The carriage was pulled by an impressive set of six horses; in fact, they were the same breed of horses preferred by the knights currently working under Rioght. Alistair took a few seconds to let this little detail make brows above his nose gather while smartly standing at attention.

He wouldn't make a terribly good Templar if he didn't feel Lady Von Rioght's sudden appearance as well. As the carriage rolled to a stop and its massive wooden wheels stilling Alistair bowed formally from the waist. He lowered his head and crossed arms against chest as the driver stepped down.

The driver's decent jostled the carriage greatly. The man was dressed in simple but clean livery, dark navy blue with silver trim that matched subtle touches in the vehicle itself. All Alistair could see from this angle however, were the metal stairs being pulled out from under the carriage and extended downward. He could maybe make out the edge of the door as it was swung wide open also.

"Darling," Lady Rioght began. She came forward to stand beside him and he assumed by the whisper of fabric moving she extended her arm to whoever was inside. He was very sure that Rioght was laughing at him. Subtly. But laughing all the same! The warmth and affection in the woman's' voice nearly started Alistair right out of his bowing. And couldn't have that, because then if Izora caught wind of him being all out of protocol she'd never give him cheesy-delicious-Danishes again. And that was a low down dirty crime for Alistair.

He tipped his head up just a little bit and found himself staring at a pair of very little feet.

Very little, pink feet.

Pink feet, with bits of crystal sewn into satin slippers.

Very"

"Ser Alistair, may I present to you the Lady Christabel Cecily Ysabel Von Rioght, my precious niece.

"Lady Christabel, this is Alistair. Your new bodyguard."

Alistair's brain died.

Right there. Dead. Rrrrrrrrrrrwooo"what" Like that. Just stopped completely at Rioght's words and the"Maker, who names a child that""and"

"Auntie!" The word came out high pitched and squealed. Alistair caught a flash of more pink flying into Rioght's embrace, but couldn't yet seem to move. Oh Maker. Oh blessed Andraste. Please kill me now.

"You must call me Princess Christabel," said a very tiny, very imperial little voice followed by a dismissive sniff. "Auntie, he looks very dumb.

"You didn't give me another stupid one, did you?"

It took every single muscle in his body not to try and droop his stupid, stupid, big head"why did he agree" Maker, WHY??into his palm.

He was going to regret this opening his big dumb wide open dumb-stupid-STUPID-mouth.

Forever.

Three days.

Three simple days in service of the Embassy and in turn, as bodyguard to a little girl who might have been conceived between a union of all things evil and wrong in the world and someone who loved pink a little too much. Alistair, who by the third day felt as if he had marched from Redcliffe to Ozrammar bare foot and carrying his armor and Stens on his head"was beginning to wonder about his own sanity as Christabel drug him from market place vendor to vendor. Her littlest Majesty plodded through trinkets and gems, dresses and stopped at every store front cooing or sniffing disdainfully at the various objects she looked at.

Andrastes pink knicker-weasels, the knight thought, if this keeps up I'll be dead before I ever get to. . . Best probably not to think about Amell here. Or lamp posts. Compartmentalizing his issues and shoving them away into a small part of his head was the best thing to continue doing. Right' After all, it'd worked for so long now and"

"Boy," snapped Christabel, who was a lovely horrifying vision in bright pink velvet today. Literally she could be seen a mile away and if her parents were truly concerned about her safety, Alistair often wondered why they allowed her to continue dressing as a giant walking, talking, arrow target. He spent half his time feeling like a puppy skirting around her feet: trying to use the broad of his steel covered back to obscure lines-of-sight in her direction whenever he could.

He jerked slightly, chewing on his tongue. He was old enough to be her father! Ten times over, and yet she"

"Boy! Tin can! Dumb-head! Come here!" The command was accompanied by a small foot stomp. It took Alistair everything in his power to. . .

"You know, I have a name. It's not a bad name. It's very small and easy to say. I bet you can say it, can't you? Aaaaalllllliiistttaaaaaiiiiiir. See" Even I can say it and according to you that should be some sort of mental feat.

"It even sort of rhymes with 'I don't care' doesn't it'

"And you aren't going to win over many people if you keep ordering them around like dogs." Pointing that out as he came nearer anyway.

