Yep, seems like they got everyone.

The Queen is still in her room, but the door is able to be opened now.

"Hello again. Sorry for the delay, it was crowded down there."

"I'm sure. I will be pleased to hear all the sordid details after we've gotten away from here."

"Agreed."

Well, they've still got those guard uniforms, maybe they'll be lucky and they can just walk right out. It could happen.

It seems to work. None of the manor guards accost them.

The thirty or so army soldiers lead by Ser Cauthrien waiting for them in the entrance on the other hand, demand they halt immediately.

"I don't know what's been going on here, but all of you are coming with us while we sort it out."

"Does that include the Queen? And the dwarven prince? Because I'm not sure you have the authority to detain either."

"Don't try to muddy the issue, Warden. All of you are coming. We'll sort this out back at Fort Drakon."

"Arresting your own queen? Surfacers are crazy," says Stalas. "And I've seen enough dungeons for one day, thank you very much."

"This is not a request." At her signal, all of the soldiers draw their weapons and press inwards. "Resist, and we will not hesitate to use deadly force."

"I hate to use the words 'diplomatic incident'," he says, "but you're coming very close to causing one. Now, I don't mind walking with you to a more reasonable place for a conversation than Arl Howe's front hall, but I need you to understand that trying to take me there as your prisoner will cause more problems than it solves."

"I don't care who or what you are, and I don't care about diplomatic incidencts. Drop your weapons now, all of you, and place your hands behind your backs."

The soldiers in back get out weighted nets. The ones in front continue to hold their aggressive posture.

Elissa turns to Anora.

"Majesty, what is your will?"

"We... should do as Ser Cauthrien suggests. We are all ultimately on the same side, are we not?"

"I like to think so. Prince Stalas?"

"...If it's good enough for the Queen of Ferelden, it's good enough for me."

He nods respectfully to Anora and lays his sheathed sword on the floor. The rest of the party follows suit.

(Some of them, of course, are less inconvenienced by the loss of a sword than others.)

"Bind them, and collect the weapons," says Ser Cauthrien. Her men move to obey.

"Even me?" asks Anora.

"Take it up with your father, my lady." Wrists are tied behind backs, and sacks are placed over heads. "Back to Fort Drakon, men."

Well, this is going to be annoying.

Sacks are itchy. Metella shakes her head slightly in irritation.

(The sack settles so that the material folds inward toward her eye, and the weave is loose enough that she can nudge the threads apart just a tiny bit and get a little hole to see out of. Not much visibility, but better than none.)

They are herded outside, and loaded into covered carts.

And Elissa really hopes that Queen Anora isn't betraying them somehow.

They bump and rattle their way through the city streets.

When they reach their destination, the party is taken on a circuitous and winding route through the building, sacks still on.

They are put in separate cells, and have leg items attached, with enough slack to allow mostly free movement within the confines of the bars. Stalas, Clare and Elissa get their arms freed and sacks removed. Metella, as a known mage, retains hers.

Is someone going to talk to them at some point? Also, and this is very important, has Anora managed to weasel away somehow en route?

(The fort is a big stone building. Stalas likes big stone buildings. They remind him of home.)

No one approaches to talk. They seem to be being rather roundly ignored now, actually.

There's no sign of Anora. She must have been taken off by herself at some point when they were doing all the disorienting tromping around.