They managed to make it a little more than a week, aided by another unexpected but unsurprising blizzard, and then cleanup after that, before the world found them. Something in the air had changed after that second storm. It was still quite cold, and likely they had not seen the last of the snow, but the wind had begun coming out of the north, rather than out from sea, and it felt like, just maybe, the page had turned on the season. She didn't really want to bring up the idea of getting back to the task at hand, partially because it was nice having nothing to do, but also because she wasn't entirely sure what that would consist of. It would be another few weeks before travel became practical, and there was no point in trying to get into the mountains until the first rains came and cleared out the passes. And she still didn't have any idea how to find the Dalish clan who'd signed the treaty they were supposed to be calling due, though she had some thought of heading south to the village of Hathenor Pen and seeing if their elder, clearly of Dalish origin himself, had any ideas.
As it turned out, it wouldn't be left up to the Grey Wardens when the next shitstorm would hit, and while both knew that they couldn't just stay hidden forever, neither was expecting it to arrive in the form of a polite knock on the front door one midafternoon.
"Shit. Who do you suppose that is?" Ten asked.
"Ah well, it was nice while it lasted," Alistair said. He sighed and got up from the couch, where they'd been lounging - clothed, thank the Maker for small favors - and went to see what fresh hell awaited on the front porch. Ten went and stood awkwardly in the pantry where she couldn't be seen from the door, hoping maybe it was just a salesman or someone from the Chantry collecting for charity.
Of course it wasn't. Peeking around the corner, Ten saw the flash of armor in the sun and sighed.
"Oh… it's you," Jochrim Stillpass's voice said from the doorway, "Chapman, right?"
"Sure, whatever. What are you doing here?" Alistair's voice was guarded.
"We were looking for your… boss. She's not… uh… is she here?"
Ten started back into the pantry as she saw the guardsman try to peer into the place.
"She's not really my boss."
"Whatever. The queen has business with the Grey Wardens. I don't know exactly what. Didn't ask. But I've been trying to track the ar- Miss Tabris down for two days"
"So why'd you think she'd be here?"
"Well when nobody in the Alienage had seen her and the Arl of Redcliffe said she hadn't been back since the Landsmeet, I started looking at the petty crime reports and apparently some - and I quote - pint-sized knife-eared harlot threw a bottle at someone's window down the street. So, here I am, and here you are… are you sure she's not here?"
"You know my name isn't actually Guy Chapman, right?"
"Look, I have genuinely no idea who you actually are, nor do I particularly care, I just need to find Teneira Tabris."
"Well a few of your comrades threw a bag over my head and dragged me down four flights of stairs the other week. Didn't even buy me dinner first."
"Well, if that was you, then you've met the woman I answer to and so you know why I don't ask questions. Can you help me or not?"
"Well what's it about?"
"What part of 'I don't ask questions' don't you understand, bud?"
"Oh I am very much not your bud, mate. If it's Warden business I am just as capable of taking care of it as she is, so why don't you just hand me that letter you're holding and piss off. I'll make sure Ten gets it next time I see her."
"I really think the queen would prefer I hand it to… you know what? Fine. Here. But… word of advice. Going forward, you might want to finish lacing your breeches before answering the door."
"What part of 'piss off' don't you understand?"
Ten heard the door slam shut and relaxed, creeping out of the pantry.
"Ten, next time you see that guard could you take out his other kneecap for me?" Alistair asked. He was standing in one of the front windows, sliding one finger under the wax seal on the missive that Jock Stillpass had ostensibly handed him.
"Sounds like you took that personally."
"He's always rubbed me the wrong way. Not sure why. I just don't like his face."
"I suppose he has that sort of sniveling quality. Fine. I'll be sure to have a crowbar on me next time I head over to the palace. I assume we're being summoned there. Or I am."
"Well, it is addressed to you."
He handed her the missive. Standing with her back to the window, she held it up to see that it was written in a loopy, feminine, almost adolescent hand, the 'i's' dotted with hearts. She realized with a start that the queen must have written it herself.
To my very good friend,
"Oh fuck you Anora," Ten said out loud with a derisive snort.
"Definitely not supposed to say that about the queen."
"Queen regent."
I hope you're not still dreadfully put out with me over our little misunderstanding the other day. I imagine that may be why you have decided to disappear for a bit. Dear Jock tells me that you do that from time to time and I should not fret. No doubt you will pop right out of the street like a rat escaping a flood. His words, not mine.
However, I do hope you'll put it aside for the moment, for it seems I find myself in a bit of a pickle. My dear papa has recovered from his little mishap with his morning tea and it seems he has not accepted the change in his station as well as we would have hoped. My staff has intercepted letters bound for the Imperium and several nobles in the Free Marches, accusing me of attempted parricide and seeking safe passage abroad. It seems the dear old fool thinks he can escape the nation and foment a coup from overseas. While we were able to nip these little plots in the bud, I am not confident that he will stop his efforts, and I simply do not have the manpower to be as sure as I would like that I am secure in my position so long as he continues to plot against me. I have already dispensed with what messengers I found within the palace, but so long as he is there to issue orders, there will be at least one fool willing to take them.
