Chapter 2

A rattled Solas fled. It was not a common experience for the elf. As soon as Ellana had slammed the door shut, he retreated at full speed for his lab.

He was thankful when he reached the privacy of his office. His assistant, an exuberant Dwarf, named Dagna, had attentively placed a warm mug of coffee on his desk for his return and a stack of reports for his review. Without too much thought, Solas pulled a flask from a desk drawer and poured a generous amount of amber liquid into the cup and took a deep glug before sinking into his plush desk chair.

It wasn't noon yet, but Solas needed to recover. His hands were shaking.

He hadn't expected to run into Dr. Ellana Lavellan on his commute into work that morning. Vaguely, he had recalled a notice earlier in the summer announcing her hire in the Art History Department. Only he had been in the middle of unwinding a sinister plot by the extremist group, the Evanurius. Even if all of their members were locked up in a heavily guarded, remote prison in the Western Approach, somehow, they still managed to sow seeds of chaos across Thedas. The elite peace-keeping forces that monitored them, the Grey Wardens, although capable, were not infallible.

There had been a time where he had followed their biding, but that was when he had been an impulsive young man. He still remembered when he met Mythal, barely out of adolescence. The stately gray-haired woman, wearing oversized sunglasses and a sizeable gold-link necklace paired with a classic collarless black skirt suit, had approached him at his workplace, a dingy diner with a neon sign that read Open 24/7. It was the only gathering place in his rural hometown, aside from the gas station. He had never seen anyone dressed as stylishly before in his life. Certainly, Solas did not expect her to walk right up to him and whisper, "I hear you are a dreamer. We could always use one like you. Will you join me?"

His magic had manifested early, and his test scores had enabled him to graduate secondary school at age fourteen. Despite Solas' talents, it was probable he didn't have any prospects. As an orphan, living in an abusive foster care situation, he couldn't refuse her offer. If he was lucky, working as a dishwasher that summer might get him a bus ticket to another town. That is if his gold wasn't stolen, or some other misfortunate set back his plans yet again.

Without a word, he set down his scrubbing towel and followed Mythal into her black car.

"I think you've made a sage choice," She had said to him in the back of the luxury SUV before the car had stopped at the dilapidated house Solas was staying at so he could collect all of his meager belongings into a plastic garbage bag he routinely used as a suitcase. Even in the dimness of the tinted windows, she never removed her dark glasses.

Solas didn't question many of the early missions that the Evanurius had sent him on in their quest to dominate Thedas. Their methods were nefarious and skillful with managing a complex web of spies, terrorists, and other criminals. The inner circle of the organization was unknown except to each other. Information was a currency to them, and they distributed it like misers.

So when the Evanurius bankrolled his education and enrolled him in medical school, and then insisted that he channel his investigations of the brain further into a Ph.D., Solas hadn't hesitated to follow orders. Later, when they asked him for more specific things, they were always careful to omit parts of the whole picture. He might send his research notes, or advise on building a mechanical device, but was never clear on why he was being consulted.

At the time, he didn't even know what they called themselves. Solas was still a young man, and although he suspected that the web he was entangled in intersected several dark corners, he was grateful for a chance at a better life.

He might not have turned on them if Mythal still lived.

The enigmatic woman had taken him in, becoming the mother Solas had never had, setting up a room for him on school holidays at her luxurious estate in the wine country of the Korcari Wilds. Mythal doted on him, relishing his new research and encouraging him to push himself further until he graduated at the top of his class. He enjoyed the hours he spent sitting across from her at the counter as she brewed complicated potions as she listened to him talk about his projects.

It was that kitchen he had found her in on one of his summer vacations. The sight still haunted him; her blood smeared over the marble countertops. Mythal had been gasping for breath on the floor, a stab wound to the chest preventing her from speaking, as she looked up to him desperately, raising a hand to touch his cheek before it listlessly fell to the ground.

