Through the alley, up a slippery staircase in the shadow of the cliffs to the east, through a bustling fishmarket, Ten found herself back where she had started, looking at the stone bridge over the river. She embraced Hierin, who was shivering and probably not with the chill, and sent him on his way home. He'd put his brother's ring on the littlest finger of his right hand, and she had a feeling that there it would stay. She looked down at her own hand, the pale patch where the ring had made its home since that spring.
Well, Ten, that's that. That's why you wore it this long. Part of you knew there was something more to do. And now, it's done.
Aside from the trickle of refugees she imagined where still moving slowly through the gate, the square where the river ran was remarkably empty. The chantry, a grey stone building with a belltower that seemed to grow out of the cliffs themselves was to the west, estates of the petite bourgeoisie to the east. And yet, nobody seemed to be around to stop her from sitting on the bench on the crest of the bridge, watching the water rush hurriedly downhill to join the raging surf. And so she did, and once she did, it was as though the fog descended even lower. She could not see the clocktower, and so she was not sure how long it was until the time she had agreed to meet Alistair back there, but since he was not pacing, raging that she had missed their appointment, she felt confident that she had managed to both argue with her in-laws and dispatch her late husband's last enemy within the proscribed two hours.
Sitting there, looking over the bits of rooftops that protruded above the fog, the found her pipe, and her tobacco, though she had a little bit of trouble lighting it in the damp air. Finally succeeding, she took a puff, and blew a cloud of smoke. She felt an absence, as though there had been a ghost perched on her shoulders for months, and it had finally loosed her and scampered off. She let the tears fall silently, made no move to wipe them.
Nelaros probably would have told me the truth. Eventually. When he trusted me. And he would have trusted me. I would have earned that. We would have come here together. And he could have disposed of the filth himself.
"You know, that stuff will make your teeth yellow."
She sighed. Well, I suppose some things are still predictable.
"Yeah I know. I've been cutting back," she said. She moved over, made room for Alistair on the bench. He sat beside her. She offered him the pipe, which he refused.
"Hard day?" he asked.
"How can you tell?" she asked rhetorically, using the thumb and forefinger of her left hand to wipe the tears from beneath her eyes.
"Did you get into a fight? It looks like someone punched you in the face."
"You should see the other guy," she said. Her lip was split and swollen where the shopkeeper had backhanded her, the pain something she had not even registered until that moment.
"I know better than to ask questions. Wait… you took your ring off."
"I did," she said, looking at the pale band of skin on her otherwise brown finger, "Gave it to his little brother. It was time."
"Did his parents hate you?"
"I think his parents hated him," said Ten, "His dad anyway. Hateful man. But it was all… sad. Nothing to be done for it now. I have done my duty and I have no ties to it anymore. I was married. Now I'm not."
"That sound you just heard was guardsmen the country over praising the Maker that their prayers were answered," Alistair said.
"You're really not letting that one go, are you," she chuckled.
"Not until you tell me who busted your mouth," he said, "Wait… his dad didn't hit you, did he? Which house is his? I'll have a word with him."
"I've seen what you've done to your own in-laws, I hate to think what you'd do to mine."
"Just a friendly conversation! I won't throw him through any windows, I promise."
"That's not what happened," she said, thinking of the most diplomatic way to phrase the events of the previous hours, "I learned that my late husband had some unfinished business. I finished it. It's done. I can leave. Shall we?"
"Oh, no, you can't just leave me with that. Unfinished business that has you showing up with a split lip crying your eyes out? No, you don't get to be all elfy and mysterious about this one."
"I was crying for the vast unfairness of the world," she said, "And look at you! You are currently in better spirits than I've seen you in weeks, whatever catharsis you sought has clearly done you some good. I'm not going to spoil that by telling you the story, because I assure you you will not feel better having heard it."
"But will you feel better for having told it?" he asked.
"Perhaps," she said, "But not here. Let me rephrase what I said earlier. I have finished the business I inherited, and I should leave. Leave town, that is. Most expediently. So, again, shall we?"
"Ah. Just can't go too long between crimes, can we," Alistair said, rising.
"It's my nature," she said. She stood up, stretching her back out and taking one last look at the Alienage, half hidden in the fog. She hoped Hierin had taken her words to heart. That the shop boy had gone to the comfort of his mother. And that Lio had been swallowed by the waves.
"Teneira, would you like to tell me why a severed ear just fell out of your pocket?"
