The little mice scurried, the little birds fluttered. From the top of the highest tower - Ten had had to pick a few locks to get in there, but found nothing but dusty outdated furniture and what looked to be several years of Isolde's castoff wardrobe - she could see clear to the plateau where all the rest of the noble houses stood. Eamon, likely as he was rather a big fish in a small pond in the vast empty stretches of the Hinterlands, kept his home on the other side of the wall, preferring to be a noble fish in a bourgeois pond on the south end of the market district. It also afforded him riverfront property, which was in low supply, and a much larger courtyard. However, this also meant Ten could not look down on the streets she was about to traverse, the estate itself being on low ground. She could, however, see the estate of the Arl of Denerim's front gate if she truly strained her eyes. And so, when a large host of men exited it at morning shift change, she knew to expect a strange visitor.
She did not, however, expect two strange visitors. Gwylan fetched her from the guest suite, his face barely disguising the fact that he was a little bit impressed. She roped in Alistair who was, for once, not nursing a hangover, and went to meet the guests in Arl Eamon's meeting room. She was not entirely sure where the arl himself had gone, or if he was simply keeping to himself, but either way she was glad to have this particular conference away from the prying eyes of the nobility.
"What's this about?" Alistair asked.
"I told you," she said, "The last piece on the board. Just keep your mouth shut and listen." After her little trip to see her colleagues, she had explained the plan hurriedly to Wynne, Morrigan, and Alistair. Morrigan was skeptical as always, but was coaxed into it as a rare glimpse into the lives of the rich and deplorable.
Jochrim Stillpass had bothered to put on his guard's uniform this time. She looked at him curiously as she entered and sat. He had taken his helmet off and left it on the table, and was studying, much like she had been, a tapestry that portrayed a hunting scene. The embroiderer had managed to render hounds that looked both fearsome and rather cute, much as real hounds, it truly was impressive. The other visitor she did not recognize from sight, but imagined once she opened her mouth it would be a woman she had been curious about for months. She was an elf, but did not carry herself like an elf, shoulders stooped, eyes on the ground. She stood straight as an arrow, looking at Ten and her companions straight with piercing dark eyes.
"You are the Grey Warden?" she asked. Orlesian accent. So you are the mouthpiece. The cause of all the trouble. The wrench in my gears who made an attempt on my oldest friend. Funny, I thought you'd be taller.
Ten crossed her arms, "Yes. Why?"
"I thought you'd be taller."
"Common misconception," said Ten, "Sit down, Erlina, tell us what we need to know."
Surprise flickered across the handmaiden's features, but she sat, her back still straight, though her feet, much like Ten's own, did not touch the ground. Jochrim, oblivious to what was going on, stayed on his feet, still examining the tapestry.
"Guardsman!" Erlina snapped, and Jock looked behind him, registering Ten's presence with surprise followed by resignation, and sat down sheepishly. The four looked at each other across the table for a moment, understanding how strange this meeting might look from an outside perspective.
"Good to see you, Jock," Ten said, "Didn't expect you here."
"I was instructed to escort Erlina here to the estate of the Arl of Redcliffe, I had an inkling of who I might find here," he said.
"You know each other?" asked Erlina.
"Teneira here was my first arrest," said Jock, "When I joined the city guard. I learned very quickly not to do that again. The knee still tells me when a storm's coming."
"Such a quick study," Ten said, smiling.
"But, it seems, you were correct about a few things," Jochrim finally said, "The queen and her father are, indeed, at odds."
"And why's that?" Ten asked.
"Her Grace had been asking too many questions," the handmaiden said after some time, deciding to be satisfied with that explanation, "We were… evacuated from the palace some weeks ago under the guise of an assassination threat."
"Ah, yes, I hear there are many of those these days," said Alistair.
"But it became clear upon entering the Arl of Denerim's estate that it was less than above-board," Erlina said, "We spent several days shaking in our slippers, waiting for the threat to pass, but… it has become clear that Teyrn Loghain intends to keep Her Grace confined and convince the people that he speaks with her voice."
"I see," said Ten, "And how is Her Grace taking this?"
"As she takes everything," said Erlina, "With as much elegance as can be mustered. But, she grows weary of these new boundaries."
"What about… what was his name? Inbred from Amaranthine, thinks he runs the show…" Ten asked.
"Arl Rendon Howe," said Jock, "Obnoxious little pissant. Has ambitions of his own, of course. He seems to think if he just goes about doing whatever Teyrn Loghain says, he will wed Anora to his eldest snot-nosed brat and he can realize his aspirations, maybe watching his grandchild take the throne one day."
"Is he a… dangerous obnoxious little pissant?" asked Ten.
"I haven't spoken to him myself, but he has a reputation for ruthlessness," Jochrim said, "I have heard rumors that he's imprisoned a few lesser banns who've questioned the current state of affairs for, ah, enhanced persuasion. Let's just say I steer clear of the dungeons."
"Wouldn't want to offend your delicate sensibilities, would we," Ten said.
"You're known chiefly for chopping people up starting with their feet and sending body parts through the daily post, so I think you may be equally matched there," Jock said.