The funeral had been a private affair, mostly unattended except for Mythal's inner circle. Solas was instructed, somewhat unfairly, he thought, to say it was a burglary gone awry. Only, he had been too deep in grief to question such an order critically.

Solas was startled when a woman with auburn hair knocked on the door immediately after all the guests had departed after the service. At first, he thought, given the matching aubergine tracksuit she wore, the kind that the wealthy residents in the area wore while running at their summer country homes, that she might be a lost jogger.

"May I come in?" the woman asked in a thick Orlesian accent.

At first, he wanted to protest, he was tired, and whatever she wanted, Solas didn't feel fit to give her.

"I need to tell you about Mythal," the stranger insisted again.

That got his attention.

Solas nodded, gesturing for her to join him in the entry living room. It was sparsely decorated with Modernist furniture and minimalist paintings and sculptures. The large, wall-sized windows had a stunning view of the surrounding vineyards. It was dusk, and the pink of the sunset reflected beautifully against the clean, ivory, and beige colored surfaces.

"Would you like something to drink?" Solas offered like the gentleman Mythal had molded him to be.

"No, thank you." She said as she pulled down her hood. In the light, Solas could see the woman's face clearly for the first time. She appeared to be about thirty with creamy white skin and large purple eyes. It was a face that many would interpret as fragile. Seeing the cunning glint in her eyes, though, Solas knew better.

He was used to many disreputable characters flitting in and out of Mythal's home, but this woman seemed different. She was smart. Was she dangerous? More specifically, as Mythal would have told Solas to ask, was she dangerous to him?

"You may call me Sister Nightingale," the woman began. "For lack of a better term, I was a friend of Mythal's. We were working on a critical project together, but I'm afraid that we were betrayed. She sent me a coded message the night she was killed, saying that if something were to happen to her, I was to find you."

"I'm sorry," Solas demured, "I'm a neurologist. I'm not sure how I can help you unless you have a brain scan you'd like me to interpret."

"It's complicated," the Nightingale said. "I'm sure you knew that Mythal was very well-connected."

He studied the surrounding room, specifically the contemporary art mixed with a few priceless prehistoric Elvhen artifacts that Mythal claimed to find at antique markets. Each work would cost thousands of gold pieces. Solas was no fool, even if he wasn't sure where Mythal's wealth and power came from, but he knew she had more of it than many could even dream of.

"In a manner of speaking." He replied carefully. "I wasn't aware she had an acquaintance-I'm sorry, what did you say your name was? Sister Pigeon?"

"I see Mythal taught you well." the woman chuckled at his intentional slip, "It is Sister Nightingale."

"My apologies, Sister Nightingale," Solas responded, "How can I help you?"

Leliana, as he later learned, was her actual name, visited with Solas for the rest of the night. He listened with rapt attention as she explained that Mythal was a double-agent working to bring down the Evanurius from the inside. Although she had been a founding member of, what he learned was a syndicate of fanatical mages set on restoring the glory of the Elvhen People, she had quickly grown disgusted. She had turned her attention away from the occasional murder in a dark ally of a mob boss. Still, the syndicate was not content with low-profile methods, and the violence began to include the innocent in the cross-fire.

In desperation, of all places, she had gone to Orlais seeking out the power of the Chantry to see if they might join her in her quest, the Divine had quickly agreed, and so Sister Nightingale and Mythal aligned forces. They had been close, Leliana sadly told Solas, only their communications had been intercepted. The Evanurius, determined not to be outdone, had turned on Mythal, sending an assassin to do their bidding.

"Will you help me avenge Mythal?" Leliana had asked him when she had finished her story.

"Yes," Solas had firmly. It was the second easiest decision he had made after following Mythal out of the diner.

"There is one other thing you should know," Leliana had said before leaving. "Why Mythal sought you out in the first place."

He understood Mythal recognized his talent and capabilities, but had not given much thought beyond that.

