It was actually only three days later that the entourage from Redcliffe arrived. During that time, Ten made a few social calls on the families of elves in service that she had pulled off that ship, putting her little mice in order. The Arl, and his brother, and about half a dozen guards showed up one midafternoon amid the first snow flurry of the year. Ten watched from the window of Wynne's room as they filed in, the household staff all assembled like statues to greet them. It evidently did not take them long to settle in, for only an hour or two later it seemed, Gwylan arrived without a single obnoxious comment, to summon both her and Alistair down to meet with them. I wonder why Teagan's here… surely he should be in charge of conscription back in the Hinterlands… then again I suppose I wouldn't leave my wife alone with him either. Armed with a stack of notes and paperwork, she made her way to the main wing and prepared to be grilled.
Having been confined to one wing of the estate - except for her little venture to raid Isolde's wardrobe - Ten was actually rather impressed with the meeting room that Eamon maintained in Denerim. After all, she reasoned, the one in Redcliffe didn't need to compete with anything, while the city estate had to impress people likely used to finer things. Ten, who was not, caught herself staring at the intricacy of the tiny stitches on each tapestry that lined the walls. The meeting table itself was small - after all, an arl of a backwater province would not need to entertain large crowds as he would back home, and set with a pitcher and pewter cups much like the ones back in Redcliffe. Alistair was absolutely beside himself nervous, and she had to kick him several times under the table to keep him from biting his nails.
Eamon and Teagan arrived after about five minutes of making them wait - Ten was convinced this was a power play, though she did not know the point of it - sat down and looked at them expectantly.
"What happened to your face, girl?" Eamon asked, without a hello, as evidently those were not in large supply among the nobles of the Hinterlands.
"She wouldn't shut her whore mouth, Ser," Alistair said.
Oh, so we're so nervous we're just saying whatever off-color joke comes to mind I see. Fine, two can play at that game.
Eamon paused, looking from one of them to the other, trying to gauge whether he was joking.
"Your excellency, I merely advised him that putting a frog down his breeches was not going to cure that raging case of the Orlesian Pox," Ten said
"She only knows that because I got it from her mother, Ser."
Oh, here we go.
"This is particularly concerning, your excellency, as my mother has been dead for twenty-one years."
"You can't slay the archdemon with one-liners," Teagan said, though his eyes were twinkling, "We're doomed, aren't we."
"So very doomed," said Ten, "Ser."
Eamon sighed. Had he been of lower birth he likely would have rolled his eyes. Had he been of higher birth, he would have had them both thrown out. "What do you have for me, girl?"
"Where to start…" Ten said.
"Tevinters," Alistair prompted her.
"Really. You think that's the big one?"
"Yes I think that's the big one."
"Fair enough," said Ten. She put one copy of the ship's manifest and contract before the lords. They read it, one after the other, confusion washing over both of their faces.
"This is certainly bad for your people, but I think you overestimate how much the peerage cares for them," said Eamon.
"I don't think I have ever overestimated that," said Ten, "I don't believe for a second any of the peerage would even realize most of us were gone. However, they made a few critical errors. They're all on this manifest."
"This means nothing to me," said Eamon, "Explain."
"You yourself staff your estate with nothing but us," said Ten, "This is not so important to you, you're barely here. Maybe you think Gwylan is interchangeable with others, but that's not the case for many."
"Wait, who's Gwylan?" asked Eamon.
Alistair cringed, "He's your butler. He's worked here for thirty years."
"Oh! Yes, of course," Eamon said, his face going a little pink, "I'm not great with names. I wish you elves would just give your children normal names, not these… noises."
"Gwylan's not even an Elvish name!" Ten protested, "That's a normal Fereldan name! But… I digress. My point is while the names on this list may mean nothing to you, they mean something to others. There. Yereni Kovalis? Her husband Drystan - also not an Elvish name - has been Loghain's valet for years. I had a nice little chat with him the other day. He is not particularly amused that the man whose clothes he irons just tried to have the mother of his children shipped abroad in chains."
"What do you think a valet is going to do?" asked Teagan.
"Whatever I suggest," said Ten, "Now, that's not the only key player on this list. This name, Tirin Iovanis? He is the longtime butler of a wealthy merchant with a large amount of influence in the Antivan Quarter and reputation for… getting his way via means I will leave to the imagination. And he, unlike you, really likes his butler." This was a lie, Tirin was a footman. Don Cangrejo's butler was Carmela Castancia, a hulking Antivan import who was equal parts bodyguard and errand girl, but Ten preferred that the arl consider Tirin someone of more importance.
