"Long night, huh," Murdock said after, mooring the Jeannie Carter to the dock, getting a look at the Grey Wardens, one of whom still had a good amount of dried blood down her front, gained from an encounter with a giant man goat thing, and the other who was covered in muddy pawprints, gained from being in the wrong place when a hundred eighty pound predator was told to chase after a nonexistent tree dwelling rodent.
"You have no idea," said Ten.
"Well Gregoir said we're not welcome back here, so you're off the hook," Alistair said, "And you're right, it's very creepy."
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Murdock said.
"Oh I bet Irving would let us in," said Ten.
"He probably would," Alistair admitted, "Say, do you think the two of them are…"
"Oh totally," said Ten, "Probably for decades."
"Aw, that's kind of sweet actually."
There was a jolt and a shudder as the ketch moved away from the dock. Ten went to go make herself as unobtrusive as possible, going to sit in the bow. Alistair followed her there, as did the dog.
"You look like shit," she said, turning to him, "You should really try to get some sleep. I'm amazed the demon didn't get you out of sheer exhaustion."
"You're not going to sic the dog on me and call it a prank?"
"Nah, not this time," she said, "Go on. I'll give you a kick in the ribs if anything happens."
She sat herself by the bowsprit and set to scheming. The staff is mostly dead. The castle will be deserted. Everyone will be preoccupied with the kid. Perfect time to ransack the place. Find out the truth about what happened to Eamon. Read every correspondence, go through every drawer. Lelianna will help me. She understands discretion and the importance of secrets. Going to have to keep Alistair off my back, he doesn't need to know the extent of my prying. She glanced back. He's out cold. Three hour journey. Two nights in a row with no sleep. Maybe just… don't wake him up.
Ten arrived on shore midmorning. Sten, evidently, had had some success with the militia, as when she arrived around twenty of the fighting men had formed a formidable shield wall and were advancing as one, up and down the main drag. "Well shit, I guess Redcliff doesn't have much to fear anymore," she said.
"They are still amateurs," Sten said, crossing his arms, "I would need years to make them into something worthy of song."
"You've got a day," she said.
"You have been injured," he said, looking her over, "You are covered in blood. From its smell, it is your own. Explain."
"That is… so very creepy," said Ten, "But if you must know, a kindly mage put me back together after a demon stabbed me in the lungs with four of my own ribs."
"Where is the other one?" asked the Qunari.
"He's still on the boat, asleep," said Ten, "He had a rough night."
"You left him there on purpose," said Sten, "Explain."
"He was getting on my nerves," said Ten, "I needed a break from the 'oh look at me, I'm so jovial and guileless, please please please everyone like me' routine."
"That is understandable. Very well. You may go about your business, but we really ought to move on and attend to the task at hand."
"I promise, there will be plenty of darkspawn to run your sword through in the very near future. Have you seen Lelianna around? The medium sized one with the red hair," said Ten.
"She snuck out of the top window of that house over there at dawn," said Sten, pointing to one of the ramshackle cottages on the docks, "And went to the Chantry, though whatever she was doing there I'm not sure your Maker would forgive."
"Lovely," said Ten. She took her leave of the Qunari and walked through the door of the Chantry, where she found Lelianna, on her knees, her hands clasped piously before her.
"Now what could you have gotten up to last night that you would need this level of obeisance to forgive?" asked Ten.
"Ten!" Lelianna exclaimed, "You're back! And you're…. Covered in blood. As per usual. Interesting night?"
"I don't even know if it's worth it to explain," Ten sighed, but gave a brief rundown as they walked up the steep hill to camp.
They found the witch there, sunning herself on a rock by the river, her nose in a large tome. At first, Ten thought it was some powerful old grimoire and Morrigan was about to raise an army of undead wolves, but upon closer inspection, it was a mystery novel, probably lifted from one wagon or another.
"Don't even think about talking to me," Morrigan said, as Ten's shadow fell over her, "I'm about to find out who fathered Lady Eldegaard's baby."
"It was the dashing elfin bard," said Ten, "That one came out like five years ago."
"Bitch!" Morrigan sighed, and put the book down. She fixed Ten with her pale gaze, and wrinkled her nose, "You look terrible, what happened to you?"
"The Circle's just as shit as you imagine it to be," sighed Ten, "How good are you at being small creatures?"
"How small are we talking?" asked Morrigan.
"Like a rat. Ferret might do. Or a spider, but not that weird huge gross spider. Like a little tiny cute spider."
"So you can squish me?"
