She followed Hierin up the steep cobblestoned street. It was hard to do, since the fog lay so thick and impenetrable she kept losing him in it. But eventually they came to higher ground, where a nondescript shop bore a picture of a spool of thread and corked bottle. Hierin nodded, "In there."

On the outside of the store hung a sign reading 'Open.' She turned it around to where it read 'Closed' on the other side. Then she opened the door. Above the door, a little bell affixed to the hinges tinkled. She nodded at the man behind the counter, who was in his late forties. Darkhaired, with a patchy beard that was beginning to go gray around the edges. He waved. The ring and middle fingers of his right hand only went as far as the first knuckle. She felt the bile rise in her throat.

I meant to kill him, but he was faster than I was. Took off a couple of his fingers, though

She wandered through the shelves, seeing if there was anyone else in the shop, until she found what she was looking for. She checked the label. It had some long Tevinter name that she couldn't make heads or tails of, but as far as she could tell, it was some sort of byproduct from the mining and distilling of lyrium. The dwarves, happy to extract any and all coin from any and all sources, had a monopoly on it, and here, apparently, it was sold as rat poison. She'd heard unpleasant things about death from this particular poison. Convulsions. Foaming at the mouth. Violent hemorrhage.

She picked up a jug. Looked to the front. There was one other patron in the place, and she was making her purchases. She watched as the housewife bustled out of the door, the bells tinkling as she went.

"Bar the door," she told Hierin.

While he did so, she took her paring knife from its case and coated it with a paralytic, her back to the till.

"Lad, what are you doing?" the shopkeeper shouted, "Don't touch that."

Ten walked swiftly to the front, where he had cornered Hierin against the door. She strode up behind the shopkeeper and planted her little blade squarely in the middle of his back, dragging it a bit as she took it out.

"What the…" he turned, and backhanded her across the jaw with his good hand. She took it, turned the other cheek. He looked at her astonished, raised his hand to strike her again, but the poison began to take effect, and his knees began to buckle.

"Prop him up against the counter," said Ten.

Hierin caught him as he collapsed and dragged him to the counter, setting him down with his back to it. The man was struggling to breathe, but the dose wouldn't kill him. If she just left him there the sense would return to his limbs after about twenty minutes.

"What manner of bullshit is this? Are you robbing me?" asked the shopkeeper.

"Do you know what happens to someone who drinks rat poison?" Ten asked, crossing her arms and staring coldly down at him.

"What are you talking about? Are you mad, woman?! Just take what's in the till, I don't…"

She kicked him in the ribs. Not hard enough to break anything, just hard enough to hurt. "Do you know what happens when someone drinks this?" she asked again, holding the jug up.

"I imagine they die," he said, trying to catch his breath.

"Sometimes. But first," said Ten, "They seize. They foam at the mouth. Their stomach twists and churns. Then blood starts coming out both ends. Then they die. Does that sound pleasant?"

The shopkeeper stared at her blankly. She raised her foot to kick him again.

"No! No. It does not sound pleasant."

"So imagine," she said, "How odious your touch must be, if a man chooses that death over living with the memory of it."

Realization dawned on him, "Look, lass, I don't know who told you what, but that's not women's business."

"Oh, you think what happens to our brothers, our sons, our husbands isn't our business?"

"Young lads, they do well with the guidance, when they start becoming men. They thank me. You wouldn't understand. Just… trust me. You don't get it."

"Hierin, it occurs to me he still has eight fingers," said Ten. She offered him her hatchet, handle first. Hierin, looking a little green, shook his head, "Ah well, suit yourself." She hung the hatchet back on her belt.

"Just take what's in the till," the shopkeeper said, "I won't breathe a word to the guard."

"No you won't," said Ten, "Because you are going to drink this. And you're going to thank me." She knelt and took the cork out of the jug, leaving it within grasping distance of his good hand.

"You're fucking crazy," the shopkeeper said.

"Yes," she said, "I am. So do you want to take your chances with me, or drink this, and at least you'll know exactly what you're in for?"

"Why, who are you?"

Ten chuckled. She started whistling the tune to the Vengeful Bride of Denerim Town. She did a little dance step. Twirled. Then, in a single fluid motion, she took her hatchet from her belt, and sliced off his left ear, stopping the blade so it cut about half an inch into his shoulder. He howled. Piss started pooling under him, creeping out across the floorboards, the blood dripping from the side of his head joining it in a truly abhorrent mix. Hierin stepped back to avoid it, his blue eyes like saucers. Well, he did ask to be here.

"I could do this all day," she said, "Overnight if I really exert myself. Say, do you carry pliers here?"

"Fucking crazy knife-eared bitch," the shopkeeper panted.

"Hierin! Find me a pair of pliers, will you?"

"Sure thing," he said. He took off down an aisle, probably glad to be away from the macabre spectacle.

