((Note: The following story has been pieced together from in-game emotes. When it switches over, I am only responsible for the words and actions of Yolanda, the rest was written by the player of Hawke. It is also suggested that you first read A Letter Sent to a Stranger and Birthright for more information on Hawke's arrest))
Raised voices, the blunt thuds of fists and feet striking flesh, and the occasional muffled grunt of pain echoed throughout the lower prison floor, drowning out the rhythmic scrubbing of a bristled brush moving back and forth against the stone floor in the corridor. Addie, or Yolanda as she was known by here, kept her head down as she mindlessly cleaned the same spot; she was close enough to hear what was going on inside the cell at the far end of the hall, but far enough away so that she could not be seen or see what was truly going on the other side of those bars. Addie had taken on the guise of a servant, complete with a short black wig, so that she could keep watch over Hawke and keep him from harm as he remained a prisoner in Dol Amroth, but with each sound coming from his cell, she was reminded just how helpless they all were to save him.
The questions the guards asked him remained the same each time, like a nightmare that kept repeating itself. “Why are you in Dol Amroth? What are your goals here? Where is your mother, Merileth? Who is your father? Are you a servant of Shadow?” Hawke had told them on their first round of inquisition that his mother was dead and even tried to protest to their insistence that his father was some unknown man of Gondor, but since they didn’t believe him then, he remained defiantly quiet for this round of beatings save for the involuntary cries or grunts of pain.
Yolanda’s anger was building with each question, which each thud, with each cry of pain and this spot on the floor was suffering her wrath as she was unconsciously scrubbing harder and harder. The questions became louder each time, more insistent, as did the hits; until the final sound of shoes scuffing across the stone floor could be heard, followed by a loud thud on the ground. The “interrogation” had ended for now, but instead of there being rejoicing, it only served as a reminder that this was a place where despair holds life within its cruel claws and the same thing would come again tomorrow. Yolanda gathered her bucket and scrub brush and quickly made her way back up the stairs before the the guards could exit Hawke’s cell and see her in the hallway.
(switching to emotes)
She made sure that she casually walked past the guard that stood watch over the door at the top of the stairs and even smiled at him as though she was just going about her business as usual; once she was in the clear on the upper floor, she put down the bucket and grabbed the broom that she had propped up against the wall. She made her way over to one of the large rugs just as the two prison guards ascended from the underground cells. She kept her gaze down on the floor as she pretended to sweep the rug, but did briefly glance up to look at the faces of the guards that emerged from below, noting in her mind who they were so that she could keep an eye on them.
The younger of the two shook his head, his winged helmet tucked under his arm. "Still nothing useful from that traitor," he complained.
His partner, an older looking, more seasoned guard, nodded. "It matters not; whether he confesses or not, the charges will stand."
Neither of them paid any mind to the wench sweeping the rugs as she slowly moved closer to them so that she could hear their conversation better. Pausing outside the room in which prisoners were processed, the two guards continued speaking as though Yolanda was invisible. "You were too lenient with him this time, Sîrdir. He must surely know something," the younger urged.
Sîrdir, his face lined and stern, nodded at a passing knight before answering. "It would be my head and yours, Horthon if the prisoner should die while in our custody. The Hounds of the White City have pestered the Captain enough--would you have them questioning your conduct as well, brother?"
Yolanda quickly glanced up at Horthon again so that she could truly burn the image of his face into her mind and she also took note of both of their names, fully intending on reporting them to Xandilif or Nethrida later for harming Hawk. Perhaps sensing eyes on him, Horthon catches the serving woman stealing glances at him, and he offers her what he no doubt considers a charming smile. Yolanda pretends to blush and quickly glances back down to the floor; he takes a moment to appreciate her bust, and then almost entirely forgets about her as he follows Sîrdir into the intake room. Once he turns, she rolls her eyes and glances toward the door, trying to think of a way in which she can follow them inside. Not wanting to seem too obvious that she is watching them; she decides to stay outside the room and sweep the rug near the door, that way she can keep an ear out without being seen.
