Chapter 5
On a Friday in mid-October, Ellana woke up with a joyful realization that she didn't have to rush and get ready for the day. It was fall break, and it was a four-day weekend. She had mountains of writing to accomplish, but for the first time in a month-in-a-half, she could linger in the warmth of her bed, a fuzzy blanket pulled luxuriously to her chin as she listened to the lull of cars driving by her building.
So far, Ellana was satisfied with her life in Val Royeaux. Teaching had gone well. Her students had surprised her with their dedication. For the most part, all of them arrived to class on time and rarely took out their phones. Much to her joy, a few had stopped by her office hours and asked pertinent questions.
What more could a professor hope for?
Although she was happy with her new life, Ellana was exhausted. The rhythm of teaching and lesson planning-along with writing her upcoming publications and reviews-had resulted in brutal hours. The scholar was looking forward to the fall break for a short window of rest to catch her breath.
With a yawn, Ellana sat up and bed and looked around her apartment. It hadn't taken her long to settle in. The landlord had apologized for its lack of modern fixtures, but she was glad that the vintage touches had been left intact. The historian, in her, appreciated the details, like the clawfoot tub and mosaic tiles in the bathroom. Sure, the closet-sized kitchen made cooking anything complicated difficult (not that Ellana had much skill in this area), and her studio (the smallest one in the building) overlooked a "garden" of weeds, but she felt at home.
It helped that over the last two months, she had purchased furniture. In fact, for the few weeks after she moved in, Ellana had slept on a sleeping bag on the hardwood floors. Now, thanks to her first paycheck, she had a comfortable queen-sized bed, with a teal cotton bedspread and down pillows. On her second payday, Ellana had added a desk, bookshelf, and dresser. It was all cheap, assemble-it-yourself wares, but it was hers.
No, the studio was great, and although she secretly yearned for in-unit laundry, Ellana thought that perhaps, for the first time in her life, she had everything she needed.
Craving a cup of coffee, Ellana got out of bed and put on a pair of black wool slippers, groggily stumbling a few steps over to the kitchen to boil water. After putting the kettle on, Ellana stretched for a few moments in her nightgown (a converted black slip) and spun whimsically with her arms out in the middle of her shaggy area rug. It felt good to enjoy a slow and relaxing morning before answering emails.
Shit! Finally awake, Ellana remembered with a jolt the unpleasant item on her to-do list. Shit! She repeated to herself. Shit!
In her exuberance, she had forgotten the email she had received the night before from Professor Fen'Harel. For the last month, she had stalled a meeting with the arrogant elf. It had been easy, considering the limited availability of his assistant, Dagna, had sent her. Ellana had been able to put off meeting with excuses of prior commitments (real or manufactured). Finally, Professor Fen'Harel had emailed her and cc: ed Vivienne. A passive-aggressive power move that Ellana resented, but respected for its effectiveness in getting her attention.
With a cup of strong coffee now in hand, Ellana knew she had to respond, and quickly if she didn't want to risk Vivienne's ire. Still, maybe I can put him off , she thought to herself sipping on the dark brew, What could he possibly find compelling about putting together an exhibition with someone he considers to be a subpar researcher? Still, Ellana was a professional, and she could handle whatever he threw her way. Opening her laptop, she drafted a quick note which would hopefully put off dealing with the dirtbag in person.
sfenharel
Subject: Spring Exhibition
Dear Professor Fen'Harel:
Thank you for your note. It is a pleasure to work with you on this exhibition. I am eager to explore the intersections of art and science. It will be, I'm sure, an innovative topic. I have gathered several case studies and other conceptual frameworks to explore in the planning process (attached here). Perhaps we can develop some conclusions remotely given your busy schedule?
Warm Regards,
Ellana
Her phone buzzed with an alert as soon as she shut her computer. With great apprehension, she pulled Professor Fen'Harel's answer up on the tiny screen, noting with an indignant huff that he had cc: ed Vivienne again.
elavellan ; cc: vlefer
Re: Spring Exhibition
Dr. Ellana Lavellan,
Thank you for your email and the attached examples. I will review them shortly. I want to impress, however, that it would be most comfortable for us to meet in person. I am free Saturday, and will be in my campus office. I understand it is a long weekend, but considering the work ahead; I am sure you will agree, it would be best to start right away. Please confirm you will come to my office at 1:00 p.m. this Saturday.