"You started with his feet?" Alistair asked, grimacing at Ten.
"Better that than where I wanted to start," Ten said, "And as for the body parts," she turned back to Jock, "I had messengers deliver those. I'm not that vulgar. And I don't know how long half the guards at the estate will be off chasing an assassination plot that doesn't really exist, so can we please get to the point?"
Something shifted in Erlina's face, as though she had decided that Ten, while certainly several dozen rungs below her on the social ladder, was an equal at least in this respect. "You are the reason all but the queen's personal guards departed this morning?"
"Yes," said Ten, "And I have two teams ready to go, one, human, dressed as guards, another, elfin, dressed as servants. We've been studying the layout of the estate for several days. Our window is only getting narrower from here. So we should get moving."
"You have planned for this," Erlina said, cocking her head, looking at Ten with a new… was it respect?
"She's been banging on about it for days. We're all sick of it," Alistair said.
"Well how many times have you stormed a castle with a handful of soldiers?" asked Ten, turning to him.
"Once. You were there."
"Well next time I'll let you be the brains of the operation and we can all go to the Maker expediently thereafter, satisfied that we weren't a little bit bored beforehand."
"Who's he, anyway?" asked Jochrim.
"This is uh… Guy Chapman," said Ten, before Alistair could declare his identity and possibly ruin everything, "From Redcliffe. Used to bounce at a gambling den run off of a boat. I found him passed out face down in a pile of fish guts last spring and gave him a job."
"Ugh, explains that obnoxious accent," Jock said, looking skeptically at Alistair and then back at Ten, "So what, you get kicked out of Denerim and just start recruiting lowlifes from every backwater in Ferelden? Between this clown and the Crow I'm beginning to worry about you."
"Well thanks to you people, my regular criminals are locked up tight in their little criminal lairs," Ten said, smiling, "So I make do with what's available to me."
"I suppose I am already associating with those I never would have dreamed of back home," Erlina sighed, "Very well. Get your people, we will go now."
"Twenty minutes," said Ten, and went upstairs, Alistair at her heels.
"Really? Guy Chapman? Fish guts?" he said once they were on the stairs.
"Next time you can make up your own name and backstory," said Ten.
"Ace McFlash, had to leave town because too many girls were fighting over me," Alistair declared, "Really, Ten, sometimes I feel like you have no imagination."
"Fair enough, and while you're at it, you can just present yourself down at Fort Drakon and clap your own wrists in irons," said Ten.
"Oh because a name that basically just means 'man man man' isn't conspicuously fake at all…"
In the common room of the guest suite, their companions were, impressively, ready. The guard uniforms had come in from Madame Hirondelle's, courtesy of one of her sons. Lelianna's was a little large on her, but not outlandishly so, and Morrigan, being taller than the average male guard, looked relatively in place. If you didn't know she was liable to turn into a giant spider at any given moment, you certainly wouldn't have figured it out just looking at her. Zevran and Ten, in the meantime, had borrowed clothes from Eamon's staff - loose pants, shirt and waistcoat for him, long, brown dress with full skirts to hide her weaponry and apron for her.
"Do we need to go over this one more time?" Ten asked, her hand lingering on the floor plans still spread out on the table, now pockmarked with her notes.
"No!" exclaimed Morrigan and Lelianna in unison.
"Just focus on keeping your lunch down this time," Zevran said.
"Well it will be my job to clean it either way," Ten sighed, "All right, let's go."
Following the intricate bun on the back of Erlina's head, they made their way south, over the grandest of the three bridges, and into territory Ten had truly never wished to tread again. She kept her eyes down, shoulders slumped. She wasn't really afraid of being recognized, after all, most of the denizens of this rarified quarter really thought they all looked alike. There was a crowd outside the estate, all human, looking to be members of the laboring class… were they picketing? I'll have to have a word with Boss Guilder about this.
"Make way," Jochrim commanded gruffly. The crowd reluctantly parted and let the three new guards and two new servants through.
"Who's this?" asked the man at the sentry box near the gate. He had some… glop on his armor. Examining it surreptitiously, it looked suspiciously like the remnants of a rotten tomato. I see the peasants are restless already…
"Temporary guards," Jochrim said, "I'll take them in, show them the ropes. Better than nothing since…"
"Yeah, yeah," the sentry said, "I'm beginning to think all this talk of that spree killer turned Grey Warden is just paranoia, but… needs must. Go on in."
Ten kept her eyes on the ground, hoping that none of her companions were stupid enough to look at her when he said this.
"Wait!" the sentry called, "Who're the knife-ears?"
Ten watched Erlina stand up straighter than she already had been, "Staff," she said, "Her Majesty is sorely dissatisfied with the quality of service in this estate, and so has asked me to bring two of my own. Don't worry, it will not affect your master's budget."
"Tell the boy to see me at the end of his shift. I like his look," the sentry said, his eyes on Zevran with what could certainly be called a leer.
"I will do no such thing," Erlina said, "My employees are not your playthings, and the queen does not appreciate such improprieties in her household."
