Sionnach (closed)

Sam immediately looked to Finn as they all stood before Stila, untrusting of any familiarity with the woman. Finn, meanwhile, stood confidently as usual and faced Stila fearlessly. "None o' yer bloody business, Spaniard."
 
"Spaniard, is it? Well, at least your father greets me properly when I'm in Scotland." Stila said as she looked towards Sam. "Young Finnegan likes to ignore the fact that his family needed my help to secure their current thrones. Has he been telling you that it was all on their own? Scottish honor? A load of rubbish. One tyrant was traded for another."

She spits at Finnegan's feet before she gave her attention to Sam. "Samuel Ghis. An honor to meet you in person. Your reputation precedes you."
 
Sam betrayed nothing even as Finn looked somewhere between insulted and shocked. Before the young Scot could launch into a tirade, Sam waved him away without breaking his gaze from Stila.

"As does yours, but pardon me if I can't say it's an honor," Sam returned, standing before her with complete neutrality in his entire posture and expression, even if he was tense. "An' pardon my bluntness, Miss Oliveras, but what exactly d'you want here, in th'middle of a war camp?"
 
"Von Morden. To put it in simple terms, he and I have unfinished business and I have come to collect him." She said as Sam put a halt to the small talk.
 
"No." Sam's answer was firm and instant, almost scolding. "He's t'be sentenced by those he harmed most. I don't care about his business dealings, an' especially no' with you." Even if Stila wasn't directly responsible for anything that had happened to Riley and Andre, her lurking and involvement with the worst offenders- not to mention her showing up at the treaty signing and in Andre and Riley's own room- made Sam label her as an enemy. But he knew she was an opportunist, waiting for her moment.

"Now, kindly leave my camp," Sam grunted, "yer presence isn't welcome here."
 
Stila raised an eyebrow at Sam as he dismissed her. She gave him a slight smirk as she nodded and turned to leave, stopping as she got a few feet away.

"Oh, before I go..." She said as she turned to face him again, reaching into her pocket to toss a small object in his direction. "Perhaps you know who this might belong to."

The object that Stila had thrown was Fiona's necklace, the one that she never took off and contained all of her dearest treasures.
 
Sam caught the necklace before it fell to his feet, and stood a moment as if his mind was having trouble catching up. Then he realized he wasn't sure where Fiona was.

In an instant, Sam drew his broad hatchet from his hip and stalked toward Stila, all self-control forgotten. "You fucking rat," he snarled, "I won't play yer games. Where is she?!"

Those gathered drew weapons as well, following Sam's lead to close in around Stila and attempt to block her exit.
 
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?" Stila asked as she struck a nerve with Sam and the rest of them, each drawing a weapon. "If you want her back in one piece, you'll put your weapons away. If not, well, my dragon will rain her down piece by piece upon this camp."
 
Sam paused, Andre's story of Stila's cruelty coming to mind. He raised a hand, and everyone gathered stepped back while he holstered his axe. "You want von Morden for her, is that it?" Sam growled.
 
"An easy trade." She said with a smile as they all backed off. "Von Morden for her. I promise that I'll keep him out of your hair."
 
"Then bring her. He'll be here waiting for you." Sam turned his gaze to where Kell was watching and listening intently, and Kell immediately sent several of his men to fetch the disgraced Archduke.
 
Stila gave him a nod and turned to signal to her dragon off in the distance. When he landed with a heavy thud, it was clear to see that he was holding something in a great clawed hand. Strands of blonde hair trailed from between his fingers. He bent low and barred his teeth with a low growl to get everyone to back up. Stila climbed into her saddle and waited patiently for von Morden to appear.
 
Sam hardly blinked, staring at the dragon's claws intently even as Kell and his men brought out the battered older man. Von Morden was a shadow of his former self. While Northerners were typically not cruel to their prisoners, Von Morden had gotten plenty of extra bruises and a few 'forgotten' meals. Clad in simple rags and manacles with a short, scruffy beard, with all his noble garb and jewelry long since sold off, he looked like a commoner for perhaps the first time in his life.

Kell stepped forward, tugging Von Morden along beside. "I would appreciate if you set her down first," Kell spoke cautiously.
 