She turned and saw the shopkeeper's ear was lying on the bench, where it must have fallen when she rose. I was fumbling with too many things, it must have wound up in my pocket. Shit. She picked it up and chucked it in the river. "Whoops," she said, "Silly me."
"Well now you definitely have to tell me what happened."
"Which I will do!" she said, gathering her skirts to mid calf and half-ran towards the gates, "Once we've left the guards'… earshot."
"You'll be banished to the very worst part of the Fade for that joke alone!" Alistair called, chasing after her.
"I'll see you there!" she called back.
Trying to run while appearing not to be running, while also having her vision limited by the infernal fog which hovered just low enough to disrupt even Ten's vision was more difficult than she had imagined it would be. It really shouldn't have been a surprise to her when she ran into something. The surprise, however, was what that something was - rather, who it was.
"Well, if it isn't Dirty Denerim herself," Arnaud DuBroy exclaimed, taking her by both arms to keep her from falling.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I'm so sorry, guardsman, I was just…"
"Sure and you're not used to the fog. It takes some time."
Shit. How do I get out of this one? They can't have figured it out already. He's barely cold. Unless the boy sold me down the river, but the way he was carrying on I doubt he'll speak for months. Shit. Can't really just strike a guardsman down in the middle of the street. Probably harmless, right? Shit.
"Well, I'm glad I ran into you. Or, rather, that you ran into me. I'm going to have to take a rain check on that drink. There's been a murder and my sergeant's called all hands on deck."
"A murder!" she exclaimed, putting a hand over her mouth in astonishment and also to hide the bruising, which he had not yet noticed, "Oh no, what a terrible thing!"
In her peripheral vision she saw Alistair, who had been on her heels, turn right back around again and pretend to be a stranger examining the bulletin board outside the Chantry yard.
"Do me a favor," DuBroy said.
Oh no.
"Say 'terrible' again."
"Terrible?"
"I love that accent," he sighed, "Yes, unfortunately. A man got beaten to death in the lower markets."
Well that was fast. "Did you know the victim?" she asked.
"Not personally," said Arnaud, "Why, are you… into that sort of thing?"
"Oh I love a good crime story," said Ten, "It's a… weakness of mine."
"Well, don't tell anyone I said this, but just from what I've heard in the last hour, it's a juicy one," said DuBroy.
"Juicy!" she exclaimed, "Well, you couldn't leave me hanging, could you?"
"Nick Standwright, he kept a general store. Someone beat the tar out of him and took everything in the till. Shop boy was on his break, came back and it was locked up tight from the inside, my sergeant broke down the door and found him dead on the floor in a puddle of his own piss, blood, and Maker knows what else. His face was all messed up, barely recognizable, and there was a broken jug of poison next to him."
"But if the door was locked from the inside… are you sure he didn't do it to himself?" Ten asked, making her eyes large.
"Maybe," said DuBroy, "But I don't think he could have messed his own face up like that."
"Maybe someone beat him up and he was so ashamed he decided to bar the doors and end it all," Ten mused.
"You read too many mystery novels, don't you," said DuBroy, "But see, that's not all. If the rumors about Standwright were true, it could have been anyone. Rumor had it he liked little boys, that doesn't tend to endear a man to his neighbors."
"Oh goodness, what a terrible thing."
"Fuck, I love how you say 'terrible.' And I hate that I have to be off, but… tell me you'll come to town again. I'll tell you all the dirty secrets."
"Oh I do love a dirty secret," she said, "Good luck solving that mystery!"
She extricated herself from his grasp before he could get any ideas and, waving in a manner she hoped was flirtatious and not just creepy, headed back towards the gates. Unmanned now, refugees were pouring in. Used to crowds, she stepped between the raging current of humanity, until she was beyond the gates and a dozen yards uphill, where the fog was not so bad. She could even see far enough up the road to the east to discern Sten's enormous form, pacing back and forth in front of the campfire, no doubt wringing his hands in consternation that he'd taken up with the Grey Wardens only for there to be little to no darkspawn encounters at all. It was a good ten minutes before Alistair caught up, red in the face, clearly unprepared to handle the sheer number of people he'd had to move through.
"So, did you hear all that?" she asked.
"That some creep got what was coming? Yes. Also it's disturbing how easily you go from hardened criminal to damsel in distress."
"Well then, glad we got that out of the way," she said, "Come on, let's get a move on, I can see the steam coming off Sten's head from here…"
"Wait, no! You promised you'd tell me what happened!"
"I thought you said you heard everything! Come on, put two and two together," she said.