"No," said Ten, "So we can get into that castle and get every secret those pretentious bastards have written down."
"What's the point of that?" asked Morrigan.
"You never know when you need someone else's secrets," said Ten, "But of course you wouldn't understand, you'd need to understand shame to understand blackmail."
"The more I speak with you, the more I feel civilization was a mistake," Morrigan said.
"You may not be wrong about that," sighed Ten, "But that's what we're dealing with at this point. Also I lied about the book. Haven't actually read that one."
"How'd you know there's a dashing elfin bard?"
"There's always a dashing elfin bard," said Ten, "It's a bit of a cliche. Fine, stay here, finish your book. Just keep the dog out of my hair, I'm trying to move around a little more quietly than she'll allow."
"Deal," said the witch, suspiciously.
Pigeon had, apparently, decided that Morrigan was an all right sort. Probably all the time spent as a wolf, they had some kind of understanding, having smelled each others' behinds and all that. And so, she obligingly listened when Ten told her to stay. Ten took off her bloodsoaked leathers and took a flying leap into one of the pools in the river trying to get the rest of it off, leaving the armor on a sunwarmed rock, hoping that the sun would bake out some of the smell. As she was changing into one of her frocks, satisfied she would not be encountering anything trying to kill her with a blade for the time being, a horse drawn cart bearing Irving, Wynne, Rowena, and Lindrel, with Cullen sitting backwards on backboard with his legs dangling in the air, passed by their camp. She didn't flag them down, being in such a state of undress, but kept in mind that they would beat her there. And so, dried off and smelling a little less like death, she and Lelianna made their way across the ramshackle bridge and into the castle.
To Ten's dismay, Lady Isolde was waiting for them in the courtyard.
"Oh, is that the salope who took off half of your face yesterday?" asked Lelianna.
"That's her," said Ten.
The arlesssa, however, did not seem in a mood to fight. Instead, she rushed up to them, relief visible on her face. "Thank the Maker you're here! There is an unholy mess in the servant's quarters! You can start there."
Lelianna and Ten looked at each other.
"What, are you not the new serving girls?"
"No," said Ten, "Are you serious right now?"
"Oh, it's you," the arlessa sighed, an expression of contempt flickering over her features before they fell into resignation, "I did not recognize you without the…" she waved her hand in front of her vaguely.
"Look, we clearly got off on the wrong foot before," said Ten, "At the end of the day I just moved heavens and earth to help your son, without you needing to bleed out for it."
"Yes, I suppose you did," Isolde said, "The mages are inside. They said they were expecting you. Come on."
"You know I bet they'd help you with those two black eyes if you asked nicely," Lelianna said, giggling behind her hand.
Isolde paused. Ten feared for a moment she was about to try retribution. But she only shook herself off, and kept going.
In the main hall of the castle, the four mages were talking in hushed tones with Teagan. As they drew closer, Ten saw that there were, indeed, five mages, for Jowan was there, though he was stooped over, as Wynne had him firmly by the ear.
"The servant's quarters are through the other door!" Teagan shouted.
"No," said Isolde, "It's the Grey Warden. The small ill-mannered one."
"Oh!" Teagan exclaimed, "I'm sorry Miss Tabris. I didn't recognize you. Where's Alistair?"
"Taking a nap," said Ten. On a boat. Twenty yards off shore. Where he can't try and tell me what to do. "It's been a rough forty-eight hours."
"I can only imagine," the bann said, "These fine mages informed us of your heroics in the tower."
"I'm sure they exaggerated," said Ten, "So you're going to just… go into the fade, find whatever evil entity has its claws in the kid's mind, and… kill it?"
"You make it sound so crass," Lindrel protested.
"But that is, generally, how it's done," said Irving.
"How long does this take?" asked Ten.
"It's not predictable," said Irving, "It could be an hour, it could be a day."
"I want to be there when he wakes up," Isolde said.
"As do I," said Teagan.
"Well, there's no sense in delaying it further," Wynne said.
"Could you possibly let go of my ear, Ma?" Jowan asked.
"And have you abscond again? Absolutely not," Wynne said, "You are going to sit there quietly, watch us do our work, and think long and hard on what you've done."
"His chamber is at the top of the southwest tower," said Isolde.
"More stairs," groaned Irving.
"It was a sad necessity," the arlessa said, "It's a… small room. Perhaps the Grey Warden and her… associate may wish to wait here? Out of the way?"
"Not a problem, my lady," said Ten, smiling benignly, "We are most patient."