The market place was filled with more people than he liked. It was the perfect place to try something, if you were that sort of person. How many times had he interviewed people after an incident in the cities market place, after all, and every one of them had a differing description of the events, who did it, what happened, how many involved"Maker"people couldn't even agree on what the weather was that day! And that sort of advantage was often taken by the less scrupulous sorts. The perfect cover. Rhydin's market place made him nervous, more so, perhaps, with the tales of explosions from months ago still remembered from a few that frequented.

"Mummy says that nice people aren't remembered. Who's the last nice person YOU remembered?" She frowned up at Alistair, who at first, darted glances at the woman behind the trinket stall. Then across the street and about him in quick-once over. Finally, he looked down at Christabel and paused.

Amell.

"Several, actually, much nicer than me if I think about it. What is it?" He left off several things he wished to say. I know several very nice people, Christabel. Thousands, actually. Men and women who gave up their home life, families, and in many cases" Their own lives. All so that people like you could continue living wrapped up safely without knowing the sort of evil that lurks around every corner.

But, he figured such things would no doubt fall on deaf ears as she held up two decorated silver bracelets. The left one was woven like loose chain, but the interlocking silver coils were far more delicate and shimmering with droplet shapes of rose quartz. The bracelet in her right hand was more of a thick band of silver with a small gap made for a lady's wrist to wriggle into it. A heart-shaped garnet was pressed into the middle of it.

Despite having little idea about jewelry or gems, even he was semi-impressed at the shaping and quality of silver.

"Which one, boy, do you think my Auntie will like?" At her question, Alistair stuttered. He didn't know!

"Why don't you just ask your"the Lady' Maker's breath, Princess, do I look like I know anything about sparkly things" Is it the shiny armor" It's the shiny armor isn't it' I?"

"Might I be of service?" Slithered an oil-slick smooth baritone over to Alistair's right.

How did he get so close? Was Alistair's first thought. Unbidden, Alistair reached down and splayed gauntlet covered fingers gently in between Christabel's shoulders as the little girl's expression faded like wind puffing out candles.

He felt his spine tighten in slight shock as he and Christabel turned in unison toward the source of silky words.

Gillard might have made some poor choices in his life. Like the time he chose to start that fire in the orphanage and run off with that month's donations after. Or the time he decided that a little ducky who filled out her bodice so sweetly, needed a little extra spice to her life"when her man just happened to be home and"oops, how did that knife get in their ribs"

But he wasn't a stupid man. Not entirely.

He'd been pick pocketing, robbing, murdering and thieving his way through life for thirty three years in this gods forsaken spit hole of a realm, and lived to tell about it. He'd survived the guild wars, the dragon infestation, the plague, the war, and several countless disasters that peppered this realm day in and day out. He was a survivor, any means necessary, but now . . .

There were rumors, see. Rumors about the newly elected government. Seems like whoever paid off the voters this time might actually be trying to make a difference. Give a rat's arse about what?s happening in Rhydin. There was even talk of some sort of attempt at organization, fighting back at crime. Straightening out the Watch and flushing out corrupt members.

If any of it were true" That was bad news for business. Especially Gillard's business. Petty thugs that did whatever it took to get the job done and in a hurry. Sloppy hurry at that, leaving behind evidence that up until now had generally been ignored, either through laziness or ineptitude. But with a government that might actually care. . . Gillard felt the shadow of the hangman's noose, the nightmare of irons and chains and the scent of a locked prison with no key loom closer and closer as the days went past. People kept talking about the new Government and he kept reading the dangers left, right and center.

He had to get out of here.

In order to do that, he needed money.

One last hit. That's all he needed, one last job and he could get the hell out of here and lay low until the current government went back to being disregarded and ignored.

That's what he did to convince Jorie and Regor. They weren't interested at first. Jorie had settled down with a broad-faced serving wench to immediately start poppin' out babies and Regor up and decided he wanted to open a weapons shop. They didn't want to listen to Gillards pleas for help at first.

So he had to convince them by feeding their greed. Jorie had mouths to feed, Regor had borrowed so much money to build his shop his investors were clamoring for gold. Why not' One last hit for old times sake and to set themselves up. They could go back to being nice, upstanding citizens after and non-the-wiser!

