The absolute piss-up that the council devolved into after hours resulted in Ten passing out in her old bed without closing the door. And so, when she arose the next morning, it was to the vocal displeasure of no fewer than six felines who had come seeking warmth and companionship alongside the occupant of the usually vacant back room, finding only the former. She evicted the lot of them, washing the moonshine and cat hair off of herself in the tub in the corner, enjoying the freezing water as it chased the last of the bleariness from her. She dressed herself, and walked out into the main room. The door to Shianni's bedroom was half open, and she walked up to knock before seeing the long red glove hanging over the door. Her first thought was to go in there, haul whoever had been under that red dress and ghastly wig out and beat them in the street.
She backed away slowly, grabbed her things, not wanting the hassle or the awkwardness of discovering how her cousin obtained that glove or whether its original owner was still somewhere within. She took off, hoping to scurry over to Madame Hirondelle's before the courtesan could sleep off her own hangover and catch the queen alone. Do I need to worry about Shianni? Eh, she's young, she's having fun. Why is everyone just sleeping around except me… ugh. Maybe Zevran's right and I am just a bore.
Fortunately the men and women who plied the little river boats were early risers, and apparently word had spread that coin could be had smuggling people in and out of the Alienage, so she was able to get a ride over to the Orlesian quarter for far less than she had been paying. It deposited her by a staircase leading up to the orderly cobblestoned streets. It was a few minutes walk up to Madame Hirondelle's townhouse. She rapped on the door, hoping someone was awake in there to let her in.
She was greeted by Alban. Evidently the courtesan did not allow her sons to have too much fun, though at Alban's age that was likely for the best. He recognized Ten and shepherded her in, looking up and down the street to make sure nobody had seen her.
"Maman is still asleep," he said, "She said not to disturb her until noon."
"I'm here to see… your guest," said Ten, "Is she awake?"
"She has been asking after you," the boy said, "Fourth floor, she has the entire suite."
"Thanks, kid," said Ten, and hurried up the stairs. Each story of the townhouse, the stairs opened onto a hall going to rooms on either side, but when she reached the fourth and highest floor, it opened into a large central sitting room, furnished with even more finery than in the grand parlor downstairs. The sun, hanging low in the sky as it would all winter, filtered in through the snow on two large skylights, casting the room in a dreamy half-light, set off by the flickering of oil lamps and a merry blaze in the hearth at the end of the room opposite the stairs. It was there that Ten found the queen and her maidservant, each curled up on opposite ends of a large and very squashy-looking couch, each reading something salacious, their bare feet intertwined in the middle.
"Did you call for anything?" asked Erlina, hearing the footsteps on the stairs.
"I did not," the queen replied, "Who's there?"
"It's just me," Teneira announced. Both glanced over.
"You said you would be by in several days. It has been a week and a half," the queen said, though the tone of her voice was entirely neutral.
"I was delayed. You could have sent for me, your grace, I would have come sooner," Ten replied.
"No, no," the queen said, taking a pin out of her hair and using it as a bookmark, putting down the leatherbound volume she had been reading on a coffee table that would not have looked out of place in a museum.
"Have a seat," Erlina commanded. Something about the dynamic between the two of them had shifted since the last time she had seen them. As Ten sat down in an armchair across the table from them, she felt less like she was meeting with the queen and more like she was about to be grilled by two equally ranked guardswomen.
"So, do we have a plan?" asked the queen eagerly, leaning forward.
"We do," said Ten, "Your gracious hostess and I had a meeting last night, and everything is in place. Have you been amusing yourselves here?"
"I must say," the queen said, "It is so refreshing to live in a house without servants. Always listening, eavesdropping, having to watch every word that comes out of your mouth lest your latest faux pas be published in the evening news."
"No servants?" Ten asked, looking in puzzlement at Erlina.
"I would never betray my lady's confidence," Erlina announced, "And for now, she trusts that neither will you."
"Has anybody found you here?"
"No," Erlina said.
"Well then," Ten said, "That should speak volumes as to whether I can be trusted."
"So tell me," the queen said, "What pieces have you put in play?"
"Every single one that I have," said Ten, "The common folk will have their say, and thanks to a little persuasion on the part of myself and the good madame, their say will be that your father needs to… retire."
"Such a genteel way of putting it," the queen said, "And what if the lords do not agree?"
"Oh, they will," Ten said, "I have enough secrets about them that they will say what they have been instructed to say."
"You seem very sure of yourself," Erlina commented.
"There's a third contingency in place," said Ten, "Which is where I need you to have your say. You see, I was puzzled at one thing - how do we get your father out of the way, without you being impugned by your association?"
