CHAPTER 1
It was a minor tragedy that Dr. Ellana Lavellen did not have time to admire her surroundings as the University of Orlais. Poets and politicians alike considered it to be the most beautiful campus in all of Thedas. The college architecture was a blend of classical stone buildings and overgrown weeds. Unlike the trendy stretches of skyscrapers in the heart of Val Royeaux, the verdant landscape was allowed to run wild, giving the quad an appealing unkempt quality.
It should have been a perfect first day of the semester for the professor. The weather was crisp and the leaves were beginning to change their colors, resulting in a captivating landscape of burnt sienna and crimson.
Unfortunately, for Ellana, she was dreadfully late. A fact she acknowledged looking down at her watch while cursing quietly to herself. The class she was teaching was scheduled to start in twenty minutes. Watching the students purposefully scurrying past her made her feel jealous. Simply, because unlike her, both undergraduates and graduates, appeared to know where they were heading. Even the newest members of the university, identified by pins of the University's mascot, a red embrium bud, seemed certain.
Short of a miracle, she would never make it to teach on time.
Admitting such a defeat was difficult for the usually punctual elf. As was her custom, Ellana had taken every possible step in her power to avoid tardiness. The evening prior she laid out her smartest suit, a gray tweed with a chic peplum silhouette. Rising at the crack of dawn, she twisted her white-blonde hair into a perfect top knot and applied an edgy touch of eyeliner to her hazel eyes. All in all, she had left her apartment three hours earlier than necessary.
It should have been enough time to locate her classroom. Or so Ellana thought.
By nature, the young professor was not fussy or controlling. She would much prefer, for instance, to teach in a casual pantsuit like the majority of the femme human or dwarf professors did. However, the extra polish of high fashion and uncomfortable pumps offered her a protective layer from the judgment of her superiors. No, trial and error had taught her over the years that if she, a Dalish elf, made extra efforts to ensure an aura of professional elegance, her path forward would be smoother. Shallow as it was, Ellana was willing to play the game If it advanced her career.
"Dr. Lavellan may be a rabbit," she had overheard one celebrity faculty member say at the last symposium she attended. "However, you can't say she doesn't have a certain je ne sais quoi. " Such ignorant statements had hurt Ellana when she first started in her career, but now at almost thirty, she had grown accustomed to cutting words. Instead of reacting directly, she focused her rage into her studies, attaining in record time a formidable portfolio of scholarly publications and grants.
Such small concessions had helped, after all, ensure the young professor's greatest success to date. At the end of spring, Ellana had finally heard back from one of her many teaching applications and interviews. She had gotten the job! Not only a job, but the job. A tenure track professorship, in the top department of Art History, with the bonus of a curatorial fellowship, at the University of Orlais. Finally, after a few rough years as a nomadic adjunct, she, Dr. Ellana Lavellan, would be able to achieve her full potential as a scholar and receive a generous and regular paycheck for her labor.
That is, if she wasn't fired the first day for her inability to find her classroom.
Ellana sighed and came to an abrupt halt. Her purse rattled with the sound of excess coins. She had emptied her emergency change jar with the plan to purchase an elaborate latte from one of Orlais' famous hole-in-the-wall patisseries. Galvanized by the frothy drink, she'd stroll into her classroom and give a rousing overview-if such a thing were possible-of her syllabus. Her students, all one hundred of them, would become instantly enamored with learning the History of Art, handing in with aplomb each project she assigned.
That fantasy had quickly evaporated when she had arrived on the sprawling campus and couldn't find the correct building. Consulting one of the many campus maps, Ellana thought she had identified her classroom. Only, once she reached the building in question she discovered that no such room number matched the one printed on her registration slip.
A few times, she had stopped and asked a passer-by for directions, only for them to notice her valleslin and stutter awkwardly. Ellana had been prepared to be stared at, as she understood that many in Val Royeux had never seen a Dalish elf, but had little experience to navigate the passive-aggressive disdain that met her simple question.
One sour woman, who she assumed to be a fellow professor given the stack of printouts she carried, had pretended to speak only Orlesian, a possibility that Ellana found to be remote given that the official language of the University was Common. When Elanna had switched to mostly fluent Orlesian, the professor had simply huffed at her and stomped off.
Living in Tevinter had been more comfortable. At least the magisterium had made public concessions to their crimes against the Elvhen People. Orlais simply spat on them in secret
"If only I had data left to download the campus map!" Ellana desperately thought, pulling out her cell phone from her purse. The overage charges would be ruinous, but she had no choice.
