Her Majesty // Mikaelson

9 .:Flashback:.

Attached on top/side is Riptide by Vance Joy.
In the next couple chapters I really wanted to explore the drastic changes in Merida's young life when the Mikaelsons begin to raise her. There are short time skips, no longer than a year apart, that show the swift and rather sudden change from Merida's innocent, trouble making self into something of a Goddess who came out on top. Another thing I tried to cover is the strained relationship between her older siblings and herself. The nasty looks shared with Penelope and the formal conversations with her brother, both antagonizing and respecting each other with equal measure. Just a quick Authors Note to bring to life some of her childhood that was denied her.

12th Century Scotland

My glare at my older half-sister couldn't have been filled with more resentment. My knuckles were white with my clenched fists, so I fold my hands together behind me, standing up straight. My dress was green, and floor length. The richness of it straight from Italy, as my mother said to me that morning. 'Don't mess it like the others. To be treated with respect you must act like a lady.' Then she had roughly pulled my chin up to look at her, scorn on her flawless features. Her next words were against my hair. A 'rat's nest' she said. Then spent the next half hour pinning it up, training my toes into narrow, uncomfortable shoes that were worthy of princesses.

Despite the meek protests my cramped toes sent to me, I relished in the attention she had paid to me. Except when we had arrived at the coronation of Princess Penelope Elizabeth Mary Casket, she left me to take her seat beside the King. Now, I was left alone. The Ball Room was filled with wealthy visitors and families, all from different clans all around Europe to celebrate the coronation of the next Queen. Her fifteenth birthday was today, as my twelfth one was.  Yet, no one bothered to mention that. I couldn't muster up excitement of my change of age today. All I could feel was a burning hatred towards the older girl with purple dress on, a tiara on her head.

She danced in the center of the room, with an unfamiliar Prince here from another country. From his rich red and gold colors that adorned his body and the crown on his head, I made a wild guess he was French. Or perhaps English.

Nonetheless, did my rage grow. Strong. My ice blue gaze involuntarily flickered to the servants who brought out food from the kitchen and the finest drinks of wine. A heavy pit grew in my stomach as I saw Michael. The guilt of letting the pigs out had been too overwhelming. I hadn't talked to him since he was whipped. However, his wounds were miraculously healed. Obviously from the demons here.

The heroes. If it hadn't been for their blood, Michael could be dead. I've been doing everything in my power to avoid the boy, fearing if I made a simple mistake again he'd somehow pay the price. So I've become completely immersed in my attempts to be obedient. To grow up. To not challenge authority, although my pent up anger only grow as I did so. My chores each day becoming perfectly done. No sloppiness was in my actions. My fingers often bled at the end of the day from the demanding work.

Michael looks at me, catches me watching him, so I turn my head away. I scanned the crowd. My frown turning into a small smile as I see the Italian Royal Family. I knew from the other servants and Francis that the King hoped to restrengthen the alliance with them. Perhaps that was why they were invited here. Their Queen stood near a young boy, with a shock of dark hair but bright eyes that reminded me of silver that we got imported from overseas.

The boy, possibly feeling eyes on him, looks around and then spots me, waving slightly as though to not draw his mother's attention. I only smile in response. However, the wave doesn't go unnoticed by the Italian Queen and she looks down at her son, speaking to him something that I couldn't hear over the music. By the calm and curious look on her light face, I figured she wasn't as cruel as the Scottish Queen. Who sat on her throne looking out at the guests who danced with a hubris air about her. She didn't pay no attention to the King whom sat beside her. Mary Elizabeth Daken Casket. The most ruthless in the Scottish court.