On a personal level, all of my M!Wardens had a great bromance with Alistair. All of them except Amell. But then again, ol' Amell just wanted to kill things and romanced Morrigan. They can't really be expected to get on.

This was a no-brainer as far as characters were concerned. I just have to imagine Alistair in that white turban. And a little more of a… dramatic entrance to the Landsmeet. Teehee. Alistair in a turban.

Prince Ali (Aladdin) - Alistair

It had been a quiet day in Denerim.

Quiet, that is, until the strange thudding noise that had begun echoing at around midday.

As the crowd gathered around the city gates, wondering out loud what the disturbance was, the chanting began. It was quiet at first, but increased in volume until one of the townsfolk realised – "It's an army! They're getting closer!"

"Make way for Prince Ali!" chanted the thundering voices. "Say hey! It's Prince Ali!"

The gates suddenly burst open – people scattered – shrieks echoed through the market – and then, an armoured man dashed through, smiling broadly. Was that a Grey Warden? went the hushed whisper around the crowd. Yes – it was. He surveyed them for a moment, before making his way through the crowd. "Hey! Clear the way in the old Bazaar," he commanded, shooing people away. "Hey you! Let us through! It's the one true heir! Oh come, be the first on your block to meet his eye!"

The people shared looks of incredulity. What did he mean, the 'one true heir'? "Make way! Here he comes!" bellowed the man, smiling excitedly. "Ring bells! Bang the drums! Are you gonna love this guy!"

And with that, the entire entourage burst through the gates. Above them all, riding on an ornate chair carried by four burly dwarves, sat –

"Prince Ali! Fabulous he! Alistair Theirin!" announced the Warden, proudly. "Genuflect, show some respect, down on one knee!" he ordered, pushing a few men onto their knees, grinning all the while. He turned to a group of young women, who were watching the seated man with some interest. "Now, try to restrain your feelings," he advised, leaning over their shoulders. "Brush up your Sunday greeting! Then come and meet his spectacular coterie!"

"Prince Ali! Mighty is he! Alistair Theirin! Strong as ten regular men, definitely," he swooned, mimicking flexing his (not unimpressive) biceps. "He faced the galloping hordes," he said, nodding, to a group of elderly cynics. "A hundred darkspawn with swords!" he informed a group of open-mouthed children.

"Who sent those goons to their lords?" echoed the entourage. "Why, Prince Ali!"

"He's got seventy-five pure Mabari," chorused the men leading Redcliffe's dogs.

"Silverite swords, he's got fifty-four!" warbled the ones carrying weapons.

"When it comes to exotic Qunari," quipped the Warden, pointing to the large, bronze skinned creature at the side of the chair. "Has he got a sten? I'm saying, men," he confessed, "he's a world-class tank warrior!"

"Prince Ali! Handsome is he, Alistair Theirin!" boomed the Warden, clapping the prince on the shoulder.

"There's no question this Ali's alluring," gushed a group of women, flirtatiously. "Never ordinary, never boring!"

"That physique! How can I speak? Weak at the knee!"

"Everything about the man just plain impresses!"

"Well, get on out in that square!"

"He's a winner, he's a whiz, a wonder! He's about to pull my heart asunder!"

"Adjust your vein and prepare to gawk and grovel and stare at Prince Ali!"

"And I absolutely love the way he dresses!"

Running back through the crowd, shooing them out of the way, the Warden cleared the path to the Arl of Denerim's residence.

"He's got ninety-five Dalish elf archers," chanted the tattooed young elves marching behind the entourage.

"He's got the Dalish," chattered the scattered Alienage elves, excitedly, "let's see the Dalish!"

"And to hire us we ask him no fee!"

"He's generous," babbled the townsfolk as Alistair threw gold coins among them haphazardly. "So generous!"

"He's got slaves, he's got servants and flunkies," chorused the simply dressed folk among the entourage, including the two cheery dwarves in the large wooden cart.

"Proud to work for him!" shouted the two dwarves above the racket.

"They bow to his whim, love serving him," emphasised the servants, cheering, "we're just lousy with loyalty to Ali! Prince Ali!"

"Prince Ali! Amorous he! Alistair Theirin," thundered the entire entourage as they burst into the grounds of the Residence.

"Heard that Loghain was getting a little cocky," quipped the Warden, leaning on a shell-shocked guard. He turned back to the following crowd. "And that, good people, is why," he explained, "he got suited up and dropped by."

"With sixty cart horses, dwarves galore," chorused the entourage, dancing madly around the chair carrying the – now blushing furiously – prince. "With his bears and elves, a brass band and more! With his forty mages, his cooks, his bakers, his birds that warble on key –"

The Warden turned and grinned as the doors to the Residence opened wide to reveal Loghain and Arl Howe, just in time to hear the entire population of Denerim adore the one true king.

"Make way for Prince Ali!"

The Warden wished he could have painted a picture of Howe and Loghain's faces.

-0-0-0-0-

I've decided – The Warden is Thedas' best PR Manager ever.

Prime24601 - Ahhh, now there's an idea I hadn't thought of. That could be made very fun. :D thanks again, glad you're enjoying the ride! :D

Sakura - I think it was, you're right. That's an interesting idea, and I shall look into it with due haste. :)

DivineStorms - It's just... there. That image. Burning into your brain. *AndersinadressAndersinadress Andersinadress* x

Apollo - Haha, they're all the random thoughts that occur to me as I write XD Thank you very much! Glad I can brighten the moment :) xxx

Next Up: Nathaniel has wondered all his life where he will find his hero's welcome.