By the time they had made it through the maze of corridors back to the entrance hall to the palace, most of the banns, including Arl Eamon, had gone off back to make sure their houses were still standing. Lelianna, wimple discarded, was standing in a corner drinking furtively from a flask, clearly nervous that neither of her companions had returned yet. She glanced at Ten when they arrived, and then when she recognized her, liquor of indeterminate variety came out of her nose and she began coughing.

"Maker's breath, what have they done to you?" she exclaimed through coughs, "I had no idea about those. They're always under armor or one of those shapeless frocks you Fereldans like so much."

Ten looked down at herself, her bosom still captive in the tightly laced bodice and far more exposed than she liked. She instinctively crossed her arms..

"Don't bother now, we have all seen them," said Lelianna.

"All right, all right, you've knocked me down a peg," Ten said, pulling out a few more pins and shaking her hair out. Whatever Erlina had put in there to keep it under control was wearing off, and the ends were beginning to spring back to life, "Doesn't exactly suit me."

"Well it is last season's, so perhaps it does," Lelianna said, "But couture aside, that was absolutely stunning! You are truly a mistress of your craft. So tell me, exactly how much of that was you?"

"Well I didn't get Anora pregnant, if that's what you're asking," Ten said.

"Did you… try?" Lelianna asked.

"You're truly the worst nun I've ever met."

"Lay sister."

"Whatever."

"The riots?"

"Me."

"Loghain conveniently collapsing?"

"Impeccable timing, no?"

"You had him poisoned, didn't you," Alistair said, narrowing his eyes.

"It is rather what I'm known for… don't give me that look. You wanted to cut his head off."

"Yes, because that's what happens to traitors!" he sighed in exasperation, "Though I suppose I should reconsider hewing too tightly to the rules going forward…"

"Well you may still have a chance," said Ten, "If he survived and Anora sends him to a lovely monastery in the swamps we can pay him a visit when all of this is over."

"You just called the queen by her first name," Lelianna observed.

"Queen regent. So, what sort of mood do you suppose our erstwhile benefactor is in?"

"Flames from his ears, most likely," said Alistair, "I'm… not looking forward to the conversation we're going to need with him."

"He ought to be grateful you're in one piece at this point," Ten pointed out.

"He ought to be," said Alistair, "But given his attitude the last few times the two of you have been in a room together I wouldn't be surprised if that goes over his head as well. He.. ah… blames you for my reluctance to take the throne myself."

"How could that be my fault?" Ten asked.

Alistair looked away, "Not entirely sure. I honestly don't understand why he was so stuck on that point."

"I have a few theories," said Ten, "None of which are very nice, and all of which are completely moot and as such I will keep them to myself."

Ten steeled herself on the walk back to the arl's estate. She knew better than to expect a warm welcome there, but figured that the least the man deserved, after they had unraveled decades of scheming, was the opportunity to give her a piece of his mind. Most of the fires had been quenched by this time, but the air was still thick with smoke, all but blotting out the sky. The streets were littered with broken glass and discarded torches. And the good citizens of Denerim, already having taken the day off work, had turned from outrage to revelry.

In the largest market square, where the shopkeepers had packed away their stalls, no doubt after a warning from Boss Guilder, a bonfire still burned. News of the Teyrn's collapse and had evidently beaten them there, for a makeshift band of lutes, fiddles, and squeezeboxes had been thrown together, and the people danced about. Do they even know what they're celebrating? Ah well. Let them make merry while they can.

"Well, Teneira," Lelianna finally said. Running her fingers through her ginger locks to rid herself of the shape the wimple had given it as they passed yet another crowd of rioters-turned-revelers, "You have outdone yourself. You will have to tell me how you did it, one day."

"You played your part admirably, and most importantly, you kept your mouth shut," said Ten, "I'm sorry you couldn't be in the room where it happened, you understand that, right?"

"Oh, far be it from me to intrude on another woman's war room," said Lelianna, "But one day… one day I will have one of my own. And you have given me something to aspire to."

"Another time, perhaps," said Ten, "The next time there is a scheme afoot - though this is likely the grandest I will ever have the privilege of setting into motion - I will bring you with me, and I will show you exactly how the sausage is made."

"I would be most grateful for the opportunity."

"What are you two hens talking about? What craft? What sausage?" Alistair demanded, "And what do you mean she couldn't be in the room, she just was!"

The two women looked at each other.