"So you've secured the loyalty of a commoner with a dubious reputation," Eamon said, clearly unimpressed.
"A commoner whom Loghain himself has gone to to try to secure a contract killing on me," said Ten, "He may not have a title, but even your peers know how important he is, at least in this city."
"Loghain made an assassination attempt on you?" Teagan asked skeptically, "Why you?"
"I've been playing with him," said Ten.
"Well that's one word for it," Alistair said, "She slaughtered a bunch of his men and sent one back with a threat. Then she slaughtered a whole band of assassins he sent after her and sent one back with a threat, and a severed hand."
"Brutal," Teagan commented, nodding approvingly.
"Oh, but don't forget the head," said Ten.
"Oh yes. The head," said Alistair, "He got the head of that magister as well. This time without a threat. Or was there one?"
"I think a severed head is a threat in and of itself," said Ten, "At least that's how I feel whenever I receive one."
"But… why you specifically?" said Teagan, more fascinated than disgusted with the whole sequence of events, "Why you, and not Alistair?"
"He thinks he died at Ostagar," said Ten.
"He what?" Alistair asked, looking at her sharply.
"Oh, yeah, I did forget to mention that part. When I confronted the magister on that ship, he had quite a lot to say about the man he contracted with," Ten said, "Apparently our friend, the Teyrn, has been ranting about the lone Grey Warden who's been throwing a wrench in his gears. He has no idea you're still around, and let's keep it that way."
"You didn't correct him?" Alistair asked.
"So he could put a hit out on you, too?" Ten asked, "Maker's breath, I can hardly keep my own skin intact, don't make me worry about you as well." She fingered the bruises, which had gone green and yellow around the edges.
"Or I don't know, take the heat off yourself for a bit," said Alistair.
"No, she's right," Eamon said, "This is fantastic news. That means he's not banking on a blood heir showing up to the Landsmeet. Ah, I can see it now…"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Ten cautioned before Alistair could get up and walk out again, "There's a third player on this list. Anton Villais. He is the halfbreed son of a renowned courtesan, one who likely knows more about the peerage than they know about themselves. This whole thing has him in exile and his mother is not happy about it."
"Wait, this is the…" started Alistair.
"Yes," said Ten, "Well done. It's all connected."
"Does she know you…"
"Yes," Ten said, glaring at him in irritation, "And, yet again, that is not the point. The point is, she's a powerful piece and now she is in play."
"Oh I doubt some streetwalker would have much influence over anyone," Teagan said.
"Not a streetwalker," said Ten, "A courtesan. Quite a well-known one, actually. She goes professionally by Madame Hirondelle." She watched the two noblemen across the table for a reaction. Teagan remained nonplussed, but the smallest finger of Eamon's right hand began tapping the table, quickly but quietly.
"That means nothing to me," said Teagan.
Ten looked at Eamon, "That name means something to you, doesn't it," she said.
"Not at all," Eamon said hastily, "I have no idea who this woman is."
"And if I asked her what she knows about you?" Ten said.
"Oh I doubt a courtesan of such renown would divulge pretty much anything. Discretion is, after all, their greatest currency," Eamon said.
"It is," said Ten, "Until they decide to spend it all avenging quite an egregious wrong. So when you start talking to your colleagues among the aristocracy, let me know who's being… recalcitrant, and I will meet with her and see if there's anything she knows that could sway them."
"And why would she tell you?" asked Teagan.
"She likes me," said Ten, "I saved her son. Her favorite, apparently, though I don't know how she keeps track of all of them."
"What do you mean, all of them?" Eamon asked, a flicker of alarm crossing his features.
"There are… let's see… Airon, and Anton, and Aurelien apparently, then there's Alban and Audin and Alain. So that's six that I know of, five I've laid eyes on," Ten said, "Thank the Maker for the change of life, she's got to be about out of matching names by now."
"And how old are these boys?" asked Eamon.
"Eldest I think is twenty-eight, youngest maybe fourteen?" Ten said, "Don't worry, none of them look like you."
Teagan, who had been in the middle of taking a sip from his cup of water, immediately sprayed it all over himself, coughing behind his hand, clearly trying to disguise a raucous laugh.
Eamon opened his mouth, likely to ask her how dare she insinuate such a thing, but thought better of it and changed the subject, "Have you learned anything about the queen? I hear she has not been seen in public for long enough that there are whispers."
"Well she's not at the palace," said Ten, "But I now have a very good idea of where she is."