They waited for the footsteps to echo away at the end of the hall.
"Pretty sure the private wing is that way," said Ten, "I feel bad for the kid, kept in the tower like that, but it sure makes it convenient to toss the rest of the place."
"Whatever do you want their secrets for?" asked Lelianna, "Do you suspect something?"
"I suspect a few things," said Ten, "But generally, it's better to know things than not know things, don't you think?"
"I suppose it is!" Lelianna exclaimed.
"So I have two theories that I'm looking into," said Ten as they made their way through the empty corridors.
"There's something going on between the bann and his sister-in-law isn't there," said Lelianna, "How she looked at him. It was… untoward."
"Oh good, I'm not going crazy," said Ten, "The arl and arlessa will likely each have a private suite. Obviously I'm more interested in the arlessa's for this specific purpose, but one can never know too much."
It took them the better part of two hours, poking into all sorts of crevices - guest rooms, bathing rooms, what was likely Connor's childhood nursery before it had all gone so horribly sideways. At the end of a windy little corridor was a grand room, with large south-facing windows, clearly designed to be large enough for the arl to meet with ten or more advisors, subjects, or knights. It was terribly dusty, of course, most of the staff having died demon-related deaths in the past several weeks, but Ten imagined enough time would pass before its master had returned that anything they displaced would be covered again.
Along the east wall stood a desk entirely too large for any normal human to require it. Nobles, Ten scoffed. It was piled high with dusty books and scrolls, though it looked as though most of them were blank and likely there for show.
Lelianna began feeling the walls for secret compartments and poking around in the several large bookshelves, while Ten sat herself at the grand desk and, lighting a candle, went through the account book laid out thereon. Regular things. Taxes in every month. Tribute paid to the capital. Orders out, supplies in. Stipends to lesser banns in the area, and a few in Orlais. Nothing out of order.
However, in a drawer on the right hand side that was locked, though not very well, was a smaller ledger. This one contained accounts of a more personal nature. She saw regular gifts to the Chantry in town, two convents and a monastery further out in the Hinterlands, stipends paid to the widows of knights in his service. "Wait, this one's strange," she said, "Come here."
Lelianna left off tapping at the wall to look over her shoulder.
"Tell me what's strange about these two," Ten said. She realized when the sentence was halfway out that this was exactly what she did to Shianni whenever they were looking into something. Made her identify for herself why Ten had taken notice of it. She felt a pang for her cousin, and hoped she was getting on all right.
"Well that one has no title," Lelianna said, "Just a name."
"You would have no way of knowing this," said Ten, "But this address is in the shittiest part of Denerim. Well, aside from my neighborhood. It's not a lot of money either. Everyone else is getting hundreds, and she's getting about twenty sovereigns a month."
"That is strange," said Lelianna, "Why would a provincial arl be paying some woman in the slums of Denerim barely enough to cover rent?"
"Well I can think of several, none of them nice," said Ten.
"And you accuse me of having my mind in the gutter," Lelianna chided her.
"She hasn't gotten it this month," said Ten, "That means it was kept from the Arlessa, look, you can see in the main ledger that Isolde has kept up with everything else."
"So she's probably not terribly pleased," said Lelianna.
"Maybe she'd be willing to cough something up." She took down her name and address. "Goldanna MacCathaíl, what could you have to tell me…"
"And the other," said Lelianna, "Every other gift to the Chantry has the name of the order who runs it. But this is just for one Fra Genotivi. Also an address in Denerim."
"An solitary monk," mused Ten, "You don't see that every day. He probably knows a few things as well." She wrote down the name and address. "At least he doesn't live in the slums."
"A solitary monastic is usually a scholar," said Lelianna.
"Or a lunatic who decides to follow around a member of an exiled order because she had a vision," Ten pointed out.
"Or that."
She shut the account books, started going through the rest of the desk drawers. There was the regular correspondence. Friends from adolescence. Negotiations with various banns in his territory.
"There is a distressing lack of dirt here," Lelianna said, rifling through another drawer.
"He must keep it in his estate in Denerim. Would make sense. Away from the wife. Away from servants whose families he's known for generations," said Ten.
"Well don't tell me we need to break in there as well," said Lelianna.
"Of course not. I know his butler and two chambermaids," said Ten, "Anything we need to know about him that he keeps in the capital can be purchased fair and square."
Lelianna paused and looked at Ten pointedly. "I'm getting the feeling there's quite a bit about you that you haven't told us," said Lelianna.
