#hello naughty children it's jacobite history lesson time

[the--highlanders]

Settled

Jamie comes to understand himself - and his daemon - a little better.

on ao3.

Leaning back on his elbows, Jamie tilted his face up to meet the sky, enjoying the murmuring of the sluggish river before him. The distant sound of a horse and cart clattering along a nearby track cut through the quiet, but he was far enough from the village that its noise and bustle was almost entirely drowned out by birdsong and rustling branches. Beside him, Teárlag nosed over the frosted ground in the shape of a doe, seeking out the scattered few fragments of greenery.

“Shouldn’t ye leave some for the real deer?” Jamie pointed out.

Teárlag rolled her shoulders, turning her shrug into a shift in forms. “Then the laird’ll have nothing to hunt,” she said carelessly, skittering towards him as a mouse. “But plenty to eat. Would ye rather I ate the hay for our cows?”

“Ye shouldnae speak ill of the laird like that,” Jamie protested. “We’re better off than some.” Teárlag simply huffed, stepping away from him and turning back into a deer. “Ye like him, anyway. It’s no good pretendin’ not to.”

She did not reply, so Jamie lay in silence for a while, staring up at the naked trees cutting through the sky above him. Water was slowly seeping into his plaid and through his shirt as the frost he was lying on melted, but he could not bring himself to mind, already feeling comfortably half-absorbed into the forest floor. The unbroken peace of it seemed to stretch from his haven by the Conann to the other edge of an t-Eilean Dubh, far beyond even the usual reaches of his world.

“Do ye think there’s going tae be a war?” he said at last.

Teárlag snorted, regarding him with fond frustration. “Cheerful today, aren’t ye?”

“Hey, it’s the new year. I’m allowed tae think about what’s to come.” When Jamie stretched his arms out, Teárlag shifted to the form of a wildcat and allowed him to settle her on his chest. “It’s been too long since the last rising.”

“Not long enough for people tae forget what happened after the last ones.” Teárlag yawned. “Can’t imagine the war comin’ here. It’s hardly London. I dinnae think he’d be interested.” Her voice was filled equally with disdain and reverence.

“Says the one named after the prince,” Jamie teased. “But ye heard them all last night. They’re always a wee bit excitable on his birthday -” Teárlag gave him a pointed look. “Aye, alright, an’ a wee bit tipsy, but ye cannae deny that it was different this time.”

“He’s gettin’ older. Bound tae happen. Doesnae mean we ought tae go an’ die for him.”

“If he comes tae fight, it’s our duty tae rise,” Jamie insisted. “No’ for him, but for the laird, an’ to help put things right here. Anyway, it’ll be an adventure.”

“Och, Jamie,” Teárlag said wearily. “You’re always gettin’ us into trouble. Why do ye think he’ll make things better for us? He cannae stop the lairds from bein’ greedy, or the foreigners from wantin’ us gone.”

“Aye, but he can stop the crops from failin’. That’d be nice.” Jamie spent a moment scratching the underside of her chin before pushing her off his chest to stand up. “We ought tae be goin’ home, they’ll be missin’ us.” He held out his arm expectantly, waiting for her to shift into one of her usual songbird forms. “Come on, athair wanted us tae teach some of the younger ones, remember?”

“I can’t.”

“Well, if ye want tae get a tellin’ off -”

“Jamie.” The seriousness in Teárlag’s voice quietened him. “I can’t change.”

“What?” Kneeling down beside her, Jamie looked her over anxiously, examining her face and legs as if he expected to find some physical wound. “Is something wrong? Why can ye not change?”

The amused purr that burst from Teárlag startled him. “Because I’m settled, ye daftie,” she said, batting at his forehead with one paw.

Oh.

He had already known, Jamie realised. He had known from the moment she had picked that form and curled up on his chest. Somehow, he had always known, but he still found the revelation difficult to grasp. “But -” He examined her again, more critically this time. “But you’re no’ a cat.”

Teárlag looked affronted. “I am.”

“You’re a bird!” Picking her up, Jamie peered into her eyes, struggling to find some resemblance to the daemon he thought he had known. She would never again swoop onto his arm and tighten her claws around his wrist, he realised with a plunge of regret. The last strains of birdsong had vanished from her. “You’re meant tae sing. We’re musicians.”

He looked back at Teárlag, and was taken aback by the sadness in her expression. “Is this form not good enough for ye?” she asked softly. “’Cause ye know I cannae change it. We’re stuck like this.”

“Hey.” Scooping her into his arms, Jamie pressed her against his chest. She clambered eagerly onto his shoulders, draping herself over him as if she belonged there. And she did, he thought. The odd sensation of inevitability had returned, and once again he felt as if he should have expected this. “It’s a good form tae have. I like it.”

“Are ye sure ye want tae go home?” Teárlag’s voice was still a little nervous, and her tail was flicking back and forth with something he supposed was anxiety. With another pang, he realised he would have to grow accustomed to her quirks and expressions all over again. “We’ll have to tell them we’ve settled, ye know.”

“Mm.” Jamie relaxed again. His father’s students could wait, he thought to himself. This was his settling-day. “It’s good tae have a form with claws, ye know,” he said quietly. “Maybe it means the war is comin’ after all.”

“Aye.” Slipping off his shoulder, Teárlag shoved her way into his lap, and he put a tentative hand on her fur. “Seventeen-forty. Anything can happen.”