It didn't take long after pointing these things out to sway them. A man's greed was far easier manipulated than his heart.

He meant to pass through the Market on his way to one of his favorite haunts, where the people were both rich and stupid. Few who came to the market these days were of note anymore. They were either armed to the teeth with fifty some odd body guards or dangled those odd new-age weapons that shot some sort of energy or they were as poor and ragged as Gillard. What good would it do wasting time and effort going after them' No good, that's what.

And that's when he saw them from the corner of his eye.

He could have laughed uproariously until he cried if it would not have brought every eye in his vicinity on crowded street his way.

The heavens literally did burst open and shine a single ray of golden light down on the head of one man moving through the crowd. Tall and broad shouldered, more so for the wicked set of jagged, harshly angled gardbrace?when the light hit the man's full suit of armor he became a beacon.

The guileless, but nervous glances the knight gave the crowd could not have spelled out new born lamb to the slaughter if he tried any harder. And he did, too. He kept shuffling and circling a small smear of pink that turned out to be a girl.

A girl swaddled in velvet and lace, crushed silk, satin and crystal: a flash of gold around her neck.

Gillard sent a look up to the towering Jorie, who in turn sent a glance down at the paler, thin Regor. Jorie hefted his axe with a nod back to Gillard and Regor re-checked his pouches at waist then followed suit with Jorie. The two men split apart and melded into the crowd.

Gillard slunk his way forward through the shifting tides of people. He couldn't help grinning for a just a moment as he thanked Hermes, Laverna, Elenar, Brandobaris, Dallah Thaun and a plethora of other Rhydin deities dedicated to thievery for watching over him.

As he shouldered through people to creep closer to them, he began to rehearse several situations and things to say in order to case the man, gauge his skills and see if any of them had money pouches hidden away.

He was sure today would be his lucky day.

It'd taken all the wheedling and charm Alistair had been saving up to wriggle more delicious creamy cheese and cherry danishes out of Izora to convince the littlest majesty to allow him to hunker down and pick her up. Alistair secured a hand behind her knees and gathered Christabel as he arose. She leaned against his left shoulder as he'd asked her too, leaving his hand free if needs be.

He kept the goofy smile in place, a tight lipped smirk and a quirked brow as he strolled casually along the crowd.

"Pull up your hood now, Princess, and don't forget what I told you, mm?" He murmured to her, his lips barely moving. Christabel muttered about how awful and uncomfortable his armor was, but, carefully laid her cheek well out of the way of sharp gardbraces and upon breast plate.

For all intents and purposes it looked like the littlest princess demanded her knight carry her, tuckered all out from a long, horrid shopping spree all day. Poor dear. She was just a scrap of pink in his arms.

And that was what he had hoped the three men casually strolling along behind him believed.

Alistair had watched them split off from the greasy curly haired man before he'd leaned down to whisper horrible Alistair plans to Christabel and was sharply aware of their presence now. A booth with silver chalices and serving platters polished to a perfect shine, passing by a shop of mirrors, the reflection in a passing band of blacksmiths and newly forged shields were all opportunities to keep fleeting tab on their positions.

As well as spot a moppet head. A dark gathering of wild curls that the wind was having such a wonderful time make fly every which way but into the strict bun or tail she tried to keep it tied in. He'd recognize that mess anywhere now. It was good to have friends in a strange place, you know" Izora.

Maker but he was happy to see her. Now wasn't the time to go running over to her so he could noogie her hair into a frazzled disaster, however. Alistair only took a second to settle the almost-amber of eyes on her, hoping to catch her glance quickly; then tilted his head slightly to his right. A wordless: follow me but carefully. He knew he really didn't have to really say anything anyway. She'd understand, she was good like that.

He chose the most crowded path as he walked. Not that he wanted to court them into trying something, but hoped that the mindless crowd rushing in the opposite direction kept him and Christabel at an advantageous distance for the moment. The little girl kept a whispering tally on where the three men were, as well as a rather apt string of insults about their bathing habits"or lack thereof?and what she thought about their clothing.

He wasn't sure, but guessed it was probably half a candle's mark by the time he located the stables at one of the market place Inn where the carriage, decorated in silver and blue, shadowed beside many other noble carriages. Some more grotesquely decorated than others.

