My thanks to those who continue to alert, read and review: Wyl, Arsinoe de Blassenville, cloud1004, Shakespira
The Halla Reborn
Chapter 66
The sounds of battle that had raged beyond his prison had finally died down. Pushing himself against the filthy bars, the young noble stared out over the cobbled flooring at the mouth of the chambers, where pooled the life's blood of the dark haired mage. Frowning, he glanced up, his gut wrenching at the rising odor of blood, bile and other bodily excrements that rose from the corpse.
A moment he waited, craning his ear toward the exit, listening. Only the continued mutterings of the Chant of Light from his chamber mate several cells down could be heard. He gritted his teeth in frustration, but remained silent. The time had long passed when he would rant at the chanter, shouting him down to keep quiet.
Voices, low in tone, retreating, wafted to his ears. If ever he was going to get out of here…
"Hello?" he called out, his voice ragged, throat raw and dry from disuse. He cocked his head, listening. "Is anyone out there?"
His fellow prisoner's voice faltered, and then halted altogether. Lifting his head, running a hand through his filthy hair with a grimace, he stared out toward the entrance, breath abated as he waited.
Please…
There was a pause in the voices in the outer chamber. He straightened as he heard footsteps approach, the voices getting slightly louder, but wary.
DA:O
"Hello?" pleaded out a voice ragged, raw and croaking from the inner chamber. The Wardens and their companions paused, listening. "Is anyone out there?"
The plea ceased as Niall finished healing Adela's side wound. She was frowning deeply, scowling up at Roland, who had moved away from his stance above Howe's body. His heart was pounding in his chest, his green eyes glancing over toward the cooling body. His gut wrenched tightly as he turned his gaze to Adela and saw the stark disapproval upon her lovely features.
The former knight felt profound shame at his actions. He had disobeyed a direct order from his Commander. Never in his entire life had he done so, and done so willingly.
But, despite the disapproval from Adela, he could not quite squelch the immense feeling of satisfaction that continued to flow through is limbs, his heart and mind. Howe was dead; vengeance had been reaped.
The chill that emanated from Adela as she rose and brushed by him, leading her companions toward the inner chamber slammed upon the young man as heavily as a fist. And, although Oghren's green eyes held a hint of approval over the vile noble's death, the dwarven berserker still shook his head before moving beside the young elf.
With a heavy sigh, Roland took his position behind the others, sword and shield still held in hand, as he followed the others into the inner chambers.
Roland saw Niall flinch as they stepped over Jowan's body, gingerly tiptoeing over the congealing blood. Cells lined the rear wall; filthy bars black in the dim light afforded the few torches from the chamber's entrance. From his right came a ragged voice, different than the one that had called out, repeating the chant of light.
The voice was mumbled at first, but, as the party entered the chamber fully, the words became clearer:
And there I saw the Black City,
Its towers forever stain'd,
Its gates forever shut.
Heaven has been filled with silence,
I knew then,
And cross'd my heart with shame.
"Please help me!" Another voice, the one they had heard drift into the outer chamber after their battle with Howe and his men, greeted them as they stepped beyond the light of the entrance. Squinting his eyes, Roland saw a man, perhaps his age or a few years older, standing in one of the cells. His hair was so filthy as to appear a deep brown, yet the man's coloring – pale with red eyebrows and deep, green eyes – suggested that his hair, when washed, would be red. Something about the man's straight, regal nose and high cheekbones struck a chord of recognition within the young knight, but he could not clearly place where he would have encountered the man before.
A sharp gasp escaped Adela's lips, and Roland knew that his Commander knew this man.
The caged man's eyes shot passed the men of the group, fixing solidly upon the female elf. Green eyes widened in disbelief, and he straightened, hands leaving the bars as he stared at the elf. A slight twist of his lips transformed the serious line into a near lecherous smirk.
Roland decided he did not like this man, and, judging by how tense Adela became – even tenser than her earlier anger at Roland himself – told the former knight she did not think much of this man, either.
Eyes as hard and gleaming as sapphires, Adela stepped forward, glaring up into the man's face. None of her companions knew of the fear that coursed through her, aware only of the hard hatred etched upon her features. The man's lips twisted into a smirk, briefly, as his eyes fixed upon the elf's hard face, skimming down her form, taking in the bloody dress and bow naked in her hand.
"Covered yet again in noble blood, my lovely one?" he crooned in a dry voice, ignoring the tightening glare the woman shot him.
"Always room for more," Adela snarled back, hand tightening on her bow.
