Ten did not, as Gwylan requested, stop eating breakfast with the staff. After all, the word on the street would certainly reach them eventually and it certainly would have been chaos had Ten not been there to assure them that their own families had come to no harm. They were similarly relieved to learn that they would be under the protection of one of the Arishok's own best warriors until such time as a friendlier regime had taken their seat in the palace. Morrigan, in the meantime, had decided she rather liked learning peoples' embarrassing secrets. In the week or so that followed Ten's little adventure in the Alienage, she confirmed that Maylin Rasphander was, indeed, approximately six months pregnant, brought a list of banns in hock to various loan sharks, two of whom Ten knew personally, and told a tale of an underground gambling den in a sub basement under the estate of the Bann of Skreith, probably run by Madam Hirondelle or at least one of her boys. But Ten, true to her word, laid low, tending her wounds both physical and otherwise.
The plot might have looked beyond the pale to a casual observer, but it was only truly so in its audacity and scale. From where Ten sat, that which had always looked like random mass violence was, in fact, just another pattern of behavior used to keep them quiet and meek, like her father had so recently been. All in all, given the lack of casualties, it had been a boon for her people. Confirmation to the quieter among them that simply keeping one's head down and following the rules did not, in fact, result in being left alone. The little mice scurried, the rumors flew, and Ten imagined that somewhere, several miles away, one pretender to the throne was pacing and fuming.
As for Villais... Ten really wasn't sure what to make of it. It had been a nice idea. Slay the archdemon, sail off to wherever with both middle fingers in the air, and then, what? Have a normal life with a man? Until when? At some point she'd stalk off into the night to meet her doom in the Deep Roads, leaving him, and whatever babies they'd managed to make… no, no, that wouldn't have been fair at all, even to a two-faced, lying, son of a… well, then what am I, after all?
Five days later, the burn scars had faded to a silvery white which you could barely see unless you were looking for it. In her spare time - which was copious - she managed to figure out how to recreate the explosive vial she'd purchased on the road. This was only after quite a bit of trial and error, of course, though only once did they all have to evacuate the wing. She moved her work to one of the cellars instead, and only managed to make herself sick once before finally perfecting it.
"I will never understand why you are so averse to rest," Wynne scolded, the last time she was called upon to close up the dozens of tiny cuts where the glass had burst too close to its mistress.
Stitched up, cleaned up, and heavily armed, Ten all but dragged Alistair, who was apparently getting cold feet, out of the estate on the appointed evening. She didn't blame him really. After all, if a barely literate laundress could dash his world to pieces in the space of ten minutes, fearing a prolific gentleman of the evening was only natural. But, of course, when Ten threatened to simply walk alone down to the docks after dark…
She consulted the letter. She climbed some stairs up to the second floor of flats, all of which opened onto a balcony which ran the length of the building. Knocked at the door and really hoped that it was the correct one.
It was, as Ten saw when the beardless, darkhaired dwarf known as Hanne flung the door open, ready to tell whoever was out there that they weren't buying what she was selling. Instead, the dwarf's dark eyes went wide and glimmered in the half light as they took in Ten. "Look at you, you little criminal!" Hanne exclaimed, throwing their arms around her hips and lifting her clean off her feet.
"Not on the balcony, Hanne!" Ten protested, looking fearfully at the drop behind her.
"Yes on the balcony!" Hanne insisted, twirled her around, and set her down, "Wait, who's this?" Their eyes narrowed at Alistair, but then widened again. "Darling!" they yelled into the open door of the flat, their voice a brassy tenor, "Your little friend found another one!"
"My love, I'm not dressed! Give me ten minutes." Ioan's voice echoed from further back in the flat.
"I reminded you twice that she was coming tonight, it's not my fault you can't tell time!"
"And we will learn how in the hell that happened in ten minutes. I still have shem stink on me."
"Come on in," Hanne said, going in the door and beckoning them, "Did you eat yet?"
