Rescuing Bannon

CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: yes
Nudity: no
Sex: no
Other: none

Author's Notes:

I don't know. I don't think I can top the in-game rescue plans ;) Captain inspired by a scene from Titan A.E.

Sorry it's so short.

Rescuing Bannon

==#==

Wynne led the way through the streets, with her Templar escort, and mismatched golem and elven servants. She bustled along with a bit of a scowl, a Senior Enchanter on a mission. No one dared get too close or do more than gawk at them. Finally, they passed the market district and well-to-do quarter, and the streets grew less crowded.

"You know, Alistair... I find it hard to believe you still have your Templar uniform. Have you been carrying it around this whole time?"

"Yep."

Wynne pursed her lips. "But I thought you and Bannon escaped the Korcari Wilds with little more than the clothes on your backs."

"Very little."

He was being unusually close-mouthed. Wynne couldn't see his face in that helm, to see if he were joking or being cheeky with her. "Hrm. But why do you still have it?"

"Well, I am a Templar."

"I thought you left the Order."

"Yeah, but they didn't exactly ask for their uniform back, now did they?"

Zevran said, "Perhaps he just likes wearing dresses." At least he'd come out of his simmering anger long enough to show some of his usual, annoying, spirit.

"They're very comfortable. You should try them," Alistair shot back. "Long ones, I mean," he added before the Antivan could point out the short armor kilt he usually wore. "Besides, they're nice and soft and snuggly - what do you think I've been using for a pillow all this time?"

Wynne shot a look at Zevran to see if he was buying this. The elf shook his head, his expression indicating that he didn't care. The mage also shook the thought out of her mind. "Honestly, if you don't want to talk about it, just say so. Let's concentrate on the mission."

==#==

They arrived at the Fort Drakon gate, and a young soldier hurried out to intercept them. "Sorry, Madame Mage," he stammered, staring up at Shale instead of looking at Wynne. "State your business?"

"I am here with a delivery from the Mage's Circle."

"We already had a delivery of healing potions today."

"And you should be grateful. It's not easy toiling away all day making those things."

"We weren't expecting another delivery," he said, in that half-questioning tone.

"And neither were we! Why, I have enough magic in my little pinky finger to blast a dozen darkspawn into oblivion, but here I am..." She scowled at the young man. "Are you saying you won't take the delivery?"

"Uh... no, no, I just... Let me ask the captain."

"Well, I'm not standing around waiting out here." Without allowing for any argument, Wynne pushed inside. The guard allowed them not only inside the courtyard, but inside the fort's front hall, where they waited to see if the captain would buy their story.

After several minutes, the captain entered along with the gate guard, and several others. They did not attack immediately, but clearly they were on alert. The captain eyed the entourage, then focused on Wynne. "So, Madame Mage... what are you delivering exactly?"

"These crates are full of knitting."

"Knitting?"

"Hats, scarves, socks. The yarncrafters of Denerim have donated this gift to our troops. We don't want them catching cold, now."

"And you're delivering them?" He rested a hand casually on his sword hilt. "With a golem?"

"Exactly what I said!" Wynne exclaimed. "But no, the yarncrafters had to pack a huge crate, and how are a gaggle of little old ladies supposed to cart it up here? No, let's ask the Mage Circle, they decided. The mages can magic it up here. Mages aren't the brawniest bunch, you know. Therefore, the task fell to me and my golem. After all, it's hard to say no to kindly grandmothers."

The captain pursed his lips. "It's only that we've taken in a dangerous prisoner, a Grey Warden. And the Grey Wardens have a golem."

Well, there it was, Zevran's fear. "Pish-tosh!" Wynne said, flapping a hand. "Their golem is much smaller than mine. Which is lucky for us all, as that thing could malfunction and go berserk at any time. No, my golem, which has been in my family for three generations, is a genuine product of the mines of Orzammar."

"They don't want the delivery," Zevran interrupted. "Can we just dump these here and go?"

"Quiet, elf," Alistair growled through his helm. "Do your job."

"Actually, bring it here," the captain said. "I'd like to see it."

With a put-upon sigh, Zevran walked over to him, and dropped the crate nearly on his foot.

"Watch it!"

"So sorry, ser." Zevran bowed and groveled, turning his face aside to hide his tattoos.

The captain dismissed the elf from his attention and pried the crate open only to find... socks. Piles of socks.

Wynne said, "I'm glad you brought plenty of your mein, this other crate is heavy. Golem, set it down over-"

"No, no; that's fine," the captain said, straightening. "Sirrik will show you the way to the storerooms.

==#==

In the storeroom, Wynne spelled their hapless escort to sleep, and Zevran quickly changed into his armor. "Where are the dungeons?" he asked the Templar.

"They should be down here," Alistair ventured.

It made sense. Easier to flush out the offal and sluice away the blood. Zevran led the way down the corridor. There was no point in trying to be stealthy, not with the golem along. Might as well move swiftly.

"Try not to kill anyone," Alistair added. "We'll need them in the war."

Zevran made no promises.

They came across a door with two guards, who Wynne dispatched easily enough, with another sleep spell. Beyond was a flight of stairs down, and another maze of halls. No dungeon cells yet.

They rounded a corner and nearly ran down an elven servant hobbling along, carrying a box overflowing with discarded armor and weapons.

"Stay out of the way, if you know what's good for you," Zevran growled threateningly. That should be enough to cow him. Zevran marched on, feeling each passing second as a grain of sand falling through an hourglass.

"Really?" the elf snarked.

The assassin whirled, his dagger drawn, before he realized he knew that voice.

The dark-haired elf bent and dropped his box with a clank. "Wow, it is true! An elf carrying a box really is invisible."

"Bannon!?" Zevran blinked, frowned... put his foolish dagger away. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, escaping," the thief said, pointing out the obvious.

Wynne slapped a hand to her face. Alistair said, "We're here to rescue you."

"Good job! I'm glad you're here. Zevran, give me a hand with this crate."

The elves lifted it between them. "Ugh," Zevran complained. "Why is your stuff so heavy?"

"Because it's not just my stuff," the thief said with a wink and a grin.

"Great, you get captured, imprisoned... and what? It is just another opportunity for you to steal?"

"Serves them right!"

They backtracked to the storeroom, threw Zevran's armor and the content of Bannon's box into the long crate the rescue party had brought with them. Then the elves hefted that between them to carry out.

"It can't be this easy," Alistair portended.

"Don't jinx it," Wynne said.

The two elves turned invisible by mere dint of lowering their heads and stooping their shoulders.

No one stopped them, even though a guard shift came in. The astute captain looked up, but only to ask them, "Where's Sirrik?"

Alistair said, "He stopped at the necessary."

The captain only shook his head. After all, they hadn't been gone long enough to engineer a prison break or anything.

Zevran didn't know what to do with his pent-up hostility. Did he want to jump Bannon and pummel him for stupidly letting himself get captured? Or did he want to wrestle the canny thief into bed in relief that he was alive and unharmed? Or punch him in the gut for not even needing to be rescued after they went through all that trouble?

Maybe a little bit of everything.

==X==