The intake room is sparsely populated. On one side, a guard that sits at the table, transcribing names and numbers into a giant ledger; and on the other side, a paige is speaking to two knights, attempting to convince them that his liege lord would pay handsomely for an early release and for all charges- being found drunk and disorderly at the Court of the Fount- to be cleared from his noble name. Sîrdir and Horthon ignore the paige's loud protestation and approach the guard at the table; Sîrdir offers the man a greeting, "Well met, Gonodir," but there is only a curt nod in reply. The older guard sighs at the response and reaches for a quill to enter the account of their rounds into a second ledger on the table; he lists the interrogation as much shorter than it had been, and with no mention of the beatings, of course- Normally Sîrdir would never falsify his reports or engage in such underhanded tactics, but he had been persuaded by Horthon who had no such qualms in doing so, and perhaps even enjoyed the power he wielded.
While waiting for the report to be filed, Horthon peers down at the ledger that Gonodir is writing in and frowns as he reads the entry for their particular prisoner. He looks toward the chest on the far side of the room and asks, "The effects confiscated from Gwaelion of Ost Lontir...they are in this chest here?" Gonodir gives an annoyed nod to the question, since the answer was clearly written in the ledger. Horthon grins and turns to walk toward the chest.
At hearing Hawk's true name, Yolanda walks toward the doorway and bends down to where she can see inside the room; she brings out a rag to “scrub” at a stubborn spot on the floor by the door and watches Horthon out of the corner of her eye to see what he is doing. He opens the chest and sifts through it until he finds what he was looking for. The soldiers who had arrested Hawk had been higher ranking, serving in the palace directly, so no one else had touched the items once they'd been documented and placed here. Horthon's eyes lit with greed at seeing the silver necklace- a bird of some kind that he deemed pretty enough to tempt a woman next time he went to the tavern- but moreso when he beheld the ornate Elven dagger; it was finer than any blade he had seen, and he took it in his hands. "What need has that vagabond for trinkets such as these?"
Yolanda spits on the rag and makes it looks as though she's getting angry at this stubborn spot on the floor in order to conceal the rage in her eyes at seeing Horthon rummage through the chest and touch the things that belonged to Hawk.
Sîrdir looked over to Horthon after hearing his exclamation. "Is there aught which might aid our inquiry there?"
"No, unless he might be compelled to speak with a prick from his own dagger," Horthon laughed at his own jest, but Sîrdir merely grunts at it and turns back to finish his report. Seeing that the old man is no longer looking, Horthon pockets the silver necklace. He then gazed longingly at the dagger and seemed torn about returning it to the chest. A clever thought entered his mind, and he drew his own standard issue dagger and replaced the Elvish one with it. He smirks to himself after doing so and returned to his partner's side, the hilt of Hawk’s dagger rather conspicuous at his hip. Horthon is satisfied that if anyone were to check the items in the chest against the ledger they would find that a dagger was listed, and a dagger indeed was to be found within, not that he foresaw anyone caring enough about such a matter, and most certainly not about the loss of a paltry necklace.
Yolanda watches as the guard brazenly pockets the necklace and also watches as he exchanges the daggers. She has to close her eyes for a moment to calm herself, but her rage can be seen through the flames in the brazier above her head as they pulse in time with her breathing. She goes unnoticed, but the odd flickering of the light further annoys the irritable Gonodir, who motions impatiently for the two guards to leave him to his work. Not wanting to be caught lingering, Yolanda forces a smile back on her face and stands, pretending to be satisfied that she has successfully removed the spot on the floor. She reaches for the broom again and turns to put some space between her and the door while the guards prepare to leave the room.
The two bade farewell to Gonodir and walked back out into the main hall to head for the barracks on the other side of the large keep. Yolanda has now moved far enough away from the door to keep from raising any suspicions and is once again sweeping a rug. As before, the serving maid's presence is hardly noticed, though now that her back is turned Horthon spares a lingering glance to admire the woman. Was it the same woman? Sîrdir distracts him with a comment and two continue to the barracks, not noticing as Yolanda follows closely behind.
Inside the room, the two men converse as they remove their armor and prepare to go off-duty. Yolanda’s inner Addie causes her to immediately turn her head to give the two some privacy just as soon as she sees them start to remove their armor. Though Addie doesn't wish to watch two men remove any clothing, she knows that she needs to see if he removes the dagger with the armor; so, she glances back over out of the corner of her eye and keeps her gaze on the dagger and the pocket she saw him put the necklace in. Thankfully there is no need for maidenly embarrassment; the two men remove the outer layer of armor and remain in their sea-blue tabards. Horthon is loathe to part with his newly acquired dagger, so he haughtily displays it at his hip; the necklace he slips into a side pocket almost as an after thought, imagining that it will buy him some womanly affection later.
