CHAPTER 7
After the performance was over, Ellana stopped and calmed her frayed nerves in the bathroom, splashing some cold water on her face and reapplying a dash of matte coral lipstick. The ritual galvanized her and she entered the University gallery space with a renewed sense of cheer.
Upon entering, however, Ellana's hope waivered. The scene was so trendy. I am out of my element.
The room was a mixture of raw concrete, and walls painted a fluorescent white. That and a string quartet accompanied a hip Orlesian rapper played in the background. Skimming the crowd, Ellana noted with amusement that the art students were easily identified by their rugged thrift-store outfits that contrasted with the designer looks of the Val Royeaux elite. Clothes were all about volume and brightness that season and a flock of masked Orlesian nobles strutted about like gilded peacocks in flounced skirts.
Amidst the flamboyant pageantry, Ellana appeared dull. She hoped that the black satin sheath she had on was elegant and not underdressed. On a curvier frame, the low v-neck that stopped just above the navel might have been obscene. Still, Ellana was slender, especially compared to humans, and she liked how sensual the outfit made her feel, a gold zipper with a dragon-head shaped slider going completely down the back.
She had found it by chance in a fashion boutique in Minrathous by chance on the final sale. Over the years, she had worn it hopping between all sorts of wild parties, experimental performances, and high-end commercial gallery events. No matter how many times she put the dress on, it never failed to boost her confidence.
She needed it that evening. So far, the night had not been what Ellana would call fantastic, but it was still early.
Looking around the crowd, Ellana realized she had lost her friends. Instead of searching for Dorian and Bull, however, she returned to the entryway to read the show's introductory didactic, pleased to find that the solo exhibition was the work of a recent graduate of the painting program, a female elf, exploring concepts of the Elvhen pantheon.
Turning to study the canvases, Ellana was immediately swept up into the gigantic paintings. Brushstrokes were forcefully applied to the surface in thick globs of oil paint. The overall effect was transcendent as the abstract lines pushed against one another in a mirthful rhythm that the artist would have had to use their whole body to render in sweeping motions. Old Elvhen script was carved into the oil paint by what looked like a palette knife, the surface worked over, and re-worked again. Ellana's trained eye couldn't help but notice the subtle homages to ancient mosaics and Elvhen geometric patterns.
Yes, these are well-considered. She thought to herself, pacing back and forth between each piece. I haven't seen anything this exciting since moving out of Minrathous.
The longer she gazed at the works, the more Ellana felt as if she was transported elsewhere, the marks ecstatic on first view, only to push against a sense of undoing or wilting. Where that sensation came from she couldn't quite say. Perhaps it was the acts of erasure throughout? Or the ashen color palette? For the next half-an-hour, the art historian moved between each canvas, tuning out the background chatter.
She had been this way ever since she was a little girl. If Ellana saw something that interested her, she could spend untroubled hours staring. "Struck by beauty," her mother had called it. After her parents died in a car crash a week after her eighth birthday, Keeper Deshanna had nurtured the habit further. Whenever her mentor traveled, she'd bring back Ellana museum postcard books or guides. Once Ellana had seen an artifact or a picture, she could file it away in her mind recalling it in perfect clarity (or a rudimentary drawing) at a later date. After enrolling in college and discovering that she was able to major in art history, her career trajectory was decided.
Keeper Deshanna had only attempted to change her mind once. "You don't want to try something more employable?" she had asked Ellana over tea on her first winter vacation back to the reservation.
"Like what?" Ellana earnestly replied as she had never considered an alternative.
"Engineering or medicine? With your capabilities, you could do much for the People."
Although Ellana couldn't bring herself to entertain thoughts of another major, she still agreed her Keeper made a fair point, and she dedicated herself to studying Dalish art and contemporary Elvhen craft. If she wasn't going to do something "useful," she would at least support the People through her scholarship.
Now, with the resources of the University of Orlais, she could accomplish so much more.
"Miss," a server in a tux interrupted her thoughts, holding out a tray filled with flutes of a fizzy liquid. "Champagne?"
Ellana muttered a quick thank you, taking one of the glasses in her hand, and sipping at the slightly too sweet pour. A strawberry plopped rather forlornly at the bottom of the glass, not adding much to the flavor.
Ellana was about to return to studying the canvases when she heard Dorian shout her name. Surveying the crowd, she couldn't find her friend at first glance. Unfortunately, Dorian's purple leather look was not exactly the most over-the-top outfit that evening, and her usual method of finding her friend in a crowd was thwarted. "Ellana," she heard him call again, "There is someone I have to introduce you too!"