Roland and the others startled at the vehemence in Adela's normally melodic voice. It was harsh and grainy, pained and hate filled. The young man behind the bars had sense to recognize the potential for danger, and that smirk wiped clean from his face, and he took a cautious step back, hands raised, palms out, in a supplicant manner.
"I'm surprised you live," Adela finally grated out after a moment of relative silence, broken only by the uttering of the chant from the cell down the row. Without awaiting his reply, Adela turned to her companions, ordering Roland and Niall to check the other cells. Once they left, she turned, Riordan and Oghren still at her back, the dwarf glaring menacingly at the man while the senior Grey Warden merely watched the exchanged with keen – and almost knowing – interest.
"I am certain you would have appreciated that," the young man was saying, frowning down at the elf, just a hint of arrogant pride in those deep, green eyes.
Nodding, Adela turned to face him, forcing the bile that threatened to rise in her throat as she glared at her one-time tormentor. "Trust me, Vaughn," she hissed, "I can still make it reality!"
Fear spread across the man's face at the utterance of the elf's threat and he stepped further away, glancing at the two males who had remained with the elf. "Certainly you men won't allow this…this knife-ear to threaten the Arl of Denerim!" he cried out, his face twisting further as amusement crossed the dwarf's face and the human merely raised an eyebrow.
"Call the Warden Commander here 'knife-ear' again," Oghren bit out, hefting his bloodied waraxe with ease. "And won't be just her blades you'll be wettin'!"
Warden Commander…Disbelief upon his face, Vaughn croaked, "You're the one Howe has been blathering about all this time?" he asked finally, sputtering.
"Give me one reason to let you continue to breathe," Adela ignored completely Vaughn's comment, blue eyes fixed upon his face.
It was Riordan who came up with a reason. "He says he is the Arl of Denerim," Adela turned to glare at the senior warden, unimpressed with his interruption. Riordan gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "You did say that there are politics we need to play at here," he waved a hand toward the calmer caged man. "If he is the Arl of Denerim, then his vote at the Landsmeet could assist us."
"Need I remind you that you were the one who argued against becoming involved in Fereldan politics?" Adela bit out, her glare intensifying.
Giving a small, almost imperceptible shrug, Riordan admitted, "I may have been…wrong in my earlier assessment of the situation."
"Wrong…" Adela muttered, shaking her head.
Vaughn took an uncautious step toward the bars, nodding enthusiastically, he found himself sprinting back only as Adela turned her still hate filled gaze upon him once more, her bow rising unconsciously. Again raising his hands, twisting his head slightly as the others approached, he nodded. "Yes, yes, I can…offer my support to the Grey Wardens," he lunged toward the bars, gripping them in dirty hands, knuckles whitening with his anxiety. "Please let me out and I will be certain to lend my voice – my position – behind your cause!"
Roland stepped to Adela's side, a red brow quirked up. "I know you," he commented after a moment as Adela seemed to consider the noble's offer. "Vaughn Kendalls. Arl Urien's son."
Vaughn looked up at Roland, face creasing as he tried to recall the young man standing before him. Roland offered a small smirk. "I am not surprised you do not remember me, Lord Vaughn," Roland shrugged. "I was a knight serving Highever."
"You knew this scum?" Adela asked, never taking her eyes from Vaughn.
"Knew…" Confusion set in upon his face for a moment and was quickly replaced with revulsion, "No," Roland shook his head. "Vaughn Kendalls was one of those nobles you tended to avoid. He had many habits that the more noble of the families liked to avoid." A realization came over Roland and he glanced down at Adela, then back at Vaughn. His face tightened. "Do you want me to kill him?"
"I think you've done enough killing of nobles for now, Roland," Adela muttered. Stiffening, Roland gave a curt nod and fell back behind his Commander.
"Commander…" Riordan began, calling Adela by her title.
"Yes, yes, Riordan," The elf remarked impatiently. Turning to Vaughn, she gave a quick nod. "Fine. We have your word – your freedom in exchange for your support at the Landsmeet." Before Vaughn could respond, Adela stepped back, motioning Oghren forward. With a gleeful grin, the dwarf swung his axe, without warning to the noble grasping the bars, and smashed the flat of the blade against the rusted lock. With a yelp, clutching his stinging hand, the noble leaped back, scowling at the grinning dwarf.
The door swung open.