"It's fine, don't…"
"All right, let me see what we have," Hanne bustled over to the pantry, "Ioan, did you eat all that bread?"
"Light of my life!" Ioan's voice called again, "Please. Let me bathe."
"Fucking elves, always bathing," Hanne muttered, "No offense, Ten."
"You don't have to feed us," said Ten.
"You're right," Alistair said, "They really are always bathing. Could be frost on the ground and this one's rushing to the river."
"Well excuse me for coming from a culture that values hygiene," Ten said.
"And excuse me for coming from one where you feed your damn guests," said Hanne. They waltzed over from the pantry and set down a plate of dark dwarven bread, sliced meats of indeterminate origin and a fairly decent looking cucumber, cut into slices. Pints of beer drawn from an enormous keg in the corner of the room followed, "So, you got a name, strange person who looks quite a bit like my husband?"
"Alistair," he said. The worry had gone out of his face.
"I know better than to ask a surname," Hanne said.
"So you're Hanne," he said.
"To my friends," Hanne said, "Otherwise it's Will o the Whips, formerly Paragon Paddles, but since you and I will certainly not be knowing each other professionally, Hanne will do."
Ten snickered behind her hand, watching the look on her companion's face go from confusion, to realization, to redfaced embarrassment.
"Chantry brat?" Hanne asked, eyebrows raised at Ten.
"You know it," said Ten.
"He knows what we do for a living, right?"
"We discussed it," said Ten, "He was a bit surprised at first, but he's over that. Right, Alistair?"
"So you are both…"
"Creatures of the night," Hanne said dramatically, grinning, "Well, Ioan mostly works afternoons. That's when his clientele tend to stop by."
"And ah, I am so going to regret asking this, but who are his clientele?" asked Alistair.
"Well, people who want to fuck the king, of course," Hanne said, "It's gotten a little weird, since the man perished, but… well, business is actually through the roof."
"That's…"
"Extremely creepy," said Hanne, "Don't I know it. But, coin is coin is coin."
"Yes, I heard our Ioan was at an out call last time I was in town," said Ten, "Don't suppose you know who."
"You and I both know you don't last long in this business when you don't know when to keep your mouth shut," Hanne said, "I don't even know who he was seeing."
"If you were that good at keeping your mouth shut I wouldn't already know half of what I know," said Ten.
"Well that thing with Arl Urien and the wee finger up his bum was a gift," said Hanne, "May he rest in peace."
Alistair choked on his ale. Ten pounded him on the back, "You're going to have to get very comfortable with quite a few things in the next half hour or so."
"Why am I sober for this?" Alistair said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Well, we can fix that," said Ten, "Brought a present."
She set the enormous jug of moonshine she'd secured from Missus Bantree under the table a couple of nights before on the dinner table.
"Ugh," Hanne said, "I still can't believe you people drink that stuff."
"It's amazing what you learn to make when half the grains you get are already spoiled," Ten said.
"But that's what I mean!" Hanne said, "Whiskey is supposed to be rich and luscious, this just tastes like hardship. Every time Ioan drinks it he just winds up singing sad songs and crying."
"Glad to see he hasn't forgotten his roots," Ten said approvingly.
"All right, you lot," Ioan said, appearing in the doorway, dressed, with his hair still wet and slicked back against the nape of his neck, "What on earth was so imp…. Well shit." He froze, his eyes falling on Alistair.
"Well… that's a strange new feeling," Alistair observed.
Ioan stared for a moment more, and then nodded. "All right," said Ioan, "Get up, I'm going to give you the most awkward hug of your life, and then we are going to sit down and drink most of that moonshine and you're going to tell me exactly how this…" he gestured from his face to Alistair's, "happened."
"You haven't been nursing a secret hatred of me for twenty plus years, have you?"
"Bud, I didn't even know you existed until about ten minutes ago. Come on, bring it in."
Side by side, one would never have mistaken one for the other, but they were definitely related. They sort of gave the same impression at first glance. Ioan's coloring was much lighter - he truly did bear an uncanny resemblance to the late king. Hanne shook their head silently and went to the cupboard for glasses.
