By the time they reached the foothills, autumn was making its presence known even in the lower altitudes, turning leaves to red and gold, and chilling the air. They walked right past the place that Ten and Alistair had seen the archdemon fall at the foot of the mountain, the dent its had made in the snow having melted and crusted over several times, and its enormous footprints leading to a very creepy hole in the ground that not even Sten thought it was a good idea to explore. The weather was more clement as they made their way down into the Hinterlands, though every so often a gust would come down from the mountains to remind them all of what was coming.

"How confident are you that this is going to rouse the arl?" asked Wynne quietly as they made their way down the now-familiar road to Redcliffe.

"In all honesty? I think that it's entirely up to him," said Ten.

"And why do you think that?"

"Why some random powder that some lunatic plunked at the rim on a dormant volcano fetched by an elfin miscreant out of her damn mind on volcanic gasses isn't going to cure a man whose condition is entirely unknown to us?" asked Ten, "Really, Wynne, and I thought you were a scholar."

"So why did we do all that?"

"I genuinely thought we were going to find something different," said Ten, "I should have known better. It seems every time someone starts looking for the Maker, all they find is trouble. Hell, if the legends about the origin of the darkspawn are true, quite a lot of trouble."

"Are you disappointed?"

"Mostly with myself," she said, "You'd think in my line of work I'd have learned by now what is divine intervention and what's being drugged."

"Well, it's not as though you'd have been exposed to that before," said Wynne.

"I suppose not," she said.

Morrigan, still wary of the proximity to the Circle, elected to remain outside the village again. Sten went to go speak with Murdock and check on the status of a militia he yet thought of as his own. Lelianna begged off again, saying something cryptic about Chantry business, but Ten watched as instead of heading to the Chantry she made a beeline for a house on the docks. Zev and Wynne went off to the village in, Zev in search of a new venereal disease, and Wynne in search of a proper bed.

"You can do the honors," said Ten, handing the flask with the 'ashes' to Alistair, and seating herself by the river.

"You're not coming?"

"Statistically speaking I'm just going to get into another knockdown dragout with the lady of the house," she said.

"So? Come on, it's not fair I missed seeing the last one. You owe me."

"You got the blow-by-blow from Cullen."

"But it's not the same as a ringside seat. But... in all seriousness," he said, "I don't know what conversation is going to happen in there, but I don't read people like you do. And I…"

"What?"

"Don't make me say it."

"Oh I'm going to make you say it," she said.

"I trust your judgment and I want your take on whatever happens," he admitted.

"Say the first part again."

"I trust your judgment," he sighed.

"Louder. I want it echoing through the hills."

"Can I just give it to you in writing?"

"Fine," she said, "But I want a seal on it."

"It'll be gilded. I promise."

"All right, I'll come. Let me take my earrings out. Man, I just stole these…"

They took off down the now-familiar road to the castle.

"Do you think it will work?" Alistair asked, "I thought you said it wasn't real."

"It's not not real. There was an urn, full of ashes or something vaguely resembling them, in a location specified in all of Genotivi's research," said Ten, "I don't see why the rest of it wouldn't be real. That's the thing about legends, most of them have a little bit of truth in them. A hundred years from now they're going to talk about us - if only as the two bumbling losers who damned the whole nation - and they'll still probably say I was human."

"What if it's poison?"

"It's not."

"How do you know?"

"I tried it."

She snickered and went ahead of him down the path as the predictable look of consternation came over his features, and he shook his head.

"You know you're crazy, right?" he called after her, hurrying to catch up.

"Do I ever," she said, "Come on, let's see if it works."

The bridge they had destroyed in the defense of the village had been completely replaced with a proper stone number, though a sturdier rope bridge was left intact beside it. There were actually guards on the towers now. Not as full a complement as the castle that size ought to command, but they were there. As they passed over the final span, Alistair raised his shield, which was emblazoned with the proper sigil, and the great portcullis was raised.

In the courtyard, rather than soldiers running drills, Ten was astonished to see were about a dozen children running about and shrieking with laughter. There was one adult, who was of medium height with short blond hair, wearing the sort of trousers and tunic that most noble men would wear. Ten was fairly sure it was a woman under there, but wasn't entirely sure. She was blindfolded, a scarf covering most of her face, and was lumbering around, lunging at the children in a game of blindman's buff.

"My lady!" one of the guards called from the top of the tower. Ten turned, thinking he was addressing her and just hadn't gotten a good look at her, but then she realized that he was addressing the one other grown person in the courtyard. "You have visitors!"

