The two women basked in their respective glory for a moment as the sea of nobles clustered into tighter groups, no doubt various treaties being revisited now that there was a new boss in town.
"That," said the queen regent, putting her hand on Ten's shoulder again, "Was magnificent. How did you get the whole city to riot?"
"Trade secret, your grace," Ten said.
"You are a valuable woman to know," she responded, "I always told Cailan that there was power in the common folk, especially in the capital. He always insisted that we make our tours out of the city, where people would be impressed with the finery, said that you city folk were too jaded to be inspired by royalty. I, however, will be a queen beloved by all the people."
Beloved, huh. We'll see, Ten thought, but said, "Of course, your grace."
"The little display my father just put on… was that you? Is he dead?"
"I don't know," Ten responded honestly, "But after that nobody is going to trust him with anything. Do what you like with him."
"Well, if he survives whatever you dosed him with, there is a lovely little monastery in the swamps outside Amaranthine," said the queen, "I'm sure he will enjoy spending the rest of his days swatting mosquitoes."
"As you come by thrice yearly to gloat, I imagine."
"Perhaps. I plan to be very, very busy," she said, "And I will need help. Tell me, Teneira, have you considered a career in politics? I'm going to have to have most of my father's advisory council put to the ax, of course, and Cailan's were all idiots, stupid army friends of his. While I consider myself an educated woman, you clearly know much more about this city than I do and, by extension, the country."
"You know, I hadn't thought about it before," Ten lied, "But, if I survive this Blight I will need something to keep me out of trouble." Arlessa of Denerim? Perhaps?
"I would be honored to have your council."
"And I would be honored to give it, your grace. Though, given the dire nature of the straits this nation finds itself in, I fear I must return to my own task at hand…"
"Not yet," the queen said, "Come with me. I need your eyes on a little problem."
"Very well, your grace," Ten said. What could she possibly be getting at now? She's been on the throne all of twenty minutes.
Her mind racing in four different directions, she followed the queen down two flights of stairs to the main floor, through a hallway, a courtyard, and another hallway, then down another flight of stairs to the cellar, and yet another staircase which brought them to… the dungeons. Ten sighed, fairly sure she knew was in the room for. A tour of the rack and the Antivan donkey and the scavenger's daughter and whatever other horrors waited in store for those who crossed the crown. She thinks she's making sure I'm in my place, doesn't she. She saw what I did and she wants to make damned sure I never do it to her. Wants to scare me a bit. Show me what happens if you fuck with things that oughtn't be fucked with. Funny, you'd think the dungeons in the palace would be nicer than other dungeons, but no… though I suppose there's nothing special about royalty that helps you get the blood out of the flagstones. Ten's mind raced as she was led past all the gruesome instruments of torture and over to the cell block, which was set off to the side. There were but four of them - only the most obnoxious of thorns in the royal family's side merited imprisonment in such a rarified hole, after all - and only one of them occupied.
"I don't know where you thought you were going, Alistair Fitzroy," the queen declared triumphantly.
Ah, shit. Did I just get outplayed? I just got outplayed.
Ten's stomach sank as she followed the queen over to the cell block and saw Alistair, who was sitting on a bench in the nearest cell to the stairs, elbows on his knees. He looked up. Relief washed over his face when he saw that Ten was with her. Don't get too excited, I have no idea how you're getting out of this. Ten managed to not react except to shake her head slightly, hoping he would take the hint and stay quiet.
No such luck.
"Well I was hoping for a bracing constitutional along the river," he said flippantly, "Keeps the blood moving. Also rather hoping all this was a formality, yes? I'll renounce whatever you want me to. Sign something. I don't care."
"Is he always like this?" the queen asked, turning to Ten, "And don't bother saying you don't know him, we both know that would be a lie."
"Yes, your grace. He is… pretty much always like that."
"Oh splendid, I'll be doing you a favor, then," said the queen. She turned to the man in the cell. "I don't doubt my new friend here warned you, told you to run, told you there was absolutely no way in hell you were coming within an inch of the throne. But you showed up anyway, didn't you. What did you think was going to happen?"
"I am here in my capacity as a Grey Warden, nothing more. This is truly not necessary," Alistair said. His voice was steady but Ten knew what the beginning of panic sounded like.
"Ugh. There's nothing more offputting than fear in a grown man's voice," the queen said, "Rest assured for now. The common folk are already riled up. You'll have months to put your affairs in order."
Wait, is this really over succession? You'd think she'd want to make the play while everyone was watching. Then again, maybe she's planning on tracking them all down, lining them up, make a grand spectacle of it.