"Ten, a little help here?" Hanne asked. They pointed to the top shelf, "I don't know why he keeps putting them up here."
"It's spite," said Ten, "I can't reach them either."
"Keep your knees straight," Hanne said, and for the second time in twenty minutes, Ten was lifted in the air, high enough to reach the tallest shelf. Neither of the men at the table offered to help, of course, though, who could really blame them? She fetched down four tumblers, brought them to the table, and Hanne filled them.
"So, let me guess, your ma always hated you and you didn't learn why for years?" said Ioan.
"Worse," Alistair said, "My mum didn't last long after I was born. Guess she hadn't been right in the head since… learned that one fairly recently."
"Must have been a mindfuck," said Ioan, "Hell of a thing. I'm sorry. Though, I have to admit, sometimes I think if my ma had just brought me over to the Chantry things would have gone a lot smoother for me. Wouldn't have had to watch her dote on my sisters while I got beat with a shoe for breathing wrong."
"Why is it always a shoe?" Alistair asked, shaking his head.
"Wooden spoons leave distinctive bruises," Ioan said, "Shoes look like standard little boy injuries."
"So your mum's an elf?" Alistair asked, changing the subject, suddenly registering that it was likely quite awkward for the other two at the table, "You don't look like an elf."
"She may be a halfbreed herself," said Ioan, "Some of us have the fortune of coming out one way or the other. Our Teneira here forged me papers when we were fourteen, and ever since, I have been, legally, an orphan with two human parents."
"You forged Chantry papers?" Alistair said, looking at Ten in amusement.
"If you're not willing to commit a few crimes for your friends, you're not a friend at all," Teneira declared.
"A woman of principles," Ioan declared, "If I had to spend another year under that roof I would have thrown myself off it. So, Alistair, what exactly is your deal? You're definitely not from Denerim, not with that ridiculous accent. You sound like a fucking lordling, how'd that happen?"
"I'm from Redcliffe," Alistair said, "I guess… well, the Arl of Redcliffe decided I was good to keep around after his chambermaid got knocked up, spent a few years as his ward, then he decided I wasn't as valuable as he thought I was, and off to the Chantry."
Ten was surprised, hearing him repeat her version of the story rather than his own.
"Oh I feel that one in my soul," Hanne said, laughing ruefully, "My uncle tried to give me to the Legion of the Dead to get me out of the way after my ma died. I ran, of course. Imagine seeing the sky for the first time right about the first time you learn what a thunderstorm is. Spent my first night above ground in the back of a farmer's wagon just staring at it."
"I maintain that Hanne should have stayed for the ceremonial funeral, gotten the sweet face tattoos, and then absconded," Ioan said.
"Ugh. No. Not for me," Hanne said, shaking their head, "It's taken some getting used to but I rather like the sun."
"Never thought I'd thank the Maker for my elfin ma, but I suppose I am grateful I never had to worry about being some pawn in a noble's game of… I'd say chess but I don't think most of them have mastered tic tac toe," Ioan sighed, "Must be worse now, huh."
"I suppose," Alistair said, looking into his drink.
"I wasn't going to ask this, because I've learned to take for granted that our Teneira just tends to walk into every room and immediately make friends with the strangest person in there, but how do the two of you know each other, anyway?" Ioan asked, "Is she smuggling you out of the country before the succession shitstorm really hits?"
"Oh, nobody told you what happened after I narrowly avoided the hangman," said Ten.
"We heard you spent your wedding night butchering a handful of lords - good on you for that - then somehow beat the charge and skipped town," Hanne said.
"I didn't beat the charge," Ten said, "I was conscripted before they could haul me before a magistrate."
"There's only one group that conscripts elves or criminals, let alone both," said Ioan, "Why'd nobody tell me you were a Grey Warden? And you too?"
Alistair nodded.