"Well far be it from me to decide which of your secrets to let him on on," said Leilianna, "This one is on you, Ten. I'm off to get drunk and chase girls."

"She's a crime boss, sister," Alistair said, showing off that he did actually know at least one secret, "Did you know that?"

Lelianna looked at Ten, "Obviously."

"Wait, she told you?"

"She didn't tell me, I figured it out," Lelianna said, "And I'm not the one who double crossed our host, so I won't worry about it." She put her wimple back on, winked at Ten, and disappeared into the crowd, skipping along in time with the closest music.

"Well, I suppose the credible fear of execution was good preparation for getting yelled at by Arl Eamon," he said, "You're not going to leave me to my fate there, are you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," she said, "You know I'm known for not letting nobles get away with abuse."

"It's really quite silly," he said, "I feel like I'm nine years old and just got caught loosing frogs during a great banquet."

"Want me to fight him?" Ten asked, sliding one small borrowed hoop out of one ear and then the other.

Alistair chuckled, "That is still one of my top ten moments in life."

"You're welcome. As to what's about to happen, it's a rite of passage," said Ten, remembering the first time her father had reprimanded her for something she didn't feel was wrong. She'd been six, "How you got to your big age without having to stand up to your elders I don't know. But, better late than never."

"I seem to be coming to a lot of things late in life," he sighed.

"Ready?" Ten said, approaching the gate of the estate. A guard that must have been brought in from Redcliffe was manning it, and waved them through.

"As I'll ever be."

Thenlil opened the door for them, barely disguising his smirk. The rag in his hand told her he'd spent the morning cleaning the rotten vegetables off of the steps. Ten winked at him, and he saluted as the only two warriors who stood between civilization and the forces of darkness dragged their feet, on their way to being scolded like naughty children. However, when they had gotten in and found Arl Eamon sitting in the dark of his library, they were not met with a raging fireball of pissed-off nobleman. Instead, he was sitting in front of half a bottle of brandy so fine that Ten had the feeling she had gone into debt just looking at the label. When he saw them, he rose, and Ten braced herself for a torrent of abuse.

Instead, he rushed up to his errant ward and threw his arms around him. Alistair turned his head to look at Ten with an expression of shock. She shrugged.

"Oh, thank the Maker," the arl sighed, "One of my retainers saw you get hauled off. I thought the worst. I was steeling myself to make funeral plans."

"Oh. Oh!" Alistair exclaimed, "No, quite alright, in one piece. Head securely attached."

"How?" Eamon asked, stepping back, taking a good look at him, making sure his eyes were not deceiving him.

"I don't think anyone was prepared for the depth of scheming this one is capable of," Alistair said gesturing at Ten, "Not even the queen."

"Queen regent," Ten corrected.

"How did you manage that?" asked Eamon.

"I may be cut out for a career in politics after all," said Ten, "Suffice it to say she is secure in her position until I die or she really pisses me off."

"You…" Eamon started, staring at her through his watery blue eyes, realizing what her game had been, "You wanted Anora on the throne because you have something on her."

"I have a lot more on him," Ten said, jerking her head at Alistair.

"Wait, what do you have on me?" Alistair asked.

"Nothing. You're a choirboy. However, the people are used to where one of us goes, the other follows, so if I make something up, everyone's going to believe it."

"You wouldn't."

"Don't tempt me. Anyway, your excellency, it doesn't really matter what I wanted. Do you really think that, given there is going to be a legitimate heir, anyone would support one of Maric's bastards?" Ten asked, her tone shifting from 'joking' to 'scolding.' "I warned you. And you did it anyway. And I had to clean up your mess. Again."

"I suppose I wouldn't expect you to understand the importance of blood," Eamon said.

"I understand the importance of blood very well," Ten said, "But beyond making sure the next generation doesn't have flippers for hands, it has no inherent value. In any case, this is all moot. There is, Maker willing, a legitimate heir. Should nothing go too sideways." All I ask is to live long enough to see the grandson of an elfin scullery maid have a crown placed on their head. I can go to my pyre after that.

"You could have told me she was with child," Eamon said, "You can't just keep things from people and expect them to do whatever you say."

"No I couldn't," Ten said, "She swore me to secrecy. She was watching you like a hawk. She knows I've been staying here. She would have seen that you weren't surprised. And then, there goes my neck if I'm lucky, other extremities first if I'm not. I was just trying to keep everyone alive, myself included."

