When Ten was a teenager, she and Shianni, dressed as waitresses, had snuck into one of the grand parlors of some bann or another's estate, where a visiting chamber orchestra from Orlais was playing. They had hidden near the back, holding trays of drinks, while it played for the audience of fifty or so lords and ladies. She had never been quite so taken with anything as with the maestro, who commanded, with nothing but a wave of his little baton, the musicians to do each of their parts, beckoning strings, woodwinds and brass in their turn. Ten did not have a baton, but she imagined herself with one as she sat, perched atop the highest guard tower in the estate, an hour before dawn. She imagined the musicians tuning up, watching the lights start far below as one bonfire was lit, then another, then another, until the city splayed out below her mirrored the night sky above. She grinned, all but rubbing her hands together in anticipation.
By sunrise, the sky was dark with smoke, and it shone red on the horizon. The noise had started to, a dull roar as every working man and woman in the city arose to make mischief. And so she, too, skipped gaily down the stairs as the music in her head began. The first soloist began as she made it to the front foyer.
"Maker's Breath, what has gotten into this city?!" Eamon raged. This was punctuated with a percussive 'splat' as a rotten tomato hit one of his front windows.
"It's a good likeness of Loghain," Alistair commented, pointing at the makeshift gallows that some ruffians from the markets had erected outside the walls, an effigy of the teyrn hanging from it.
"They're going to burn the place down," grumbled Eamon, "This city is a cesspit."
"Oh, and I suppose the peasants of the Hinterlands know their place," Ten muttered, more to herself than the rest of them.
"They do," Eamon said, glaring at Ten.
"All right, that's enough," Alistair said, stepping in between them, "Everyone's on edge. Ten, go where you're needed."
"You're not coming with us?" Eamon said, "I have a whole speech prepared about the importance of the Grey Wardens to the coming fight. It's useless without you."
"I will be there," said Ten, "I'm going to escort the queen, we will be fashionably late, as befits a sovereign."
"You're going with… you're really cutting my legs out from under me," Eamon protested, "I need the Grey Wardens or I just look like a ranting old man."
"And you have one," Ten said, "And that's all he is, you hear me?"
"I don't take orders from you," Eamon said, crossing his arms, and then uncrossing them to allow Gwylan to fasten his cloak about him, "I need a better umbrella for this," he muttered, and still making all sorts of dissatisfied old man noises, walked out of the estate and into a waiting carriage.
"It's like he's forgotten everything I've done for him," Ten said, "Prick."
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Alistair asked.
"You said you were on board with this," said Ten.
"I am," he said, "I mean, I don't have much of a choice. But you're not going to win any favors by riling everyone up."
She snickered inwardly. Riling everyone up is exactly what is going to win this one.
"All right," she said, "I'm going to head out. See you on the other side?"
"Yeah," he said, "I have my orders, Ser."
She chuckled, "All right. I've got to get halfway across town and they're probably going to make me change clothes."
"Girls and dresses," Alistair scoffed.
"I don't have time to explain soft power to you," sighed Ten, "And I don't think you'd get it even if I did."
"Ten, if this goes badly," Alistair said, taking her by the hand, "I just…"
"It won't," she said, interrupting him, "I promise. Look, I have to be off, don't… do anything stupid."
"What are you still doing here?!"
Alistair dropped Ten's hand like it had bitten him as Teagan bustled down the stairs.
"Waiting for you," Alistair said.
"Ugh, this is going to be an unpleasant journey," Teagan sighed.
As soon as the door had shut behind them, Ten went out the back door and down the stairs to the river, where her new favorite longshoreman was there to ferry her to the Orlesian quarter. By river the trip was minutes, rather than most of an hour, and a few minutes more to Madame Hirondelle's townhouse. Alban met her at the door, expecting her. The lady of the house met her in the parlor, and escorted her to the fourth floor, where the queen had made her home for most of a month. She found Anora in a shift, her hair swept up and Erlina carefully applying paints to her face.
"Finally!" the queen said, "I was beginning to think you were about to double cross me. Come here, this gown is a three-woman job."
The gown in question looked to be one of Madame Hirondelle's cast-offs from one of her many, many pregnancies. Orlesian women enjoyed flaunting such things, after all, unlike Fereldan women, who just loosened their apron strings and went about business as usual. Ten was completely out of her depth at this point, and so the courtesan and the handmaiden stood on chairs to get the thing over the queen's head, tightened laces where they ought to be, achieving the desired silhouette, making her look a bit further along than she actually was. Five months my ass, Ten thought, Thank the Maker most of the banns are men.