"Well shit, the two of you have my sympathy," Hanne said, drinking down the moonshine they claimed to despise in one go, "I've seen not a few of yours pass through Orzammar on their way out. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but hanging might have been a kindness. The taint sort of has you falling to pieces for months before the end. At least the Legion keeps its wits and pretty faces when they go to face them."
"To pieces?" Ten asked, "Do I want to know?"
"I don't think you do," Hanne said, "But… that means, you must have survived Ostagar!"
"Guilty of that as well," said Ten.
"Well," Ioan said, shaking his head, "Not that I have any great feelings about our late brother, but… did you really…"
"No!" Alistair exclaimed, "No. Loghain sounded the retreat when they were supposed to charge. It was a coup. They took down the king and most of our people as well."
"Ah, of course, more lies out of the palace," Hanne said, "I knew there was something fishy with the official line. I know how these people think, and it ain't pretty."
"I have a question," Alistair said.
Oh no.
"Ioan, when your.. husband? Wife? Answered the door…"
"It's just Hanne," said Hanne, smirking.
"Oh. I see. Sorry."
"Common quandary, but the answer is a trade secret," said Hanne, "The only people besides my dear husband who get to know what's in my breeches are those that can afford it."
"And nobody can afford it," Ioan and Ten recited in unison. They clicked their tumblers together and drank.
"When Hanne answered the door," Alistair corrected himself, "Hanne said 'there's another one.' Exactly how many of us have come by here?"
"You're the third," said Ioan, "And to be quite honest the other two were rather standoffish, so I'm glad you're not a total prick. Thought when I heard how you talk you were about to try to drag me into some ridiculous nobleman's ploy."
"That's what happened to the last one," said Hanne, "Had no idea who Ioan's ma was, of course. Had to chase him out with a club when he started trying to foment a coup in the living room. Think that one found his way to the executioner's block a couple of years ago."
"I suppose that's about to start happening with some frequency," Ioan said, "I have been wondering if it wouldn't be better to skip town myself. We all know what happens to anyone with any claim to a throne, no matter how shaky, when it finally gets filled." He made a gesture, mimicking an ax falling with the side of his hand.
"I hadn't even thought about that," Alistair said.
"Beats the Deep Roads," Hanne said.
"Who's the one who's still alive?" asked Ten, "Still in town?"
"Bann Bitch of Bumfuck?" Ioan asked, "Probably. What was her actual name, Hanne?"
"Something Orlesian. Don't remember. Had a lot to say about me polluting the bloodline," Hanne said.
"Ew," Ten said, "All right, she's out. Look, I'm not saying this isn't a social call, but there's business as well."
"Always is with you," Ioan sighed, rolling his eyes, "What is it this time?"
"We need influence in the peerage," said Ten, "You want to leave town? I can finance it. Don't ask how. But I need dirt. That out call, who is it?"
"Money's not a problem currently," Ioan said, crossing his arms and shaking his head.
"Well, what do you want?" asked Ten.
"See that's the thing, Teneira. What I want is to have a pleasant evening getting drunk with an old friend," said Ioan, "Do you think you can handle that? Just… have a few laughs? Relax for once in your damn life?"
Ten sighed and took down the rest of her moonshine, "Fine. Just remember I can drink all of you under the table."
In her heart, Ten was a degenerate from the Alienage, and drinking and carousing was in her bones just as much as salted fish and inherent suspicion of authority. Ioan and Alistair alternatively exchanged sob stories and cracked each other up, Hanne and Ten exchanged witticisms and gossip. But, as the night wore on, as Hanne had predicted, by midnight, halfway through the jug, Ioan stood up from the table, went to the corner of the room, and, facing the corner, started singing. He had a high, clear tenor, and knew exactly where to place a warbling grace note to shatter the heart of the listener.
"Oh no," Ten sighed, "Sorry Hanne, he's dirge-singing drunk, he's going to be a wreck tomorrow."
"What… what is going on?" asked Alistair.
"It's sad song time," said Hanne, "When the critical mass of alcohol… just… go with it. There's no stopping him now."
