Ten summoned Lelianna and Zevran the next morning, explaining to them she needed to make a social call on one Albertine Villais and wanted them to come, both to observe and to watch her back. She did not entirely trust the courtesan, of course, after she had gone to such lengths to install a mole in her territory. While they had parted the previous time on good terms, and Ten hoped that would not, in fact, change, it was still better to have backup.

"Who is this Madame Villais?" asked Lelianna, her eyes narrowing.

"Well, she's Orlesian, obviously," said Ten.

"I know you don't need me to translate," said Lelianna.

"Oh, this is a gift for you, since you love secrets so much. See, you may have heard of her. She goes by Madame Hirondelle, professionally."

Lelianna's pale blue eyes widened, "No…" she breathed in utter amazement, "La Reine des Courtisanes!"

"Elle-même."

"The one who had the scandal with the Viscomte d'Aubélvy? She is here? In Denerim?"

"That was a long time ago," said Ten, "How do you know about that?"

"It was made public by an… acquaintance of mine," said Lelianna, "A mentor of sorts. It was her first job, she bragged about it all the time."

"A mentor of sorts," said Ten, "So… another woman of the cloth?"

"Yes," said Lelianna, dropping her gaze, realizing that in her excitement, she had just let on something she hadn't intended to.

"A reverend mother, exposing a Viscomte for being the recipient of an… unsanitary sexual practice, really?"

"Yes," said Lelianna.

"And you're going to stick to that story, eh?"

"Yes."

"So you're clergy. You've always been clergy. Never anything else," said Ten.

"Yes."

"Right."

"Wait, let us return to that first part. A recipient of what, exactly? Really you must tell me what you are talking about. I can see that it is salacious," said Zev.

Ten whispered in his ear the version of the story that Albertine had told her. His eyes went wide and, for a moment, he forgot the cold, "It is a comfort that there exist those in this world even more licentious than I am. And we are going to see the star of that particular scandal?"

"It was twenty or more years ago," said Ten, "She has been installed in the Orlesian quarter here since that time. And she has sent for me, so let us answer. Also, Zev… you may recognize her."

As they bustled through the crowds of the market district and into the orderly, treelined streets of the Orlesian quarter, Zev let loose another long string of epithets at the weather, which had turned even colder in the previous several days.

"What's he saying?" asked Lelianna.

"I think that one meant he intends to penetrate the son of the egg-faced bastard whore who caused this weather with a well-greased live duck," said Ten.

"A goose, actually, not a duck," Zevran corrected, "And 'eggs' is a euphemism in this context. I will let you guess for what."

"Ew!" Ten exclaimed, "How do you come up with this?"

"We are a profane people," Zevran said.

"Well at least it's greased," said Lelianna mildly.

"Right. Always a nun. Never anything else," Ten said.

"Lay sister," Lelianna corrected her.

"Whatever. But you know that I will find out if I want to."

By the time they reached Madame Hirondelle's townhouse, it was midmorning and the sun was high in the sky. Ten rapped on the door. One of the boys - she thought this one was probably Audin, with his close cropped hair - answered it.

"Oh, it's you," he said.

"Your mother sent for me," said Ten. She waved the letter in the air.

"She was beginning to think you wouldn't come. What happened to your face?"

"You should see the other guy," said Ten.

Audin shook his head and let them in, leading them to the parlor. They sat on the sofa, Ten flanked by her associates, each looking around the room. Some of the paintings had been switched out since the last time Ten had sat there. It seemed the autumn landscape had been replaced by winter scenes. While she imagined that the mistress of the house found it charming, she found it a little bit threatening, a preview of the snows that were to come. There had been a handful of flurries, and the mornings brought spiders webs of frost on the lawns of the noble and bourgeois estates that could afford to maintain them, but the days shortened in the inevitable march towards midwinter, when the cold would truly set in - and likely cause Zevran to have an aneurysm out of sheer outrage.

It took Madame Hirondelle about ten minutes to arrive, but when she did, she swept into the room in a cloud of expensive scent. Her hair was down this time, falling in dark brown waves to her waist, and showing off that not a hint of gray had tainted her scalp as of yet.

"And you have brought friends!" she exclaimed. Of course I did, did you think I would come striding into this den of iniquity without backup? You could and would have any permutation of your spawn take me out if it were to your advantage. Ten could not tell whether the smile on her face was genuine or affected, but chose not to wonder overmuch, "Ma petite… whatever happened?"

