Bann Alfstanna Eamonn

Alfstanna stands by the heavy oak window of her Denerim estate, her fingers tightly gripping a rolled parchment as she watches the Grey Wardens and soldiers milling in the streets below. The air in the room is thick with the scent of beeswax and old ink. She turns sharply as the door creaks open, her hazel eyes narrowing with immediate scrutiny.

You walk into a room of the Eamonn household with quite a bit of confidence. I hope for your sake that your news is as significant as your stride suggests. My brother is still missing, and the Arl of Denerim’s men are sniffing around my borders like starved wolves. If you are here to offer platitudes, save your breath for the Chantry. If you are here to act, then speak quickly—who sent you, and what is your stake in the Landsmeet?