I am a stranger in this land
Among strangers have I been
I am ready to return home
To be lain down therein
"Why's he facing the wall?" Alistair whispered.
"It's tradition," Ten replied, "Genuinely no idea where that one came from."
The singing of mournful songs was standard at any house where more than one elf was drinking. It was simply expected, and as Ten was reminded by Ioan's hand waving out behind him, it was considered polite to offer support in the form of a hand held and waved in time with the music. She humored him, as she always did. As was also common, only the first and last verses would be translated, with the interim three or thirty ones in Elvish. Fortunately this one only had four - the narrator, a dying city elf asking his family to take him to be buried rather than burned, calling out the names of various of his kin to take part in various parts of it. Ten knew the general story, some of the words jumped out at her,
Do not give me to the fire
And make me ashes on the air
But bury me in the green wood
I will not be a stranger there
Ten felt the lyrics to the song she had heard probably a hundred times in her gut in a way she hadn't ever before. She had, of course, always been among her people when she had heard it sung before. Ioan, who just by the unfortunate circumstances of his conception, had never truly fit in with the rest of them. He had always desperately tried, going at the Elvish lessons with a gusto that none of the fullbloods in the classes matched, participating with his full chest in the mundane rituals of life that others found quaint and irrelevant - singing into an empty corner being one of the less bizarre of these. But, he had faced rejection at every juncture, and by the time he'd been a teenager, he'd resolved to just leave, find somewhere he was wanted. He was always a stranger, always among strangers, never at home even where he was born. Meeting Hanne, Ten imagined, another stranger cast out of their home, must have been a relief.
As the last notes ended, he let go of her hand, and they turned back to the table.
"Well, that's out of my system," Ioan said, smiling brightly and refilling his glass.
Hanne sniffed and swiped a hand across their eyes, "I hate that part. He does this every time she's here."
"It's not her fault Ten's the only one who visits, it's the only time I get to… you know, do elf things," said Ioan.
"Your mum never sees you?" asked Alistair, "Isn't the Alienage, like… right there?"
Ioan laughed, and shook his head, "My ma wasn't really a surprise. The real kick in the teeth was my sisters. Y'know, you half raise these kids, you beat up their bullies, you carry them around on your damn back and… not once do they even bother asking after you, you know? Or maybe they did find out and they just don't care."
Ten looked away. It was true. Ioan had two little sisters on his mother's side. They'd been young - under ten - when he'd left, but both had grown up, one married and sent off to Amaranthine, and they never once asked after him. Ten had suggested it slyly, once they were grown and Ioan had been a fixture in his new life long enough that she wasn't afraid that questions would be asked. But… neither had been interested. One had to have clarified which Ioan Ten was talking about.
"It's to keep you safe too," said Ten, "It's already bad out there and it might be about to get worse, but… I saw it happen not a week ago."
"Wait, what?" Ioan asked, "Not Mags, I saw her earlier this week."
"No," said Ten, "I don't think you know this one, but now that it's done you might as well. Most recent sergeant of the guard in charge of the Alienage? Passing halfbreed, just like you."
"Not one of ours," Ioan said.
"No. Foreign. His ma, anyway, no idea who his dad was, not sure he knows either. But my point is, he passed his whole life, but someone finally figured it out. You know what they did to him?" Ten said.
"Would have heard of a lynching," Hanne said, knitting their brows.
"Close," said Ten, "They beat him unconscious, branded him, threw him in there with us, erased all record of his existence outside. It's only because my cousin has impeccable timing that he's not halfway to the Imperium in chains. Is that what you want, Ioan? You're fucking lucky, friend."
"Wait, Ten," Alistair said. The drink had slowed his faculties from their already unimpressive pace, but he had, evidently, caught on, "This is the missing guardsman. The one I've been taking the piss out of you over for months and you still wouldn't talk about?"
"Yeah," said Ten, "Until very recently, he had a dangerous secret, so I avoided the subject. But there's no keeping it anymore."
"You knew, though," Ioan said, "Ten, did you out him?"