"One of most distinctive differences between humans and elves," said Ten, "You know, besides these." She picked up his severed ear and waved it in front of the shopkeeper's eyes for emphasis. "Is that humans have thirty-two teeth while elves only have twenty-eight. Did you know that?"

The shopkeeper made a mewling noise.

"I asked you a fucking question!" she bellowed. "Oh," she said, her voice softening, "I'm sorry." She leaned down, held the bloody ear in front of her, and repeated softly into it, "Did you know that?"

"No! No, I did not know that."

"So once Hierin has gotten the pliers," she said, "You're going to have thirty-two chances to change your mind. After that, I'm taking your tongue, and then you're probably going to have some trouble swallowing. So you'll have no choice but to watch me take bits off you for the next several hours, because I'm going to save your eyes for last."

"What size do you want?" asked Hierin. He held a selection of three sets of pliers. Ten leaned down. She held one after the other up next to the shopkeeper's mouth.

"These will do." She selected the medium sized pair. Tested them, clicking the jaws against each other. "Thank you, Hierin," she said, "Now, did you see a hammer and nails back there anywhere?"

"Yes," he said.

"Can you bring a large hammer and some of those big iron nails they use to hold the docks together?"

"Sure can," said Hierin, "Can I ask why?"

"Well, the poison I put on that knife isn't going to last as long as I'd like, so if we don't want him running, I think the best solution would be nailing his feet to the floor. He's got big feet. Big feet need big nails." She tucked her skirts up so they wouldn't get any bodily fluids on them, squatted, and started undoing the laces on his shoes.

"Maker's fucking breath, give me the damn poison," the shopkeeper said, his voice hoarse with resignation.

"Aw," said Ten, "I was looking forward to that. But, a deal is a deal. You've probably already felt the sense returning to your hands. Don't get excited, now, your legs will take a bit longer. But once you can move your hands, I expect you to drink it down like a sailor on shore leave."

His good hand reached out. Grasped for the jug. He got his hand around it, two fingers through the handle and brought it to his lips.

"Go on! Shall we sing a drinking song? Ohhhh the pub on the crossroad has whiskey and beer… ah, guess you can't really sing with me now. Theeerrree is brandy and cognac that's fragrant but dear! Oh, look at you! You must have been the life of the party in your youth! " She paused for a moment, watched him chugging the poison. He was guzzling it down, choking a little, the pale blue liquid trickling from the corners of his mouth and dripping down his beard. She clapped her hands.

He hadn't even gotten it all down when the convulsions started. The jug, only about an eighth full at this point, fell on the floor and broke, the slightly blue liquid mixing with the piss and blood on the floor. His eyes rolled back. Foam dripped from his mouth. He would sit there, seizing every so often, until it ended him. He would not rise again.

"Teneira," said Hierin. She looked at him. He gestured with his chin at the door to the shop's back room. A kid, elfin, maybe twelve or thirteen, was standing there, staring at the scene through hollow dark eyes. He wore an apron that was far too large for him.

"Are you going to call law in?" asked Ten.

The kid shook his head slowly.

"Are you all right, kid?" she asked.

He nodded.

"He's not dead yet," Ten offered, "Anything you do, he'll feel it."

The kid nodded again and walked up to the shopkeeper, a slow smile spreading across his face. He nudged the man's head with his foot. Then he squared back and kicked him in the face. The shopkeeper fell to the side, still seizing, and the kid stomped on him, again and again and again until there wasn't much left to the man's features. Then he started gasping, then sobbing, and backed away.

"Hey," said Ten gently, putting an arm around his narrow shoulders, "Hey. You're all right, lad. It's over. It's done." The kid turned into her and hid his head in the crook of her shoulder, shaking violently. "Hey now. It's all right. It's over. He's not doing anything to anyone ever again."

Hierin, meanwhile, was examining the till, an iron lockbox. He tried a couple of the keys hanging behind the counter, and finding that none of them fit, took a hammer to it, smashing it open. He started counting coins, then gave up and picked the whole thing up, pouring a small river of gold and silver into a leather sack he'd lifted from one of the shelves. He approached Ten and the boy tentatively, and offered the bag. The kid removed his face from Ten's shoulder, and took it shyly.

"Should see you through until you find something else," Hierin said.

The kid swiped at his eyes with his sleeve and nodded.

"It wasn't you," said Ten, "You get that, right? It wasn't you. It was him. He's the one who did something wrong. There is nothing wrong with you."

He nodded again.

"Now you're going to have to keep your wits about you for a bit," she said, "You're going to go out the back door. Walk around the block twice. Try both doors. Make sure someone sees you trying to get in. Then run home and tell your ma that you went for a walk on your break, came back, and the doors were locked. You saw nothing. You heard nothing. You have no idea what happened in here."