It was busy here too. Candle makers and cooks, wenches and those that worked under the heels of the noble scurried about, not half as busy as the streets left behind him.

The driver looked down dismissively as his charge and her knight came strolling across cobble stone. . . Then did a double take with eyes widening at the smear of pink supposedly sleeping in his arms. "They've split up wider, the one with the axe is trying to hide between the barrel shop and the candle shop. There's a shadowy gap between there.

"The skinny one is stopping by the book shop to pretend to window shop but he's just using the glass as a means to stare at us.

"The creepy curly-haired one is leaning against the book shop pretending to clean his nails," Christabel whispered.

Alistair patted her head awkwardly like one does with puppies that have earned a scritching and settled his sharp-gaze on the coach driver.

"I need you not to argue. I need you not to panic" Alistair's tooth-filled grin up at the driver contrasted sharply with the quiet, iron resolve that leaked from between white. He met the man's eyes and kept them. "I also need you to do exactly as I say no arguments, no protestations" Think you can do that?"

The driver blinked down at Alistair owlishly then nodded slowly.

"Good," the knight said, and in a low voice, and then quietly explained what he wanted the man to do.



***

Gillard narrowed his eyes in displeasure. He did not like it when he lost sight of his mark.

The knight had stopped to ramble on and on and on to the gods-be-damned driver and even he could feel himself itching for the heavy coin purse tied to the man's waist already.

In another time, in another place, Gillard might have thought twice about going after a girl with a fully armored body guard. But this was Rhydin. Half the men who carried swords were more a joke than anything else these days. The golden decades where one had to worry whether or not you walked beside a demi-god or not where well and truly over, if you asked Gillard.

Nobody did. But whatever.

The tin-can had circled 'round to the other side of the carriage. It made Jorie fidget with his axe nervously and Regor stiffen. For a brief moment, Gillard's mind asked him if he was really sure his mark was as stupid as he originally thought. Maybe he isn't, his mind whispered mockingly. Maybe you are the one who"

The silver and blue carriage started away with a tongue-click and soft heeya! from the driver. Standing behind it was the idiotically grinning knight with pink wrapped girl still in his arms and asleep.

Gillard could only stare for a few moments as his doubts faded. He really was the most doltish man he'd ever met in his life. Had he truly dismissed the carriage, the only means of outrunning them, just to walk it'

"Hello!" The man cheerily said to a startled looking woman crossing near him. "It's such a lovely day, isn't it' I just love a warm day like this, reminds me of my youth back when I was raised by dogs.

"Say, you don't want to take a walk with me pretty lady' I'm just going down Needle street," "god's be good. He even announced where he was going. Gillard had to put a hand over his mouth to hide the grin that arose, darting a look toward Jorie and Regor. A look that said: can you believe this dim-wit? Needle street had to be one of the worst sections of this area, narrow, poorly lit and often avoided.

Jor's answer to Gillard's look was to shoot brows upward in the shadows. Regor didn't seem immediately convinced, his eyes boring holes at Gillard now, weighing his reaction.

Gillard gave one last nod, small and subtle as the blond-haired lack-wit whined at the woman who scuttled away from him and his offer.

Gillard's instincts had never steered them wrong before had they' So. . . One last look between Jor and Regor then they nodded back. Regor was the one to began casually strolling behind Alistair now, his fingers dipping into one of the many pouches around his waist.

Gillard and Jor waited a few moments behind them when they began strolling once again. Once all three men were doubly sure, they worked like well-oiled clockwork; Regor no doubt knew a sprinkling of magic, Jor was obviously the heavy and Gillard the...Finishing touches. A good team, when Gillard cared to think about it when he wasn't busy being greedy.

Which was never.

Shame how greed blinded him to the moppet of curly hair with occasional tips of pointed ear. Or the quiet steps that the moppet took and glinting blade at her side.

The problem with being a mage attacking a man trained most of his life to be magic-killers, Templar that dampen magic and..Well, that was the problem, wasn't it'

Alistair had taken only seconds to send out a white, roiling circle-blast of anti-magic, crackling along the cobblestones outward from him as if he were a stone in water. It stunned not only the mage but the one-eyed man with drawn short sword in front of him and the big burly one to the side. It wasn't exactly the point of that little light-trick however. The point was, as soon as it had touched the mage it drained him of his mana, leaving him completely useless. One down, two more to go.