"My mind is not nearly as dark and terrifying as yours, I'm sorry, you're going to have to spell this one out."
She sighed. Rummaged in her pack. She'd managed to keep herself in liquor - used both for medicinal and recreational purposes - through a combination of minor theft and skillful bargaining all along the road. She found her latest prize, a bottle of raw distilled fire she'd intended to reserve for disinfecting, but needs must. She took a swallow and flinched in spite of herself. Sat herself on a rock on the hillside.
"So, Alistair," she said, "Let's go through this one line by line and I'll show you how to figure shit out for your damn self."
"Wait… wait. All right. You killed the pedo, didn't you."
"Close," she said, "You get credit for that, but I did not actually kill him."
"But you cut his ear off and put it in your pocket for reasons I don't even want to know."
"Yes to the first bit, but I think I was just fumbling with so many things it wound up in my pocket without me even thinking about it. Probably should have left it at the scene. Although I bet its absence is going to send the guard on quite a merry chase."
"All right. Fair enough. Mutilated a very deserving man who later wound up dead. I can get behind that. But, this was your first time here, yes?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, "Never made it further than the Bannorn myself."
"So what, did you just go knocking on doors, saying 'hullo, I'm a renowned murderer, do you know of anyone who just has far too many ears?'"
She sighed. Took another sip from the bottle. Worked hard to keep her face straight as she swallowed it. Waited for him to put two and two together.
"Oh no. Oh... shit. Was… was that your husband's unfinished business?"
She took another swig. The more she drank the easier it went down.
"Oh Ten, you're right I don't feel better having heard that. That's pretty fucking awful. But the man's dead, yes?"
"Sure is," she said, taking another swig of moonshine.
"But you didn't kill him."
"I had a chat with him," she said, "And then he killed himself."
"He beat himself to death?"
"Well, I let his current shop boy have a go at him with his boot after he was incapacitated. Seemed only fair. Kicked pretty hard for such a little kid." Her voice broke with the last sentence, the bile rose in her throat again and she felt tears leak from the corners of her eyes again, "Just a fucking kid…"
Silently, Alistair went through his things and handed her a handkerchief that was clean by road standards. She scraped it over her face.
"That's why everyone in Denerim knows you, isn't it. Why everyone seems to like you. You've been doing stuff like that for ages, haven't you."
"Someone's got to," she said, "It's not like the guard takes crimes against elves seriously."
"But it wasn't just elves, was it. The humans knew you too."
"You met your sister. There's humans as miserable as we are."
"And… and you said that thing in Redcliffe, when we found that blood mage. About how you knew that a man being tortured would say whatever you wanted him to say," Alistair said, the light going on behind his eyes, "Wait, he was a creep too! Same thing! Shop girl!"
"Yes," she said, "He confessed to all sorts of things she said he didn't actually do. So I don't believe in torture as an interrogation method anymore."
"So it's just for fun."
"For punishment," she corrected him, "You heard that guard. Everyone knew. His neighbors knew. My father in law knew. And nobody ever did anything about it. My husband was twenty-five years old when he died. He'd been carrying that burden around for years, it drove him mad if his mother's to be believed. And nobody ever fucking did anything. Not even his own dad."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair sit heavily on the ground beside her and reach for the flask. She handed it to him. He took a sip, which he instantly regretted, coughing.
"Maker's breath that's foul," he said, "But you did."
"I did what?"
"You did something. You took care of him," he said, "He won't go near any little elf boys anymore, because you did something."
"I wish I'd been there ten years ago," she sighed, "Fuck, I wish the woman I am today had been there for the girl I was ten years ago."
She put her head in her hands, but caught his eyes on her. She hadn't really ever looked at him before, a glance here and there, more to show that she was engaged in the conversation - like he seemed to think was polite - than anything else. It really was a difficult habit to break. But now, she met his gaze. He had an odd coloring for a human, something she had not remarked on, only seeing hair blond, skin pale. But now that she was fairly sure he would not beat her for looking at him, she noticed for the first time that his eyes were so dark that she could not make out where the irises ended and the pupils began. Odd. Shem have remarked that I really ought to have black hair, given how dark I am. He's the opposite.
He broke their gaze first. "I am going to regret saying this with every fiber of my being," Alistair sighed, looking back out into the fog, "But if everything you're telling me is true, let me have a go at the next one."
"Really! You! Little Ser Chantry Brat himself wants a tour of the dark side!"
"Is it the dark side, though?"
"Whoa… did you have some sort of revelation while I was busy?"