Best,
Solas
Ellana couldn't help but yell out loud from frustration. Throwing her phone on her bed, she stomped over to her desk, drafting and deleting several inflammatory responses over the next half-hour, the clacking of her keyboard mixing with the outside sounds of the city.
After taking a break to count her breaths and heatedly pacing around her apartment, Ellana slammed herself down at her desk chair and wrote a single word response, the brevity of which she thought conveyed the whole depth of her rage more than any insult could.
sfenharel , cc: vlefer
Re: Spring Exhibition
Confirmed.
Ellana didn't even have time to close out of the browser before she received a response. She noted with further annoyance that Professor Fen'Harel had finally stop cc: ing her boss.
elavellan
Re: Spring Exhibition
Dr. Lavellan:
In the event you are struggling to locate my office, it is Valmont, Floor 1. I have attached a map for your convenience.
I am looking forward to tomorrow's discussion.
Solas
Ellana threw up her hands in exasperation at the ego of her nemesis, cursing him with every Elvhen obscenity she knew. Although, yes, navigation wasn't one of her greatest strengths, but his inclusion of a campus map was particularly insulting. She had only been lost because it was her first day! The fact that Professor Fen'Harel didn't understand that only confirmed for her, resolutely, that he was an asshole.
The earlier we start, Ellana consoled herself, the faster we'll finish. Still, she couldn't help but wonder again: What had motivated the senior faculty member to volunteer her for the collaboration? Ellana remembered with chagrin the attraction she had felt upon initially meeting him. Was he trying to woo her? As much as she hated him, Professor Fen'Harel didn't seem the type to make any untoward gestures. Was it possible this was a clumsy apology for the review Professor Fen'Harel had written about Fade Objects?
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard her phone buzz. She picked it up, curious to see if Professor Fen'Harel had sent her additional demands, instead, she was pleasantly surprised by an invitation from Dorian.
xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:30 a.m.
$day, 2-day. drinks on u?
Ellana chuckled. Dorian had warmly welcomed her to campus, taking time to show her around town. Although the two had first been drawn together given their shared history with the city of Minrathus. It was apparent, over the last few weeks, that their friendship ran deeper than happenstance. The art professor had made an effort to introduce her to faculty members, who, in his words, "weren't racist old farts." This included a young Political Science adjunct named Josephine. The three young scholars had spent several supportive evenings working in each other's offices with a bag of shared take-out, helping each other proof lesson plans and lecture notes.
xxx-xxx-3245, 11:32 a.m.
Name the spot!
xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:33 a.m.
Ugh. Forgot I have to go to a performance my graduating seniors are putting on.
xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:34 a.m.
Join me & I'll $ first round. Also, I'll drive 2 pick u up.
xxx-xxx-3245, 11:35 p.m.
That sounds like it might be painful.
xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:39 a.m.
let's say experimental. Bull & I will pick u up 6:30 p.m.?
The Iron Bull was Dorian's husband. Ellana had met him last weekend after the couple had invited her over to grill burgers and drink sangria on top of their very fancy condo Dorian was brazen and rash, Bull was thoughtful and reserved. Their romance was one of opposites, Ellana thought, except for their shared exceptional kindness.
The three had attempted to speak Tevene, only as Dorian had mentioned Bull was admittedly terrible at it. Although, Ellana suspected the qunari took some joy in trying to teach them a few words in qunari, which ended up sounding more like gargling growls coming from their mouths.
"No, you go SHUUUUU bas," Iron Bull instructed Ellana with a wink. Not "sha bas"! One means kill me, and the other means feed me. Depending on where you are in Par Vallen, it might actually get you killed."
"Oh my," Ellana had said, unsure of a polite response.
"It's ok, I'm exiled," Iron Bull shrugged. "Have been for years. I got caught on the wrong end of a spy deal. Glad I ended up here, met this fellow, and now I am in charge of one of the greatest rugby teams Thedas has ever seen. Much better line of work."
