Chapter 10

Solas nervously sat at his desk, waiting for Dr. Ellana Lavellan to arrive. He was studying, for the umpteenth time, all the documents that Dagna had printed off for him along with his research notes. After the exhibition opening, he had spent his evening paging through the papers, driving home sometime past midnight. He had been so tired; he hadn't even made it upstairs to his bed, passing out on his living room sofa for a few restless hours of sleep before he woke again, got up, showered, and changed.

He had been in such a rush to return to work and spend more time preparing he hadn't even bothered brewing a pot of coffee, reluctantly going through one of the drive-through cafes that made Orleasians passionately lament the erosion of tradition. He agreed with the sentiment, preferring the old-fashioned patisseries where one sat sipping on a small cup of espresso, but today he simply didn't have the time. He needed to be ready for his meeting with Dr. Lavellan.

It was fortunate that he had grown accustomed to very little sleep, sometimes staying up for longer than twenty-four hours to assist on a surgery and then conduct rounds. When he first entered medical school, Solas had missed dreaming, sometimes driving out of the city to find an old ruin or place to sleep in to slip into an ancient space. Ever since learning, however, that the Evanuris had wanted him to use his talent for ill-will, he had been too cautious about indulging in the familiar habit.

Now he was attempting to pick-up his office. It was a large one, with windows that overlooked a section of gnarled trees and overgrown ivy. The furniture was fashioned out of glass and metal giving the space a sterile look. The only disorganized part was the lab reports that his students gracelessly dumped on every available surface.

He was putting together piles of documents that he still needed to review when his thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, when one of his students peeked in and in a nervous voice announced, "Professor, you have a guest."

"Dr. Lavellan?" He asked, not bothering to look up from the article he was reading regarding the critical care of treating a brain tumor in mages.

"Yes, Professor."

"Please let her in."

Solas set down the bound magazine at the center of his desk, gazing up as the young scholar ambled in. He observed there was still a strategic primness in her appearance. However, her casual outfit of fitted black pants and a loose-fitting silk tunic in a pastel mauve that draped artfully made Solas realize there was a creative edge to her underneath her usual costume of fitted suits. What surprised Solas the most was her pair of hot pink ballet flats and the knowledge that she was much shorter than he had initially observed. The frown on her face, however, was unmistakable.

"Dr. Lavellan," He greeted her firmly, standing to offer her his hand, which she took, squeezing his fingers a little harshly while her scowl deepened. This is going to be a long meeting.

"Please sit," he said, gesturing to a silver-gray fabric chair opposite his desk. When Ellana did not say anything in return, Solas swallowed nervously before speaking, "I have read through your exhibition prospectus, but before we start, there is another conversation I'd like to have. Surely, you must wonder why I asked for us to work on an exhibition together."

"That should be obvious, Professor." Dr. Lavellan retorted curtly. Although her tone was churlish, it made her sound more severe than adolescent. If he intimidated his students, never once losing his temper, he wondered what it was like to be on the other end of her ire as an undergraduate.

Ignoring Ellana's powerful stance, Solas slid a large volume towards her. It was an extensive catalog, about a thumb thick, with a matte black cover. He crossed his arms, refusing to say anything else until she cracked open the tome. Stubbornly, Ellana stared at it a few moments, before doing so, flipping through the pages with distaste until she realized what she was looking at: a detailed manifest of Mythal's collection of priceless Dalish artifacts and Elvhen works. Solas noticed with a bit of smug pleasure that the art historian stifled a gasp.

Solas had waivered over Vivienne's recommendation to allow the art historian access to the collection and despite his efforts couldn't think of another way to make an appropriate peace-offering to Dr. Lavellan. He had done his best to keep historians and curators away from it, unsure of the ethics of allowing scholars to ransack it for their celebrity. Surely, if anyone were to appreciate such a grouping of elven heritage, it would be the woman sitting across from him.

"I share this with you in confidence," Solas began. "I am an orphan, and was rather unexpectedly adopted as an adolescent by an eccentric, but extraordinarily wealthy woman. She was a great patroness of the arts, and when she passed away, I inherited her estate, including this collection of works."