"There is quite a conflagration in the streets today," Madame Hirondelle said, an amused smile playing about her painted lips, "But worry not, everyone knows my carriage. And my boys."
"Noted," Ten said, baffled at the series of ribbons going down the back of the queen's gown that Erlina was tying with deft fingers.
"I'm beginning to see what you meant by 'the common folk will have their say,' Anora said, "And am looking forward to my life no longer existing to serve my father's ambition. I imagine it will feel… euphoric to remove his foot from my throat." She got down from the chair and looked down at herself. "Now, I am looking halfway put together. Teneira, if you think you're going to an assembly of the peers looking like that, you are mistaken."
Ten sighed. "Fine, whatever you say."
In front of a mirror that likely cost more than every bit of real estate in the Alienage, Ten felt like nothing more than a doll being played with by a particularly rambunctious little girl. Erlina had some sort of oil on her brush that took a bit of the curl out of her locks and while it smelled quite nice and expensive, it was very strange seeing herself without her most outstanding feature. Even when she put a scarf or kerchief over it, at least three stray locks would spring out and frame her face, but Erlina managed to braid every single strand back and pin it up. The handmaiden then went to work, daubing her eyelids with paints of dubious origin, and put her in a gown laced very tightly in a manner that pushed her breasts up halfway to her collarbone and left them there as though they were being served up on a platter. The damage was mitigated a bit as Erlina stuck a silk cap on her head which had a veil hanging down from either side. Ten hurriedly tucked it around her neck.
"I look ridiculous," Ten said, catching a glimpse of herself. I wish it were an eluvian. I could walk out of here and never be found.
"Don't be silly," Erlina said, "Scullery maids don't attend grand functions like this. This is the only way to get you in, unless you want to swagger in all armored up and a glaring target on your back. That is a concern of yours, yes?"
"Well of course," said Ten, "But this is surely excessive."
"I wish we could do something about the calluses on her hands," Madame Hirondelle sighed, picking up one of Ten's hands and clucking over its roughness, the nails cut short.
"Nobody's going to be looking at my hands," said Ten, snatching it back, "Nobody is supposed to be looking at me at all. Drawing attention to myself is the last thing I want."
"And this way you will fit in with everyone else," said the queen, "Now come on, time's wasting. Stop hunching your shoulders. And try not to walk like a man."
"I don't walk like a man!" exclaimed Ten, "You know most women in this country can't wear skirts so tight they can't take proper strides."
Being that she was escorting the queen, Teneira had the luxury of arriving fashionably late. The carriage, steered by three of Madame Hirondelle's sons, was unimpeded and unsullied by the crowds, which moved out of the way ahead of it, all knowing the consequences of crossing the good madame. By the time they reached the palace, the line of carriages transporting every idiot in charge of every backwater had dispersed. The footman who helped them down from the carriage, who'd been one of Soris's groomsmen, did a double take as he recognized the elf beneath all the paint, but kept his mouth shut. Escorted by Jochrim Stillpass and all three of his colleagues, they climbed the winding stairs to the gallery of the main hall, and Anora took her seat at the head of it. Ten stood behind her, looking down upon the vast room. Eamon, Alistair, and Teagan were stationed on one end, talking, head to head, at one end, and directly below them, Teyrn Loghain was muttering something to two retainers by his side.
"This is going to be the greatest victory of my life," Anora said, smiling wickedly at the top of her father's head.
"I've locked horns with my dad a few times myself, but this is… what did he do to you?" asked Ten.
"Marrying me to that idiot wasn't enough?" Anora scoffed. Her tone when discussing her late husband earlier that week had been at least affectionate, if unflattering. Now that she seemed to think of Ten as a co-conspirator, the claws were coming out.
"Well shit, tell us how you really feel," Ten said, shrugging.
"You must understand, don't your people arrange their children's marriages?"
"Yes, we do, and the whole nation knows how that worked out for me," said Ten.
"Well imagine he didn't die and you came home every day to a grown man playing with toy soldiers and trying to get you to read the journals of gallant explorers, all while affairs of state piled up on his desk and you had no choice but to deal with them yourself," Anora said bitterly, "And then goes off and gets himself killed because he can't discern the difference between fairy tale and reality."
"Yes, I suppose that gene pool isn't exactly bubbling over with natural intelligence," Ten mused.
"Ah, you are both vicious and observant!" the queen said approvingly, "The two greatest qualities a woman may possess."
