If her tall beautiful ears don't give her away, the vallaslin on her face certainly does: elven, Dalish.
Her chocolate eyes meet his, and she waves at him from the checkout line. He smiles and joins her, blocking out the stares and whispers from the humans around them. Perhaps it was naive of him to think after their first term at the University of Orlais the humans would have gotten over the token elves.
She gives him an enthusiastic one-armed hug. "It's so good to finally be meeting you properly."
"It is," he agrees as he pulls back. "Strange we haven't done so before now."
"We've passed each other enough times in the Magical Studies building, you'd think we would have."
They move up in the line and place their orders at the campus bagel sandwich restaurant. She orders something with turkey and pesto on an everything bagel. He goes for smoked salmon on pumpernickel.
"So how do you know Varric?" she asks as they wait.
"We were sponsored together. Dr Pentaghast scheduled our campus visits on the same day to lighten her schedule."
She gives a laugh. "That sounds like her."
He hesitates for a moment, not wanting to come off crass. "I heard your application was accepted late."
She shakes her head. "No, my application was sent on time. I just couldn't choose an area of study. That's why my sponsorship was late."
He cocks his head. "What were you having trouble deciding between?"
She drops her gaze to the floor. "Oh… so much..."
Their orders are ready. They take their wrapped sandwiches to a tall table where they sit and eat.
"I really was interested," he tells her.
She chews slowly, like she isn't certain if she should share. "Well… I'm interested in magical practices with origins that have been attributed elsewhere but which certain evidence suggest may have originated with elves."
"A worthy pursuit," he says, hoping his approval comes through in his voice. "Difficult to research, I'd imagine."
She nods. "Especially when so much of our history has been lost." She glances around to make sure no one's eaves dropping on them and leans toward him so she can drop her voice. "And we have to rely on what was recorded by human historians."
He nods. He's well aware of the struggle. "So what specific area did you choose?"
"Chantry magical practices."
His eyebrows shoot upward. "Quite controversial."
"Yeah," she says. "I imagine that's why I was chosen over other applicants. Dr Pentaghast liked the idea, said that we must pursue the truth no matter how unpopular." She sighs. "But it hasn't been easy to research. I may have to change my thesis."
"I wish I could help," he says.
"What about you?" she asks. "What are you studying?"
"The veil and it's disruptive properties in regards to harmonic vibrations."
She blinks and stares at him. "You mean… what does that mean?"
"I mean, both reality and the fade contain harmonic properties and the veil acts as a sound barrier between the two."
"Interesting." She continues to stare at him, then shakes her head. "I've never head of such a thing."
"It's a personal theory."
"Have you… had much success in researching?"
"Some. Not as much as I would prefer." He looks down at his watch. "We should probably start walking."
They throw their sandwich wrappers away and leave the building to head down the campus sidewalks toward the university apartments. They each carry a coffee cup in their hand.
"How did you meet Varric?" Solas asks.
She laughs. "He came up to me my first day, said he wanted to meet the 'other elf,' and then… I don't know. He just kept talking, and… at some point we were friends."
Solas chuckles. "That is how Varric makes most of his friends, I imagine."
"So why did you agree to this whole… romance campaign?"
"I owe Varric a favor. You?"
"He's my friend," she says. "I figured it didn't hurt to help him with his thesis, especially when I'm getting nowhere with mine." She sighs.
He stares at her. There's a soft beauty to the way her dark hair lays against her olive skin. All those days passing her in the hall… He's not sure when exactly he started seeing past the vallaslin or what had made him want to get to know her. And then he'd felt like too much of an awkward idiot to finally say hello after he'd put it off for so long.
She notices him looking at her, and he averts his eyes.
"You know," she says, "You can tell a lot about a person by the type of coffee they drink."
He laughs. "Oh, really? And have you learned this from personal observation or an infograph on the internet?"
"A bit of both," she admits. "One can use the infograph as a base and draw one's own conclusions."
"Very well," he chuckles. "I'm intrigued. What does your coffee of choice say about you?"
"It's espresso," she tells him. "It means I'm friendly, adaptive, and I like the taste of coffee."
"I see." He studies her with his eyes. "The Dalish don't make coffee, which means you've picked up a taste for it during your studies. Adaptive indeed."
"And what did you order?" she asks.