"And where is that?" Teagan asked.
"The Arl of Denerim's estate," said Ten.
"And what do you suppose she's doing there?" asked Eamon.
"I don't think it was her idea," said Ten, "I suspect, but have not confirmed, that she and her father are at cross-purposes. Which means, she could prove a useful ally in his eventual downfall."
"You think she would turn on him," said Teagan.
"I think she will do what she needs to do to keep her head attached to the rest of her," said Ten, "After all, isn't that everyone's aim, in the end?"
"You know, it occurs to me," said Eamon, "If you could pry the queen away from her father's influence, it does present a fairly simple solution."
"And what's that?" Alistair asked.
"Marry Anora," said Eamon, look at him pointedly, "I'm sure it can be arranged, it really benefits everyone…"
So much for this meeting not ending with Alistair getting up and going to get drunk. Of course it's not a terrible idea, if reputation is to be believed, she could probably both get a leash on Alistair and keep Eamon and whoever else intends to pull the strings at bay. Then again, there's no guarantee she wouldn't cook up a hunting accident herself.
Eamon, who had not registered the energy shift in the room, went on. "She gets to keep her throne, we maintain the balance of power, people loyal to House Mac Tir remain in support of the crown, her endorsement would certainly kick any other pretender out of the running…"
He went on for about another five minutes while Ten watched Alistair's face go red, and then pale, and then green around the edges. Eamon was still talking, thinking out loud about how brilliant this plan was, when Alistair pushed his chair out from the table, and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
"You had to know that was going to happen," Ten said after an awkward silence.
"I don't understand it," Eamon sighed in frustration, "What kind of man doesn't want to be king? Hell, what kind of man doesn't want to be married to the most eligible widow in the land? Can't you talk some sense into him, girl?"
"I'd have to be convinced it was sense, to begin with," said Ten, "It is a fairly simple solution, if you forget that other people have thoughts and desires of their own. But let's set those aside for a moment. Maybe the fact that you have sprung first one of these ideas and then the other with absolutely no warning or preparation hasn't done wonders for your cause."
"For that I'd have to get him to sit still," said Eamon, "But he seems to trust you. Please, would you have a word with him?"
She shook her head.
"Why not?" asked Eamon, "You've got a way about you, I'm guessing you could sell water to a fish."
"I haven't even been able to sell you on what a terrible idea this is," said Ten.
"That's different. I'm not…"
"Easily manipulated?" Ten asked, raising her eyebrows, "You've just made my point for me."
"You wouldn't understand," Eamon sighed, "It's not ideal, of course, but it's the easiest solution. And malleability isn't the worst quality in a ruler."
"Well that depends on who is doing the shaping, doesn't it," Ten pointed out, "And let me guess, you want that to be you."
"There would be something in it for you, of course," Eamon said, "There's never been an elfin noble, but technically it's not illegal. I looked. In fact, I had a legal scholar from the capital read through every text on the subject. It is actually quite within the bounds of the law of the land. And, once Howe is dealt with, that's the seats of both Amaranthine and Denerim up for grabs."
At this, Ten paused.
Ha! Imagine. Arlessa of the Alienage becomes Arlessa of Denerim. Full circle. Eat what you kill. A massive middle finger to everyone in town. Human servants only. Redistribution of, oh, everything. An elfin captain of the city guard - maybe Soris? Nah he'd take bribes in an injudicious manner. I'd have to tear the house down, of course, couldn't live there. Let Shianni do the honors, set it ablaze. Dad wouldn't have to work. Neither would Cedrin, or any of them. I could make Boss Guilder kiss the hem of my skirt if he wants his licenses renewed. The Captain too, every time she wants docks repaired. I'd have to sign off on every ship in port! Finally invite Don Cangrejo and get to show off something I have that he doesn't! There could be actual guards that actually do their damned jobs. Real schools for all the kids, not just the ones who can afford it. No more beggars on the street while nobles feast and throw their scraps to the dogs.
"I knew there was something," Eamon said smugly, registering that she had not said 'no.' "You will, of course, have to marry, if only on paper. I looked into that as well. I think Urien had cousins in the Marches who could make a case for inheriting, but I'm sure they've got a single son or two. And if they object, we just have them assassinated or executed until the current heir apparent either agrees or is too young to object to the betrothal."
Great. Kill the man who killed my husband and raped my cousin, then marry his cousin and take all his stuff. I can't tell if this is poetic or just cynical.