The bell signaling mess echoes in the stone Keep and Yolanda quickly hurries away toward the kitchen to help with the meals. Sîrdir intends to meet his wife at the markets and bids his younger partner farewell. Horthon salutes the older man and watches him leave the keep before eagerly joining the mass of other Knights at one of the long tables in the mess hall. Four large cauldrons of stew are brought out, one for each table, and are placed at the head of each. The soldiers are seated at the tables with their own units and barrack mates and Yolanda is sure to place herself behind the large stew pot that has been brought over to the head of the table where Horthon and his fellow guards are sitting. She discreetly empties a small vial of white powder into the stewpot and stirs it in before carefully ladling out the stew into individual bowls. Once she has filled several, she expertly balances them on one arm, a trick she learned during her serving days at the pony, and begins to serve the right side of the table first.
Horthon was seated on the left side of the long table, boisterously speaking with his neighbors while the meal was being served. He was not so foolish as to brag about his new dagger, but he let slip a few unkind remarks about a certain prisoner, and his firm belief that such rumored cultists should be hanged without trial. Yolanda maintained her professional demeanor as she continued to serve the table. She did hear Horthon's comments about Hawk, but she had learned how to hold her tongue and keep a bright smile on her face while dealing with rude patrons at the pony; her smile even appears genuine at one point as she thinks about how mad the man is going to be once he finds his precious loot missing the next morning.
The steady clamor of masculine voices fills the Keep, as well as the clatter of bowls and spoons as the meal is enjoyed. Horthon notices the serving girl again as she places his bowl before him. This was the one he'd seen earlier, he was certain of it. "You are a new face! You have not worked in the Keep long, I deem. I would have paid you a compliment before now."
Yolanda turns to look at the man and has to remind herself to be polite to him even though she would rather strangle him right now. She thinks on how Annabette had handled Grimstan back in Snowbourn and almost considers doing the same, but she cannot bring herself to flirt with him. She does manage to smile brightly at him as she channels Nethrida's Gondorian accent to respond, "And I would have thanked you for the compliment if one had been paid, sir, but I am not worthy of such." While she speaks, she keeps moving on to serve the others.
Some of the closest Knights guffaw at the serving woman's quick and handy dismissal, leaving Horthon wavering between amusement and anger. She has moved out of his reach and is thus safe from an attempt to grope her or bring her back. Though he had returned to eating and speaking with his fellows, Horthon is paying the woman more attention now, and probably not with the best of intentions. As he begins to scrape the bottom of his bowl, however, he notices that he suddenly feels tired. Others from the table, ones that were served earlier, are already standing and yawning, but Horthon does not seem to notice them for the moment.
Yolanda finishes serving the last person at the table just at the other serving wench hands out the last tankard of ale. She smiles brightly to all, especially at seeing that the powder is beginning to do its work, though a little faster than she had anticipated, and moves to stand back at the stewpot in case anyone asks for a second helping. The drugged stew seems to be acting more quickly in some than others, but many ask for seconds and most cheer at the arrival of the ale. Horthon wishes he were not so drowsy, especially seeing Yolanda’s genuine smile- he even considered tempting her with the ill-gotten necklace.
More and more knights are excusing themselves from the table and Horthon is among their number after deciding that he needs to rest first before taking a stroll to the open-air tavern. Yolanda chuckles to herself as she watches the guards return to their barracks, knowing that they should all be in deep slumber soon for a few hours. This would give her time to complete her task of cleaning the tables here, complete her next task of serving the prisoners, and still allow time for her to hopefully sneak into the barracks and liberate Hawk's belongings from the man. Horthon slips the Elvish dagger beneath his pillow, not fully trusting another knight not to steal it while he sleeps- such is the lot of a dishonest Man- and stretches himself out upon his bed. The room fills with the stentorian sound of snoring.
______________________________________________________________________
Once the final man has left from her table, Yolanda clears it off and returns to the kitchen to prepare the bowls for the prisoners in the lower cells. She scoops out a bowl of the drugged stew for Hawk and marks it before placing it on the tray with the others- this way he could at least have a peaceful deep slumber tonight and hopefully recover some from the severe beating earlier. The dungeons are quiet, as a surprising amount of the upper cells are empty. Lower still, in the darker and more secluded cells, prisoners guilty, or not guilty, of far more serious crimes languish, and those with the strength appear at the bars when they smell food. Hawk's cell is at the end of this corridor.