"If you're not too much of a thorn in my side, I can even have you moved to the tower at Fort Drakon. Much more comfortable than here. Splendid views," the queen continued, "Though I suppose I've never occupied one of those cells myself."
She's made the deal fairly clear, the people remain on her side, she doesn't need a spectacle, he keeps his head for the time being. I'd have some time to figure another way out of it. Fort Drakon is about as secure as a dollhouse, after all. That would make three men I've sent into exile this year alone… Ten glanced at Alistair again. He had that pleading look on his face, one she knew far too well. But… if I got that calculation wrong? Could I do it on my own?
For all the annoyance his daily company had brought her for the previous months, it had been a constant, and the annoyance mostly stemmed from the fact that he pushed back at her, made her explain everything, which in turn made her think things through a bit more carefully and kept her from being her worst self most of the time. Add to that the sheer number of times her own arrogance would have gotten her killed if Alistair hadn't been there to, usually physically, remove her from the path of destruction. Stop it, Teneira. You are not one of them. You are not going to behave like one of them. He is quite literally the only person in the world you're not related to that you're not convinced deep down would stab you in the back under the right circumstances, so you are going to do what you always do and burn it the fuck down.
"Your grace," said Ten, lowering her eyes, "I assume this is the small problem you wanted my eyes on?"
"It is indeed," said the queen, "In fact, I am very, very interested in your council on this particular matter."
"Well first I have to advise you to send the guards out," Ten said, "I don't think you want them hearing this."
"Why, whatever could you mean?" asked the queen, laughing.
"Humor me," said Ten, "You watched me get dressed, you know full well that I'm not armed. And, after all, I just moved heavens and earth to get your father out of the way and leave your hands clean. I don't know why you wouldn't trust me now."
The queen stared at her a moment, her eyes icy. "Very well," she said. She glanced at the sentries at the stairwell, who obediently scuttled upstairs.
"Thank you, your grace," said Ten, watching the boots disappear up the stairs. She turned to the queen, gathering every scrap of courage she had in her body.
"So, oh Vengeful Bride, what do you think I should do about that?" the queen asked, "And why couldn't you say it in front of the guards? I hope that means it's gruesome. Beheading is so boring, after all." Something in her tone just then sounded exactly like her father.
Andraste's left tit, I didn't bank on being called upon for an encore. I only have the grand finale prepared, which I was really hoping to keep for a rainy day. And nobody to sing it for me, I'll have to take the part myself. Ah well. Needs must.
Ten looked over at Alistair, who had risen and was looking at her. His expression would have looked neutral to one who did not know him, but he was petrified. Ten nodded at him, and turned back to the queen. She steeled herself. Took a breath.
"No," said Ten, the tone of her voice shifting. She gathered her nerve, and looked the queen right in the eye.
"Excuse me?" Anora asked, narrowing her eyes.
"You heard me," said Ten, letting the voice she normally used when speaking to her betters drop off, her native accent creeping in, "No. No to everything you just said."
"This is your council? 'No'?" Anora asked, her voice still upbeat, but with an undertone of suspicion.
"This turn of events is most disappointing, your grace," Ten sighed, "Up until about five minutes ago, I thought we were going to be friends. Need I remind you that I just put you on the throne?"
"And for that we are most grateful."
There was a paused. Ten steeled herself.
"I can get you down off there much more easily," Ten said,
"Ten, I don't think that's how…" Alistair started, no doubt thinking that Ten's impudence was about to get him a much more expedient and grislier sentence.
"Shut the fuck up, Alistair," Ten said, not taking her eyes off Anora.
"Oh I don't know, I think that might have been one of the very few sensible things he's said in his life," Anora said, "Why do you think you get to speak to me this way, elf? Do you think you'll be beheaded? I'll have you broken on a wheel."
"You could do that, of course," said Ten, "But it'll take about a week to get it together, and in the meantime, it will be all over for you. So, if you would like to keep the position I have just assisted you to gain, you will listen to me, and listen to me well."
"Or what?"
"Or all the things I know about you will no longer be secrets and you will have neither peace nor ease for the rest of your very short reign."
"And what, exactly, do you think you know about me?"
Ten could feel the blood rushing in her ears, feel it pulsing in both wrists. She didn't doubt that her heart was beating so hard and fast that her breast, still trussed up like a holiday roast, could be observed moving with it. But she concentrated on breathing, keeping her voice steady, her tone confident and easy.
"Where to start… let's go with the beginning of this tragic comedy. Did you know what your father had planned?" asked Ten, "At Ostagar? You know, sound the retreat, pull his armies out, leave your husband to the slaughter?"
Anora paused.