Alistair hadn't bothered worrying about the biggest one, because Izora was on him before he could even shout. When the man with the eye patch had stopped shaking his head like a dazed dog and brandished his weapon for a charge, Alistair took what was supposed to be the rolled bundle of Christabel and flung it at the would-be robber. The motion stunned the one eyed man and out of instinct, he opened his arms to catch it.

The fun thing about that little move, was that it was one Alistair anticipated. With a grin that looked like it belonged on the face of a man playing chess, Alistair and all some hundreds of extra pounds of armor when bowling into the robber with all of his and combined steel's weight, knocking the one-eyed man's breath out of him.

"You know, I like hugs"but I like them from girls the best," he told the man grappling with him for air before he reared back his arm and smashed gauntlet covered fist into the man's temple. Greasy haired one-eyed man went slack immediately and Alistair pulled himself from him and the crumpled, empty bed roll wrapped up to look like a sleeping Christabel.

He was just going to go save Izora from the big mean nasty man; turning about to take off in her direction when he noticed Izora didn't really need any help. The hulking brute of a man sent to be the muscle was laying sprawled, sweaty, panting out of breath on the street. He was groaning feebly at the very pointed edge of the small, slim elven lass's sword. An elven lass that was doing her best not to let the smug satisfaction of pulling down an enemy twice your size with ease conflict with the stern facade of a knight doing her job.

Leave it to Alistair to come trouncing over like a fan, grinning like a fool.

"You smell that?" He asked of the suddenly-not-so-intimidating brute laying quivering at the sword end of Izora. "That smells of awesome, we?" he gestured between Izora and himself, "are awesome. You know, a life of crime really doesn't pay." He nodded sagely.

Izora took her sword in a neat little maneuver to flip it about and rap the big hulk on the skull with pommel, wipe it on his tunic as he slumped into dream land and sheath it. Alistair's being pleased with himself lasted all of the seconds it took for Izora's grim triumph turn just to grim as she threw back her shoulders and stalked toward him.

"Uh-oh?" He uttered under his breath.

"What, pray tell, were you thinking" About all of this" Handling all of this on your own Alistair'really' You didn't think to try and inform the authorities perhaps that you were being followed"

"Also, what is wrong with you? You sent Christabel back in the carriage alone, Alistair! Anyone could have murdered that coachman"and then where would we be?"

As soon as the words came out of her mouth Alistair knew they were true. He hadn't been thinking, he didn't consider the consequences"he'd gotten caught up in the moment and thought to have a bit of fun, not even realizing how important this might be to her, to him, to everyone...If something happens to Christabel on the way back to the Embassy...

He felt his mood plummet like a meteor. "I was just"I tried to"Izora I wouldn't purposefully put Christabel in danger I was"Can't I?"I'm.." Her ability to stand there with arms folded and never budging before the full blast of a spluttering, earnest, sad-puppy dog-eyes Alistair was truly an asset. Or talent.

He let out a long quiet sigh, before, "I'm sorry, Izora. I wasn't thinking."

"No, you weren't. And that is your problem, isn't it?" He meant to say something witty and daring back, but she held up one palm. "Since I am the only one who thought to bring my horse with me today," twist, twist, and twist the dagger into poor, poor Alistair's little heart. (Never mind it was really his fault for this) "I will go after the carriage to ensure all is well with the Lady Christabel. You, however, will tie up these ruffians and then inform the watch. Then you can walk all the way back to the Embassy on your own and explain this mess to Lady Rioght.....in person."

"I?" He started as she turned away.

"Not now, Alistair, I have a duty to Christabel and a job to do."

And it stung a little. But so too, did the truth that sometimes needed to be said. Alistair didn't watch her go or see her off but grimly went to the task of securing rope and bundling the three unconscious men together in the middle of the street as told.

He had a lot to think about, a lot of it about himself and which he did not like.



((Permission granted and okay given by Izora's player for this post and writing. Thanks Izora player for putting up with me, you're fantastic!))