Yolanda slides a bowl of scraps into each of the cells. There is a murmur of gratitude from a few and some of the more hardened criminals, those who are truly evil people, spit at her or jeer- they will take the food regardless, the ungrateful wretches. Yolanda has done this routine several times now and was expecting to be spit at by a certain few; she manages to dodge most of the spittle and threateningly shakes her serving spoon at them in reply. When she gets to Hawk's cell, she keeps her head down and keeps to her knees as she slides the bowl into his cell; she waits for a moment to see if he can actually get up to reach it. Hawke lies on the floor, his back to the bars, and either doesn't hear the commotion or doesn't care.
When she sees that he doesn't move, she takes the serving spoon and clangs it between two of the bars to get his attention. "Come and get your food, prisoner, I won't be punished for you starving yourself." She makes certain to disguise her voice and still mimic Neth's accent while speaking.
Hawke flinches at the sudden clanging at the bars to his cell and he manages to roll onto his side. Between the dimly lit corridor, his swollen eye, and the disguise, he doesn't recognize Addie, even when she speaks- truly a testament to her acting. "Wouldn't wanna get ye in trouble," he comments hoarsely, but he somehow manages a smile.
Yolanda knows that she cannot treat him kindly in order to keep him from speaking to her more and possibly recognizing her. She hates herself for the rudeness that comes out of her mouth toward him, but knows it needs to be done. "Then get off your lazy tail and come eat so I can collect your bowl in time." She keeps her head down still and fights back the cringe at her own words.
Hawke 's already faint smile fades completely at the cold remark. He hadn't spoken to this woman before but he had noticed her at times. Why had he expected to find a friendly ear or a kind word? He nods and forces himself to sit up, sliding closer to the bars and the bowl of stew. It is better than usual fare, but even still the scent turns his stomach. He lifts it anyway.
Yolanda catches a brief glance at the swollen eye and busted lip as he reaches for the bowl of stew; her fist clenches and she blinks several times in an effort to fight off the tears that are threatening to flow. Taking in a deep breath, she waits for the stew to be finished so that she can collect the bowl, feeling a small sense of relief that the drug will do its job and hopefully bring him some peace and rest, if only for a night. She would not speak again unless spoken to.
Hawke forces himself to sip at the cold stew, never guessing that it contains the sleeping powder she'd used on the guards. When he sees the clenching of the woman's fists he assumes she is impatient and he manages what he can- most of the broth and a few bits of meat. "Sorry t'keep ye waitin','' he murmurs, sliding the bowl back to her. His hand lingers, though.
The Yolanda facade almost gives way as Addie wants to let him know so badly that it is her, that he has a friend here with him. However, emotions are fought back by logic; she knows that she can't risk telling him and having it possibly slip during one of the beatings- though she also understands that he would never willingly reveal her if he was of a sound mind. She looks to the bowl, and seeing that most of the broth is gone, is confident that it will be enough to help him sleep deeply. Regardless of knowing that, the next part flies out of her mouth before she realizes it due to her concern for his wellbeing. "You don't want to eat more than that?" She catches herself and quickly adds, "Fine then, lad, at least I can tell them that you ate." She manages to add this seamlessly and with the same callousness as before as she reaches in for the bowl.
Hawke blinks at the first comment. Before he can wonder at it, her tone returns to normal, and he can only hope that there would be no rebuke waiting for her because he hadn't finished his portion. When she reaches for the bowl, he touches her hand. "Thanks, miss." He hesitates, wanting so badly to ask her to send a message to his friends, but he can't bring himself to risk causing this stranger trouble, regardless of her callousness. He withdraws his hand before she is tempted to use that serving spoon. "...Yer pretty, don't let this place turn ye cold." He slowly lowers himself back to the floor, not bothering to move away from the bars.
Addie almost loses what remaining thread of Yolanda composure she has left when he thanks her and even more so at hearing the part about not turning cold. She yanks the bowl out of the cell, stands and quickly turns before he can see the tears welling in her eyes. She lets out what sounds to be a frustrated huff to keep herself from blurting out anything else and storms away from his cell. Hawke doesn't take her reaction personally, as he had that effect on most people apparently, but even still the interaction leaves him feeling more lonely than before, if that were possible.