Stila regarded Kell for a moment as he asked that Fiona be freed first. She murmured something to the dragon in her native tongue and the dragon hissed before extending his hand and dropped Fiona in a heap a distance from Sam. She had been knocked unconscious, a wound on her scalp bleeding profusely. She had tried to run at the first instance of danger, but her leg wound had prevented her from running quickly. When the dragon had knocked her down and out, using her ability had been lost.
 
It took everything for Sam not to immediately jolt forward and rush Fiona away, but he forced himself to remain calm, carefully gathering her up in his arms as Kell pushed Von Morden toward the dragon.

A bit dazed by the sunlight, Von Morden stared up at the dragon and his rider for a moment before a mix of worry and hope came to his gaze. "Miss Oliveras," he murmured, wondering if she was here because he was still useful, or because she had a score to settle. Suddenly the Northerners behind him became far less distasteful. At least he knew where he stood with them. And as Sam walked away with Fiona and Kell stepped back, Micha von Morden was alone and terrified.
 
Stila regarded von Morden for a long moment before her dragon snagged him off his feet and they took off into the sky in moments. Everything was quiet before there was a burst of activity, agents, and soldiers moving to secure their camps even further.

Fiona was just starting to wake as Sam carried her into the manor, her eyes fluttering as an arm came to wrap around Sam's broad shoulder and neck.
 
Sam didn't pause for a moment, flanked by Kell and another agent as the rest locked everything down. Within a minute, Sam had brought Fiona to the infirmary. The doctors and tribal healers who'd looked after Fiona in her recovery gathered shortly after, working to staunch the bleeding from her head as Sam silently stood by, stone-faced and tense even as Kell assured him quietly that his children and Andre were secure, as well as anyone else at risk.

"Don't let Royer leave," was the only thing Sam said before Kell left to oversee everything and check on Kate.
 
From the moment that she woke, Fiona's gaze was on Sam and never wagered. The doctor's worked on her wounds, mostly bruising and scratches, and closed the gash on her scalp. She never made a sound even though her head pounded painfully. If she wasn't depressed before, she certainly was now.
 
When the doctor's finally finished cleaning Fiona up, having managed not to damage her hair much, they moved her back to her room in fresh clothes and sheets. Sam followed close behind. Her wounds weren't too serious, but needed monitoring, so they gave Sam careful instructions and strict orders that Fiona was not to move around unaided until they were certain she had the balance and clarity to do so alone. With the very real risks of concussion and brain damage and an unsteady leg, they weren't taking chances.

Finally, the last doctor left after Fiona had some light painkillers, and Sam closed the door behind them. He stood facing the door for a long moment, collecting his thoughts, before turning to join Fiona's side. He lay down at her side, carefully drawing her in as if he could protect her from everything going so horribly wrong in the past few weeks.
 
Fiona nuzzled into Sam as he settled beside her, pulling her against his chest as if he could make everything that happened in the past few weeks go away. She couldn't help the tears of frustration that wet her lashes, her hands fisting against his tunic.

"I'm so sorry." She muttered. "I saw them in time and ran, but I wasn't fast enough. Now I've ruined everything."
 
"You haven't ruined anything," Sam murmured, though he knew she'd never believe it wasn't her fault. "It's not you, love. We didn't plan fer things t'be this complicated, nor fer all the loose ends."
 
“I couldn’t run.” She said softly, admitting for the first time that she was still physically weak. “He was on me before I could stop it. He threw me around until the world went black. That’s all my fault.”
 
"Stop," Sam ordered quietly. "Someone else's cruelty is never your fault. You always blame yourself when someone hurts you."
 
“Then who is there to blame, Sam?” Fiona asked as he quieted her words and told her to stop blaming herself.
 
"For this one? Stila Oliveras. For the entire situation overall? The old Imperial Council, Barbarossa, an' Von Morden. Blaming yerself fer someone else's greed helps nothing. But blame isn't going to help anythin' right now anyway. Oliveras caught us off-guard again, an' we need t'deal with that an' her claim tha' Royer's Da worked with her. Then we can get back on track."
 
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