She embraced Teneira and deposited the requisite air kisses, and did the same to Lelianna, and then Zev, though Ten could see that Zev was trying to keep from laughing the entire time.

"Life is dangerous," said Ten, "It looks worse than it is."

"You must take care not to damage that pretty face," Madame Hirondelle admonished.

"Or what? I won't find another husband?" Ten chuckled.

"I hate to see a thing of beauty damaged. Like taking a knife to a painting. Simply unacceptable," Madame Hirondelle responded.

"Ah well, needs must," said Ten, "So, tell me about this key to everything."

"I received a guest, about a week ago. At first I thought she was one of your cousins, but she is Orlesian, which is why she came here seeking help," said Madame Hirondelle, "She is…"

"The queen's lady's maid, isn't it," said Ten, "Jock told me her name… what was it?"

"Erlina," said Zevran. He was still grinning, evidently all too tickled to know something nasty about the woman who'd forced him to climb out a bedroom window and into a tree.

"Ah! I see your little mice have been attentive!" Madam Hirondelle said. Ten couldn't tell if she simply did not recognize Zevran or was doing a very good job of pretending that the entire embarrassing incident did not happen.

"Sort of," said Ten, "Long story. What did she come seeking your help for?"

"It seems there was nowhere else to turn," Albertine said. She produced a fan - this time of green silk and carved ivory, and began fanning herself, though it was anything but hot in the parlor, "Nobody in the echelon to which she is accustomed would aid her, and so she sought out a compatriote, and she was ultimately sent here."

"Turn to for what?"

"Help in extricating the queen from the tower her foul father has her imprisoned in, of course," Albertine said, "And, as I do not have the manpower for such a thing, my thoughts turned, of course, to you. The woman at the wheel, so to speak."

I do love it when I'm right.

"Don't you have approximately fourteen grown sons?" asked Ten.

"Ah, Arlessa, you were always one for the plaisanteries," she said with her words, but definitely meant, "Say something else like that and I will have you stabbed so many times your corpse could be used as a sieve."

"Well, I do have intimate knowledge of the estate where she is being held," said Ten, "Though to be quite honest I don't entirely trust what is memory and what is trauma at this point."

"Well, good thing I have some very good friends in the city planners' office," said Albertine. She produced from under her coffee table a rough sketch, "It is copied, by hand, and so it is not to scale, but it does show three levels of the estate."

Ten looked over it, paging through, until she reached the map of the top level. That's where we were held. And that's the room where they killed Nelaros, and there… on the end. That's where… She started back, the nausea overtaking her out of nowhere.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, "I think I'm going to be sick!"

"Oh no!" Albertine exclaimed. She was, of course, a renowned courtesan, but she was also a mother of six, and so in a flurry, she had displaced Zevran on the couch and was holding Ten's hair back with one hand, and a silver filigree basin under her with the other. Ten had consumed little more than tea and whiskey over the past twelve hours, knowing better than to arrive at the grand parlor stinking of hot peppers and salt fish, and so the outcome was more painful than disgusting, just foam, bile, and humiliation.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm so sorry."

"No no, ma petite, we all know what happened to you in there. Take your time."

Ten wiped her mouth with one sleeve and her eyes with another.

"Alban!" shouted Madam Hirondelle.

The boy appeared at the door.

"Take this to the scullery," she said, thrusting the defiled tureen into his hands.

"Yes Maman," he said, knowing better than to ask about or look at its contents. He scurried away as quickly as he had arrived.

"Teneira, you don't need to go back there," said Lelianna, "We can take care of it."

"Yes I do," said Ten, "I… was not prepared for that. I'll have to steel myself. I admit I'm not eager to re-enter that house of horrors, but given our lack of manpower… I think this is going to be a two-pronged campaign."

"A woman after my own heart," said Albertine, "The two of you, after all," she looked from Ten to Zevran and back, "Do make such convincing servants, and if the larger part of the staff is concerned with a decidedly more martial threat elsewhere in the house, it would simply be a matter of following Erlina to wherever the queen is being held, and smuggling her back here when everyone else is distracted."

"Back here?" Ten said, raising her eyebrows.

"And where would she be safer?"

She has a point. The last thing we want is for Eamon to get his hooks in her as well. I swear that man has been plotting something like this for the last thirty years. Here, no noble schemers, no hangers on, and the accommodations are likely as grand if not more so than she is used to… If she can get over the whole prostitute thing.