"Then you'll tell her you got a job with my mum in her workshop," Hierin said, "Her name's Sue, she's got the sailmaking shop at the end on the third pier in the harbor. She'll go along with it, she's wrapped around my little finger. She's paying you the same wage. What, five gold a week? Then you give your dad coin out of that sack, say it's your wages. We'll find you something in the meantime."

Ten looked at him in surprise. He'd picked it up pretty quickly.

"Got it?" Hierin asked.

The kid nodded again. He hung up his apron, tucked the sack of coins under his shirt. He hung his apron on a hook by the back door. He opened it slowly, looked to the left and right, and walked out into the alley. Ten went and barred the back door too.

"It'll look better if it's locked from the inside," she said, "Think you can squeeze out that window?"

"Probably," said Hierin, "Nobody goes down this alley anyway."

They wriggled out the half open window of the back room, one after the other and went around the back of the building and took stock, Ten wiping the blood from her hands with a rag and tossing it on a midden heap in the middle of the alley that looked and smelled like it belonged to a butcher's shop.

"Well," said Ten, dusting her hands off, "I think our work here is done."

"Where did you learn to do that?" asked Hierin.

"My dad left a few things out of the letters too," she said, "But really, nobody's looking out for you here? If he'd done that to an elf in Denerim someone would have taken him out years ago!"

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'm not saying it's perfect. They figured out how to do lynch mobs, it's hard to do too much about them, but… he was just one man. He wasn't even noble! He had no guards, he worked alone in that shop. Why was your brother left to go after him alone? Where were your people? Do you not have guilds? Family meetings? Anyone?"

"I don't think I understand," said Hiren, "You mean to tell me that that doesn't happen in Denerim?"

"Well of course it does," said Ten, "But it doesn't just go unpunished for years. If it'd been one of my little cousins, the minute he came back from work acting… not right, that shop would have been up in flames and all the neighbors would know what he did."

"You… you can do that?"

"I just fucking did!" she exclaimed, "You mean to tell me that you just, what, lie down and take it here? Not you, I don't mean to blame you, you're just a kid yourself, but your dad? Your ma? You don't have any uncles? Cousins? Nobody?"

"Ma never knew," said Hierin, shaking his head, "Or Eilanni."

"Yes, yes, not women's business," sighed Ten.

"What was on that knife that made him collapse?" asked Hierin. She could see the gears turning behind his eyes.

She rummaged in her pack, took out a flask, "Spider venom mostly. Any species larger than your palm will do, but it takes a lot longer to collect enough when it's not one of those monstrosities that live in the caves down in the Hinterlands. The real trick is prying out the sacs without getting it everywhere."

"You collect it yourself?" he asked.

"Not usually," she said, "I do now, but before I just bought it on the markets, they sell it to physicians to keep people still if they need to cut on them. Most medical shops will have it. Here, take this one I can always gather more."

"Thanks," he said, pushing the leather flask into his pocket.

"Never go alone," she said, "Surely you have friends. Cousins. That could be persuaded to help. Hell that kid'll be grown in a couple of years and surely have an ax to grind."

He nodded, "Probably."

"Meanwhile, learn a trade more practical than goldsmithing. I'm obviously partial to alchemy and herbalism, but I'm a woman, so I'm never going to be able to swing as hard as my cousins."

"Oh I don't know, that seemed pretty hard," said Hierin, cracking a smile.

"Sure, but he'd have been able to overpower me pretty easily if I hadn't paralyzed him. He overpowered your brother, and he was a grown man. We're just not as big as they are. At least here, where we don't get fed properly. Unless you can find a great hulking Dalishman to do your dirty work, you're going to have to be smart about it. Go talk to a physician if there's one in town, get your hands on a diagram. The body has all sorts of weak spots, if you know where to look."

Hierin nodded.

"But, listen carefully, the real strength, even more than knowledge, is the others. All of us together. Humans will never admit it, but they need us. Without us nothing would happen in this country. They need us nursing their babies and washing their dishes. Chopping wood and carrying parcels. And the minute we realize that, we have power. We just have to decide when and where to use it."

The boy was nodding slowly with every sentence. There was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"And here," she said, twisting the wedding ring off her finger, "You should have this."

"You've been wearing that this whole time?" Hierin asked, turning the gold band in his hands.

"Yes," she said, "I don't really know why. But I feel it's time to take it off."

The boy nodded, "You know, Nelaros would have found that whole thing absolutely hysterical. Fucking crazy, the both of you."

"The saddest part is that I think we actually were a pretty good match," said Ten.

Outside of the alley, two fishwives walked up to the general store, saw the 'Closed' sign, and clucked their disapproval before moving on.

"We might want to get out of here," Ten said, "Guards are generally pretty dumb, but the mess the kid made of his face will clue them in that it wasn't a regular suicide."

"Come on," said Hierin, "There's a staircase on the east side that basically never gets patrolled."