There was a great resounding crack as the Grand Cleric, someone important whom Ten had never bothered to know too much about, pounded her staff on the floor and called the meeting to order. Ten looked down, caught Alistair looking up at her, then, like the footman, doing a double take as he realized who was beneath the paint and the veil. She disguised her nervousness like she always did - with impudence. She grinned and gave him the finger. He turned away, pretending to cough to disguise the laughter. She basked in the the roar of the crowd, imagining herself back at the head of her little orchestra, watching each lord sing their part. The Arl and the Teyrn faced off, each giving some grand and boring speech. She smiled a bit. They were all so predictable. Eamon, of course, emphasized the threat of the Blight, clapping his hand on Alistair's shoulder and singing the praises of the Grey Wardens. Loghain, not even noticing who it was that Eamon had brought, insisted that they had betrayed the King and that the blight was but a ruse intended for the faction to gain power.
"All I know is half the quarter is outside my house, demanding Loghain's head!" one bann shouted as the Teyrn had finished excoriating the Grey Wardens and insisting that he was the only leader to see them through it. The soprano solo was sung beautifully by Bann Davna who gave the Orlesian pox to half a regiment in her youth.
"The other half's outside mine!" another added. And the basso profundo, Bann Ciaran who fathered two sons with his own stepmother and has the nerve to call them brothers.
"They lit my hedges on fire!" a third echoed. A brilliant performance by the countertenor, Bann Nordhain, who lost his virginity to a goat while his soldiers cheered him on.
"I had three darkspawn heads launched over my gate this very morning!" another exclaimed, "Nearly frightened my poor footmen to death!" And, the stunning contralto, Bann Siglind who lost all her money at the races and then sold state secrets to an agent of the Orlesian empire so she could keep her lands.
"Me too!" exclaimed another.
"And me!"
"There wouldn't be so many heads if it weren't a Blight!"
A brilliant duet by Banns Aelgrinda and Gytha, who together schemed to divest a bourgeois neighbor of his prime pastureland and had it bite them in the ass when it came out they were both also double crossing each other with said neighbor.
Alistair looked up at Ten again, realizing what she had done.
"You would give in to the rabble?" Loghain growled, "Are we animals, to be ruled by the mob? The whims of illiterate peasants?"
"I opened my gates to a wall of horse dung six feet high and an effigy of you buried beneath it!" Simply stunning work by baritone Bann Alfric, who keeps a nude portrait of his own mother in his bedroom.
Ten suppressed her grin as she waved her imaginary baton.
"I believe the good people of this land have spoken," said Eamon, striking his own cane on the ground to quell the roaring crowd, "And they are saying that your time is at an end, Logain. Unless you would see this city burn to serve your vanity!"
"I don't accept this!" Loghain exclaimed, "This is madness! The Grey Wardens betrayed and killed the king! I saw it with my own two eyes, and here you are listening to them! And this - this of all things is the issue you are challenging me over?"
"You would steal the throne for yourself, when a child of King Maric yet lives?" Eamon countered. Ah shit, couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? That was not your part, Eamon, and nobody likes a diva. Can the chorus salvage this?
Teagan gave Alistair a shove. Alistair himself looked like he was about to be sick, his eyes finding Ten again. Please get me out of this. She didn't have to say anything, for the chorus nailed its entrance as a wave of protest went up among the lords in the gallery.
"Wait, what? You mean we're looking at bastards now?!" shouted one bann. Interesting contribution from Bann Uthric, we all know what you did.
"Well, that's just… I should have brought my nephew," another offered. And a strong showing by the contralto Bann Keirna, who can't climax without watching small animals being crushed underfoot by her ladies' maid.
Alistair stepped back, looking up at Ten who, satisfied that nobody else was looking at her, gave him the finger again. He turned, again, trying not to laugh.
"I'd have brought my stepdaughter!" a third piped up. Wait, who are you? You just admitted that in public for no reason. Fair enough, a good composition can withstand improvisation.
The queen rose, her back straight, and pushed the robe of state from her shoulders and clasped her fingers under the exaggerated bulge of her belly. A gasp went up among the crowd as first one bann, then another, in a wave realized what it was they were looking at. Ten looked furtively down from the gallery and made eye contact with Alistair, who, in a rare fit of genius, turned and walked out of the hall while all eyes were on the queen. She shot a glance at Jock, who struck the haft of his halberd on the floor of the gallery, making a great noise and getting the assembly's attention.
The prima donna takes the stage for her solo. Hope you warmed up, your grace.
"Though my father in law may have sired many, many, many… many children, King Maric was not the last king of this land," the queen announced, "My late husband, Cailan, his only legitimate heir, was. And, after several months, my physician has confirmed that I am carrying his child. A legitimate child of the Crown. I shall, as I have been, be honored to serve as your regent until such time as my son or daughter is of age."
