Her Majesty // Mikaelson

4 .:Flashback:.

Photo not mine- but it seemed relevant to the chapter.

12th Century Scotland

My cheek was pressed against the cold wooden table, my bare feet barely touched the ground from my feet on the kitchen chair. I push air out of my cheeks, boredom seeping into my limbs, over taking the sense of exhaustion from today's duties.

"Merida, up you go." The Castle lead cook pulled my chair out from underneath me and I slump onto the stone palace floor. I stared up at her in defiance. "Help with the bowls." She orders, pointing towards the washing station. Bubbling water was already waiting beside a pile of porcelain dishes.

"I'm not a servant. That's you job." I spit back, and she grabs me by the arm roughly. I yowl in frustration and anger, pushing her off the best I could and taking off up the stone stairs, my small feet and strong frame carrying me quickly up and I swing open the weak wooden door by the latch.

A server in peasant wear comes walking towards the kitchen, carrying a couple trays. I snatch a piece of fruit from the platter, sticking it into my mouth.

The servant yells at me as I pass, swiping their hand out to grab me. I duck just in time. Their hand only clasping air where my red hair had been a moment before. My light delicate child laugher echoes in the Halls as I run through them.

I bite into the fruit, the texture and juices of an apple filling my mouth. I slow to a walk, pulling my green dress up to not step on it, and carry on down the hallway, waving to the guards as I pass by. They don't move from their positions but a good few send me smiles and slight waves back with their hands.

My red curls bounce on my shoulders as I heave open the door to the courtyard, throwing the stem of my Apple aside. "Where are you off to lass?" The stable boy asks, passing with two horses. I smile up at him. A few years elder than I. I smooth my dress quickly, following the black haired boy with pretty green eyes and dirt smeared on his hands and cheeks.

"To see you." I answer, following him into the stables and watching as he returns the Mare and Stallion to their own space, locking the wood gates behind them. He strokes them before turning back to me. His light skin red in places from his work that day. "Say, do you know how to ride, Michael?" I ask him, combing my unruly hair back desperately with my fingers.

"No. I know how to cut shoes." He replies, grabbing the rake used to muck the stables and a nearby bucket. His accent from the Northern part of Scotland.

"But you spend all day with them. Wouldn't you want to ride them?" I ask, following him to the far end of the stables where he pushes the doors open and leads into the barn.

"I cannot dream of such things." He replies to me, smiling with the small kind smile that I'd always loved. It was contagious and I felt my own self smiling back, watching as he gracefully puts the rake with the others and carries the bucket with him to the goat pin. "I'm the son of a seamstress in North Scotland, Lady Merida. My future is about as bright as the dark stables I muck out." He tells me.

"I'm afraid my fate as well." I agree. Michael looks at me, smiling softly.

"No. You've got a pure and long future ahead of you." He taps my chin. I look out of the open window, looking over the surrounding village and the garden in full bloom of fruits and richness. Groomers were out picking at this time and carried baskets with them to put the apples and other treasured ripe growths. Beyond that the main road leading up to the palace had a group of horses and carriages trudging up.

"What is that Michael?" I ask. He meets me by the window, squinting at the group heading straight for the castle.

"Perhaps traders. Or knights. Your father has sent out for new knights from around this Kingdom and that to serve in the Royal guard." He informs me. I lean out of the window.