As such, I have issued an edict turning him over to the Grey Wardens to decide his fate. He is being transferred to Fort Drakon as I write this, awaiting your judgment.
XOXO
Anora Regina
P.S. Make it clean.
"Well well well," Ten clucked, "Looks like you'll have your beheading after all."
"Excuse me?"
"No, not like that. Sorry, I can see how that could be misinterpreted. The Teyrn of Gwaren lives yet," Ten said, handing Alistair the letter, watched his eyes scan the page, "And he's ours."
"Well, will you look at that. Are you going to let me do it?"
"If you want," she said, "But uh… are you sure you can make it clean? I feel like any accidental hackings are going to reflect poorly on the order."
"You've seen me take someone's head off in one blow before. In the heat of battle with chaos all around. You think I couldn't do it when he's bound and leaning over?"
"I have," she said, "That is not what I meant."
"Torture's your department."
"That it is," she acknowledged.
"Well, here I was disappointed we were going to have to return to the world, but this… this might be worth it. You're sure you're not going to wait until the last minute and then try to strike a bargain with the man?"
"For what?"
"Well… for all the scheming, betrayal and murder, he's still a formidable general. His name pops up so often in texts on battlefield tactics you'd think he invented the subject. I was ironically a little bit excited to be able to observe in person back at Ostagar. Made what happened all the more chilling."
"It almost sounds like you're the one that wants to make a deal," she observed, "And remember, he's terrified of me. I could keep him in line, if that's what would best serve the cause."
"As morbidly fascinated as I am to learn how you'd do that, no… I don't think I could get past the whole killing everyone I know thing. That's kind of big."
"Yeah I know. So, I leave this decision up to you. But… it means we have to back."
"I know," he said.
They silently went around the place, gathering errant items. When it was clear that anything they had left had already been collected, Ten went to the back door. "You go out the front. I'll walk, you get a boat upriver. This is almost certainly going to call for more weapons than I have on me right now. You'll beat me to the estate by about twenty minutes probably."
"Wait, Ten. I thought you said not a secret."
"I actually didn't," she said, her eyes on the floor, "I said that the reasons I kept my last… affair a secret did not apply here. There are other reasons. So I'll see you in about an hour."
"No! That is not… no. What reasons?"
"Well, do you want to keep being human?" she asked, pointing out the most obvious one.
"I don't know. Probably? I don't really know how to be anything else." He looked perplexed that she would even say such a thing. Of course, he's never had to think about it.
"There you go then. Reason number one. Can't give the bigots a reason to start looking at you too closely."
"Well you never figured it out on your own."
"That doesn't mean someone else won't," Ten said, "And if that gets out, there are going to be a lot of doors slammed in your face. Ones you didn't even know were there."
"Fine then. I'll pay that price," Alistair said, insistently. Had he been younger he probably would have stomped his foot, "It doesn't matter. My job doesn't hinge on me being anything but a person, so… I don't care."
"Everyone is going to have something to say," she warned. Well I suppose that's more of a risk for me.
"You can't just treat me like you're embarrassed of me," he protested.
"I'm not embarrassed of you, it's still nobody's business."
"There is a lot of distance between 'nobody's business' and 'actively trying to hide it.' This is incredibly shitty of you, Ten."
"I'm not trying to hurt you," Ten protested, aware that her voice had risen half an octave.
"Well you're failing at that. I gave you… everything. I'd never even held a woman's hand before and then you just…"
"You know when I went to bed with a man for the first time?" she said, lowering her voice.
"No, and I don't care."
"Well I am going to tell you anyway. I was maybe thirteen," she said, "I didn't really want to, I didn't have any great feelings for the lad. I can't even remember his name. I was a child. Shaped like a damn toothpick. I don't think I even had all of my adult teeth. But I did it because where I am from, it is a foregone conclusion that one day, I was going to be raped and I did not want whatever man did that to be my first." She thought about stopping there, but felt that she hadn't truly made her point yet. "And of course it happened. About six months later. I'd started my apprenticeship in the Antivan quarter. My mistress was human. Foreign. She didn't know what streets to avoid after dark. He knew how young I was, too. Like I said, toothpick. He was disappointed when I didn't bleed. I guess that had been the point. I laughed in his face. He spat in mine."
Alistair was silent for a long moment. He took a breath to speak a few times, but evidently thought better of it. Finally, "I'd offer to track the son of a bitch down and wring his neck but something tells me that's been taken care of."