Leliana took his silence as permission to continue her explanation. "She recognized a peculiar ability in you. That is, your capability to lucidly dream in the Fade. You are the first known individual in the last hundred years with such a skill. "

Solas could feel the blood rush to his face. The revelation made him feel lightheaded as he played all the conversations he had with his benefactor over in his head. He had always thought Mythal's mentions of him as a "dreamer" had been a metaphor, not literal.

If such a thing was true, and he had no reason to doubt it, it explained why Mythal had steered him towards his research subjects.

Magic, as everyone knew, was weakening more every year. Less mages were born, and those with any sort of skills at enchantment were lucky if they could cast a couple weak spells. By considering how the brain interacted with the Fade, Solas had already developed several methodologies to strengthen the bond between the two, boosting a mage's capabilities.

He hadn't considered dreaming a part of such pursuits before, but as Leliana began to offer him pieces of the larger puzzle, things began to make more sense.

For instance, it explained how Solas slept and spirits came to him to help with his problems. The ancient Elvhen had names for such entities, and he had learned them all. His favorites were always the spirits of Wisdom, who bantered with him about his areas of interests and debated how to interpret best the data he gathered or consider what avenues he had not yet questioned.

He had thought all mages capable of such things. He was wrong. Still, what does my research have to do with the crime syndicate? He had thought to himself as his head began to ache.

"I'm not sure why you need my help, exactly," He asked. "I can understand how some of my research could make the Evanurius stronger if they are mages, but…"

"The Evanurius seek the Orb of Destruction," Leliana patiently continued, "It is an ancient Elvhen artifact that can thin the veil between the Fade and the waking world. If not, tear it down entirely. I don't think I need to tell you-"

"It would devastate all of Thedas, to use such a thing. Any mage, even with minimal abilities, could wreak havoc. They could-take over the world…."

Leliana nodded supportively. "The Evanurius were training you to locate the orb. They hypothesized that someone with your gift could identify it by searching for it in the Fade. By heightening your awareness of how the brain worked, you'd be able to travel longer, go farther..."

Solas had begun to consider independently, or so he thought, that very idea over the last year in his post-doctoral fellowship. He had even identified several ways to use everyday objects to refract into the magical realm to shape his dreaming experiences. He had also asked himself: could the counter-part be true?

A chill went down his spine. How else had he been manipulated? More importantly, how had Mythal twisted his dreams (both metaphoric and literal) with such darkness.

"Solas," Sister Nightingale interrupted his terrible thoughts again. "Mythal was so proud of you. She often told me you were the son she never had. It was her greatest hope to free you and your accomplishments from being seized by the Evanurius. We need to work together to bring them down."

"What do we have to do?" he had asked. It was the question that started it all.

Together the two had worked to bring the fanatical Elvhen mages to justice in a few short years. The work was ruthless and somewhat morally compromised. Solas had quickly learned in short order how to cheat, how to pretend, and how to kill. Yet, it had to be done. The two had strategically infiltrated the group, identifying the ring leaders. When finally, Solas had pretended to find the orb in a ploy to bring all eight into the same room. The Gray Wardens had burst in a tactical strike.

At the time, Solas was surprised that the gambit had worked, but it had. Each of the Evanurius was committed to life in solitary confinement, no chance of parole, on the legal grounds of crimes against humanity. The Chantry, in collaboration with the Orlesian crown, had worked to keep the whole thing quiet, downplaying the many atrocities, least panic set in at how close the world had come to annihilation.

In thanks for his participation, Solas had been offered a post at the University of his choice. He had chosen the University of Orlais mostly on a whim, given its dedication to innovating the medical field. If his achievements were the result of spilled blood, he thought he might dedicate himself to the healing arts as a small offering of remorse.

Half the week, Solas treated patients, the other half he'd teach and direct research in his private lab. His connections to the Orlesian Chantry had helped him acquire such a thing, but his dedication kept such efforts going. He had mentored several promising young doctors who, in turn, dedicated themselves to curing many rare illnesses and developing medical appliances that could take the place that magic had once used in healing the sick.