"Spy deal?" Ellana had looked back and forth between Dorian and his husband. She knew her dinner companions were interesting, but she hadn't guessed exactly how interesting.
"It's a long story, best told with alcohol." Dorian responded before muttering to his husband under his breath, "Don't scare away my new friend!"
Iron Bull laughed, daintily laying a napkin down on his lap before taking a bite of his extra-large burger before putting it down and saying, "You know for an elf your accent isn't half bad, how many languages do you speak?"
Ellana blushed, she didn't like to bring attention to her accomplishments unless they were relevant. "Four," she squeaked.
"Kaffas!" Dorian cursed, "Which ones? Why?"
"Comps. Art History means you have to learn two languages and I already spoke Common and Elvhen, so I took-up Tevene and Orlesian mostly because they are in the same language family. Although, I suspect I would have rather enjoyed Qunari."
"Never too late!" Iron Bull proclaimed, rubbing his horns, clearly flattered.
"You should have heard Bull when he proposed," Dorian continued with a nostalgic smile. "Mixed up the Tevene verbs break up and marry-well engagement-they are rather close, you know. I burst out in uncontrollable sobs, thinking that Bull was breaking things off, only to be confused by hundreds of roses laid out...in the apartment."
"In the bedroom," Bull interrupted much to Ellana's amusement.
"Yes, in the bedroom." Dorian continued rubbing his husband's hand affectionately. "I don't think Tevinter has quite recovered from a marriage between a son of the magisterium and a qunari secret agent. Only I could give a fuck what they think."
Ellana's heart fluttered as the two beamed each other, hoping that she too might find such a romance someday. Another text message from Dorian nudged her back into the present.
xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:41 a.m.
btw fancy reception after. Free champagne!
Ellana couldn't help smiling to herself. Dorian seemed to have a gift of knowing exactly when someone needed a bit of fun. Standing up and walking over to her closet, she opened her closet door, excitedly wondering what exactly one wore to a champagne reception at the University of Orlais.
xxx-xxx-3245, 11:42 a.m.
Not sure what I'm getting into, but I'll see you then!
xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:45 a.m.
Only the best, I promise xoxo.
At half-past, six Ellana walked down the two flights of stairs to the entryway of her building. It was impossible to miss Dorian's car, a vintage luxury sedan with tinted windows and leather seats, as it was painted a bright purple. She ran up to the vehicle, opening the door to the back, and crawling in as gracefully as she could manage in a short skirt and heels.
Dorian and Bull both turned back to her, both in sunglasses, saying "hi" in unison.
"Thanks for picking me up!" She responded cheerily, buckling her seatbelt over her bulky fall coat. It was starting to become chilly.
"It's the least we could do," Dorian muttered in annoyance. "I'm not sure what to expect from this group of students, the ideas they have presented to me over the last few days keep radically changing."
"I'm sure it will turn out fine," Ellana reassured her friend.
"He hates giving students bad grades, isn't it cute?" Iron Bull said, adjusting the air as they came to a stoplight a few blocks away.
"It's not that! "This student, Sera, always has me worried. She is an instigator. Last semester, several senior administrators visited the performance festival, and she threw pies into the audience as, in her words 'an institutional critique of the neoliberal and bourgeois ideals of capitalist culture that define the University of Orlais.' Only when I asked her to define any of those terms, she merely spoke nonsense."
Iron Bull and Ellana couldn't help chuckling, flustering Dorian further.
"You shouldn't laugh!" he scolded. "As a result, Now I have to lead a group of fellow faculty members in an initiative to consider the safety and consequences of art student proposals before any event like this."
Ellana patted his arm affectionately. She knew that under all of Dorian's flamboyant attitude, he cared deeply for his students and wanted to provide them all with the possible support he could muster. She knew, as a result, he numbered as one of the most popular faculty members in the University.
"Wait, Sera, always wearing the tartan leggings, bad blonde dye job?" Ellana asked with a groan.
"Yes," Dorian groaned, waving his hands in the air wildly. "You have her in your class? Ah, yes, she failed art history two years in a row. You must know what I'm talking about!"