"Find a safe place to hide," Adela instructed as the noble stepped free of his cell. "In two days' time, I want you to meet with three of my agents at the mouth of the Servant's Path," she continued to instruct. She tilted her head slightly. "Mid-day. If you are not there…my agents will find you." A sly grin crossed her face, and Vaughn took an involuntary step backwards at the intensity behind her expression. "I will point out that my agents will be a Crow assassin, an Orlesian Bard and a Witch of the Wilds," that grin on her face widened as fear reasserted itself upon Vaughn's features. "Trust me…there will be nowhere for you to hide from this trio."
Giving a nod and promise to meet with her agents at the time and place she appointed, Vaughn scurried from the chamber, seeking exit from the estates that had been his home.
She stood, watching as he fled, standing still long after his form had disappeared. Finally, giving herself a visible shake, she turned, moving toward the other cells.
"Who is our other survivor?" she asked in a strained voice as she moved away from the group.
DA:O
The appearance of the other prisoner sent all thoughts – all of the feelings, vile, tainted, used – away from Adela. The poor man, his near naked body clad only in filthy smalls, rib bones standing out starkly beneath his filth and mottled flesh betrayed the mistreatment he had suffered for Maker knew how long.
Kneeling upon the dirty floor of his cell, hands clasped at his bent forehead, he rocked back and forth upon the balls and heel of his feet, the Chant of Light murmuring from between dry and cracked lips. Niall, without a word from his Commander, stepped to the poor man's side, slipping down to a crouch, hands tentatively raised before the praying man's head as healing magic sprang to life. A gasp answered the flow of magic, and the ragged head rose, unfocused eyes fixing upon the mage. Niall frowned at the prisoner as he felt a familiar tug at his magic. Continuing to allow his magic to flow, healing the numerous sores and open wounds the marked the man's flesh, the Warden Mage raised his head to look up into Adela's face.
"This man is a Templar," he advised before focusing his attention back to his patient.
"Templar?' Adela asked, bending down to look into his face. Dark, dirty hair poked his eyes, which were unfocused but a deep brown. Malnourishment had stripped any fat and extra flesh from the poor soul's tall and lanky form.
"Alfstanna?" the Templar spoke, his voice as ragged and raw as his appearance, eyes fixing momentarily upon Adela's face. Blinking, he frowned, his dry lips cracking with the movement. "Little Sister?" He asked, raising a dirty hand to cup Adela's cheek.
Her eyes searching Niall as she clasped a hand over the Templar's to give it a gentle squeeze, Adela asked, "Niall," the mage frowned, anticipating her words. "Is there anything…?"
"The damage to his body…that can be repaired. Some minor healing, truly, and an abundance of food, clean clothing, herbal baths and rest. However, the damage to his mind…" the mage shook his head as he sent another tendril of magic into the Templar's body, the Templar's gaze still fixed upon Adela. The elf frowned, a questioning raise of her eyebrows and Niall shrugged his shoulders as he continued.
"The Chantry addicts the Templars to lyrium," he nodded at the outraged expression that crossed Adela's features, the mage taking note of the uncomfortable shift of feet from their other companions. "They tell them that it is necessary for their magic countering abilities, but we all know from our time with Alistair that it's not necessarily so."
Adela nodded, a lump forming in her breast. How close had Alistair been to becoming a lyrium addicted automaton? A slight shiver coursed through her body as she returned her gaze to the suffering man kneeling in the muck of his cell. Then understanding came upon her. "This Templar has been without his supply of lyrium…"
"For quite some time," the former Circle mage finished, his expression one of profound sympathy for a man he should feel nothing but anger toward. "If they go too long without it, they go into withdrawals. The effects vary from Templar to Templar, depending on how long their exposure to the stuff had been. Judging by this man's age, I would suspect he has been addicted for decades."
"We need to get him out of here," Roland replied from above Adela's head. The elf looked up, noting how focused the former Knight's attention was upon the Templar, his expression sympathetic.
"As much as I hate to say it, the Chantry is most likely the best place for this man," Niall admitted as he sent another tendril of magic into the man. "They are better equipped to help out with those who have become lyrium addled as well as those suffering from withdrawal."
"Lyrium addled?" Roland asked, frowning.
"When a Templar has been addicted for a very long period of times, many decades usually, their body starts to reject the stuff. Their minds erode under the toxins contained within the material," Niall scowled in thought. "Remember, this is dangerous stuff we're talking about. The lyrium potions we mages injest are diluted to the extreme, usually only the smallest amount of actual lyrium is contained within the potion. The mixture provided to Templars is a stronger mix."