He smiles. "It's hot chocolate."
She laughs.
"So what do your keen observational skills have to say about my drink of choice?"
She ponders for a moment. "You like what you like and don't apologize for it. And you… take joy in the simple things others may overlook… And you don't like the taste of coffee. Does that sound accurate?"
It does, actually. "I..." He slows in his walk until coming to a stop. She stops with him, and he shakes his head. "You are not what I expected."
Her lips twitch into a smile. "What did you expect?"
"I've…" He looks away from her, hoping this won't come out as bad as it sounds in his mind. "Not had the most pleasant encounters with the Dalish."
Her smile drops, and his heart falls into his stomach. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"I didn't mean to offend," he tires. "I just… most Dalish would not have left their clans to study at university, for example."
The hurt dies from her eyes, but she chews on her lip. "That is… true." Then she looks at him directly, her face full of determination. "I choose to pursue an education because… because if you don't widen your horizon beyond your personal zone of knowledge, how can you ever learn anything new?"
He is stunned, both by her admission and by her offense. "That is a rare view among most of Thedas," he tells her. "Let alone the Dalish."
She puts a hand on her hip. "Have my people wronged you in some way?"
"I offered to share knowledge. They were not very welcoming."
"We take our duty to preserving the ancient ways very seriously."
"So I gathered."
She cocks her head. "What knowledge were you wishing to share?"
"Ancient secrets I have discovered in the Fade."
She nearly drops her coffee twice, fumbling to keep her grip on it. She stares at him with wide eyes. "You're… you're a dreamer."
He can only smile at her.
She bows her head. "I… mistook you for an…" She mumbles the last part. "Ignorant city elf."
He gives a laugh. "Now that we've identified our prejudices, shall we start over?"
She lifts her head. "Yes, please."
He holds out his hand. "Solas."
"Mithra."
They shake hands, and he holds hers for a moment as he translates her name. "Sharp as cutting edge."
She raises her eyebrows. "Pride."
They stare at each other for a moment, then let go and carry on toward Varric's.
Solas knocks on the door, and Varric answers.
"H-hey! The party's here!" He steps aside to let them in.
The front door opens into a hall, which leads passed the kitchen and into the dinning and living area. Varric's most likely the only person with enough influence and money to live on campus without a roommate. Solas has no idea what he does with the unoccupied bedroom, if he utilizes it at all.
"I want to thank you both again for agreeing to do this," Varric says as they take a seat at the table.
"Your Chair actually recommended this?" Mithra asks.
Varric shrugs. "What could provide a better example than in-person roleplay? And by running the campaign, I have an objective view and can take notes on what works and what doesn't."
"Why bother revising Swords & Shields?" asks Solas. "Why not just write new stories?"
Varric glares at him. "Publishing is all about sales, my friend. And if my publisher wants proof I can sell more copies, then by the Maker, I'm going to sell more copies."
Varric claps his hands together as they pull out their character sheets. "So why don't you introduce your characters to each other?"
Mithra goes first. "Ellana is Dalish. Her clan is friendly with humans, and she comes near the conclave to hear about the outcome and determine how it may effect her people."
"Fen is a Dreamer hedgemage," Solas explains. "He approaches the conclave also in the hopes of hearing news."
"Okay," says Varric. "You both went a little more literal when I suggested you base your characters off yourselves, but that's fine. I can work with that."
The campaign starts off as expected, battling demons and closing rifts. But Varric quickly steers the campaign into developing the relationship between their characters.
"You change everything."
Mithra smiles at him.
"Roll a will save not to kiss her," says Varric.
Solas rolls the die, and it comes up with a 20.
"You are totally safe from kissing her."
Solas leans back and puts his hands behind his head.
Across the table from him, the corner of Mithra's mouth curves into a smirk.
She turns to Varric. "I kiss him."
"Okay. Solas, roll another will save."
He rolls, and the die shows 1. Varric laughs.
"What does that mean?"
"It means, Chuckles, not only do you fail at not kissing her, you spectacularly fail."
"So…?"
"So what else does Fen want to do besides kiss her?"
He glances at Mithra who raises her eyebrows. Her smile spreads.
He adverts his gaze. "I, uh, he… I guess… pulls her close so their hips come together."
Varric raises an eyebrow. "Anything else?"