The adult tugged the blindfold off of her eyes, and shook her head briefly, getting her bearings. Ten's jaw dropped to the floor, recognizing Lady Isolde, her previously long hair cropped close, wearing men's clothes, and… looking well-rested and happy. Her eyes fell on them, and she grinned, hopping up and down and waving.

"Did you give her a head injury the last time you fought?" Alistair murmured to Ten.

"I didn't think I did," said Ten, "Though now I'm wondering if I might have knocked something loose."

The children gave a collective groan of disappointment.

"I am sorry, mes enfants, I have business to attend to!" Isolde announced, "Please, continue without me, I shall return." She handed the blindfold to the closest child to her, an elf maybe nine or ten years old, "And you, Danalis, you are it!"

She jogged up to the portcullis, where both Grey Wardens stood stock still and completely gobsmacked. She approached Ten first, taking her by the shoulders and kissing her on both cheeks - not the air-kisses that most Orlesians she had met performed, but genuinely.

"Teneira, ma belle, you have returned!"

"I have. It is… good to see you, my lady, and in such high spirits," Ten said, hesitantly.

"And it is good to see you as well, dear boy," Isolde said, reaching up and patting Alistair on the cheek. He flinched, but held his composure, "Is it good news?"

"It… is," said Alistair.

"Ah, so you have proven yourselves pure of heart! I knew you would," Isolde said.

"Did you…" Ten said, "What's with… all of this?"

"Well, it is like you said to me. I decided I was going to start doing whatever I want," she said, "The rules do not matter. I followed the rules and see where it got me, so I am trying something else. What do you think?"

"It… suits you, my lady," said Ten.

"Also do you have any idea how difficult it is to get into those gowns without a lady's maid?" she turned and shouted, "Connor! Come here and say hello!"

As one of the boys ran across the courtyard, Ten realized she had never actually lain eyes on the lad who had caused so much turmoil before. He was tall for his age, but not overly so, and still had full, babyish cheeks and long eyelashes. He ducked under his mother's arm and looked up at the Grey Wardens with bright eyes.

"Are you the ones who saved me?" he asked.

"Yes they are," said Isolde, "All right, run along." She released the boy and planted a kiss on the top of his head. Connor rolled his eyes.

Does he know that one day he will remember that embarrassing kiss and long for another? No, probably not. And there's no explaining it to him, is there. Fuck, I hope Dad's all right.

"Come on, let's go inside. Eamon's condition is much improved, now that that infernal blood mage was not around to keep dosing him," said Isolde, "And we may hope that the relic you bear may help him even further."

Alistair and Ten glanced nervously at each other, but followed the arlessa into the grand entrance. Inside, the staid portraits of old nobility had been replaced with framed canvases that looked as though they had been painted by children in bright colors. Two of the three suits of armor in the front hall were wearing silken hats with feathers in them.

"You… redecorated," said Ten.

"I did! Thank you for noticing!" Isolde exclaimed, "Those old dusty portraits, they were so depressing. So I asked the children to make me some new paintings. These are much more cheerful, no?"

"Who exactly are those children?" asked Ten.

"Mostly refugees from Lothering, Arnthorn, and their surroundings," Isolde said, "Some orphans, some with their parents. They started pouring in a week or so after you left. It is… unfortunate, the reason we had the room, both in the village and the castle, but it is lucky that we had it."

"Is there a girl named Jamie among them?" asked Ten, her heart dropping.

Isolde, who was bustling through the hallways ahead of them paused, and turned, "Yes!" she said, "Jamesin Tullcott. She arrived here with her mother, I gave the mother work in the kitchens, the family lodging in the servants' quarters. She was out there in the courtyard, dark curls, you did not recognize her?"

"Her head was shaved last time I saw her," said Ten, taking stock of the kids in her memory, "Is her mother alive?"

"Yes! Her name is… it's a dreadful Fereldan name, Deontha or Diamhna or something… I can't pronounce it. I call her Dita," said Isolde, "Sad story. The darkspawn razed their farm, only Dita and Jamie survived. And to add insult to injury, Dita lost the child she carried not a few days later.

"Believe it or not I was around for that last bit," sighed Ten, "It's good to know she recovered, she was in fairly rough shape when I saw her."

"Really! I didn't know you were a midwife," Isolde asked, cocking her head.

"I'm not, I'm an… herbalist," said Ten, "The kid saw me messing about with plants as I do and sent me to assist the midwife. Was she there with the refugees? Can't remember her name - middle aged, big woman, Orlesian name?"