"So, basically, the Chantry poisons their own servants for…what? Control?" Adela asked, her hand tightening around the Templar's.
Nodding, Niall bent closer to the Templar, his brown eyes searching the dulled orbs of the other man. "I wonder who he is," the mage muttered as he sent more healing magic into the bony frame.
"Immerick," the Templar muttered, raising his head again, his free hand tightened into a fist as he turned his attention to the companions. Eyes slipping again to the elven woman, he repeated, "Immerick."
Confusion furrowed the elven Warden's brow, but Roland replied, "Must be his name," he looked at the Templar, who was now watching the red haired man. "Immerick?" Roland said directly to the Templar, who nodded in reply. A small smile upon his face, Roland remarked, "I am Warden Roland. This," he indicated Adela, her now freed hand unconsciously moved to rest upon the Templar's shoulder, steadying him slightly. "Is Warden Commander Adela."
"Wardens?" The Templar questioned, his voice stronger than it had been earlier. Eyes regained some focus as they flickered back and forth. "Yes, there's a Blight. Yes," he muttered, glancing down at the floor, brow furrowed in concentration. "Blood mage, outside of Redcliffe. Almost had him. Oh! Alfstanna!" He jerked upwards, his body straightening, feet slipping slightly. Were it not for the hold Adela and Niall had on him, he would have fallen, face first, into his own filth. "Tell Alfstanna I failed in my duty! Need I to the Maker's side again!"
"Who is Alfstanna?" Adela asked, her grip upon his shoulder tightening, striving to bring him back to the present even as his mind once more slipped into the past, or whatever dark places it had retreated during his imprisonment and withdrawals from the lyrium.
"Bann Alfstanna," the wardens glanced at each other. "Give her this…" Immerick handed to Adela a signet ring, the form of a rearing elk emblazoned upon its surface. "Tell her…" his voice choked, and he spat out thick spittle before continuing. "Tell her…I am sorry…I failed."
"Immerick," Adela encouraged, pulling on his shoulder. Again his unfocused eyes turned to her face, but did not fix upon her this time. "Come with us, we can help you."
Shaking his head viscously, the tortured Templar surged to his feet, stumbling back against the rear wall, shoving Niall away with his erratic movements. "No!" he screeched, raising his hands to protect his face. "Just…tell Alfstanna…" his words degenerated into muttered ramblings, and the companions stepped back from the aggravated man.
"Okay, okay Immerick," Adela rose, stepping away, her hands held palms forward. "You stay here. We shall tell Alfstanna."
Nodding his head, Immerick sank back to his haunches, resuming his muttering of the Chant of Light, his sister's name interspersed among the verses.
DA:O
"Your Majesty, we must hurry!" the elven servant's voice was tense as she swung the door open, revealing Anora. The queen stepped through the aperture, stubbornly shaking her blonde head.
"We give them a few more minutes," Anora insisted as she cautiously peeked around the corner, blue eyes scanning the length of the corridor. Stepping back, she pulled the elf along with her, stepping once more into the room that had been her prison for well over a day, carefully closing the door behind them.
Exasperated despite being well used to the Queen's stubborn streak, Erlina shook her head. "The Wardens risked a great deal to free you, My Queen," she insisted, turning back to the door only to be stopped by a slender hand upon her arm.
"I know you may not be aware of this, Erlina," Anora said in her quiet voice, "but Adela means a great deal to me. I simply cannot – will not – walk away in freedom uncertain what has befallen her!"
Tipping her head down, Erlina sighed against a rising headache, against the queen's words. Of course she knew how close the human queen and elven artist were. It was one of the things that Arawn and his group had long since ferreted out. A weakness they had sought to exploit. A weakness she would have exploited not too long ago. Now…well, now she just wanted to get the stubborn shem out of the estates, saving her life, and by extension her own.
But Anora had taken a firm stance, and Erlina knew that she would not budge until either too much time had passed…or the elf in question made an appearance.
And so the pair of women waited, not daring to poke their heads out of their prison again, for fear that they may be caught, that what the Wardens had risked would be for naught. How much time passed, Erlina was uncertain. Anora remained standing, her intense blue eyes – so much like her father's, yet softer, somehow, despite their hardness – fixed upon the room's door.
Soon, there was a slight scratching at the door; the women tensed as the handle was turned and the door opened slowly, cautiously. Then, a soft, quiet voice called out Anora's name and they both calmed, rushing to the opening door, revealing Adela – bloodied and disheveled – with the three men she had arrived with, plus one more.