It was a half-truth, really. The estate had been broken up amongst Mythal's other wards. The others went for her cars, and houses, and money. He had been the only one to realize the value of the art collection. Not of its monetary value, but it's cultural importance.

Ellana appeared dumbfounded as she processed the information. He knew what she was thinking: What were these Dalish artifacts doing in the hands of a single private collector? Purchasing one such item was morally ambiguous, but an entire warehouse full was beyond offensive, especially to a Dalish elf. Before she could grow angrier, he continued his explanation.

"I didn't realize the extent of her collecting until after she passed away. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that these artifacts should not be in private hands. Nor, perhaps at a humancentric museum. I have given away most of her estate over the years to charitable causes, but I have struggled to find a fair way to steward these. I certainly do not consider myself an owner of such heritage. I have neither the interest nor am I Dalish, as I am sure you are aware."

Observing that some of Ellana's anger was melting away, her frown lessening, Solas was pleased to think that perhaps he had gotten through to her. His chest fluttered a bit when she made eye contact with him for the first time, a determined glint in her stare, one that was a mixture of pain and hope. At the very least, he had her full attention.

"Where are these works? How do you take care of them?" Ellana asked, clearly struggling to process the new information.

"There was a trust set-up by my adopted mother for their care. There is a warehouse that employs art handlers outside of the city limits. Others are on indefinite loan to museums. I am positive none of the works were stolen outright. At the time, I believe she viewed collecting the goods as ensuring their longevity and uniting them. Most, in fact, were purchased from noble human families."

"I am familiar with some of these artifacts," Ellana said with reverence, holding up a picture of a wolf totem carved out of lazurite, and then turned to another of a halla holding a gigantic opal in its antlers. "I knew they were in private hands, but didn't suspect it would be a single collection."

"I thought perhaps," Solas stammered in a somber voice, "As one of the only art historians to have studied Dalish works, perhaps you might have recommendations of how to make restitution to the clans I worry, admittedly, that many of the reservations would simply sell the works to human collectors once again."

"That money, however, is sorely needed!" Ellana sighed angrily. "You have no idea of the poverty and abuse. With one of these sales, a reservation could set-up better schools, receive proper medical care-"

"Yes, and if you flood the art market too quickly," Solas gently cut her off, "the value of the goods would be significantly lowered. The economics, I'm sure you are aware, are fickle. Ideally, I think it would be good to set-up a museum or other resource, reallocating the trust to sustain a reservation long-term."

"Ah," Ellana breathed, realizing the extent of the dilemma.

"At the very least, I thought that granting you access to this collection would alleviate one of the issues that your exhibition prospectus, which is completing the necessary loan paperwork in time to manifest a critically engaging show. I do not mean to speak ill of my colleagues, but Vivienne has certainly put new faculty members in more tenuous positions."

Eliana's brow furrowed nervously. He knew that she was fully aware of the web that she had been caught in, but would also be unwilling to speak openly, knowing that a displeased word in the wrong ear might threaten her bid for full tenure.

"You don't need to comment on that, certainly," Solas continued gently. "I ask only one thing if you wish to make use of this resource."

Yes?" Ellana asked cautiously. He could tell that she was clinging to the book. Somewhere inside of her subconscious Solas imagined she was fighting the urge to flee with the catalog.

"That the source of these works never be officially acknowledged. I think you'll agree how important it is that information regarding such a collection be carefully guarded. Admittedly, I am also a private man and do not wish for any attention."

"Yes, of course," Ellana said gravely. Closing his eyes for a few short seconds, Solas could feel a small flash of what felt like electricity in the room, the kind that mages gave off when they were excited, undetectable to non-magic users. It had been some time since he had felt such a thick saturation of mana in the air.

She might be more powerful than I am. He thought to himself, filing away the information for another conversation.

"Professor Fen'Harel," Ellana said in a level voice. "I can't express how appreciative I am of you sharing this information with me. Only, I have to confess I can't conceive why after writing that scathing review of my work, implying-if I interpreted your words correctly that I falsified my findings-that you would trust me with such a valuable opportunity. I must ask, as your colleague, what are your motivations?"