"Oh, my new physician? Heloise Boncoeur?" Isolde said.

"I was roped into attending with… Dita's labor," said Ten.

"Oh dear," said Isolde, "That must have been difficult."

Alistair looked down at Ten in alarm. "Is that what had you all out of sorts in Lothering?"

"Yes, delivering a dead baby doesn't exactly do wonders for the psyche."

Forget what you seen, Heloise's voice echoed in her mind.

"So that's what you meant by 'women's business.'"

"That's almost always what I mean by 'women's business.' Do you feel better knowing it?"

"No," he said.

"So stop asking," she said.

They followed Isolde and Connor through the castle, before so forbidding, but now seeming vibrant. Some of the portraits remained, but had been augmented with moustaches on the ladies, vibrant eye makeup and lip color on the men. It occurred to Ten as they went by that they were hung far to high for any of the children to have done it.

"Now!" said Isolde as they reached the door to the private suite, "We see shall what, if anything, the ashes of the Prophetess do. Do you mind waiting out here?"

"Not at all," Ten said.

The two of them sat themselves awkwardly at the Arl's meeting table. The office had gotten a cleaning since she and Lelianna had crept through the previous month. That was not a surprise, clearly the misfortune of the surrounding villages had been a boon for staffing Redcliffe Castle.

Curious, thought Ten, looking over at the grand desk she had so unceremoniously tossed. Those books have been moved. And that pen was not there. There's fresh ink in the inkwell too, someone's been actually doing business here.

"Well it's a vast improvement from when I lived here," sighed Alistair, a little wistfully.

"Better late than never, yes?" Ten said.

"I suppose," he said, "I hate to think of the beating I would have gotten for doing half what those kids got up to."

"I can smack her upside the head again, try to put whatever's out of place back," Ten offered.

"No," he said, "It's all right. Good, even. It's just…"

"I know the feeling. Like, where was this version of you when I needed it?"

"Exactly!"

"You know," said Ten, "And don't take this as a lecture on forgiveness, you are free to hold whatever grudges you want to, but… Lady Isolde was not yet twenty when she did all that. She's really not much older than we are."

"Shit, really? How did you know?"

"I told you, I went through their things," said Ten, "She was seventeen when they married. So perhaps I did inflict some permanent brain damage, but it could also just be that she's finally grown up."

"Oh, that's not… ugh, has Eamon been the villain this whole time?"

"There's no such thing as a villain. People are complicated."

"I'm pretty sure there are a few villains out there," Alistair said, "That shopkeeper in Highever. He was a villain."

"Perhaps," said Ten, "He was a monster and needed to be stopped, and certainly got what was coming to him, but who knows what happened to him when he was a lad."

"Are you about to tell me Teyrn Loghain's mother never loved him and that's why he is the way he is?"

"Nah he's just a prick."

"Good, I was worried for a minute there."

"What, you think I'm not ruthless enough?! Andraste's left tit, what does a girl have to do…"

The door to the bedchamber banged open. Eamon had, at some point, received a haircut and trim of the beard since Ten had tiptoed through past his comatose form. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but made his way into the room with only a little help from a silver-headed cane. He paused, narrowing his eyes at them. He must have been an enormous man in his youth, but he looked somewhat diminished, stooped over. His voice when he spoke, though, was that of a commander. A man used to being listened to and not questioned. And one who, apparently, did not believe in saying 'hello.'

"Alistair, stop fraternizing with the help. Girl, get up and get us something to drink, will you? This is an important meeting and whatever my wife just gave me has my throat bone-dry."

Behind him, Ten saw Isolde's eyes go wide. Teagan was with them too, laughing behind his hand, clearly wanting to see how this one played out. Ten, making a spur-of-the-moment decision to have a little bit of fun, rose, dropped a curtsy, and said, "Yes, your excellency, right away." Someone - the actual maid, probably - had set out a pitcher of water and pewter glasses on a tray on a sideboard near the door. She turned her back and fetched it, taking her time.

"What street did you scrape her off of?" Eamon asked his wife, "Are we really that hard up for staff?"

"Well, yes we are, but…" Isolde stammered.

"Maybe you can train her as a proper lady's maid, provided she can lose that accent, and then you can stop wearing those ridiculous trousers," he said. He looked up at Ten as she placed the tray on the meeting table, "And girl, a word of warning, you're barking up the wrong tree with my ward, he only looks rich. But- I'll make you a deal, if you get my wife back to looking like a proper lady again, I'll give you a heads up when someone with actual money comes through and you can try your charms there."