"I do…" Ellana trailed off thinking of a recent conversation she had with the young elf.
Sera had gotten it into her head that the textbook was 'oppressive and full of colonialist ideals of beauty.' It wasn't that Ellana disagreed with Sera. She whole-heartedly supported the student's interrogation of the material; only Ellana had made sure to merely use the textbook as an outline and resource for her lectures, supplementing some of the more outdated conventions with contemporary articles.
Besides, even if Ellana wanted to chuck the damn thing into the wastebasket, the textbook was required by the department.
Still, Sera didn't listen to reason. Last week, in response to a homework prompt to write a visual analysis of any work of the students' choosing, the disgruntled student presented Ellana with an "edited" copy of the book with black paper cut and pasted over every image to, as Sera argued, "bring attention to the words of oppression." Ellana didn't want to fail Sera outright, as she had considered the assignment, but she needed her to commit words to paper.
"Well, one thing is for certain. It won't be a boring evening if Sera is involved."
"Let's just hope she does what she agreed to. I do not want to have another conversation with the Provost where I ask her not to cut funding to the art students again."
After parking the car in the faculty lot and walking over to the art building, the party of three entered the basement performance space. It was a large, open room that could fit an audience of about one hundred. On two sides were groups of auditorium-style seating, made out of gray felt-like material, that curved around the gray cement-floor stage.
After they arrived, Ellana had noticed a few of her students, and was about to greet them, when the sound of a chime indicated the performance was about to start.
Dorian gestured to her, pointing to a stretch of seating near the backstage door "I have to sit in the front, but let's go to the side because Bull doesn't want to block people behind him."
Bull nodded, crouching down to sit in the first row. Fortunately, the seats were deep enough to accommodate his formidable girth. Plopping down next to the qunari as the lights began to dim, Ellana noticed that Dorian had pulled out a small notebook and pen, ready to take note throughout the event diligently.
The chime echoed again, and Ellana faced the stage to see Sera appear in the center, a spotlight illuminating her lithe form. The young elf was wearing an all-white jumpsuit, eight long appendages sewn up the back as if to mimic the shape of a spider.
"Welcome to the Conclave," Sera muttered into a microphone, "Mages, templars, nobles, elves, Orleans, Free Marchers, Nevarrans, the whole friggin ensemble of the bourgeois enterprise gather to discuss the terrible state of the world. Yeah?"
As soon as Sera stopped speaking, the lights began to flash in varying shades of emerald and an eerie soundtrack that sounded like a disjointed rhythm of nails scratching on a chalkboard, the pop of bubble wrap, and water dripping from a faucet played. In the background, several students in identical outfits to Sera's appeared as shadowy silhouettes. All of them were frozen in dramatic poses that made them look as if they were in great pain, or at the very least, constipated.
"The Chantry is oppressive," Sera shouted so loudly the microphone rang.
"Oppressive…" the cast began to chant, causing the word to rise and then fade out "Oppressive, oppressive…"
"Magic is the arsehole of the neoliberal establishment!" Sera shouted again, squatting on the ground, her face twisted passionately, one hand clenched in the air.
"Neoliberal…" the cast echoed, walking to encircle Sera, still stationed in the middle of the stage, before laying down in a circle, writhing on the ground like worms caught in the sun.
It was too much. Ellana stole a glance at Iron Bull, who had covered his mouth tightly with one hand. She had to look away, when she caught the glint in his eye, least, the two of them burst into laughter. Looking around at the audience, she was surprised at how somber everyone's face was. How can they be into this? She thought to herself, thinking she wasn't in on some sort of fantastic joke.
A projector started up in the back of the room, and a video flickered ominously over the stage with images of explosions. The sound of bullets began to echo throughout, and Ellana overheard a few gasps, as the cast of spiders started to run in a circle around Sera, who fell to her knees on the ground.
Suddenly, the room went pitch black except for the light of an exit sign.
Sera began her monologue again, "We are all here, one, yeah. Payday, yeah. Capitalism, yeah? Get the nobs of Val Royeux out here to continue their colonialist marches. Elf? Dwarf? Human? Qunari? No matter, all are bound to money!"