Solas inhaled deeply. He had suspected that Dr. Lavellan might ask such a question at this meeting. He hadn't prepared, in his opinion, a satisfactory answer. "I thought perhaps, this would be a way to apologize for my carelessness in writing such a polemic."

Ellana shut the cover of the catalog with a loud thud, her eyes narrowing at him yet again. "Yes, but surely you stand by your convictions. If so, what do you have to apologize for?"

Solas was thrown off yet again by the intelligent woman sitting in front of him. He knew she had disarmed him, rather skillfully. He gripped the edge of his chair tightly to steady himself. He was a practiced liar, but it was not a skill he enjoyed using. Indeed, not with her.

"You must understand, Dr. Lavellan, I did not think that we would ever be colleagues. Now that we are, I wish to make amends as I learned my words caused you hardship. I do not retract my article. However, I wish to start anew if possible."

Gazing at the tattooed branches on Dr. Lavellan's cheeks twisting into a scowl, Solas was positive that she did not accept his words as the whole truth. She stewed for a bit, the feeling of the mana in the room becoming hot and dense as her anger brewed.

"I want to make it clear, Professor Fen'Harel, that I am only collaborating on this exhibition with you as that is what my Chair has asked of me. I do not need your favors, or your resources, or your pity. I accept them only as it is a requirement of this assignment, not to absolve you."

"Yes, I understand," Solas replied sadly. He couldn't help recalling with a bit of agony how wonderful the promise of their first meeting had been. He had been drawn, no doubt, to the strength of Dr. Lavellan, and although he deserved the full-range of her wrath, it had the unfortunate by-product of reminding him of their initial attraction.

"Now," Dr. Lavellan continued with a steadfast gaze that bordered on threatening, "I do think we need to select a theme for this exhibition and delineate roles."

The two chatted for some time, both taking detailed notes. The conversation was civil but a bit forced at times. Occasionally, Solas would dare to look up and watch the intense focus of the scholar, her elbow leaning on his desk, her eyes rapidly skimming passages of text. Her mind was sharp, and Solas struggled to keep up as she was quickly able to align concepts and practice.

After an hour or so, Dr. Lavellan closed her notebook, announcing, "I think we have come to a decision, Dalish artifacts as proto-science. I will select the artifacts, and you will identify the equivalent medical instrument. It is not the most elegant concept, but given the time constraints, it will be possible."

"That seems adept," Solas agreed. After some further negotiation, they landed on a schedule and consented to meet every-other-week until the exhibition was up and finished. Dr. Lavellan was able to do the majority of the work, but with Dagna's support, Solas thought that such an undertaking was at least possible.

"Good," Dr. Lavellan responded, soundlessly collecting her things into her briefcase. She was interrupted by the sound of a massive crash outside the window. Solas realized, for the first time, that it was pouring rain outside, a heavy deluge that was no doubt freezing. Turning to study Ellana, he realized that she was woefully underdressed, her jacket made out of a light material, no umbrella in sight.

"Did you drive?" He asked in concern, pulling out his cell phone from his breast pocket to pull up the weather report. "There is a flood warning."

"I don't have a car," Ellana admitted. "I will be fine with the train."

"I can drive you home if you like, I was heading to the hospital after this to catch up on charts." He made the offer without thinking through the ramifications. Such a favor from an older professor might put the young woman in an uncomfortable position, even if he would never take advantage of her.

Solas paused searching her expression for worry before speaking again.

"I can at least drop you off at the train, it's the Saturday schedule, so certainly it will be a further walk if you live in the main stretch of the city."

Ellana appeared crestfallen. It was clear that she had forgotten that she had at least an hour-long commute back, whereas, during the week, it was only a short amount of time outside. She'd be lucky not to be soaked through, both herself and her papers.

"Will it not stop raining soon?"

"I'm afraid not. Dagna, my assistant, can come too, if it makes you more comfortable." He insisted. "She's working on an engineering project here at the lab and the hospital. Usually, she tags along when I go back and forth on the weekends."

