym working and donating his time to working with other amputees and people who can't afford other physical therapist. He was a warrior king turned healer, with one leg, helping people -sometimes without any- get back on their feet. He was an aggressive irony, and he had found his calling.