"I have been thinking on the same," the queen said, "I could denounce him, of course. I'll have to."
"But that carries the problem of why now - you'll look like you just went with all of it, including your husband's murder," Ten said, "We can't paint him as shrewd, self-serving, or conniving, otherwise the people will see you as such as well."
"I had no idea what he had planned at Ostagar," the queen said, her voice raising half an octave and her posture collapsing. She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve, "Or what he was going to do to my beloved husband." Oh shit. Making the queen cry is probably punishable by all sorts of things.
Ten paused, looking at Erlina awkwardly. The elf seemed completely unperturbed. After a few moments, the queen's head popped right back up. There were tear tracks down her cheeks, but her eyes were now dry, "How was that?"
"Might work one on one," said Ten, "But you don't want to be seen weeping in the halls of state. Men hate it when women cry. They don't know what to do. And we can't paint what he did as calculated. Now, how old is your father?"
The queen thought for a moment, "Past fifty. Not yet sixty. I don't know, exactly."
"Good, so rather than you being horrified that your father could commit such evil, you are horrified that your once hale and sturdy father, hero of the nation, has completely lost his mind in his old age," said Ten, "You inherit the legacy of the Loghain MacTir, the fearless warlord who sent the Orlesians packing. The man before them is just a senile old husk."
"But… he's not," the queen said, "He's diabolical. He's sharp. He'll talk and everyone will know it's still him."
"Don't worry about that," Ten said, "I'm taking care of him."
"Are you going to kill him?" asked the queen, her voice still neutral.
"Do you want me to kill him?"
"I don't know," she said, putting her chin in her hand and looking genuinely perplexed. Ten expected her to say something about how conflicted she was that her father had turned on her, and perhaps speak some anecdote about being a wee girl and seeing Dad as her hero. Instead, she sat back and said, "I think I would rather enjoy keeping him around, the tower at Fort Drakon, or perhaps a monastery somewhere nasty. So he has to watch the world go on without him, live long enough for everyone to forget who he is."
Whoa. All right. He's tried to kill me how many times and even I wouldn't want that for him…
"Well, your grace, I can have him… incapacitated, and you may do with him what you will, as sovereign," Ten said.
"Well don't you want to play with him a bit? After all, he took everything from you," the queen said, looking at Ten in surprise.
"I already killed the man who took everything from me," Ten said.
"You have no feelings about your fellow Wardens?" Erlina asked, surprised, "Those whom he left to the slaughter?"
"I didn't know them," said Ten. The only person she had truly known who perished at Ostagar was Duncan. She was, of course, grateful for him saving her from public execution, and did not dislike the man, but all in all she had had much more affection for Daveth and Daveth wasn't killed by Loghain. If anything, it was the Wardens themselves who had done him in.
"That is what you value then," the queen observed, "You must know someone before you care one way or another, yes?"
"Not that either," said Ten, "Make no mistake, I have a duty to the Wardens and I am loyal to my duties. But it isn't personal. I have no great feelings about your father."
"He certainly does about you," the queen said.
"I've heard that," Ten said, "It's a bit flattering to be honest."
"So are you actually the last Warden?" Erlina asked pointedly.
Ten looked up at her in surprise. You know the answer to this already, don't you. Not sure how. You're trying to see if I'll lie.
"No," said Ten. You need to know how expendable I am, don't you.
"Who were the people who helped you free me?" the queen asked.
"Associates. Surely your hostess has told you who I am. I tend to collect other miscreants, wherever I go," said Ten, "I could go into the sort of riffraff that clings to me, but I do not want to offend your… sensibilities."
The queen looked at her for a long moment, gauging her, but ultimately changed the subject, "You are staying at the estate of the Arl of Redcliffe. Do you feel any loyalty to him?"
"Yes," said Ten, "But not to the point I would risk unrest in this land over his desires. Right now, we have a legitimate heir to the throne. You are the mother of that heir, and dare I say it, far more clever than many give you credit for."
"I am, after all, a woman," the queen said.
"Well I wasn't going to say it," Ten said, "But yes. We have to know everything that a man does just to exist in this world, and then we have a whole body of knowledge on top of that they think frivolous or just icky."
"Try explaining to one the importance of the colors you wear," the queen said, "Exercise in futility. You… met my late husband, yes?"
"Very briefly."
"What was your impression of him?"
"He was the king," Ten said.
"Don't lie," the queen said, "You thought he was an idiot."
Ten remained silent. Erlina laughed behind her hand.