"Very well. But, I'm a little concerned about the brute force aspect of this. The estate is currently occupied by a man with the armies of two arldoms at his command and I imagine his current estate will reflect that," Ten said, "Plus I am certain Teyrn Loghain has some of his men there. But, I have recently heard that they take orders from the captain of the palace guard… I believe his name is Brisson. That's certainly an Orlesian surname, do you know of a way to get to him?"

"Elphège?" Albertine asked, and laughed her cultivated laugh, "Leave him to me."

"So you know him."

"He is Alban's father," said Albertine.

"Ah," Ten said, "So if you were to suggest that he… perhaps pull some men from the Arl of Denerim's estate?"

"Perhaps, fabricate a plot to assassinate the Teyrn at the palace?" Zevran exclaimed. He had taken a perch on Albertine's grand armchair.

"Actually," said Ten, "That is not a bad idea. We can spend some time leaving some very obvious signs that that is about to happen, he doubles his guard, pulls men away from where his daughter is, after all, being held in secret…"

"Life is easier for me," Lelianna concluded.

"Madame, could you, perhaps, drop such a clue in Elphège Brisson's lap the next time you see him?"

"I could," she said.

"And if, perhaps, I were to have a word with our mutual colleague Don Cangrejo about it, he could also start a rumor among the… professionals of his own ilk that might find its way to the palace."

"Oh, I do love Gonzago, he is such a dear man," Madame Hirondelle, "When he isn't sending hired blades in the night, of course. This, ma petite, sounds like a most dashing gambit. I will send a little bird to Elphège Brisson, you will drop a hint in the ear of our Gonzago, and we will effectuate this plan most efficiently."

"Well, isn't it lovely to have us all working together," said Ten, "I do believe we have a cunning plan. As for me, I will have one of my little mice keep an eye on the status of the guard at the estate, at which point, two new servants and one…two… three new guards will appear out of nowhere."

"Why not Wynne?" asked Lelianna, surmising whom Ten was suggesting, "And surely you could call Sten back."

"When's the last time you saw a qunari or a septuagenarian in a guard's uniform? " asked Ten.

"Fair point," Lelianna said.

"You truly have found the most interesting fill-ins for your cousins," Albertine said, shaking her head, "Now, scurry off, but a word of advice first. You'll need to cover those bruises, they draw far too much attention to you."

"Really? Don't I just look like some girl who doesn't know when to shut her whore mouth?"

"No, not you. The way you carry yourself it's very obvious you're the girl who threw the first punch. Rouge will neutralize the green before you paint over it. Makes the bruises easier to hide."

"I… will keep that in mind," said Ten. She took the floorplans, but made Lelianna carry them. Rather than head back east to the estate, they went south, past the Alienage and down into the Antivan quarter. It had not occurred to Ten before, but it actually was much more convenient being an elf following a clergywoman around than even one escorting a fine lady. And, it gave them plausible deniability regarding the mixing of the sexes which was always an issue when it came to human-elf relations.

The estate of Don Cangrejo being at nearly the opposite end of the city from the Orlesian quarter, it was near an hour and a half of walking, during which time the winds whipped through the buildings and Zevran lost his cool at them several times, this time threatening the Maker with punishments that would make a Tevinter torturer run for his mother. Lelianna sensed from his tone that it would be better not to ask for a translation, but as they made their way through the several streets where Antivan expatriates made up the bulk of the population, they drew a few stares from passers-by. They reached the sprawling estate by noon, and Tirin Iovanis, evidently fully recovered from his brief time in the hold of a ship, was there, in hat and scarf, to greet them at the gate.

"Ah! Arlessa!" he exclaimed, "You're looking like your old self, bruises and all."

"I could say the same of you," she said, "How've you been?"

"Glad to be back to the old routine," said Tirin, "And, you know, not on an auction block somewhere in the Imperium, though I imagine it is a bit warmer there."

"So back to drinking away the afternoons, eh?"

"You know it. Come to think of it, sun's high in the sky now, isn't it," he said, producing a flask from somewhere in his cloak. She took a nip, though upon swallowing she realized that considering her earlier gastric distress, it was probably a mistake.

"Is the Don home?" she asked.

"He won't leave the fireside until the snows have come and gone," Tirin said, "You know. Antivans. Think it's the end of the world the minute they see a snowflake. Come on in, he's always glad to see you."