"No, it's not that. I have to stop by my office to pick up a few texts." Ellana admitted. "I have an article due at the end of next week and need to footnote."

"I have the time," Solas insisted. "Really, and the parking garage is under the building. It is the least I can do. I remember my time on public transit., it's a drag when the weather is bad."

"Ok, thanks," the woman said in a curt voice, her posture shrinking a bit as she stepped outside his office before accusing him sharply. "You ask your assistant to come in on the weekends?"

Solas laughed, "I give her unlimited vacation, actually. She's working on her dissertation project right now, so I try not to take up her time."

"I see," Ellana said, her temper cooling.

"Let me collect my things, and call for Dagna," Solas responded excitedly, sweeping a stack of reports into a non-descript tote bag. Once he had taken his coat off the back of the door, and double-checked he had everything he stepped out of his office, calling loudly "Dagna! Do you need to go to the hospital today?"

He heard the Dwarf's usual giggle as she sprinted from her office down the hallway, wrapped in a mismatched assortment of knitted sweaters, hats, and scarves. "I've been ready for hours, Professor. Did you lose track of time again?"

"You could say that," Solas said in a cheerful voice. "May I introduce you to Dr. Lavellan. She is the art historian I am collaborating with on the exhibition. This is my assistant, Dagna, without whom, the neurology department would not function."

"So nice to meet you!" Dagna said exuberantly. Solas realized that the two women were not so distant in age, about a decade younger than him, if not a decade-and-a-half.

"A pleasure," Dr. Lavellan said formally. "Although, please call me Ellana."

"Alright, let's go," Solas said, playing with the keys in his pocket and putting on his coat. The three strolled down a concrete flight of stairs, down to the basement parking garage. He enjoyed listening to Dagna chatter away, as he usually did, the occasional polite question coming from Dr. Lavellan as she clarified his assistant's areas of focus (or lack of one). When they reached his car, a black Wyvern-hybrid, he hit the button twice to unlock the door. Dr. Lavellan sat in the back, buckling her seatbelt with a cautious glance at him in the mirror, while Dagna played with the radio.

"Ok, first stop the arts building." Solas announced in a deep baritone, "Dr. Lavellan, do you mind running in, and we can wait here?"

"Of course," Ellana said in the warmest voice he had heard all afternoon.

She quickly unbuckled herself, running into the building. Dagna began to sing along to the hit song on the radio, flipping through a schematic in the car. One song turned into three, and then before he realized it, as the windshield wipers steadily went back and forth, three turned into half-an-hour. Solas had a sinking feeling that something was not right. The sense of unease grew when he saw a team of campus security running into the building.

"I am going to go see what's wrong," he said as calmly as he could manage to Dagna. "Do you mind watching the car? Perhaps park it some distance away if things go badly?"

His assistant nodded unphased at the strange request. She was used to his unusual missions and had even consulted on several of them. As he exited, he could hear her move over to the driver's seat, the sound of the seat adjusting so she could drive it comfortably clattering in the background.

I'm so glad she thought of installing that set-up Solas sighed to himself as he ran into the building, hearing Dagna roll the window down and shout, "Professor, text me when I need to swing the car around?"

As soon as he reached the inside, the cell phone in his front pocket buzzed. His panic only increased when he read a message (presumably) from Leliana.

xxx-xxx-5498 -unknown caller

The bow mistress has escaped. Found a pet.

It had been years since he had read her code word for Andruil, the most unstable of the Evanurius. Seeing the words flash on the screen gave Solas a chill.

xxx-xxx-5498 -unknown caller

I'm heading to UoO now. Can you meet me there?

Solas felt his heart pounding as he turned up the halls to the art history department, he hastened his step with magic, zooming up the stairs in record time. He wasn't sure where Ellana's office was located, but he at least had a rough idea of what hallway it might be. Panting by the time he reached the top of the stairs, Solas was worried it might be too late, for when he arrived, all he saw was a sea of dark red blood covering every wall surface as the buzz of walkie-talkies echoed along with the sound of security officers shouting to one another.

Please no. Solas thought desperately to himself sinking to his knees with despair.