"Eamon, that is not at all appropriate," Isolde started, her face going pink at how crass her husband was acting.

"What happened to you? This time last year you'd have beaten her with a shoe for even daring to sit at that table. I fall ill and everything falls to shambles." the arl grumbled. He looked around the table, then turned to his brother, "Wait a tic, I thought you said there were two Grey Wardens here. Where's the other one?"

"Well that's a good question. Where on earth did he get to?" Teagan, who had evidently found the previous exchange entirely too amusing, asked, "Check under the table, maybe. Or behind the curtains!"

"It's her," said Isolde, gesturing at Ten, clearly not delighting in her husband's confusion nearly as much as Teagan was.

"Don't be ridiculous, dear," said Eamon, "Alistair, where's the other Grey Warden?"

"It's her," Alistair said.

"Is this one of your pranks?" Eamon asked.

"No Ser," Alistair said, "She is, in fact, my colleague and you probably ought to apologize to her."

Eamon looked back at his brother, "They're messing with me, right?"

Teagan shook his head.

"Out of it for a couple of months and everyone's got delusions of grandeur, I see," Eamon sighed, "All right, I'll play this game. Sit down, girl."

"Yes, your excellency," she said, this time her tone mocking, sat herself back down and crossed her arms over her chest.

Eamon positioned himself in the grandest chair at the head of the table and leaned his cane against it, "So, the version I got was darkspawn are spilling out of the wounds of the earth, the Teyrn of Gwaren has decided that this would be a good time to stage a coup, the lands are in chaos, and the throne is void of royal behinds. Do I have that all right?"

"That's the long and short of it," said Alistair.

"Well, it seems like the first order of business is to get the peers of the realm together and get rid of Teyrn Loghain. I won't lie, I'm looking forward to that bit. Arrogant prick," Eamon said, "As to who will replace him, Anora is obviously out, she is his daughter and who knows where her loyalties lie. We have no legitimate heirs from the Theirin family, and so… we must look to the illegitimate."

Ten narrowed her eyes. She was planning to keep her mouth shut for as long as possible.

"Me? No. No. Absolutely not," Alistair said, "That is the craziest thing I've taken in all day and I just walked by suits of armor wearing ladies' hats. Ser, you are an accomplished statesman and you were the last king's uncle. Surely there is another way."

"I would look like an opportunist. Teagan would be seen as a play on my part. Not a good choice. So, Alistair, the once unthinkable has come to pass, and it is time for you to step up and do your duty."

All those years married to an Orlesian and the man still can't keep his cards close to his chest.

"No. No! I… I can't," Alistair said, unable to keep the panic out of his voice, "No. This is insane."

"Your Excellency," said Ten, leaning forward on the table, pitching her voice low, trying to remember to pronounce her 'r's. "With all respect due, this is a terrible idea."

"Look at me when you talk, girl," Eamon barked. He clearly was not expecting her to take part in this little exchange, "And explain yourself. He's the son of King Maric. He has a claim by blood."

"I'm right here," Alistair protested.

"So does half the court, if gossip is to be trusted," asked Ten, forcing herself to meet the arl's eyes, which were a watery blue, as though the color had been leached out of them by age and illness, "You're opening the door to a war of succession."

"Why, what in your great elfin wisdom do you think will happen?"

"Every backwater arl and bann of no renown, hell maybe some ambitious member of the grand bourgeoisie is going to show up saying their nephew or stepdaughter or housekeeper's son is one with an equal or greater claim than Alistair's. There will be pretenders from every house and city. It will be chaos."

"The peers of the realm, the ones who knew the old king will take one look at him and know who he is," said Eamon.

"I'm right here," Alistair said again, more insistently.

"I know of at least one other man for whom that would also be true," Ten said, "And where there are two, there are likely three."

"This nation has been tearing itself apart for years, with the exception of my lands.," said Eamon, "The only army larger than mine is Teyrn Loghain's, which is at the moment being slowly eaten away by those savages on the Bannorn. By the end of this Blight, my army will dwarf those of any rivals. I do not care if there is a war of succession, because I am assured that my faction - our faction - will win it."

Ten felt the ice creep up her spine. Well, you don't get to be the head of the third or fourth most powerful family in the land by being a pushover. Still, this is cold even by nobles' standards. I don't doubt if he puts Alistair on the throne he's going to pull the strings just like Loghain did to Cailan - and would have no qualms about staging a hunting accident if he doesn't cooperate.