The bustled through the enormous courtyard, this time the grape arbors demurely bare for the winter, and past the large veranda, into the main hall.

"Boss!" called Tirin, "You've got guests!"

"What unholy terrors braved this weather to see me?! Tell them to come back in the springtime!"

"It's the Arlessa! And two… associates!"

"Oh! Send them in."

"Go on," said Tirin, "Two rooms back. Don't say anything about his hat."

"Why…"

"Just don't," Tirin said.

"Very well," Ten said. They made their way in from the front foyer, past a grand staircase, though a dining room, and into a small sitting room with an enormous fireplace. There, Don Cangrejo was sitting in a worn but comfortable-looking armchair, wrapped in a blanket, wearing what was, indeed, a rather amusing hat. It looked like it had been knit out of goat's wool, the crown in a conical shape, with ear flaps dangling down on each side and tied under the man's chin. He looked up, his teeth cutting a slash of white under the black of his mustache.

"Ah, mijita, you have come to warm an old man's bones. Whatever happened to your face?"

"Life is full of dangers, Gonzago," she said, "You know this more than I do."

"Tell me who did it and I will have him strangled and thrown into the canal," he said.

"Well as I recall he stood about six foot at the head, dark hair, four hooves," said Ten, "But I don't think I could pick him out of a line-up."

Don Cangrejo shook his head and clicked his tongue behind his teeth, "So, have you come here to tell me of another disaster you have created in my territory? I will let that one go, after all you have brought Tirin back in one piece. He is the only man on this estate who will brave the cold. Were it not for him, we would all have nothing but wine until the first thaw. Speaking of which…"

"It's barely noon," Ten protested.

"No, you truly must partake. This is my local vintage, from the vines I have coaxed to life in this hideous climate in my own courtyard," he said. He rose from the hearth and went to an end table where there sat a jug and three cups. The fourth, Ten saw, was sitting near where he had been by the fire. He poured the three cups full nearly to the brim, and passed them around. None of them dared to demur. It was acidic and aromatic, and considering the absolutely pisspoor quality of most Fereldan wine, not bad.

"Why, this is… not terrible!" Lelianna exclaimed.

"High praise from an Orlesian!" exclaimed Don Cangrejo, "Of course, it will never rival my vineyards back in Antiva, but I do so love the process. I have missed it, these long years," He sat back in his chair, and, as though he had just registered something, looked at Lelianna and Zevran, "Wait, I recognize the two of you… the nun and the Crow from the rooftops! Who created a little mess in my district," he exclaimed, though a smile was playing about his mouth as he looked from Zevran to Lelianna and back again.

"He's talking about the monk's assistant," said Ten, taking another sip of wine, cognizant of how disastrous it might be on her very empty stomach, and watched both of her companions' eyes go wide.

"I apologize, estimado señor, you must understand, we are foreign, we are not wise in the ways of this city," said Zevran.

"Ahh," Don Cangrejo said, registering his accent, "You are from the tanner's quarter back home. I can tell by how you speak. I will forget that little incident for a local boy. And a… friend of Teneira's. So, what brings you here?"

"A grand conspiracy," said Ten, "I will be calling a commoner's council, likely soon, but first…" She, quickly and quietly, summarized their conversation with Madame Hirondelle. Don Cangrejo nodded along, and by the end realized exactly what she was about to ask of him.

"So you want a ruse," he said, stroking his mustache. He wasn't wearing his regular gloves, making his missing fingers fairly obvious. Zevran registered this with alarm, looking from the old man's hands to his own. Ten did the same, and realized that those last two fingers were where Zev bore the tattoos that marked him as a Crow.

"It doesn't have to be a ruse," said Ten, "Just send your dumbest, most expendable hitman to go about it in his own witless way, I'm sure he will stir up enough of a stink to draw the guard out of one great house and into another."

"Alas, Jairo has been missing for several weeks at this point."

"Jairo Montilleva?" Ten asked, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment.

"Yes… why?"

"I should have told you about that earlier," said Ten, "Do you remember the Orlesian elf who attempted to take out a contract on one of ours?"

"Ah, yes. That poor halfbreed," said Don Cangrejo, "I always felt for him, you know, a fish out of water wherever he went. A bit like me. And, of course, you have compensated me well for his protection."