He can't look at Mithra at all. "And… slides his thigh between her legs."
Mithra laughs. Solas brings a hand to his face in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.
"And how does Ellana feel about this?"
"She's surprised… pleasantly."
Solas chokes and tries to make it sound like a cough.
"Okay," says Varric. "I think you two have given me plenty of material."
Solas peeks between his fingers. He hopes he hasn't turned red; Mithra's gone pink in her cheeks.
"Varric, can I use your bathroom?" she asks.
He points down the hall. "First door on your right."
She leaves. Solas lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and lowers his hand.
"Smooth," says Varric.
"You kind of put me on the spot."
Varric holds up his hands. "That's the way the dice roll, Chuckles." He breaks down his game master screen and puts his dice away. "And if you don't mind my saying, there's clearly some chemistry going on, and it's not all one-sided."
"You actually think so?"
Varric stares at him. "Just buy the girl dinner and take her out to a movie like a normal person."
"It's not that simple," Solas tells him.
"Of course it's not. Asking someone out is never simple. You just do it."
"I'll think about it."
Varric groans. "Look, I see where you're coming from with your character. And that's good storytelling, increases the tension. But it's not like you're actually Fen'Harel and you have some sacred duty you're hiding from everyone."
Solas gives a laugh. "Hardly."
"Then what is your problem?"
"A mystery for the ages," Solas mutters.
"What?"
"Just something my roommate says."
Varric points a pencil at him. "Listen, I had a roommate in undergrad – another broody elf like yourself – and it took him three damn years to go after the girl. Don't do that, okay? I don't feel like reliving it."
Solas stands. "Good thing for you grad school takes less years." He doesn't stay to catch Varric's reaction.
He and Mithra walk together from Varric's, back down the campus sidewalks. Dusk has fallen.
"So, Fen'Harel, huh?"
Solas sucks in a breath. Did she overhear his and Varric's entire conversation?
"Varric told me your character's backstory," she explains. "He wanted to make sure I wouldn't be offended."
"Oh." He lets the breath out slowly. "Good, uh, are you? Okay with it, I mean."
She shrugs. "It's an interesting concept. Why Fen'Harel, though?"
"Just some remnants I found in the Fade. I'm inclined to believe in ancient times harel meant rebel, not traitor."
"Really?"
"Just from my own observations. I'm afraid I'm not a linguist."
She stops walking. "So, you're saying, Fen'harel's story – the real one, the one the Dalish know – might be different?"
"Maybe?" He shrugs. "The thought was intriguing enough to inspire the character, but as far historical accuracy, I'm afraid..."
She stares at him for several seconds.
"Is something wrong, Lethallan?"
She shakes her head, more to pull herself out of her trance than in answer. "It's just… your dreaming, everything you must have seen... Were my people really so uninterested in sharing knowledge?" Her eyebrows are drawn together, her lips down turned, confused, distraught.
"Well." He takes a step forward, encouraging her to follow. "Think of it this way. Here you are at university. You've come to discover new knowledge. Naturally, you'd be more open minded. Whereas I approached the Dalish in the woods where they are notoriously suspicious of outsiders. And as at first glance I appear to be nothing more than an ignorant city elf–"
"I really didn't–"
"I used your term only to clarify the situation, nothing more."
She stops walking again, her gaze on the ground.
"I would not dwell on it," he tells her. "For everything I've faulted the Dalish for, you are here."
She looks up at him, her eyes shinning.
"It has been a long time since anyone cared to listen."
She smiles, then steps forward and takes his arm. "I would love to hear about everything you've seen in the Fade."
He laughs. "I'm afraid that would take more time than we have to reach the parking lot. But if you can think of something specific..."
She doesn't say anything, not for a while.
"Have you... done that before?"
He has no idea what she's talking about. "Done what?"
"The whole thigh riding thing."
He chokes on his own saliva, disentangles himself from her, and dissolves into a fit of coughing. Her laughter fills his ears.
"You don't have to answer that," she tells him once he's able to properly draw air into his lungs.
If he wasn't red before, he's sure he is now. He runs a hand over his face and around to the back of his neck. "I... uh..."
She clasps his arm again. "You don't have to answer." He's not sure by her tone if she doesn't want to know or if she's trying to save face on his behalf.
But she doesn't let go of his arm until they reach her car, and he's fine with that.