"I can't listen to this. I have to… go be somewhere else," Alistair announced and, without anything further, got up from the table and walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind him. Ten and Eamon watched the door close, looked at each other, and decided that, yes, the conversation could absolutely continue in his absence.

"Ask the people your gentle wife has so kindly assisted," Ten said, "Ask those who watched their families slaughtered and homes burned if they would like another decade of war."

"Would you have me ask the common folk of this land permission to use the privy as well?" Eamon countered.

Ten bristled, but held her tongue.

"Eamon, she has a point," Teagan interjected, "This is going to look like a grab for power on your part just as much as it would if you suggested I take the throne. It will lead to further conflict."

"You're listening to this elf? I'm amazed you can even understand a word she says, she's like a stock maid character out of play," Eamon demanded.

"She's a Grey Warden," said Teagan, "She saved your village. She saved your son. She saved your life. She is owed consideration."

"She is," said Isolde, "It was she who insisted that Connor could be cured rather than put to the sword. She moved heavens and earth to save our boy."

Eamon turned back to Ten, the expression on his face not really softer, but more interested, "Very well. What would you have us do?"

"I don't know yet," said Ten, "I haven't been in the capital in over a month and my last stay was short, I haven't had my admittedly pointy ears to the ground in months. But, with a little time and some reconnaissance, I will either find a better plan or be satisfied that yours is the best we're going to do."

The arl looked at her for a long moment, trying to decide whether her audacity was merited, or simply audacity. Isolde leaned forward and whispered something in her husband's ear.

"Very well. I'll indulge this little charade. It costs me little. Go to Denerim," said Eamon, "Learn what you can. I will write a letter to my butler at my city estate, you may stay there while you investigate."

"Step up in the world for a drudge from the Alienage," Ten chuckled, "I appreciate your consideration. Now, I fear I must leave for a bit, it appears my primary quest has become making sure the man you want to put on the throne is not currently drinking himself into a stupor and acting the fool in public, which is what he did the last time something upset him this much."

"I… haven't laid eyes on the boy in years. I do not know what kind of man he is," said Eamon, "Though, I admit that little display does give me pause. Is he all right in the head?"

"He's not mad, if that's what you're asking," said Ten, "But he's just been recently pushed out into a world he wasn't prepared for when he was far too old to adapt quickly."

"What happened last time?"

"He tracked down his half sister. You know, the one whose rent you've been paying for twenty plus years?" Ten said. Isolde turned to her husband, her expression quizzical and furious at the same time, "I'm sorry, my lady, did you not know about that?"

Eamon, for the first time, looked surprised.

"Missus MacCathaíl is not terribly amused that the payments stopped, and had quite a few things to say about you, your excellency," Ten continued, "Things which have left me with a few - well, actually a single burning question."

The Arl shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his left hand fiddling with the head of his cane. I do so love it when they squirm.

"Did Alistair's mother really off herself, or did you have her killed?"

Eamon blanched and, all of a sudden, looked a lot more like he had the first time Ten had laid eyes on him. Isolde and Teagan both looked at him in alarm.

"It's a genuine question," she continued, "It would make perfect sense either way. Woman gets horrifically raped by someone with more power than she can imagine, can't deal with the outcome, jumps off a cliff. Or, the same woman simply knows too much and is better off out of the picture. She has a little accident, perhaps with the help of a guard or two, her daughter is sent off with a lie and a monthly stipend. I just cannot for the life of me figure out which it is."

The arl sat there, silent and dumbfounded while Ten rose from the table and went to leave.

"You don't have to answer," she said, "I suppose it's truly none of my business."

"Girl," he said, finally, as she had her hand on the door, "Have you ever considered a career in politics?"

"I'm afraid nobody has offered me a position higher than that of scullery maid," she replied, "And I'm afraid those in that position do not fare well in this household. Perhaps I ought to offer a word of warning to Missus Tullcott on my way out."

"I have taken your point," said Eamon "You need not twist the knife any further. That was an honest question and I apologize for my earlier assumptions. You see, my son managed to kill most of my advisory council and I could use someone of your acumen."

"Or you're afraid of what will happen if someone with her acumen is set against you," Teagan chuckled.

"Well, first of all, you're going to have to stop calling me 'girl.' I have a name," said Ten, "It's Teneira Tabris of the Denerim Alienage. How about this, when you get back to town for the winter season, say that name to your noble friends, ask them what I'm known for."

She made brief eye contact with Teagan, who was still smirking, and walked out, letting the door slam behind her.