"It's just so much worse out here," he said, "Everything was simple until Ostagar. Someone who knows more than you points at some demon or blood mage or darkspawn, you hit it with a pointy stick. But now…"
"People are complicated," she said.
"So complicated! Nothing prepared me for this. And so it got me thinking."
"Oh no, can't have that, the Maker frowns upon thinking."
"And… I have questions. You see, here's the thing. I was all of fifteen, maybe, and they had me running through the innards of this nation, chasing down blood mages. Ther were so many of them. But, Ten, the thing is that they can't all have been blood mages. There just aren't that many mages, period. And then, I thought about how many of them were, I don't even know how to say it. People who had radical ideas about the Chant or the nature of Andraste, or were a little too curious about the Qun or were a little too familiar with the Old Gods. But all they did was point and say 'blood mage' and we just… we went. Spirited them away, locked them up, never to be seen again."
"Really!" Ten exclaimed, "I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised at that, but still. And you really had no idea until now?"
"I genuinely didn't," Alistair said, "And then, the whole disaster at Ostagar. How easy it was for a man to just turn the tide of a battle in a mad grab for power. And there are people, regular people, all over this nation who are now convinced you and I are the worst sort of traitors. And we're not! But if things were different and I were still with the Templar Order, and word came from the capital that the Grey Wardens had turned on the king? I would have believed it. If you had turned up in that chantry in Lothering, I'd have hauled you in myself."
"I feel like I'm witnessing you have the same realization all of us had as children in real time."
"Who's us?"
"Elves. Women. Elfin women in particular. I always knew the rules weren't meant to protect us. So fuck the rules. The law was written without me in mind, so fuck the law. The people making them aren't doing it for my benefit, they're doing it so they can keep me under their boot and have me thanking them for it. There's no inherent wisdom in crown or chantry, it's all just… to keep us where they want us. And that applies to you too, to everyone, just because you were in a nicer prison than I was doesn't make it make sense."
"And what kills me at this point is I really believed it. I truly thought that hunting down those "mages" was, apparently, true and righteous. So I don't know anymore."
"There's a reason they start you so young," said Ten.
"Well you just sort of learn to accept things, hear what the priestesses say is right and wrong, what the laws say, what you can and can't do, but if you just… think about it for a moment, it all falls apart."
"Oh no, I've created a monster," she chuckled, wiping the tears with the back of her hand.
"Well if you'd let me finish… you're also right about most of it. None of it makes sense. It's all bullshit. There, you win. If we both get out of this one, and the Blight is over, when you're on the barricades hollering for equality and justice in five year's time you won't find me among those coming to tear it down."
"Ha!" she exclaimed, slapping her hands on her thighs and rising, "I'm going to tell all my friends I radicalized a son of a damn king! I'll be an absolute legend."
She offered her hand, and he took it and rose, nearly pulling her over in the process.
"Don't call me that. I'm nobody's son."
"No, you're not doing that today," she declared, "It's my day to be sad. You can have tomorrow. We can't both be moping at the same time, the archdemon will sense it and then we're all fucked."
They set off on the road towards camp.
"Fair enough. You know, it's funny. Given everything that's happened, this is the first time I've seen you cry," he said.
"Well don't spread it around, I have a reputation to uphold," she said, "Are my eyes all bloodshot?"
"A bit," he said.
"All right. Do me a favor will you?"
"I'm afraid to ask what it is."
"Hit me. If I've got a shiner nobody will notice I've been crying," she said, "And it'll match the split lip."
"Ten, I am not going to hit you."
"Come on, part of you has wanted to for weeks."
"Not a small part either, but I'm still not going to."
"You're a terrible friend."
"Say terrible again."
"No, and also go fuck yourself."
"You did it for that guardsman."
"I do a lot of things for a lot of guardsmen, in your twisted imagination," Ten said, "How about this, if you can explain to me how there's an 'f' in 'lieutenant' I will say that word again."
"That's how it's said! I don't make the rules. It's all those foreigners in Denerim, they've corrupted your tongues."
"I'll have you know my father's a foreigner," Ten said, "And that's a terrible thing to say!"
"Fine, be that way… oh."
"Once you've learned to extrapolate things on your own we are going to work on becoming quicker on the uptake."
"I'm not slow on the uptake, you just talk too fast."
"It's the ears isn't it," she said, That's why you people never listen properly."
"Hey now, that was kind of borderline…"
"Borderline enough to get that black eye?"
"No!"