Loghain was staring up at his daughter in utter consternation. Ten looked closer. His normally ashen features had gone pink. Drystan Kovalis's timing must have been impeccable.
"I know my father has told you many things. He has called me young, and foolish. That is not the case. I have ruled this nation with a steady hand since I took this seat upon my marriage. I am young, but I am not a fool. Whereas, my father's mind is not what it once was," Anora intoned, speaking to the peers. Ten could not help but genuinely admire her, seeing her command a room so large. She truly was a queen.
"He speaks to himself when he thinks nobody is around," the queen continued, "Do you know how many of your hardwon taxes he has spent in his relentless and senseless campaign against the Grey Wardens? They are but a scapegoat for a feeble old man making a critical error in a battle - one which cost your king his life. And he seeks to cover that error by feeding this nation to a threat we are not prepared for."
Loghain's face went from pink to red.
"And that is not all," the queen continued, "He has subjected members of our own peerage to torture. He imprisoned me to keep me from revealing the truth and because my child, the king's child, would have a claim above his own. He conspired with a Tevinter magister to sell those whom our households depend on most, good Ferelden elves - with this she put one manicured hand on Ten's shoulder - into bondage abroad. He does not think of the future, of his own grandchild, of the child of Cailan Theirin, the grandchild of Maric Theirin. He thinks only of the past, of his vendetta against Orlais, a matter which was settled in our favor when most of you fine men and women were children, or not yet born. My father has grown senile and vicious with age. And believe you me, it pains me to my core to say so, but to allow him to remain in public life would mean certain destruction for us all."
"You…" Loghain breathed, "My own…" he stopped, as if forgetting where he was. "My own daughter…" He stopped again, breathing heavily, as sweat began rolling down his brow, and then he clutched his left arm. He wheeled around twice, searching for a face in the crowd. The expression of consternation when he found it, standing directly behind the queen, was one of the most satisfying things Ten had ever seen.
With his right hand, he pointed up. Not at his daughter, but at Ten.
"It's her! That murderous elf! She… she is one of them as well!" he gasped.
"Why Papa, whatever are you talking about?" the queen exclaimed, with a laugh that would have sounded girlish and innocent to anyone who had never had a conversation with her, "You see, good lords and ladies, he is not of sound mind."
"No! No! That's not her lady's maid. That's the Bride! The Bride! The knife-eared bitch who… who…" His face went from red to purple, and then from purple to white, and his legs gave way beneath him. He collapsed in a heap on the ground. Ten had left it up to the valet Drystan Kovalis to decide the dosage, imagining whether the foul man deserved to die on the spot or simply be publicly humiliated in advance of his execution or long slow decline in obscurity ought to be up to the man who knew him best.
"The Maker has struck him down for his wickedness!" Lelianna, who had taken up her perch, disguised among other ecclesiastical dignitaries in the corner of the gallery, shouted, dropping dramatically to her knees and genuflecting. Sister Lelianna, delivering her part perfectly, as always. Now, time for the chorus…The rest of the chantry contingent looked at each other for a moment, but followed suit, the rustle of a dozen robes rising above the silent room.
"Maker be praised!" Bann Siglind exclaimed.
"Hail Andraste!" Bann Keirna cried.
"Get that thing out of here," the queen said dismissively, gesturing at her father. Behind them, Jochrim went to speak to someone in the hallway outside, while the banns below and in the gallery chattered among themselves. All but Eamon, who wore an expression of resignation. In the ensuing chaos, the court physician, accompanied by two orderlies, came to fetch the fallen Teyrn. Ten could not see from the distance whether he was breathing or not, but that mattered little. After that very public display, none would trust him with anything more important than knitting a sweater or perhaps a game of croquet.
"My first act," the queen announced as the crowd settled down, "Is to reinstate the Grey Wardens into the good graces of this kingdom, that they may save us all from the coming darkness. And now, I must return to the task at hand. I will issue several edicts in the coming month. This Landsmeet has concluded." Jochrim struck the haft of his halberd on the wooden floor of the gallery again, and it echoed with a certain finality.
"Well that's that, I suppose," Eamon said in resignation, though still angry enough to say it loud enough for all to hear, "But for the love of Andraste and all that is holy, someone inform the peasants before they burn the city down!"
Ten snapped her fingers in the air. A footman rushed up to her, and she whispered something in his ear. He took off like the wind, and within fifteen minutes, the crowds outside the palace had quieted. In her mind, Ten turned to her audience, took her bow, and tucked her baton away.