"I don't doubt your good intentions, elf," Eamon said, "But I feel that you just truly don't understand…"

"Stop it," Alistair said, "There was no scenario where I was getting anywhere near the throne, nor, need I remind you, did I ever want to be. Don't blame her for that. You didn't hear what she risked just to keep my head off the block."

"Were you in on it?" asked Eamon, looking at him in surprise, and then in realization.

"Not all of it. But you can't have been that surprised," Alistair said, "I've told you in no uncertain terms no fewer than a dozen times that I wasn't fit for the job. You didn't listen."

"You didn't have to be fit for the job," Eamon said, "Teagan and I would have…"

"Yes, and that's exactly the problem. It was always you and Teagan, wasn't it. That's been the steering force my entire life, whether I was going to be of use to you and Teagan. When I wasn't, it was off to the Chantry. When I was useful again, a decade and a half later, all of a sudden I'm supposed to just go with it, hop to, do whatever you say. And, be honest, the minute I didn't, what was to keep you from making sure I wound up on the wrong end of something?"

"I guess that is what it looks like from your end," Eamon took his tumbler from the table and sipped it, "Did I really fail you so miserably?"

Alistair was silent.

"I suppose I did," Eamon sighed, "And I'm sorry for that. I was a young man too, once. I made decisions I wouldn't have if faced with the same choice today." He sighed, sat down, and refilled his glass, "I suppose I've already lost one child. I don't need to make an enemy of another. You did what you thought was best. I… forget sometimes you're not a little boy playing pranks anymore."

"It is for the best," Alistair insisted, "Trust me on that."

"And you. Elf. I forgot your name," said Eamon.

"You know that's really demeaning," Alistair said, bristling, "She's a Grey Warden, same as me. You don't get to speak to her like that."

"It's Teneira," said Ten, for the third or fourth time, but used to the casual disrespect.

"Teneira," Eamon said slowly, looking up at her. The liquor had certainly gotten to his voice at this point. He slumped sideways in his chair and pointed at her, "You would see everything go up in flames just to get your way, wouldn't you. And in spite of all this, Alistair, you are singing her tune to the bitter end, aren't you."

"In spite of? Because of," said Alistair, "I don't think I've ever had anyone before in my life who's always been in my corner. Not you certainly."

"I… suppose I deserved that," Eamon sighed, "Suffice it to say, I played the game. I lost fair and square."

Like you were ever a contender, you backwater rube. You wouldn't even know who to make an alliance with if they walked up and slapped you in the face.

"The important part is that Loghain is no more," he continued, "I hold no grudges here. After all, you moved the heavens and earth to save my life. You'll have my fighting men, same as before. And I hope, Alistair, that one day we'll understand each other better."

"I hope so too," Alistair said.

"Now go, get along, both of you. I'm sure you'll want to go celebrate your victory however young people are doing that these days. Just… stay out of jail, will you?"

"I cannot guarantee that, your excellency," said Ten, "I have some business to attend to. That is… walking the line, legally speaking."

"And what's that?" asked Eamon.

"The Alienage has been locked up tight for months on the former regent's orders," she said, "I would go and loosen the chains. There are elves in this very house that haven't seen their families since the summer."

"That never even occurred to me," Eamon said, gray brows drawing down above blue eyes, "Yes, you ought to."

Of course it didn't. Your staff is just automatons. Maker forbid you remember that they're people.

She nodded curtly, and turned to leave. "You coming?" she called back to Alistair.

"I'm invited?"

"Yeah, sure, why not," she said, "To be frank, I don't trust that there's not a convenient accident being planned for you in the near future, I'd rather keep an eye out, yes?"

"Wait, so now you're demanding I tag along because you're afraid something's going to happen to me if you're not there?"

"Well, I left you to your own devices for about four hours and you wound up in another cell, so yes."

She grabbed her ax before heading back out, but didn't bother changing. She was too excited at what she was about to do, a dream she'd had since she was small. Alistair didn't ask about the weapon. Outside the gates of the estate, they dodged revelers and picked their way to the east, over the shoddier of the two bridges, and up to the gates, which were completely unguarded. Rather than attempt to lift the great oaken plank which held them shut from the outside, Ten reared back and chopped it in two with three blows. She knocked each piece to the ground. Then, she reared back, and kicked the gates in.