Ellana couldn't believe her eyes, standing next to her friends was a bald, sheepish looking elf in a forest green suit and slightly askew tie. Not just any elf, but Professor Fen'Harel.
It was the first time Ellana saw him since he helped her locate her classroom. Without any mental preparation, she could feel the heat of her anger rising to her face, her eyes narrowing in a pronounced scowl she reserved for what she considered the worst of offenders. For example, the passerby that chanted rabbit ear at her on her commute home last night on the train.
How do these two know each other? She wondered. Dorian and Bull were so kind, Ellana struggled with the idea that Professor Fen'Harel had much in common with the couple. She hadn't even bothered to tell the two about the rivalry between them, as it seemed to exist in a separate world from the friendship she had developed with them.
"Ellana!" Dorian called again, waving with a broad smile. Looking at Professor Fen'Harel standing next to him, Ellana couldn't help but smugly note that he appeared utterly uncomfortable, and although she could not hear him put up his hands as if making excuses, only for Bull to coax him with a friendly pat on the back.
They are acting like they are trying to set the two of us up, Ellana thought with chagrin.
Still, she refused to make a scene. She wouldn't give Professor Fen'Harel the satisfaction of making her cringe. She began to walk over, trying to seem as aloof as possible, adding a little extra wiggle in her step.
"Dr. Lavellan" The tall elf greeted her in a short formal tone when she approached. Ellana smugly noted how deflated he appeared, clutching his wine glass tensely.
"Professor Fen'Harel," she replied curtly as if the entire interaction was beneath her. Well, it was.
"Or should I say the Herald of Andraste?" Solas continued with a glint in his eye that Ellana couldn't tell was mocking or full of admiration. "A blessed hero came to save us all?"
Why would he ever say such a thing! Ellana thought to herself, overcome with outrage, she began to step back, only to trip on her heel. In her attempt to rebalance herself, the barely touched glass of champagne she held tipped forward, the liquid hitting Solas' directly in the chest.
Fortunately, the glass remained in her hand, as embarrassing as it was to drench Dr. Fen'Harel again with liquid, at least Ellana didn't have to worry about shattering the flute.
Dorian and Bull went silent as Ellana looked at the bald professor as if to dare him to react. She simply stared at Solas as if she were a predator determined to bait her prey into making the first strike.
"Perhaps I should take to wearing a raincoat when we meet in the future, Dr. Lavellan."
"So, you already know each other?" Dorian skittishly asked in the background. Ellana noticed that his lips were drawn into an uncharacteristic tight frown.
"Ir Abelas," Ellana said in a feigned clipped tone, wondering if Solas spoke any Elvhen.
"Tel Abelas," He responded with a slight chuckle, using his free hand to summon a burst of mana to his fingers, waving his palm over his wet shirt to dry it instantly.
"You're a mage?" Ellana asked in disbelief.
"Yes, is that so surprising?" Solas responded in a dry voice in contrast to his eyebrows arching playfully.
"We are just about to go to The Kirkwall," Dorian interrupted in an attempt to smooth over the spectacle. "Ellana has never been, and I know how much Varric would love to see you, Solas."
Ellana began to tap the back of her heel on the floor again, wobbling a bit in her rage, only to find relief as Iron Bull's hand on her elbow steadied her. The thought of sitting opposite her adversary over a glass of wine made her cringe.
"Thank you for the invitation. Perhaps another time?" Solas smoothly replied. "I'm afraid I have a rather important engagement tomorrow afternoon that I still need to prepare for."
"You haven't done any preparation for our exhibition? I have been researching for weeks."
Ellana was mystified.
"I shall bear that in mind," Solas continued, his face melancholy as if he realized that despite his attempts to be friendly to the young scholar he had only failed. Rather miserably, in fact.
"It isn't your tenure on the line!" Ellana scolded in a hiss. "I suggest you collect the resources you want to address tomorrow."
"Yes, you are correct, Dr. Lavellan. I will endeavor to do so to your satisfaction going forward."
Ellana was so angry at his analytical response that she stomped away with an indignant huff, her heels clattering on the concrete floor. She couldn't believe the gall of Dr. Fen'Harel's carelessness. She would have to address his lack of investment at the meeting tomorrow.
"That is not how I expected that introduction to go," Dorian whispered to Bull in a puzzled tone as Solas, a bright red, slunk away with only a nod into the night without another word.
"You and me both, Kadan," Iron Bull shook his head sadly. "I thought for sure they'd hit it off."