"What are you doing still here?" Adela asked, eyes fixed upon Anora with a slight sense of the disapproval Erlina herself had felt toward the human. Obviously, Adela had expected the pair to escape as soon as the barrier dropped.
Anora merely smiled at her friend as she moved to pull the much smaller woman into an embrace, ignoring completely the bloodied state of the elven warden. Shaking her head, Adela pushed herself free, glaring at her friend for a moment before turning that glare to the Orlesian elf.
"Why are you still here?" Adela asked again, this time steel in her voice, as she directed her question to the servant.
Waving a slender, long fingered hand toward the queen seemed answer enough for, before the Orlesian could open her mouth, Adela was shaking her head, a wry smile upon her face.
"Figures," she muttered, shaking her head at the queen. "Well, since you decided to stay for the party, perhaps we should go."
"Party all over?" Anora asked, smirking at the smaller woman, pushing aside her dread at the state her friend rescued her in. Blue eyes scanned the length and breadth of the elf, searching for wounds to explain the blood.
"Oh, it's just beginning," Adela quipped back, motioning everyone from the room.
A quick glance down the corridor where they came from reminded the elf that there would be no exit that direction. Their only choice was to turn back the way they had originally entered this section of the estates, and exit via the main set of doors.
Which were now blocked by several guards and mages, commanded by Ser Cauthrien herself.
DA:O
"Wardens!" Cauthrien's strong voice echoed throughout the great hall. "You are under arrest!"
"What are the charges, Cauthrien?" Adela asked, stepping fully into the grand entry of the estates, her own patience dying down as she wondered at the knight's presence.
A dark brow quirked and a slow, menacing smile crossed her features. "There is an outstanding warrant for your arrest, Warden. And now, you exacerbate those charges with further criminal activities!" She waved a hand toward where Anora stood at the back of the group. "Kidnapping the queen? Murdering Teyrn Howe." she paused, tilting her head as her men moved from formation, preparing to arrest the troublesome wardens. "Where does your treachery end, Warden?"
"How did you know we would be here?" Adela asked, frowning as she glanced back to Anora and Erlina.
Dark eyes fixing upon Erlina, the knight addressed her answer to the Orlesian elf, who remained calm. "Did you really expect your rather erratic race through the palace, searching for the queen, to go unnoticed? And now I find you, conspiring with the Wardens, to kidnap our monarch?"
"It was Howe, not us who arranged for Anora's kidnapping, Cauthrien," Adela advised the knight with a scowl.
"And who shall believe that, I wonder?"
Adela merely shrugged her shoulders. "And the death of Howe?" she tilted her head.
Motioning to one of her men, who stepped from the others and rushed by the Wardens down the corridor they had recently traversed, Cauthrien then replied, "You did not manage to kill all of Teyrn Howe's men, you realize."
"You do realize that Howe held several men – nobles, a Warden and a Templar to be exact – prisoner?" Adela remarked, trying not to allow this woman to rattle her. "And he attacked us. We had to defend ourselves."
"You invaded his estates," Cauthrien hissed, her hand gripping the hilt of the greatsword she held easily in one hand. "He was justified in protecting himself."
"When is kidnapping nobles, Templars and Your Queen justified?" Anora asked sternly, stepping from behind the group to stand by Adela's side.
The elven Warden shot her friend an annoyed look, hissing for her to get to the back of the group. Ignoring her completely, Anora kept her focus upon Cauthrien.
"Teyrn Howe had learned of the Wardens' presence within the city, Your Majesty," Cauthrien remarked calmly, with the slightest of bows of the head. "He was merely seeking to protect you."
Nodding, her eyes narrowing, Anora replied, "Upon threat to my person, he removed me from my rooms," Anora responded calmly, regally. "Even my personal servant was unaware of my absence."
"I know only of the plans as he discussed with me and the Regent, Your Majesty."
"And you truly expect me to believe my father approved of my removal from the palace grounds?"
"It was he that ordered it."
Silence fell as Anora kept her knowing gaze upon the woman who had served her father loyally for many years. "You lie."
Cauthrien blinked, startled by the simple accusation. Before she could recover, Anora continued.
"The Wardens came to my assistance at my servant's request. Erlina knew well that should anything befall me, she should seek out their assistance." It was a lie, but one that Cauthrien would not know. Erlina, for her part, remained quiet and observant, her expression giving nothing away. "As for any other charges you may…manufacture against the Grey Wardens, you know as well as I do that the Wardens and their companions were invited to the Landsmeet. As such, any and all warrants upon them are considered suspended until such time as the Landsmeet convenes or other…arrangements have been made."