"Money," one of the performers cried, sitting upright. The rest followed with the same cry and gesture.
"Who will save us?" Sera asked as the lights began to flash green again.
"A Herald?" One of the performers yelled out.
"Gracious Lady Bits," Sera answered. "The Herald of Andraste?"
"What does that mean?" Ellana whispered to Bull, who had to choke down a laugh. Dorian turned, giving them both a stern look with his fingers to his lip, shushing them.
Ellana instantly regretted her choice to ask Bull as Sera seemed to have overheard her remark and began to walk over to her in the front row slowly. She considered standing up and leaving, but Sera put her hand out for Ellana to take. With a sigh, she accepted Sera's hand and stood-up.
"You will save us," Sera mumbled into the microphone, pointing at Ellana "Herald of Andraste." The other performers gasped and then froze again.
Unsure if she should respond, Ellana turned her head apprehensively. She could see Sera turn off the microphone in her hand, the student whispering to Ellana, "Don't ruin the performance."
Beet red, Ellana followed Sera to the stage, her heels clicking on the floor in the silence, and felt the uncomfortable sensation of a hundred or so eyes on her standing in a black cocktail dress illuminated by green light. She became more nervous when the choir began to run around her at a frenetic pace and scream in her face, " Herald of Andraste" as the sound of electric static began to fill the room.
Before Ellana could get her bearings, she felt a dozen or so hands upon her. As she gave an undignified yelp, they picked her up, forcing her supine on their shoulders. She clenched her eyes tightly, hoping for the whole ordeal to be done as quickly as possible, while doing her best to cross her legs so that the audience didn't see up her skirt. Dorian owes me so many drinks. She thought to herself, trying to hold back her anger—the things faculty do for their students.
Sera began to chant again. "Only one will survive, the chosen of Andraste. The Herald, who will bring change to all of Thedas."
Much to Ellan's chagrin, she could hear the bodies holding her up repeating the chorus, walking around the circumference of the stage, and then out the exit, never once wavering from their lines. She could hear a crash, and then heard Sera yelling on the ground, screaming out as if she had been lit on fire.
As soon as they put her down, Ellana collapsed on one of the couches in the ready room, hanging her head in her hands. The cast cheered, clearly pleased with themselves, before running out for the curtain call. Over the sound of applause, she heard a few soft footsteps approaching her and looked up to see an abashed Dorian who sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.
"I'll speak with Sera. Her prospectus neglected to include whatever that was. There were supposed to be multiple participants, and none of them were to be picked up. Certainly not without a signed release." Dorian somberly sighed, "Although everyone in the audience is muttering about what brilliant satire the performance was, and how glorious you were. 'Fine acting,' I overheard someone actually say."
"Oh, Dorian," she sighed. "I think I need at least a whole bottle of champagne to recover!"
"I'm so sorry!" He repeated. "After this, let's go to this lovely little wine bar I know called The Kirkwall. I know the owner, Varric, and I'll buy you a magnificent bottle of whatever you want off the menu."
"Alright," Ellana laughed, "Although I don't think I'd ever use the word brilliant in association with whatever that was."
"Students, always experimenting. Although I think that performance needed some, shall we say, editing."
"If it wasn't unethical," Ellana whispered into her friend's ear, "I think I'd fail Sera as revenge."
"She deserves it, the rascal. Although, please don't fail her, I would like it if she graduated as she currently makes my life miserable. Let's go to the reception. I heard some mention of how regal you looked illuminated in the green light."
"Creators," Ellana muttered. "The crowd really liked it?"
Dorian nodded, albeit with a confused expression on his face. "Unfortunately, I added crowd engagement as a criteria for grading so she's going to do better than she deserves despite not following any of the instructions for the assignment."
Ellana broke out into uncontrolled laughter. She couldn't help it, the evening had been so absurd. Getting up, she smoothed her dress and hair, following Dorian out to the reception area, covering her face with embarrassment as her appearance was met with thunderous applause and a few shouts of "the Herald."
Where is that champagne, she thought to herself, scampering out of the room as quickly as she could in four-inch stilettos.