Yolanda collects the rest of the bowls from the other cells, taking out her frustration on the ones that spat at her by waving the serving spoon at them in a challenge to do it again. "Back you dog!" she would say to them as she reached in for their bowls. They hardly seemed cowed by her threats or the waving of her spoon, but didn’t cause her anymore trouble as she passed safely back down the corridor, all bowls collected. She takes in a deep breath and wipes her eyes on her sleeve before moving up the stairs and back out the door to take the bowls back to the kitchen.
______________________________________________________________________
As she moves through the main hall, she looks around to see how many people are still lingering about and glances toward the door to Horthon's barracks to see if it is clear. Mess being over, much of the main room had cleared, and Horthon and the men in his barracks were all still asleep, which no one found very odd given the long hours spent on patrols or other duties. Yolanda drops off the bowls for the other women in the kitchen to clean and informs them that she is going to mop the floors. She grabs the mop and bucket and leaves the kitchen, casually walking toward the door to Horthon's barracks.
Once outside the room, she mops for a moment to make sure that no one is around or coming. Now and then a group or individual knight passes the room, so there is the chance that she will be seen entering the room. Noting this, she rolls up two rugs, and places one in either direction away from the barracks door to direct the flow of traffic away from this path. She assumes that seeing the mop and bucket will be enough to reason to suggest why the rugs have been rolled up. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, the ploy works, and the foot traffic lessens considerably, though there is some grumbling at the inconvenience. The corridor clears and there is far less chance anyone will notice her entering or leaving the room- even an abandoned mop and bucket will give the illusion that the area is being cleaned.
Yolanda mops as close to the door as she can get and bides her time until there is a clear moment. When she sees one, she quickly props the mop up against the wall and enters the room, making sure to keep her body tightly pressed up against the wall once inside. She remains extremely still until she can look around and make sure all the guards are truly sleeping. Even those who ate less at supper are deeply sleeping, and the only movement in the room is the occasional rolling over. Yolanda quietly releases the breath she didn't realize she was holding in after seeing that she has not been noticed. The room is dark and she cannot tell which bed Horthon is sleeping in without getting closer to the people. She tries her best to quietly move through the room as she peers at each person she passes while looking for her target- she knows his face well since she had committed it to memory earlier.
She finally finds Horthon in a cot down the left aisle, second to last from the wall, and quietly begins to look for the dagger- she still assumes the pendant is in his pocket. She doesn't see the dagger at his side and so, she looks under the cot and then in the storage chest at the foot of the cot; she's putting off reaching into his pocket for as long as she possibly can. The dagger is in none of those places, but while she is looking, Horthon rolls onto his side and the movement shifts his pillow; though the dim room does not show the gleam of the metal dagger hilt, it could more easily be seen or felt if she searched there and his head is no longer resting on it.
Yolanda is thankful that he rolls on his side, it will make reaching into the the inside pocket of his hauberk much easier, however, she is still saving that for last. Horthon snorts and mumbles in his sleep as the woman searches under the pillow for the dagger, it being the last place left to check before having to search him. As her hand finds the dagger, voices can be heard outside coming closer toward the door. Yolanda releases the dagger and prepares to dive under the bed but fortunately the rolled rugs and conspicuous mop and bucket force a detour, and the voices fade once more.
Yolanda breathes a sigh of relief and goes for the dagger once more, gently pulling it out from under the pillow. She tries to stuff it down the front of her dress so that she can have use of both hands for fishing the pendant out; however, it slips from her fingers as she lifted it to tuck into her dress. The dagger's leather sheath muffled most of the noise, but the metal hilt clanged loudly against the stone floor. She freezes when the loud sound rings throughout the room, as though standing perfectly still would keep her from being seen. Thankfully, the room full of drugged guards didn't wake, though some now stirred, Horthon included.
She moves her eyes around the room and once seeing that everyone is still asleep, she goes back to trying for the pendant; she'll leave the dagger on the floor for now, not wanting to risk dropping it again. Taking in a deep breath, she carefully tries to slip her slender fingers into the pocket with the pendant, but she cannot hide the expression of disgust on her face while doing this. Unfortunately, just as she's reaching into the pocket, Horthon rolls to his other side, but not before taking her hand in his, clearly dreaming.