"Your Majesty…" Cauthrien began, but Anora cut her off, turning her attention to those who accompanied the knight.
Many of the soldiers had fallen to their knees as the gaze of their queen fell upon them. Heads bowed, they knelt. A small smile crossed Anora's face. She knew she had won this particular battle, and that she and the Wardens would get through.
"Such was the arrangement as Calenhad met with Teyrna Elethea Cousland at the time she swore fealty to him," Anora reminded the knight, who scowled at her. "And such has been the practice of the Landsmeet since, to allow those in dispute to come together without the fear of retribution prior to any formal accommodations being reached."
Cauthrien gritted her teeth, her gaze slipping to those soldiers who remained upon their knees. "Then I shall escort you back to the palace, Your Majesty," Cauthrien offered, regaining her composure.
Anora had other ideas. "No, Ser Cauthrien. You have served the Regent well. However, Arl Eamon has invited me to his townhome, and I do have matters I wish to discuss with the Warden Commander," she gestured gracefully to Adela before once again folding her hands before her stomach demurely. "I am certain I shall find safe passage back to the palace once our discussions and arrangements have been made."
With those words, Anora turned to Adela and the others. "Warden Commander," she addressed Adela formally, who crossed her arms before her chest and bowed in response. "You may now escort me to Redcliffe Manor."
"Indeed, Majesty," Adela replied, hiding her smile as she bowed yet again.
The soldiers accompanying Cauthrien rose and stepped aside, allowing the queen and her entourage to pass through them. Those mages and soldiers who had not shown fealty to the queen glanced over at the Knight, who merely scowled and then nodded briefly at them. Hesitantly, they, too, parted, allowing the queen and the others to pass by them and through the large, double doors.
And out into the streets of Denerim.
DA:O
Giddy, Anora actually laughed once they were out of sight of the Estates. "I cannot believe Cauthrien let us pass!"
"Anora…" Adela warned, glancing about them. Behind them, the others watched the shadows warily, Erlina remaining close to the queen as they passed through the narrow streets.
Taking a breath, Anora regained her renowned composure. "I am sorry, Adela. It is just…I have been a prisoner in my own home for far too long, and seeing you alive...I have waited the opportunity to just rub Cauthrien's nose…"
Anora stopped as Adela paused in her tracks, raising a hand in warning to the others. Roland took his position slightly behind Adela, shield and sword in hand as Riordan, axe and short sword in hand, melted into the shadows. Oghren merely hefted his axe as Niall pulled his staff free, brown eyes searching for what had caused Adela to stop their procession.
A moment passed and then a group of warriors – armored and armed – turned the corner, entering their field of vision. As they neared, the Wardens and their companions could see the city insignia upon the breastplates. A familiar face smiled at Adela, who immediately relaxed, unnotching her arrow and lowering her bow as they approached.
"Michael," the elf breathed with great relief, smiling into the face of the Sargent.
Smiling down at her as he placed his large hands upon her slender shoulders, the Sargent of the Guard bowed slightly. "We heard you may have need of back up," his eyes raised to scan over the group, settling upon the form of the Queen. "Your Majesty," the soldier intoned, bowing as the other guards did likewise.
"Please," Anora called, smiling and pleased with the show of loyalty. "Rise, my good man. Your timing could not be more perfect."
"But how…?" Adela asked, frowning over at her friend.
"Oh, that," Michael smirked, glancing back the way they came. "Imagine my surprise when a young, half-starved man wearing clothes that did not quite fit him limped up to me to tell me a crazed story of how he was rescued from the dungeons beneath the Denerim Estates by a, and I quote, 'pretty blonde elf'," his smile widened. "Since I knew you were in the city, I figured it had to be you."
Shaking her head, unable to believe their good fortune, Adela grasped Michael Kylon's forearm in a tight grip. "Think you and your men could see your way of escorting the Queen to Redcliffe Manor?"
"It would be our pleasure and our utmost duty to do so," Michael remarked, his dark eyes rising to scan the path the Wardens had recently came down. Brow furrowing slightly, he pulled her forward. "Perhaps as soon as possible?"
Glancing back, concerned Cauthrien would set a trap, Adela nodded her agreement and allowed Sargent Michael Kylon and his guardsmen to escort them back to Arl Eamon's townhouse.