Chapter Text
Seevis hooks Cameron up to some sort of communication device which uses stones as beacons. She’s not educated in the ways of the Ancients, only as much as Dr. Jackson has taught her, but as soon as Cameron places the stone in a slot, he falls into a somewhat unconscious state. Though he is sitting straight, he can no longer communicate with her or Seevis.
She’s still wary of their would-be cohort, still remembers how rough his hands were on her skin as he helped men drag her from the house, while dodging the utensils and bowls she hurled at him.
To his benefit, he stays fairly silent throughout the ordeal, not even speaking as he offers her a bowl of the stew he’s prepared.
Despite her hunger and her famished child demanding she inhale not only this bowl, but one or two more, she holds the spoon still in her hand, staring down at the delicious smelling meal.
“Is it unsatisfactory?” Seevis sits on the opposite side of the round table from her. Cameron separating them. His eyes closed, his breathing even, his face calm.
“I’m just trying to wager the probability that you’ve added poison or something worse to this stew.”
Seevis laughs for the first time since Denya’s death, but it’s probably due to the large mug of ale—his third—sitting on his side. “Why, woman, would I do that?”
“Why did you tear me from my house and place me as a spectacle in the middle of the square?”
He groans, sloshing around the ale in his mug. “As I told you and your husband, they wanted to burn you alive. I gave you a chance.”
“I see.” Cameron’s face twitches and her eyes draw towards him, halting her words momentarily. “So, I’m to presume it was the kindness of your heart that kept me chained in the elements for a full day.”
Seevis, chugs back the rest of his ale, frothy bits sticking to his upper lip which he wipes away boorishly with his sleeve. “A lot better than the alternative.”
“Not if you don’t know your death isn’t imminent.” Her stomach growls loudly, and the baby shudders within her, protesting as to why she hasn’t started to devour the stew when they both know how hungry she is.
“Look.” The brassiness returns to his voice, and his eyes fall to half-lids as he stands, probably to retrieve another refill of ale from behind the bar. “They wanted me to burn you, drag you out and light you up. The villagers wouldn’t have even blinked an eye.”
His words place her hands back into her lap, away from the bowl before her. “Cameron would have.”
There’s bumping behind her as he collides with dust covered tables, and stumbles over chair legs, catching himself before stumbling again. “Yes, and while I’m sure your dutiful husband would’ve slain me where I stood when he came to collect your ashes, I’m also aware that the priors would’ve immolated him as well.”
“Did you save me because of Denya?”
From behind the bar, the sound of ale shooting into his mug hisses through the empty tavern. He scoffs, knocking back another drink, the froth dribbling down his shirt. “That’s preposterous.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“And I don’t care what you think, woman.” He snorts, shooting another batch of froth into the air. “You’re here as a courtesy because I need your husband’s help.”
“I’m here because you couldn’t save Denya.”
“Watch your tongue—”
“You couldn’t help her.”
“You will keep your—”
“You had to let her burn for the cause.”
Seevis slams his mug so hard into the bar top that the handle cracks off it, leading to a leak in the side where the amber liquid pumps out. He points at her, a thick finger jutting in her direction, as he rounds the bar. The words snarl out between his teeth with his spit. “You will not speak her name in my presence.”
“I’m intrigued by your relationship—no one in the town knows what you were to each other.”
“What we were is of no importance to you.”
“Was it hard to let her die?”
“Not as hard as allowing you to live.”
Suspects that this conversation is going to quickly devolve into being one were she may need to physically defend herself, lest she end up as a martyr again back in the square center. She and Cameron were aware of the dangers to both of them, not only to him as he wouldn’t be present to physically defend himself, but also her for the same reasons.
Tried to argue that she is somewhat capable of defending herself, and he was kind enough not to remind her what happened last time.
However, at the moment Seevis stands up, his form no longer looming with all he’s lost and instead a rather pitiful sight, doesn’t remember what he accuses her of, or threatens her with, just remembers the locked door to the permanently closed tavern blasting open, and Tomin opening fire on them still gathered around the table.
The first blast manages to hit the device releasing a cloud of smoke into the already darkened room, it also immediately drags Cameron back his hopeful contact with Earth and booking them a safe passage home. He topples to the floor, regaining consciousness rather violently, his arms covering his head, and then instinctively searching for her.
Tomin’s second shot rings out, the blast illuminating the haze in the room into an opaque sheen. It tears by her, mere inches from her face, and she slips off the chair to the ground, her arm wrapping around her stomach staring directly at Seevis as he’s shot in the side, and then in the back.
Cameron scoops an arm around her, dragging her harshly towards him, using his body to shield her as Tomin stomps into the tavern, his staff drawn and charged, pointing directly at them as Cameron curls himself around her.
She manages to wiggle a hand loose from where it’s pinned between their bodies and holds it up to halt their once gentle friend. “Tomin, stop.”
“The Prior told me I would uncover traitorous acts here.” The man’s face is red, his eyes stark and narrowed, his weapon never ceasing to aim at them. “In years, I would never have speculated it was you.”
“Tomin, you must listen to us—”
“Cameron you are my friend, but the Prior says you’re love for your wife outweighs your devotion for the Ori, which is unacceptable.”
Cameron scrambles to a seating position, still making sure that he’s blocking most of her body, his hand falling back onto her knee. “Tomin, Buddy, you gotta believe us. We’re doing this for the Ori—”
“There is no way the Ori would permit such blatant and outward devotion of another—”
“The baby,” he clamors, his hand moving from her thigh to her stomach. “They said it’s the will of the Ori, they said that—”
And she watches as Tomin shoots down her husband.