Ellana was about to connect to the internet when another body unexpectedly barreled directly into her. The force caused her to trip with an undignified yelp into one of the thorny bushes adjacent to the cement path.
"Creators" Ellana exclaimed as her eyes met the clear blue sky. She tried to stand, but the way she had landed, flat on her back made it difficult to gather the necessary balance. Branches poking into her face mirror the two thin tattoos that stretched on either cheek.
Her embarrassment deepened when a striking face, belonging to who she assumed had been the one to run into her, looked down at her. As the stranger came closer into focus, Ellana realized that she was looking at a fellow elf.
A very handsome elf.
It was hard for Ellana not to find the stranger dashing. He was stately with a well-chiseled jawline and aquiline nose, which were made more pronounced by his shaved head. Mostly, she liked the way his pale-gray eyes danced playfully in the light.
Her heart fluttered a little bit further when he offered her his hand, which she readily accepted. Ellana was further impressed when her rescuer lifted her out of the leaves with a secure grip as if she weighed nothing. Standing again, and feeling fortunate to find her cell phone remained in her grasp, Ellana regained her composure and felt relief not to be injured-or find dirt smudging the fabric of her suit. Smoothing down her hair she looked up when the man began to speak in a deep, seductive baritone.
"You should be careful not to pause in the middle of the road on the first day of classes," the mysterious man chastised, "If I am to be so bold, I might even say you owe me a cup of coffee."
At first, listening to his words, Ellana thought he was angry, only when she made eye contact with him, she saw a mischievous smile flash across his face. She opened her mouth to thank him, only to be further mortified when she saw the brown liquid staining the man's perfectly pressed white button-down shirt.
"Oh…" she muttered, throwing a hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry! I was trying to find…"
"Please, Solas, if there are to be introductions," he introduced, extending his hand in greeting to Ellana, which she shook sheepishly.
"Here," she offered, putting her phone in her bag. It had been a while since she had used her magic, but clenching her eyes tightly, she was able to quickly summon mana to her fingertips. Waving the magic over the man's broad chest, Ellana was able to restore his shirt to a pristine white.
"A Dalish mage," Solas breathed, "Fascinating."
"Ellana, pleased to meet your acquaintance." she sputtered out nervously looking down at her watch. "I'm lost, actually, and trying to find my classroom." If he was a senior faculty member, she hated the prospect of making a poor impression considering that she was not yet tenured, so she added: "I'd be happy to replace your coffee another time, I'm afraid I have exactly seven minutes until the start of class."
The elf chuckled, "What is your class number?"
"Drakon Hall 12B."
"No wonder you can't find it, they shortened all the building names over the summer, and there are inconveniently two Drakon halls, named for separate emperors. An asinine idea. The trick is to know the different classroom numbers. Don't worry as the one you are searching for is right around the corner, and if we are expeditious, we'll be able to arrive just in time."
Before Ellana could protest, Solas grabbed her briefcase and waved for her to follow him. Admiring his strong walk, she could tell by the way he held his body that this was a man that knew himself and not lacking for confidence. She blushed a bit following the strong line of his shoulders.
For the first time in a long while, Ellana felt shy. Focusing on her publications had left little time for new romance. There were the occasional dalliances, of course, but those were mostly the transitory connections she made with fellow itinerant professors. As the pair walked towards their destination, Ellana enjoyed catching Solas flirtatiously glancing back at her from time-to-time.
She was relieved, after turning a sharp corner, for Solas to nod in the direction at one of the oldest buildings and say "That's Drakon!" Upon entry, Ellana noticed the smell of ancient books and chalkboards. It reminded her of long hours In libraries studying forgotten subjects that others took for granted.
Perhaps today won't be so horrible, she thought to herself with a grin.
Solas insisted on escorting her to her intended classroom. True to his word, they made it precisely on the hour. Poking her head into the lecture hall, she was glad to find that most of her students were still excitedly chatting with one another and weren't particularly perturbed to be running a few moments behind. If they were aware of the fact at all.
As she moved to reclaim her briefcase, her hand lightly brushed Solas'. She could feel blush deepen as she felt him openly admire her.
"Thank you," she mumbled.
"I'm sorry I didn't catch your full name." He asked with a smile, extending his hand to shake hers one more time. An excuse, she suspected, to touch her again.