"What, that I'm friendly with my neighbors? Hardly a state secret," said Ten.
"You seem to know an awful lot about obtaining state secrets," said Lelianna, "For a sweet elfin maiden who owned a potions shop."
"A girl needs hobbies," said Ten, mildly, "Come on, I'm guessing that through there is their bedchamber, the arlessa's suite is probably beyond that."
They tiptoed through the grand bedchamber, where the comatose form of the arl was, as Ten imagined he would be, motionless in a bed large enough that the most estranged of spouses could share it without risk of accidentally touching each other. He was in rough shape, taking shallow breaths every few seconds, his beard grown out long and grizzled and his cheeks sunken in. But his eyes darted back and forth frantically beneath closed eyelids in a way that was altogether unnerving.
As predicted, a door on the eastern side of the bedchamber opened into a dressing room. Ten gave into temptation and ran her hand along the dozens of silk gowns that hung from a bar that ran the length of the north wall, and caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror. Maker's breath I look like shit, she thought, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the fading scars from mess the mirror's owner had made of her face, the burst blood vessels in both eyes that she hadn't even noticed but imagined had something to do with being squeezed within an inch of her life the previous night.
"Are we stealing jewelry as well?" asked Lelianna, who had been drawn to the rack of gleaming earrings that stood on a dresser on the opposite end of the room.
"What, so we can parade around the roads of the absolute armpit of the nation wearing gold, just screaming 'please rob me'?" Ten asked, "Eh, why not."
But Lelianna had moved on to the small bottles of perfume on the other end of the dresser, opening bottles and sniffing them. Ten started going through drawers. Stockings. Corsets. Underthings. Nothing of interest.
"Wait," said Lelianna, "I don't think this one is perfume." She held it up a small crystal vial to the light and tipped it this way and that, "It's too viscous. And it doesn't smell like anything."
Ten appeared at her side, examining the bottle, "The vial itself is Tevinter, they don't cut them like that here. As for what's in it…" She opened it, took a whiff. It smelled earthy and dark, but not unpleasant. She held it up to the light. Tipped it this way and that. Lelianna was right, it was thick, moving slowly in the crystal of the vial. There was an iridescent sheen on it.
"Well," said Ten, "I suppose there's only one way to find out. Ten tipped the tiniest drop onto her littlest finger and touched her tongue to it. Flavorless. Nobody would have noticed.
The vertigo began immediately. She gasped. She put the bottle down on the dresser and grabbed at the wall. Lelianna got an arm under her and guided her over to a fainting couch in the opposite corner while the room wheeled around her. It was like nothing she had ever tested on herself, or built a tolerance to. She gripped the back of the sofa for dear life while Lelianna paced frantically, at an utter loss for what to do.
"What do I do?" Lelianna demanded, "Who do I fetch? Who is here?"
"No," said Ten, shutting her eyes. It did nothing to stop the feeling of pitching, dropping. She felt her eyes involuntarily dart this way and that behind her lids. "Don't fetch the mages. They're occupied. There should be a tincture in my bag, says 'elfroot' on it, it should help."
"I can barely read these!" Lelianna protested in a panic.
"It's red!" Ten exclaimed. She felt a leather flask being shoved into her hand. She popped the cork and took a sip. The vertigo calmed somewhat, but didn't leave her entirely, "I think I can ride this one out. Close up the bottle and put it somewhere safe. Then just… go through everything else."
"Ten, you can't just ride it out, your face has gone gray."
"It didn't kill the Arl after half a bottle," she said, "It just feels terrible right now. I barely had a drop."
"What if you… threw up?"
"I didn't swallow it," said Ten, "It got in just through my tongue. Fucking Tevinters, of course they'd have something absolutely nasty that you can't just fix with charcoal and a good retch. Just keep searching."
"What am I looking for?"
"Anything, any clue what that was or where it came from. What's in the next room?"
She heard the clicking of a lock next to her as Lelianna got the door open with much greater ease than Ten had. "It's an office. Pretty small. She has ledgers too."
"Read every bit of correspondence in there," said Ten. She tried to breathe, her heart rate going a mile a minute as she felt the room dip and swerve like she was in a rowboat on a stormy sea.
"What am I looking for?"
"Well this was rather the big one," said Ten, "I'm fairly sure we now know that the poor blood mage isn't guilty of anything but being a massive idiot, unless there's a reason he would have been in her dressing room. Actually, that's it. Find him on her payroll."
"What's his name again?"