"No! Maker's breath, not even I'd stoop that low," said Ten, "But if I saw it, someone else must have."
Hanne was watching the exchange, a wry smile slowly spreading over their features, "Wait. Wait! You're talking about what's-his-face's brother! You were fucking him, weren't you!"
"Oh, like that's the point," Ten sighed and tried to shift the subject back, "I'm saying, Ioan, get as sentimental as you want, but be careful. It's going to get worse before it gets better."
"Oh no, I think that's a bit like the point," said Ioan, "Maker's breath, Teneira, I knew you'd do anything for our people, didn't realize that included anyone as well."
"Fine, everyone go right ahead and pile on," said Ten.
"Wouldn't dare, I'm not in uniform," Hanne said.
"Alistair, just fucking laugh, you look like you're about to break a rib holding it in like that," Ten sighed, "And let me just remind everyone here that with all the things I know about the lot of you I could have each of you arrested several times over."
"Wait, me too?" Hanne said.
"...oh don't think I don't know about your involvement in the Bann Jensian affair," said Ten.
"That's not a thing, you just made that up," Ioan accused.
"Shut the fuck up Ioan," Hanne said, the smile having dropped right off their face.
"Aren't you glad we're friends?"
"The best of," Hanne said, shuddering and downing their glass.
It took another hour and most of the rest of the jug for everyone to admit that the moonshine had won the night and toddle away to sleep it off, Ioan and Hanne to the inner sanctum of their bedroom and Alistair to a couch by the fire in the front room. Ten spotted an empty armchair, divested herself of most of her weaponry and set it on the hearth, and shimmied down into the chair so her head rested on one arm and her knees dangled over the other. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it would do. She closed her eyes.
"Y'know, Ten…" Alistair said from the couch six feet away, his voice slurred and sleepy, just as she was about to drift off, "You're a pain in the arse, but you really just know what people need. Thanks for dragging me here."
"Yeah, well, watching you go around seeking approval from various people who are supposed to be in your corner and just getting disappointed over and over again was getting depressing," she said, "Figured I'd hand you an easy win."
"I'm on to you. You've got a beating heart under there somewhere, don't you."
"It'll wind up skewered on something sharp if anyone figures it out, so keep that one to yourself, please."
"Fine. But tell me something."
"How is it you've just drunk enough moonshine to floor a concrete elephant and you still have the wherewithal to be nosy?"
"You've just drunk enough moonshine to floor a concrete elephant, so you're definitely not getting up, and your arms just aren't long enough to hit me from that distance."
"That is… likely correct. What are you going to pry about this time?"
"Oh, same thing as always. It's not just that you were embarrassed about the guardsman, you got your feelings hurt, didn't you. I could see it in your face."
Ten thought about telling him to fuck off and mind his business, but then realized that she'd been nursing that hurt alone, really couldn't tell anyone else, and there was very little risk that Alistair was even going to remember the conversation in the morning. "Well," she said, "He had a few unkind parting words, considering I'd just saved his sorry ass. Not going to lie, it stung a bit."
"The audacity. What'd he say?"
"Well, he was probably right about this one, but I believe the exact words were that I am not capable of loving a person, that the only thing I can love is the fight. There, that's it, now go to sleep, will you?"
"Huh," said Alistair, "Well, that's bullshit. You love the fight because you love the people. In your own very strange and angry way, of course, but if you didn't you'd have taken off on me right after Ostagar."
"I well and truly hope you are not going to remember this conversation in the morning."
"No, I'm serious, Ten. Your love of the fight is the best thing about you."
"I well and truly hope I am not going to remember this conversation in the morning." To emphasize her point, she picked up the jug, which she had taken from the kitchen and took a swallow right from it, "Now go to sleep or don't, but I won't be responsible for whatever condition you're in in the morning." She shut her eyes, resolved that any further attempts at conversation would be met with a pretense of sleep. To his credit, Alistair kept his mouth shut until the both of them managed to drift off.