Stop it, Ten. You've been among shem too long. You're starting to think like them. You can't fix everything wrong with this city by being a part of the group that built it broken in the first place. And you certainly can't if you're dragged into the civil war that would almost certainly result, all of those resources that should go to the people, siphoned away, fighting for a pretender who doesn't even want to be there. But… also can't run the risk of getting kicked out of this house. And we need Redcliffe's troops if there's going to be anything resembling a victory over the darkspawn.
"I admit you touched a nerve there, your excellency," she said, "I'll think about it."
"Please go make sure Alistair doesn't pass out in a gutter somewhere," Teagan said.
"I'm not his handler," she said, crossing her arms, "'Emotional support elf' was mentioned nowhere in my contract."
Both lords looked at each other and then back at her, "Is that an actual job?" Eamon asked.
"Only in Orlais," sighed Ten.
"Eamon, she has a point, do we need to… do something about that?" Teagan said, shaking hi head.
"Do you not remember how you were at his age?" Eamon asked, "It'll pass."
"At least he hasn't gotten himself locked in any closets," Ten said, glancing at Teagan with eyebrows raised. She got up from the table and went to the door. Teagan's eyes went wide.
"What's she talking about?" Eamon asked.
"You'd be surprised what I know," said Ten, grinning, and shut the door behind her.
Denerim being, unlike Redcliffe, a town of many drinking establishments, it took her almost two hours and quite a bit of worry to track Alistair down. She poked her head into every tavern in the Market district, except the Gnawed Noble where she was fairly sure he wouldn't show his face, with no luck. Finally, after the sun had set, she realized she was going to have to leave the quarter and check around the others, something she was not eager to do alone, and so she returned to the estate and went to the stables to find her stalwart canine protector, who would deter all but the most determined of creeps.
She went in the side door where the stable lads could come and go from the servants' quarters downstairs without getting chilled by going the long way round the courtyard, and whistled through her teeth. The door was situated around the back of the stalls, so she couldn't see the whole thing, but when she didn't hear the normal thumping pawsteps, she ventured further in. She heard a familiar bark, and, following the sound, looked over to a stack of hay bales in the corner, where Pigeon was sprawled with the back of someone's head leaning on her.
"Have you seriously been in here the whole time?" she asked. Alistair, for it was him, lay half comatose on a hay bale, the top part of his body supported by the long-suffering hound and slightly less than half empty bottle of moonshine in his hand, sat up and looked around for where the voice had come from. Pigeon, freed of her burden, bustled over to Ten, sat before her, and whined, "It's all right girl, that doesn't count as enabling." Ten said, petting her head.
"You're here to lecture me, aren't you," Alistair slurred. He shifted, picking a piece of straw out of his hair, before sitting up the rest of the way and steadying himself with one arm.
"How many bottles do you have stashed around the estate?" she asked.
"Mind your business. Anyway, I didn't even stash this one here. Found it between two bales," he said.
"I know," said Ten, "I put it there. For me."
"Well someone drank the one I hid here, put the empty one back, just as an extra 'fuck you.'"
"Oh, shit, was it Hossberg red, up in the rafters above the hayloft?"
"Yes."
"Sorry. Thought it was Gwylan's."
"So… turnabout's fair play then," he said.
"Yeah well, that one you've got was full last week and I haven't touched it since," said Ten, "You've had enough."
"Don't… fucking tell me what to do."
"Fine," she said. She snatched the bottle from his hand, took a healthy swig herself. "You know, between the moonshine and the dog, you're starting to smell like me," she said. Pigeon got back up on the hay bale and situated herself, finally lying down with the enormous front half of her on Alistair's lap. She grunted, a noise which Ten was fairly sure meant, 'Turnabout's fair play.' Alistair sighed, but didn't shoo her away, and started absently scratching her behind the ears.
"I feel like this is a new low, last time you were at least nominally not drinking alone," she said.
"I'm not alone. I have the dog."
"My dog. And my whiskey."
"Well you should have hidden it better. How'd you get mine down off the rafters, anyway? I had to sort of stand on my tiptoes and nudge it over the edge to get it up there in the first place."
"There was… climbing involved," she said. Actually… he can reach the rafters in the hayloft, but…
"What were you drinking about?"
"What wasn't I drinking about?"
"Fair enough," He reached over for the bottle. She held it out of the way. The dog was keeping him from rising, and so he gave up. "What, are we playing a game of who has it worse? I know you win. Don't even bother."
"I mean… you could really do worse than being king, married to one of the most beautiful women in Thedas," said Ten.
