#the crew finally realizing they need to get her out of town before ferelden pushes her magic into kill mode

[bruxbea]

Idek what to call this, just a small blurb PreLandsmeet Pre-Landsmeet Denerim, Arl Eamon’s Estate Word Count: 957 Characters: Anora McTir, Alistair Theirin, Riordan, technically the entire crew

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In preparation for the Landsmeet like the big to do that it was, arl Eamon had sent for new clothes and dress to be commissioned for the Grey Wardens and their companions. Everyone was excited at the prospect of being in Denerim proper, amongst townspeople and regular food, not to mention proper beds and room service.

Morrigan would never admit it aloud but she had quite enjoyed browsing through the tailor’s binder of swatches and silks as the group picked out their would be attire. They had all but lost Leliana when his apprentice brought in a rainbow of resplendent ribbons by the spool.

The Landsmeet was going to be a bit of a party as it were, and they were the guests of honor.

Only, the Wardens themselves had yet to return from the Arl of Denerim’s estate, something that should have been a trivial task now seeming a growing risk they ought not have pursued. It was late and the companions had been up all night without sleep or talk, everyone sitting on razor's edge as the fire smoldered down to ash.

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No one is sure whose cry rings out the silence when Alistair approaches with the dawn, auburn hair catching the budding sun in a natural crown as Queen Anora herself runs haughtily abreast a bedraggled stranger sporting dual Griffons on his gear. They are exhausted: the two men covered in blood and bruised, while the Queen only a bit disheveled. Most notably of all they are short one Warden Mage. 

Anora catches her breath and explains: Amell has been arrested on her behalf and sent to Fort Drakon. The Queen blanches at the rooms combined glower, their outrage apparent enough to read. “She insisted we rescue you and as thanks you had her arrested?!” their faces say. She assures everyone Amell is safe among the guards and Templars stationed there. The companions rise one by one to leave the room without a word, as silent as a ripple across a pond. Anora looks to Alistair as he too prepares to leave. He stops near the door seemingly lost in thought. Over his shoulder he answers her pleading look.

“They will not hear you, your Grace. You’ve just sent our leader to yet another Tower.”

Anora starts forward, “Fort Drakon isn’t a Circle. When Father sees I am safe, Amell shall be granted her freedom and-” “You are blind Anora, by rearing or choice I will never understand.” Alistair interrupts with a bark. The Queen of Ferelden’s only response is to suck her teeth in surprise. 

The warrior turns to face the unkept Queen and stares her down with a fury she doesn’t recognize. Is this truly the same boy who cried when I took his doll in our youth? she thinks to herself, shying away the smallest of breadths. He’s taller than Cailan was now... “Hawthorne is an apostate mage, a Grey Warden, and an elf. She will be locked up and guarded among practiced torturers and those most faithful to your father, do you even know what you’ve done…how much danger…?” Alistair stops to breathe and steady his mounting rage. 

The others had returned, already kitted out for rescue. Box the mabari impatiently paces the hallway, growling at random as though the humans choose to waste time. Sten stoically joins him after a beat. It appears unanimous that they return to camp to plan their strategy. Alistair shakes his head and turns to face Anora. “She did this for you, you know…and for Cailan.” He says quietly. Anora Pales. “This whole time has been her trying to reason out you and your Father, no matter how much we may argue over it. As a child Loghain was her hero and you are ‘Queen to a nation of ingrates and Orphans’ as she puts it. She pities you Anora, and sympathizes your loss of Cailan. More than you seem to yourself.” “When I asked her why it was so important we rescue you from Howe she answered without hesitation, ‘Anora’s your family.’ as simple as that! The Sky is blue, water is wet, you and I are family, so risking her life for yours was of no question despite the risk of an apparent trap!” Alistair stops, realizing his voice has grown louder with every new example. Anora remains silent but focused, amazed at the ghostly familiarities she only now begins to notice as Alistair gathers what little belongings he had scattered about the room to hand to an anemically protesting Riordan who rests laid up recuperating on the sofa.

As the younger Warden prepares to leave with the others of his ragtag crew, Alistair first approaches the Queen, checking the straps and buckles on his armor as he turns to face her. He sighs as he tries to bring the conversation to a civil if not jovial end, hitching the massive dragon tooth maul over his shoulder and securing it in place across the plates on his back. 

“Well dear sister, we’re off to un-do your heinous fuckery most foul. Please do keep the kitchen lit and your pesky interfering father at bay. We shall return with our beloved mage or burn the entire city to the ground in her honor. You should know by noon. Oh and do please keep the kettle on, killing your father’s men is sure to be thirsty work.” he offhandedly says checking his breastplate, any attempt at verbal civility lying beaten unconscious on the floor in the process.

 Anora’s only response is to cluck her tongue in a way she thought lost since Ostagar. The Grey Warden and his posse take their leave.

Once again they have been invited to a party.

And they intend to arrive in style.