She shook his hand, this time ending the exchange with a brief squeeze, "Dr. Ellana Lavellan."
She was taken aback as the expression on Solas' face shifted from admiration to worry, if not disdain. Had she miscalculated?
"Dr. Lavellan?" He inhaled sharply, "The author of Fade Objects: Dalish Visual and Material Cultures ?"
"Yes," she affirmed, her voice cracking a bit with uncertainty, "That was my most recent publication. I'm flattered you've heard of it."
Ellana found it slightly ominous that he referred to her book with the full title rather than shortening it. Who did that? Still, she shouldn't be too surprised that Solas knew of her work. Academia was a small community, and the elves working in it a minority population. Dalish elves, in particular, were almost unknown.
The book in question, Fade Objects, had gained her some renown. As far as she knew, no scholar had attempted what she had with the text: to craft a cohesive narrative of Dalish artifacts, relying not only on the oral history of the clans, but also on the items that were destroyed or lost throughout time. The key, she had argued, was understanding that the ancient elves made objects that intentionally reflected in the Fade, and thus left an imprint at the site of their creation or destruction. Traveling to a few abandoned ruins, she was able to use her magic to record the sites, thereby developing a comprehensive understanding of Dalish iconography.
Still, Ellana couldn't help but wondered what about her manuscript could have offended Solas. He was also an elf, and surely wouldn't he have found her scholarship illuminating about their shared heritage?
"It was a pleasure to see you to class on time, Dr. Lavellen, I'm Professor Solas Fen'Harel in the neurology department," She noticed that Solas was wincing a bit. Why did that name sound so familiar to her? Neurology?
With a gasp, she dropped her briefcase to the floor, papers, and laptop tumbling out as she remembered where she had heard his name.
Her methods weren't perfect, which she had admitted to in the preface, but overall the evidence she collected-bolstered with detailed research-offered a significant step forward in understanding Elvhen visual and material culture. "Exquisite," one peer reviewer had written. "Innovative and interdisciplinary methods lead Dr. Lavellan to uncover secrets lost for over a millennia," another acknowledged.
All except for one review had been glowing.
The writing of expert neurologist, Professor S. Fen'Harel, who specialized in the neural coding of magic and the dialogical relationship of the Fade and the brain.
"This is nonsense," the review had attacked, "A fool-hearty quest full of misguided assumptions of the Fade." The scientist had gone on to assert that it would be biologically impossible for Ellana to have had the experiences she reported. At the very least, he had implied, she had been hallucinating. More probable, he suggested, she had fabricated her results entirely.
She could still recall how crushed she had felt reading the analysis, uncharacteristically spending a weekend in bed crying, with her phone turned off. Fortunately, since the author was outside her discipline, not many employers had given the words much attention. She had lost some grant money, but there was enough depth to her research that teaching contracts weren't pulled out from underneath her feet.
The most disappointing part was, as her thesis advisor Fiona had pointed out that continuing with such unorthodox work might endanger Ellana's career. "Better to stick to the concrete in your next publication," Fiona had recommended. "If you manage tenure, you'll be able to continue down this path again."
And now her self-proclaimed nemesis was standing in front of her. Ellana didn't need a mirror to tell her that she was scowling. She was overpowered by white-hot anger. Meeting Professor S. Fen'Harel did not do much to endear himself to her. The attributes she had found attractive moments earlier transformed into repulsive qualities. She could only see his confidence now as arrogance, and his expensive suit a visible manifestation of entitlement.
What did a man like Solas care if he ruined a junior faculty member's prospects? Ellana thought to herself angrily. He clearly has everything.
"You wrote that scathing polemic of Fade Objects," Ellana snarled. "You're lucky you didn't destroy my career before it started."
Instead of replying, Professor Fen'Harel calmly crouched down to gather up the papers that had fallen to the floor—collecting them into a tidy pile, he handed them to an irate Ellana who snatched them from him, as to her the act was not one of contrition but a desperate ploy to hide his shame.
"Thank you for your help," she said in a forced staccato. "I am going to teach now, that is unless you have any criticism you'd like to share about my pedagogy."
"Dr. Lavellan," Solas attempted in a mournful voice, "I'm sorry, truly. I didn't expect-"
Ellana responded by slamming the door to her classroom. After all, she didn't have time for any further unkind words. Even if it was only mid-morning, it had already been a terrible first day and she hadn't had any time to get a cup of coffee!