Alistair sat up in alarm, "What did you just say?" Pigeon, disturbed just as she had gotten comfortable, gave a reproachful bark and went back to the floor.
"Ha! That sobered you up, didn't it."
"Don't scare me like that, Tabris."
"Yeah, well, full disclosure, Eamon said he'd find a way to make me Arlessa of Denerim if I got you on board," she said.
"But the fact that you're telling me means you are not going to try, right?"
"If I were going to try I'd be giving you a speech about how none of us chose our duty but it does not change the fact that we must fulfill it," she said, "And then a guilt trip about how I was volunteered myself to be cut up into little pieces in public to save my family and the least you could do is sit in a comfortable chair for a few years and have everyone have to listen to you."
"But you don't actually think that, right?"
"I have some scruples. But damn, the look on your face!"
"Yes, well, that's the look you'd get if your only friend in the world betrayed you."
"Oh, fuck off, I'm not…"
"Yeah you are," he sighed, "And trust me, that's more depressing for me than it is for you, so I don't want to hear another thing about it. And give me that." He made another grab for the bottle. She stepped back. He teetered and looked as though he was equally likely to hit the ground as the bale where he was sitting, and then leaned back and sat down again.
She shook her head, "This is getting to be a problem. You have to know that." She tucked the bottle into the waistband of her skirt and climbed the ladder into the hayloft where she'd found the bottle of Hossberg red. She got up on a stack of feed bags, and climbed onto the broad crossbeam that ran the length of the stables. She crawled along it until she was clear of the hayloft and high over the floor below, and nestled the bottle carefully in the crook between the highest brace and the central post. Then she swung down, got her legs around the post and slid to the floor.
"If you can get at it, you can have the rest," she said.
"You know full well I probably couldn't do that sober."
"I do know that full well. So you've got two choices. You can sleep it off in here with all the horse farts, I won't stop you, but it's much more comfortable upstairs. Don't worry, I already confiscated the flask in your pack," she said. She offered her hand. He took it and tried to rise, but only succeeded in pulling her off balance, knocking her head into his collarbone and her thigh, which was bruised from the altercation several days prior, into the sharpest part of his knee. "Ow!"
"Shit, I'm sorry… I'm such a mess…"
"Well there's some clarity at last," Ten sighed, getting back on her feet, "Ugh, have you been bathing in the stuff?" She grabbed him by both forearms this time and braced herself against the floor, tugging him to his feet. He stumbled a little but managed to get his feet under him, leaning on her a little harder on her than he probably needed to.
"Whoever that is in there, you have thirty seconds to get your pants back on!" Gwylan's voice called from the side door. He had fully abandoned the affected high-class accent, his r's harshening in some words and disappearing in others, "Starting now!"
"Nothing indecent in here!" Ten called, "We were just leaving. Relax."
Hearing her least favorite command, though it was not directed at her, Pigeon dropped to the floor and put her head between her paws, looking balefully up at her mistress. The butler came around the corner, looked at the two of them, Alistair unsteadily leaning over with both elbows on Ten's shoulders, Ten's skirt bunched up between her knees from her slide down the central post. He wrinkled his nose at the moonshine smell, and tried to decide if they had, indeed, been in the middle of something indecent. "You know what? I don't even want to know," the butler finally declared, and turned to go rummaging in one of the feed bins along the far wall, burying both of his arms up to the elbows. After a couple of minutes, he rose, having found what he was looking for, a bottle of Orzammar rye, "Not a word from either of you." He took a swallow long enough that Alistair and Ten had time to glance twice at each other nervously. Gwylan swallowed without even grimacing, and looked over at them.
"I knew you had a stash," Ten sighed.
"Rough… day?" asked Alistair tentatively.
"Tell your uncle to hire a damned valet," Gwylan said, pointing at Alistair with one bony finger, using his other hand to take another abnormally long drink, "Underthings are not in my contract."
"And that is all I care to know about that," Ten said, "Not to be unsociable, but I've got to get this one back where he belongs before he vomits on me."
"I'm not going to… all right it might be a possibility," Alistair said.
Gwylan shook his head, "Shem and their weak stomachs. The Maker truly downgraded when he made them, didn't he."
"Gwylan!" Ten exclaimed, "That was…"
"Oh, he's not going to remember it. Go on, and make sure that young wastrel passes out on his stomach, I'm not having a scandal here if he chokes on his own spew and we have to clear the body out in the morning."
"Ignore him," Ten said, "All right, come on. Four flights of stairs and you can barely keep your feet. This will be my most difficult quest to date…"