It was a good life, if not a quiet one, except for the occasional summons from Leliana to consult on crimes perpetrated by the few remaining allies the Evanuris could manipulate outside of their jail cell. It seemed that everything was in order.

That was, until Leliana had sent him the book.

He found the thick, hardbound tome on his desk one morning. Picking it up, Solas had removed the nug-shaped post-it note off the cover and read, in the spy mistresses' distinctive chicken-scratch, "read this and call me."

He looked down to see a photograph of a golden halla put through a watercolor filter to make the animal appear like it was floating in the Fade. Printed in a trendy sans-serif font was the title: Fade Objects: Dalish Visual & Material Culture by Dr. Ellana Lavellan.

He had spent the afternoon devouring the contents. The arguments were comprehensive. And elegant. He felt as if the writing transported him entirely into a lost world. The author blended historical accounts with vivid first-hand descriptions of exploring Elven ruins. Using her magic, she could peer into the Fade at what the sites, and the objects decorating them, might have looked like over different eras. The text was augmented with careful ink and pen drawings (also by the author) to illustrate what she had seen, thereby filling in several gaps by other art historians.

It was brilliant, but also dangerous. If this gets into the hands of the Evanurius...

He called Leliana immediately when he shut the book with a quiet thud. She was right to be concerned. The text bordered dangerously on his research of how the Fade could be used or potentially weaponized. It was not an idea that should be widely circulated.

"Did you read it?" Leliana asked with uncharacteristic worry filtering into her voice.

"Yes. I-yes. You were right to bring this to my attention."

"What do you recommend we do?"

"I have an idea…" he said.

It was a plan he enacted with no relish after searching on the internet for more information on the author, Dr. Ellana Lavellan. She, like him, had been a prodigy, appearing out of one of the Dalish reservations south of Kirkwall. She had applied for and gotten a full scholarship at the Free Marshes State University, followed by a prestigious Ph.D. program at the Minrathous Institute of Technology.

Reading over her CV, he assumed that the scholar must be formidable to be awarded several highly regarded fellowships and grants, especially at such a young age. Her book, if the world was a better place, should have secured her accolades. Only, if the scholar was to remain safe, he had to put a stop to her experimental methods.

And so Solas wrote a scathing review. He was careful to inject just enough ire into his words that her work would be questioned, but not too much to be the subject of a full-scale scandal. He had followed, for a time, as several follow-up articles were written debating the veracity of Dr. Lavellan's claims, but once it was certain that she wasn't harmed too much, he had turned back to his work without much further thought.

Considering that their fields were so distant from one another, Solas certainly never expected to meet her! Yet he had just that morning.

"Typical absent-minded Professor," Leliana often teased him. He had been walking to work, a newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other when he had run into someone in the middle of the sidewalk.

Solas had thought to apologize and move quickly on, but when he had looked down at what had to be the loveliest face he had ever seen, he was lost. The elf he found in the bushes had striking, classical features. He knew she was Dalish right away. The traditional markings seemed to float on her olive skin, two faint branches on either cheek. Her giant hazel eyes were bright and intelligent. I have met, he thought to himself with great admiration, a woman who misses nothing.

Solas couldn't help but uncharacteristically linger, especially after determining that she was a fellow faculty member.

Still, he should have been able to identify her as the author he had so maligned. Solas had been too captivated by the woman's steady manner to put together all the hints as he guided her towards one of the lecture halls in the Arts building. Creators, he cursed to himself. She even told me her first name! How did I miss that!

Solas had been about to ask her to dinner when she had revealed to him her full name. He was still embarrassed that he had bungled any attempt at peace-making. Ellana's forceful attack was something he respected, and usually, he would have left her alone. Still, given the circumstances, he needed to figure out if there were any necessary next steps.

Regretfully, with a wave of mana, he opened a locked drawer in his desk, pulling out a cell phone, one with the capability to reach one person directly. Pushing a button, Solas heard a few beeps of the dial tone before Leliana's familiar voice answered with a faint sounding "Hello, Inquisition headquarters."