"Jowan. I don't know his last name, but it's not a common one so it'll probably be…"
"Found him," said Lelianna, "Maker's breath, he was underpaid for the amount of trouble he's in now."
"Poor idiot," said Ten.
"All right," said Lelianna, "You look better. Is it passing?"
"Wish it would be faster," said Ten, "But yes, it's not as bad as it was."
She closed her eyes again and heard Lelianna rifle through papers for how long she could not tell. "Mostly gossip. Letters from family. They… really don't like Arl Eamon. This letter uses fifteen different euphemisms for 'old lecher.'"
"Strange since many of them seem to be surviving on his charity," said Ten.
"It's not charity," said Lelianna, darkly, "They paid for it. Well… Isolde paid for it."
Ten sighed, "Don't tell me I need to feel sorry for her."
"Ten, it's in the documents. She was seventeen when she was sent to a foreign country all alone to marry a much older man. Younger when he began courting her."
"Why is it that every other time I want to really and truly hate someone, it winds up just being another sad story?" grumbled Ten.
"Wait…. there's a compartment below this drawer," she announced, "I can feel it."
"Can you get it open?"
"She's going to know someone was in here no matter what, yes? May as well drive the point home."
Ten sighed as she heard a crack of wood splintering.
"There's another letter in here," said Lelianna. Ten heard the papers rustling, "Oh… this is bad.".
"What is it?" asked Ten, opening one eye.
"This seal look familiar?" asked Lelianna.
"The world is spinning for me right now, Lelianna, just tell me," she said.
"It's the official seal of Gwaren," she said, "Loghain's teyrnir."
"Read it to me."
"You have my assurance that the boy Connor will remain unmolested by lay and ecclesiastical authorities, and will be granted an exception to the law of the land where it concerns mages holding title. You will receive a document with my daughter's royal seal on it upon news that Eamon has perished after a long and slow decline - not uncommon for a man of his years - but assured with a regular dose of the concoction herein. And it is signed, though I do not know the man's signature."
"So she was telling the truth that It was Loghain's idea. What's the date on that letter?"
"More than a month ago."
"Before Ostagar," said Ten, "This is a long game. Probably hatched as soon as Maric was gone. This is… just so much worse than I thought it could be."
"Why would she keep such a thing? She is Orlesian! We know to burn dangerous letters."
"Probably as a contingency. If things go sideways for Loghain, she can use it to bargain to get herself out of any trouble for making an attempt on her husband."
"It makes sense for her, she wants her son to keep his title and lands. Her husband is her only thing keeping her from probable exile back home," said Lelianna.
"And he's got a good fifteen years on her, if not more, from the looks of him. She was always going to be widowed eventually," said Ten, "And I suspect she really does not want to have to return to her family. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Chevalière Rosaïda d'Ismarién? What about Écuyer Moinet de Fidoresse?"
"Never," said Lelianna, "Most likely inconsequential members of the petite noblesse."
"Exactly," she said, "Those two were getting stipends from the Arl. And a few other Orlesian names with those titles. I'm guessing in-laws."
"So she has nothing to return to," said Lelianna, "And without her son inheriting the title, her position is not assured beyond the death of her husband."
"It would also explain why she hangs on to Teagan so," said Ten, "A contingency. She will almost certainly outlive Eamon, without Connor a viable heir, her next best bet at keeping her social station is to latch on to the brother."
"So what do we do with this?"
"I don't know," said Ten, "There are… other considerations here. What I can't get my head around is why, if she was behind all of this, she has sent the knights off to find a relic which she believes will miraculously cure her husband?"
"Unless she doesn't believe that Andraste's ashes exist," said Lelianna, "And it was all a… how do you say it… chase of the wild goose."
Ten's jaw dropped a little, "Oh that is diabolical," she breathed, "Get rid of the knights. Cast the lands into chaos. Sow panic among the common folk. Tell me, sister, do you believe that the relic is real?"
"I do," said Lelianna, "And it is said that it possesses miraculous properties. I must admit, I am personally quite fascinated at the prospect. Are you feeling better?"
"Not really. So you believe in the ashes, do you believe they possess powers of healing?"
"I am not sure about that," she said, "But it is possible, I have seen stranger things. Teneira, are you feeling better? Can you rise from that couch? Fight?"
"I might need a few minutes on that count."
"I am sorry to have to tell you this, but we do not have a few minutes," said Lelianna.
Ten forced one eye open to see that, somewhere in the shifting stones of the walls, a familiar figure was standing in the doorway, her hand over her mouth.