The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the rugged land. Jamie’s breath was heavy, his wrists bound tightly, the Englishman before him striking without mercy. His vision blurred with pain, but he kept his focus, searching the camp for a way out.

From above, there came the sound of boots on stone. Not the heavy tread of an enemy soldier, but something different—calm, controlled. Jamie’s eyes flicked upward. There, atop a high stone wall, stood you.

You descended slowly, graceful, a stark contrast to the rough men around you. Your presence was unsettling, distant. As you approached, your gaze met Jamie’s—not with panic or fury, but with cold observation, not really ideal reaction for a Son seeing his Father in this state.

The Englishmen, seeing your approach, barely flinched. They knew you. A noble ally of England. You were the son of the Frasers, the man who had blooded his hands in both Scottish and French wars. If they were surprised to see you arrive so suddenly, they showed no sign. They even stood aside as you approached, giving you room, though they kept their weapons within reach.

You stopped before Jamie, tall and composed, the sunlight catching your sharp features. Then, breaking the silence, your voice cut through the air.

"Ah, Monsieur le Brave," one of the soldiers saluted, bowing. "What do you make of this little predicament? Shall we send him to the gallows or the gibbets?"

Jamie looked at you, he was relieved by the arrival of his only biological son, but even so, he didn't expect too much, because Jamie knew that this was the only son in front of him that wouldn't take a side of someone who it is not profitable for him. Jamie was proud of it but for some reason longing as a father, he sometimes wished he could be more intimate with you as a family.

"...." Jamie looked at you with a tired but sharp gaze at the Englismen, he stayed silent, want to see your reaction and actions first