"See, I think you probably did," said Ten, "You may not have cosigned it, but you didn't warn anyone. You had no use for Cailan, after all. And you thought, at the time, that it would hew to your benefit. But it didn't, did it. Your father acted for one person and one person only - himself. And by the time you wrapped your pretty little head around that betrayal, you realized that the best you could hope for was looking down from the tower of a convent until the world forgot about you entirely. And you couldn't have that, could you. So you went and created a trump card." She gestured at the queen's belly, "I know you'd like to have everyone believe that you dragged the husband you despised to bed one last time before he rode off to his doom, and the seed just happened to magically take root after years of childlessness. But we both know that child is not the king's."
"What you're saying is treason," said Anora, still smiling, though color had risen in her cheeks, and Ten could see sweat beginning to form on her brow.
"No, your grace. What you did is treason. It was clever. Diabolical even. Find a rent boy whose distinguishing feature is his great resemblance to your late husband. Hire him thrice a week for months until you're sure you're with child."
Anora's eyes began darting around the room, probably trying to figure out if she had the nerve and capability to simply silence this impudent elf herself. She's not a stupid woman, she knows very well who would win this fight. "Very well, I'll play along. If that is, indeed, what happened, how would you ever know about it?"
"Well, I wouldn't. Except you tried to have him killed. It's amazing what a man will admit to when he's been betrayed. Did Erlina tell you that no reputable assassin in Denerim would touch him? That she went with a cutrate blade who had to flee to Antiva after giving up everything he knew? See, I happened to be at his house when your assassins showed up."
"How… why were you at a rent boy's house?"
"Well, your grace," said Ten, "That was just a twist of fate, see, when one meets two children of a truly prolific cad like your father-in-law, one may derive some amusement by introducing them to each other. And see, Ioan - that's his name, by the way, though I'm sure you never asked - is a very old friend of mine."
"That was very weird and creepy of you, your grace," Alistair offered.
"Shut the fuck up, Alistair," Ten said again.
Anora ignored the insult. She was watching the house of cards she had painstakingly built over months shudder in a breeze. "Old friend… how old?"
"He and I grew up together," said Ten, "In the Alienage. His ma lived four doors down from mine."
"No you didn't. That can't be true. He was human. Why would he have been a child in the…"
"I'm so glad you've dropped the pretense. The father of that which is keeping you in power is a halfbreed. His mother's name is Jasinia Vanalys. He was raised, begrudgingly of course, by her and her husband until he was fourteen, at which point he realized that he resembled his human father enough that he could simply leave the Alienage. Go on about his life. Forget he was ever an elf."
"He's not… he can't be…where is he now?"
"So very far beyond your grasp," said Ten, "His heritage is really not the point, though I can only imagine the uproar if the as-yet-unborn heir to the throne comes out with ears like mine."
"I can have your tongue cut out long before I've arranged your execution."
"You could rip it out right now if you've the stomach and grip strength," said Ten, "It changes nothing. I have it all in writing. Signed. Sealed. In triplicate. If anything happens to me, every secret I have ever gathered gets copied and posted on every light pole and every empty warehouse in every city in this nation. So go ahead, have me thrown in the next cell, have my body broken in front of a booing crowd and my guts strung over the high bridge, whatever weird shit you're into. You're just as dead as I am."
Anora was silent for a moment. The two women stared at each other, Anora trying to determine if Ten was bluffing, Ten trying to determine if Anora would rather just end her right then and there.
"So let's say I give you what you want," Anora said finally, "This…ghastly scenario you've imagined stays in that dark little mind of yours?"
"Well that's not all, is it. See, you're already in a little bit of trouble. We both know you're not giving birth in four months. It'll be five or six, especially if you're still puking your guts out, which you obviously have been, I saw you this morning before the paint went on, you've broken blood vessels under both eyes. And we all know how people like to talk. There's no stopping them talking, but need I remind you that not an hour ago, every bann in the land got up and said exactly what I wanted them to say."
Anora froze, acknowledging the truth of what she had just said.
"It's really up to you, your grace," said Ten, "You can play ball with me, and I will see to it that you will have twenty or so of being a beloved queen, twenty years to accomplish all you've dreamed of before becoming the power behind the throne. If you kill Alistair, I will see to it that you will be giving birth in Fort Drakon and then expediently beheaded yourself. If you kill the both of us, you might not even make it to term before the Arch Demon is dancing a jig in the throne room."
"I don't believe you," Anora said, "You're bluffing. Nobody would knowingly risk the death I have in mind for you right now."
"Ask Bann Vaughan if he thinks I'm bluffing," Ten said, "My vengeance is the stuff of legend."
The two women stood silently staring each other down for a long moment.
"I liked it better when we were friends," Anora said finally. Her tone was not put out, rather, admiring.