"Well, well," said the sentry, "Tell Her Majesty I apologize then." He winked at Zevran, who cringed almost imperceptibly, and they proceeded through the gate.
By day, the estate was surrounded by some fairly impressive gardens, planted in the Orlesian style, which favored sculpted hedges and plants which were, as far as Ten could tell, entirely unsuited to the climate. It did have the effect of providing plenty of nooks and crannies where several conspirators could speak, lowly, out of the view of the remaining guards who patrolled the grounds.
"All right, here it is," Jochrim said quietly, "I don't know what you did, Arlessa, but there's nobody in there except a handful of servants and two of the men on my squad, except for whoever's…. downstairs."
"The dungeons you mean," said Alistair.
"That's such a coarse term for it, but yes," Jock said, "As far as I know the arl is down there - it's where he spends most of his time, sick man, and he's got some friend there with him, let's just say he wears a black hood. You'll probably have to take them out, they won't surrender."
"Pity," said Ten, "I could use an experienced torturer."
"The two of you will come with me through the kitchen door," said Erlina, "I will take you to the private wing where the queen is being held. The housekeeper will likely want to look you over - she rules with an iron fist - but just keep your mouths shut. You, blond, you're foreign right?"
"How could you tell?" Zevran asked, realizing he had not said anything to this woman.
"You don't smell like wet dog. You may speak. You… I'm sorry I've forgotten your name."
"Let's keep it that way," Ten said.
"Very well. You must keep your mouth shut, I will tell Missus Pughsbury you are Orlesian. Since the last… incident, she does not trust the elves of Denerim."
"Quelle surprise," Ten sighed, rolling her eyes.
Erlina looked at her in alarm, "And with an awful rural accent."
"It is very strange how in Orlesian she sounds like a peasant from the foothills," Lelianna said.
"So you're saying she's just got the worst accent in every language," Alistair observed.
"Quiet, Guy," Ten commanded.
How Alistair managed to isolate his middle finger in the air while wearing plate gauntlets was a talent Ten had never really managed to understand, but he effectuated the gesture flawlessly.
"We'll call you Antoine. Toinette," Erlina declared.
"I don't like that name," Ten said.
"I don't care," Erlina replied.
"Fine. Well, we all know the drill," Ten said, "Release whom you can, get to the fourth floor, make a giant racket."
"And if we get detained?" asked Lelianna.
"Like I've never broken anyone out of jail before," Ten scoffed, "I know every nook and cranny at Fort Drakon."
"All right," said Jock, "If I lose my head or my pension over this I'll either haunt the lot of you or move my wife and kids into your ma's house, so let's hope this goes off without a hitch."
They all nodded at each other, and split up to play their respective parts.
The last time Ten had entered the estate of the Arl of Denerim, she had, of course, been out cold. She clocked each door from the floor plan she had been studying for the better part of a week, each stair they went up. At the third floor landing, there stood imperiously a middle-aged human woman. In her high-necked gown, her hair pulled back so tightly that the veins at the side of her head stood out, she looked as though she'd been buried the week before and only recently disinterred by unscrupulous grave robbers.
"So these are your… foreigners," she said, her voice mannish and commanding, "I see her majesty would rather have elves from abroad than good, human, Fereldan help."
"She is the queen, Missus Pughsbury," Erlina said, not dropping her eyes, "And this was her request. I believe she appreciates the discretion of servants who cannot eavesdrop." Ten and Zev looked at each other surreptitiously.
"If there has been a problem with eavesdropping, I will deal with it myself," Missus Pughsbury said, "We have already had three maids quit because they don't appreciate you looking over their shoulders while they go about their business."
"I am simply doing the queen's bidding," Erlina said.
"Very well, then." The housekeeper turned her eyes to the two new hires, "I won't ask your names, I probably wouldn't be able to pronounce them anyway," Missus Pughsbury declared. Ten, whose eyes were on the floor, braced herself as she caught a hint of movement and found her jaw seized in one bony hand, her head forced up. One finger, smelling of strong bleaching agent, forced itself into her mouth, prying her gum away from her upper lip while the housekeeper examined her teeth, "She's older than she looks."
"That was not a job qualification," Erlina said, "Please release her."
The housekeeper obeyed. Ten turned and wiped her mouth. "Putain de merde!" She had heard, of course, of the indignities visited upon household help, but to be examined like a horse at a fair… Maybe this one can accidentally find the wrong end of a sword.
"What did she say?" asked the housekeeper.
"She is eager to start her duties," Erlina said.
"You," Missus Pughsbury said, turning to Zevran, "What are your talents?"
Oh no, please don't say something gross…
"I… ah… como se dice… wash the clothings," Zevran said, "I wash many the clothings."
"At least he's not Orlesian," Missus Pughsbury said, "Go on in, I suppose the queen gets what she wants."
"We are so grateful for your approval," Erlina said, the edge of sarcasm in her voice evidently imperceptible.
"And… I cannot emphasize this enough. No scandals!" the housekeeper shouted at them as they proceeded up the stairs.
"Not on my watch!" Erlina called back.
Alas for poor Missus Pughsbury, but her experience with scandals had only just begun.