"Lockdown's ov- " she announced, but paused as she saw what was behind the gate. Or rather, who. Every elf in the Alienage was standing at the gates, as far back as she could see, all of them armed. And, at their head, ten paces in front of her, was a very familiar and very large qunari, holding a battleaxe nearly as tall as he was.

"Not another step," Sten growled.

"Sten?" she exclaimed. She looked over the crowd. Every friend and neighbor she'd ever had was standing there, armed with hammers and cleavers, clubs and crowbars.

"Oh it's you," the qunari grunted, unimpressed. He let his battleaxe fall to the street. "Is the city under siege? The smoke has blotted out the sky."

"It's just a riot," said Ten, "But it's over now. And so is the lockdown." A murmur went up in the crowd as the news was passed back.

"Ten!" exclaimed Shianni, fighting her way to the front of the crowd and all but jumping on her cousin, throwing her arms about her neck.

"Oof," said Ten, bending her knees under the girl's weight. Shianni had never really gotten used to the idea that she was now taller than her cousin, the girl who used to carry her around like she weighed nothing, "Nothing went too terribly sideways, I hope."

"Nah, same old Alienage bullshit," Soris, who was shortly behind her said, "A few more armed elves though."

"Yours are a small, but formidable people," Sten said, approvingly, "Our reports on them were mistaken."

"Maybe don't tell your arishok that one," said Ten, "Where's my dad?" She looked over the crowd, and found a familiar graying head moving through it towards her. Cyrion got to the front, shoved Shianni aside, and scooped his daughter up with a grunt. Maker's breath, the man's shown me more affection in the last month than the entirety of my adolescence.

"Is it over, my girl?" he asked.

"For now," she said, "Dad, please put me down."

He resisted a moment, but finally obeyed, holding her at arm's length, getting a good look at her. "Wait, why are you dressed like that? And what's with all that paint on your face?" he asked, taking in the borrowed gown, the frazzled hair, the paints that were now smeared raccoonishly around her eyes, "You should wipe it off before the lads get the wrong idea."

"You're welcome for the regime change," Ten sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation, "I did not pick the uniform or design the war paint."

"I don't know what kind of regime change requires that much… exposure," Cyrion said, shaking his head, "You look like a working girl. You walked across the whole city like that? How many people saw you?"

"This explains quite a lot," Alistair remarked, barely disguising the amusement in his voice.

"Wait," Cyrion said, suspiciously, registering his presence for the first time, "Who's he? He looks familiar."

"Oh, that's the other Grey Warden," Ten said, "His name's Alistair. He follows me around sometimes."

"I see," her father said. He paused, probably deciding whether he was going to give a piece of his mind or just be polite. He settled on the latter, "Cyrion Tabris." He extended a hand, which Alistair shook, "You have a last name, lad?"

"I'd really rather not get into that," Alistair said, shaking his head.

"Wait… he looks like, who was that kid? The one who was there the first time you got arrested?" Cyrion said.

"Ioan. Yes he does," said Teneira, "They're… related actually."

"Oh…oh!" Cyrion said, realizing all of a sudden what that meant, "Well I can see why the surname might be a touchy subject. I apologize."

"No harm done," Alistair said.

"Wait a tic," a voice came from behind Soris. It was Morran, the second youngest of Cedrin's brood. He took after his father in looks but also temperament, rarely leaving his flat except to go to work and preferring the company of his wife Aislinda and toddler son to being a part of public life. Today appeared to be a rare exception, "You're the man as beat up my racist coworker at the Goshawk this summer."

"What?" Alistair asked, caught off guard.

"Driscoll MacCathail. Me and one of the lads were taking a nip in the alleyway when you threw him through the window," Morran said, a rare grin spreading over his face. He extended a hand, "Morran Tabris. That was hilarious. Highlight of the whole year as far as I'm concerned."

"Oh! Yes. I, uh, did do that," Alistair said.

"So what, Ten, he one of the good ones?" Morran asked.

"Closest thing I know," Ten said.

"Aw, that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me," Alistair said.

"Don't let it go to your head," Ten said.

"Oh I plan to let a lot of things go to my head, now that I get to keep it for a bit."

"You're welcome for that, by the way. Look, I'm going to go to my dad's place and change before the old man has a stroke. Don't do anything stupid, any of you. There's no law right now as far as I can tell, but we all know that can cut both ways."

"Come on, least we can do is get you a drink," Soris said, gesturing for Alistair to follow him, "Did you really throw a man through a window?"