"And I am quite happy to be your friend," said Ten, "But that means that my friends are now your friends, and we don't execute our friends."
Anora nodded slowly, "Very well. But I'm going to need a signed renunciation of any rights, however dubious, he may have."
"You really could have said that, your grace. I'm right here. Just put it through the bars," Alistair announced, "Or I could write it on a napkin or something. I will sign literally anything at this point. In trip- tripli- whatever she just said."
"Shut the fuck up," Ten said again, glaring at him.
"I hope you understand what she just did for you," Anora said, giving Alistair a withering glare. She turned back to Ten, "If you prove half as loyal to me as you are to that, I think we will be able to move past this little misunderstanding."
"Your grace, I will prove as loyal to you as you do to me," said Ten, "You see, the whole of the nation is yours. There are a legion of pretenders out there you can dispose of as you see fit. But me? I have very little. So I really don't like it when someone fucks with what's mine. You leave mine alone, I will serve you as best as I can."
Anora started for the staircase, but paused and turned, "Teneira, Is there actually a chance that this child will be born..."
"Looking a little too elfy for the public's taste?" asked Ten, "It's not likely, but it's possible."
"All right," said Anora, "All right. I'm going to have to replace most of my staff. I'm sure you have cousins who need work."
"I do," Ten said, smiling, "And the elves of Denerim tend to listen to me."
"Hello, still in a cell here," Alistair said.
Both women turned to him in concert. "Shut the fuck up." A lovely harmony, fantastic considering it was completely improvised.
"Very well," the queen said, "You keep my secrets, your entrails stay where they are, his head stays where it is."
"I will take your secrets to my pyre," said Ten, "So long as you prove as good a friend to me as I have proven to you."
The two women nodded at each other, their tightlipped smiles each eventually melting into the genuine smiles of two who truly understood - if not trusted - one another. They nodded at each other, and the queen swept out of the room. Ten heaved a great sigh as soon as her skirts disappeared up the stairs. She backed up and went to lean against the wall, but stopped as she realized that would have put her directly into an open iron maiden. She settled for shutting it, then leaned against the cold metal of the exterior and sank to the ground, feeling the blood rushing in her ears and breathing deeply, trying to get ahold of her heart rate.
"Did you just blackmail the queen?" Alistair asked.
"Queen regent," Ten corrected between long breaths.
"I don't suppose the guard could come any faster."
"Just… give me a minute, will you?"
"Did you know that was going to work?" he asked.
"No," she said, "Obviously."
"You sounded sure of yourself."
"You don't make a play like that without at least feigning confidence that you're going to win," she said. She stood up, the red having cleared from her peripheral vision, "Keys are for losers anyway." She pulled the cap and veil off her head and tugged out two of the many pins securing her hair out, "You just find the thingy, and wiggle the other thingy, and…. There we go!" the lock clicked and the door swung open.
Ten was not quite sure what she was expecting, but what she received was a damp embrace that lifted her clean off her feet. He smelled of fear, but she let him hold her there a moment, his chin resting on the top of her head, before saying, her voice muffled as her mouth was currently being pressed into his collarbone, "You should probably know I don't really like being picked up."
"Sorry," he said, setting her down, but keeping his arms about her, "Nobody's ever put themselves between me and the abyss like that before. What were you going to do if she just threw you in the next cell?"
"Die screaming," Ten said. She kept her forehead against his collarbone, feeling his blood rushing beneath, his heartrate slowing as hers was. His arms tightened around her briefly and he released her.
"I'm mostly impressed that there's actually someone out there almost as devious as you," Alistair said.
"Let's just be grateful Eamon didn't give voice to his marriage idea, she'd probably have had you shot from the gallery," Ten chuckled, doing what she usually did, and made it into a grand joke, "Come on, let's get out of here before she changes her mind."
She walked through the dungeons, letting her eyes fall on all the ghastly implements a little longer than she should have. This time, the sensation of Alistair at her heels was more a relief than the annoyance it usually was. "Ugh, now I smell like panic-sweat. I'm going to have to have this dress laundered before returning it."
"I think they'll let you keep the dress. Suits you."
"Don't lie, I look ridiculous"
"Well now I've seen the insides of more cells than you," he said.
"That's not true," she said, "I've been in… let's see. Fort Drakon, several in the city jail, and once in Bann Jensian's estate, ask me about that sometime…"
"So what you're saying is you're actually not all that good at the criminal thing."
"Better than you are. You're at two cells to one crime, I'm at like six for… who even knows.."
"Fair. Now which way from here? I had a sack over my head on the way down."
"A sack! Brutal. I think it's through here…"