"I won't make you say it out loud. Suffice it to say that he had his qualities, but wisdom was not among them," the queen said, "I fear the dynamic between the Theirins and the MacTirs repeated itself over another generation. The Theirins are good-looking, charismatic, morons, beloved by all, and we MacTirs are the ones who know how to get things done but our profiles don't look nearly as good on a coin and we tend to... get our hands dirty. Look at me, here in my dressing gown, no paint on my face, do you truly believe the rumors of me being a great beauty are anything but legend?"
Ten looked at her, having been commanded to, but frankly didn't know what she was talking about. She was not extraordinary, no, but she was pretty, even with the dark circles under her eyes, her hair several days past being washed, "I wouldn't say so, your grace."
"Well you too are a beauty in legend," the queen said, "And I'm sure you clean up well, but do you think yourself worthy of the rumors?"
"People want a romantic story," Ten said, "It serves that story for the woman involved, be she queen or murderess - to be beautiful. So, I suppose I know what you mean. And yet, I don't think either of us is about to be kicked out of any man's bed if he can help it." Well, except that one time, and that wasn't him, that was his mother.
"That was all to say," the queen went on, "That every policy issued during my late husband's reign was written by me. And my work just isn't done."
"And what work is that, your grace?"
"This is a young nation. We have yet to prove ourselves. Most of the world knows nothing of us, they think of us as the illegitimate children of the Imperium and Orlais. But that is simply because we have been living with everyone else's decorations in our home for generations, always told and mostly believing that foreign everything was better - we must have Orlesians build our cathedrals and Tevinters write our music and Antivans plan our cities, and it just isn't true. We have always had our own architecture, our own music, but it has never been considered anything but for the peasants! And I need the people to understand that. In ten years, when any of us go abroad, we will be able to say we're from Ferelden proudly, not sort of mumble it and hope they heard something else."
Ten, who had never given much thought to her own nationality, was inspired in spite of herself, "And how will you do that?"
"Trade mostly," said the queen, "Send traditional minstrels of our own canon to sing the taverns of Ciudad Antiva and Val Royeaux. Send our tavernkeepers who cook our food to open inns abroad. Make sure our diplomatic delegations wear our own fashions in our own fabrics." Oh, Miss MacTir I do not think we need to lead with our food. Your food.
"That is quite a plan," Ten said, "But it hinges on all that talent not being swallowed up by a Blight."
"It does," the queen agreed, "Which I also plan to bring us out of. Without the help of greater nations. Which means uniting the peerage. With my father out of the way, I will control his forces and what is left of my late husband's. While that is a formidable army, it cannot be all places at once. Can I count on you to get the rest of them on board?"
"You can," said Ten, "What do you know of strategy?"
"Nothing," the queen replied, "But there is nothing that cannot be learned. And… of course there will be something in it for you."
"Your grace, I simply wish to get out of this with my head attached to my shoulders," Ten said.
"That I can help with. I think your mind will be of great service to our country, if we make it through this," the queen said, "This is not me flattering you or even doing you a favor, oh Vengeful Bride, this is me recognizing value where value lies. I have observed what becomes of your enemies, and I would prefer to be your friend. And you should recognize the same, I am a very, very good friend. And a very, very fearsome foe."
"I can see that," Ten said, wondering what on earth she was getting at, "Your grace."
"Come here, the morning of the landsmeet," the queen said, "I want you at my hand."
"Very well."
"And tell Arl Eamon he would do well to remember who his betters are," the queen said, "That pissant little brother of his too."
"The Arl of Redcliffe can be kept in line. Go easy on him. He has had a bad year," Ten said.
"Yes, so I hear," the queen said, "A nasty poison from the Imperium. A miracle he survived."
Ten chuckled to herself, "And where did you hear that?"
The queen smiled wryly, "I hear everything."
Or it was your idea.
"Well, thank the Maker that miracles yet occur," Ten said, "I will come for you on the appointed day."
"Excellent," the queen said, "I think you and I will work well together."
"Of course, your grace," Ten said. She gave a perfunctory curtsy, and headed back out before Madame Hirondelle could find her and grill her on whatever conversation had occurred. She walked back to Eamon's estate this time, too deep in her thoughts to feel the cold. She would have to figure out how to dissuade the Arl from his plan. Or, of course… simply convince Alistair to steer clear lest he lose his own head. But then, there would be no way to make it clear how much danger he was in without making it obvious that she had betrayed the queen's confidences, and it was very, very clear that that would spell nothing but doom for her and possibly her family. I suppose I'll have to do what I can. Everything else is luck.