Yolanda is even more disgusted when he takes her hand, but it's not the time to dwell on such, she needs to be a big girl right now. She lets him keep the one hand, sacrifices sometimes need to be made, and uses the other hand to reach over him and try for the pendant again. This time she succeeds in fishing the pendant out, the leather cord from which it hung was easy enough for her fingers to grasp; she pockets the pendant and then looks to her trapped hand. Not wanting to risk waking him until she has both of items that she came for, she continues to let him keep her hand while she carefully bends down toward the dagger. With her free hand, she unsheathes it and slides it down the back of her dress, which is tight enough to hold the dagger so that it will not slip past the small of her back and out of the dress. She understands that she will most likely end up getting cut in the event that she quickly moves or isn't careful enough, however, it's a risk she knows that she'll have to take for what she has planned.
Once finished with that, she looks again to her trapped hand. She readies herself to dive under the bed incase this next move fails, but hopes that it will not. After taking another deep breath, she takes one of the rags out of her other pocket and tickles his nose with it, ready to gently pull her trapped hand when he loosens the grip. At first the tickling only makes the sleeping Horthon twitch his nose and frown, but after a moment he sneezes loudly, gripping her hand reflexively and spraying spittle on her arm. His eyes are flickering open.
Yolanda manages not to retch at the wet feeling because she can sense that he is starting to wake and she knows that she needs to keep calm and act fast. With her free hand, she reaches up to stroke his hair, a trick that her father used to use to calm her and get her to quickly fall asleep. Inwardly she is dying a little as she touches the man’s hair, but she reminds herself that she needs to stay strong, now is not the time for weakness. The soothing touch to his hair is enough to convince Horthon all is well, and he mumbles happily in his sleep. More importantly, he releases her hand in favor of rubbing at his tickled nose; he then lowers that same hand to scratch himself in a considerably more distasteful place.
Yolanda turns green at thinking that that hand had probably done that before holding hers and she begins to feel very ill; however, she manages to keep it together and refocus herself. She quietly reaches for the sheath on the floor and stands to creep her way back to the door, but before she completely leaves the room, she drops the sheath off in the storage chest of a random guard in order to frame one of them for the missing items . No doubt relieved to be making her escape, Yolanda didn’t hear the quiet steps coming towards the barracks. When she passes through the door she bumps directly into Sîrdir, returned from spending time with his wife and on his way to join his regiment.
Her heart stops as she realizes who she had just bumped into. Thinking quickly, she acts as though she's exhausted from the day's work and pretends to be relieved to see Sîrdir; she makes sure to face him fully so that he cannot see her back. "Excuse me, sir.." She motions to the rugs. "I am supposed to move these for cleaning and I managed to roll them up on my own, but I'm afraid they're too heavy for me to lift by myself. I know that I'm not supposed to bother any of you brave soldiers since you're busy keeping us all protected, but there is no one else.” She motions to the room, "They are all soundly sleeping. If you cannot help me, I understand, but please don't tell the mistress that I was too weak to do my work."
More startled than suspicious, Sîrdir frowns as the serving woman explains herself. Her quick excuse is believable, as is the stoop to her shoulders and the fatigue in her voice, so his expression clears. "Asleep already, are they?" He isn't the youngest man in the regiment but he thinks he can manage helping her with the heavy rugs. "Hurry along, girl, I'll see to this."
She manages a weak smile at the man. "Thank you kindly, sir. I'll see to it that you're given extra ale as a payment for your aid." She backs away from him in a bowed position; though this gesture may be seen as a show of respect toward him, she mainly does it to keep from turning her back to him so that he would not see the bulge of the dagger underneath her dress. Bending causes the blade to poke into her skin several times as she walks away and she can feel blood beginning to flow. However, this is not a huge concern for her since the top portion of her dress just happens to be red.
Nodding curtly as she excuses herself, Sîrdir focuses on the task at hand, and almost immediately regrets offering to help. Still, an extra tankard of ale would be quite pleasant. Reluctantly, he begins to set the rugs back to rights, though he'll leave the mop and bucket for the next servant who wanders along.
Other than the few knights still sparring at the training dummies, the main hall is vastly empty. Yolanda takes one final look around to make sure that she’s not going to bump into anyone else and quickly makes for the door of the Keep. Once outside, she hurries off to change out of her disguise and deliver the items to Xanderian so that she can keep them safe until they can free Hawk and return his belongings to him.