"Oh yeah. I told my aunt, she told the woman who was in charge at the time, my ma's apprentice. She came by the house the night after… let's just say they found him in the river with his eyes gouged out. And so started my… second career. But look, that is not really my point. My point is, that is the world for me. For everyone like me. And, thanks to a roll of hereditary dice, you have the choice to not live in it."
"All right. Well… you just said it's a choice."
"Alistair, I have been watching you get kicked around by life for almost six months now. And I have watched the light in your eyes get a little dimmer each time. I do not want a… close association with me to be the cause of any more of that."
"Ten, do you think I'm a coward?"
"Of course not."
"If you're suggesting I am going to knuckle under to all the worst people in the world and hide the only good thing that's happened for me in I don't even know how long, it makes it seem like that's what you think. I'm not going to insist you hold my hand walking down the street or anything, but I'm also not going to go out of my way to deny anything."
Ten sighed and nodded. "All right. It is your choice. To quote my father, your funeral, kid. All right, come on, out into the shitstorm once again."
Thankfully there was neither hide nor hair of Eamon in the parts of the estate they had to get through to return to their erstwhile home. When they arrived in the front room of the guest suite, it was almost like nothing had happened at all. Sten had returned, satisfied that the elves of Denerim were a sufficiently scrappy bunch to continue protecting themselves. He sat at the end of the table, cards in hand. Wynne seemed to be the victor in this round, the coins piled up before her.
"How good of you to join us," she observed, not looking up from her hand, "We were getting worried the both of you had frozen to death in a gutter somewhere. Sten said you had been attending to business in the Alienage since the first storm."
Wait. Sten watched us walk out of the gate that same night.
"I, fortunately, had the good sense to leave before the second storm," the qunari declared, eyes on his cards, "I warned you another was coming. You did not heed me."
He's covering for us. Why?
"Yeah, well… you know my people. There's always elf shit to be taken care of," Ten said. She saw Alistair shift uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye. She took an impromptu headcount and changed the subject, "Where's Morrigan?"
"She turned into a squirrel and ran out the window this morning. She's been fascinated watching this one house over in the Orlesian quarter," Wynne said, "I guess one wife just discovered the other wife having an affair with her apprentice and she's been watching and waiting for the two of them to return from a 'business trip' down the coast to Kinnisport."
"Nosy woman, that," Lelianna commented, discarding one card and picking another up from the pile, cursing at her lousy luck.
"Oh please, like you have not been demanding all the filthy details every time she comes back," Zev chuckled, laying down his hand, "I'm out."
"I admit it is a grand drama," the nun said, "Winter is so boring here. At home, we have ice festivals and there's skating and mulled wine."
"You four ought to learn dominoes," Sten said, "It is a superior game. Useful for honing the mind of a strategist. Ten, where does one procure a set of tiles like the one your father possesses?"
"I'm pretty sure he made those, but if you looked around the general stores I'm sure there's a set to be had," Ten said.
"I will keep my eyes open," Sten said. He discarded a card and picked another up, grunting his frustration.
"Well apparently our work in town is not done," Ten said, wondering what on earth Sten's actual game was, "Looks like the dose Teyrn Loghain was given was not sufficient to end him, so we're going to have to do it the old fashioned way."
"Ugh. The slime," Zev grunted.
"I've got a jug of it over in my room if you want some," Ten offered, "Harmless to someone in your condition."
"I appreciate the offer, manita, but I think I would rather bite off my own finger."
"That is also an option," Ten said. She went back to the room she had previously occupied. Avrenis had taken her absence as a cue to rearrange all her things, so she had to dig through the chest at the foot of the bed to find what she needed. Strapping on her leathers was like meeting up with an old acquaintance Ten had never truly cared for but owed a few favors to. She hooked Bannkiller back where it belonged but left most of her arsenal where it lay. She wasn't sure she'd really have to do anything. I probably could just put Alistair in that cell and walk away for five minutes.
She peeked her head out of her door to see if any of her companions were looking down the hall, but they all seemed utterly engrossed in their game. So she walked down and across to Alistair's room, where his own armor, a much more laborious business, was on but not buckled. He was holding his longsword out in front of him, testing the edge with one thumb. Silently, she went to help him with the buckles.
"You don't have to do that," he said, but raised one arm, leaning his elbow on her shoulder so she could get at the side of his breastplate.
"This is technically a two-person job. There's a reason most knights have squires."
"Right," he said, "I've been anticipating this for months. Not sure what I'm going to do once it's over."
"I mean… defeating a horde of hellacious monsters and their skeletal dragon overlord isn't enough?"
"Right," he said, "But that's not personal."
"Maybe you could try your hand at being well-adjusted and stable."
"I feel like that would take some of the fun out of it for you."
"I have to feed my martyr complex somehow."
"Well that's fair, but I do insist that there's no actual martyrdom for a bit, all right?"
"I'll do my best. Come on, best we get there before nightfall. I don't have a great history with the guards on overnights at Fort Drakon."