"I have many flaws, but nobody could accuse me of a lack of loyalty," Ten said, "And, in the spirit of said loyalty, you should know that Señor Montilleva thought he could make some coin taking the contract himself," said Ten, "I… disabused him of that notion."

"You killed him?"

"No," said Ten, "I told him that I intended to tell you what he did and I guess he ran."

"Ah," said Don Cangrejo, "Pity, my poor vines could have used the fertilizer." The three guests looked with alarm into their cups, then at each other. After a silent moment, all three shrugged, and continued drinking. After all, were corpses truly that much more repugnant than the manure that fertilized traditional vineyards?

"We're in the middle of a civil war, there will be plenty of corpses to feed your vines," said Ten, "But… you know exactly what it looks like when someone tries to put a price on the head of someone important, yes?"

"I certainly do."

"Call your second dumbest assassin, tell him I took a hit out on Teyrn Loghain," said Ten, "Refer to me as the Grey Warden, when you let it slip. He really hates me, you see. In fact, I think he's rather frightened of me."

"I do not blame him for that. Tirin told me about the flaming ship. And I think your little ruse can be arranged. After all, if the lovely Madame Hirondelle is in on it, it must be a gambit worth playing."

"She is," said Ten, "In fact, it was her idea."

"I did not realize the two of you were acquainted personally," Gonzago said.

"We were not," said Ten, "Some circumstances brought us together."

"Were those circumstances about five eight, dark hair, dashing smile?" he asked, grinning.

"Maker's breath, not you too," Ten sighed. She took a long drink of the wine. It was beginning to go to her head, and it was no help that their host refilled her cup as soon as she took it from her lips.

"I apologize for the little laugh at your expense, mijita, but you must realize how funny that whole affair was to anyone not directly involved," he said, "A gran dama of the underworld and the charming guardsman who was secretly the son of a rival… there must be a novelist working on an absolutely filthy rendition of it at this very moment."

"Well the filthy bit would have to be well overblown for it to spark the interest of readers," Ten said, spitefully, "Though I'm glad it brings such amusement."

"Very well, Arlessa. I will participate in this juegito. Tirin!"

The footman appeared at the door, having apparently been standing close enough to hear the entire conversation, "Yes boss?"

"Send for that red-headed idiot who keeps trying to get in on the game," Don Cangrejo said.

"Which one, boss?"

"You know, the stupid one."

"You're going to have to narrow that down, boss."

"His last name sounds like coño."

"Conyers?"

"No."

"Collier."

"No."

"Conley?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"He's dead."

"I could have sworn it was Conley."

"Oh, do you mean Slim Couldrey?"

"Yes! That's the one. He'll be sure to leave a trail."

"That doesn't sound like coño at all," Tirin grumbled.

"Close enough. All your names sound the same."

"Whatever you say, boss. I'll have Eladio track him down. He's usually not hard to find," Tirin gave a little bow to his master and guests, and disappeared down the hall.

"Well, the flame is lit, the cauldron is bubbling," said Gonzago, turning back to Ten, his hazel eyes twinkling. All of them, after all, truly did love a good conspiracy.

"I am most grateful, as always," said Ten.

"And I am grateful for the return of my footman," said Don Cangrejo, "And for your discretion in dealing with Jairo."

"I am nothing if not discrete. Except for that one… affair," she sighed, "Apparently that is public knowledge."

"You are very young," said Don Cangrejo, "I forget that sometimes, I think of you like my niece, but I could be your grandfather. So… I cannot genuinely criticize two pretty young things for falling into each other's arms mid-crisis…but you must let me have a bit of a laugh over it."

"It seems I cannot avoid that," sighed Ten, "If you must know, he is long gone. We did not part on good terms, so no romance for the ages there."

"You are very young," he said again, "If he ever shows his face in our city again I will have him tarred and feathered. Just for being unkind to you."

"That will not be necessary, and would likely cause an incident with chère Albertine, which neither of us want," Ten said, "And to be quite honest, I would be over it by now if people would just stop bringing it up. And so, I will finish my corpse-wine, and be on my way. There are those I ought to advise of this little game."

"See that you bundle against the cold. Would you like a hat like mine? I crocheted it myself. It is very warm."

"I appreciate the offer, Gonzago, but I must refuse," said Ten, "I don't think the earflaps were designed for elves. But, seeing as I will likely be meeting the Maker before you do, I promise I will have a word with Him about the weather."