CHAPTER 38
Solas loathed the annual Harvest Fest at the University of Orlais. Unlike the Hallow's Eve party, the black-tie event was pretentious and dull. The dinner consisted of bland food choices and grandiose speeches by top tier administrators. The wine was always terrible too. Unfortunately, it was expected that all faculty would attend, and an unspoken requirement that senior-level faculty would diligently sit through the remarks to model good behavior.
It was fortunate that Solas was not on call at the hospital for the next few days. A hangover was inevitable.
After reading lab reports for most of the afternoon, Solas had changed into a more formal suit in his office. Struggling to fasten his bowtie properly, he threw it down on his desk with a dismissive sigh. It would be a blessing, he thought to himself, if he was refused entry at the door, for not complying with the dress code.
The short walk further fueled his ennui. The first snow of the year started falling that morning and the effect was dazzling. All the crumbling stone buildings on campus were beautiful at any point throughout the year, but Solas liked this time of year best when every surface was covered in a pristine downy layer of white. He would have preferred to go for a long walk, possibly along the edges of the harbor, but duty called. As it always did.
At the coat check, he was startled when his cell phone began to buzz in his breast pocket. Taking it out, he was surprised to read a message from Dagna. He had left her at the lab, meticulously combing through data on lyrium's effect on the brain, her specialty.
xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:00 p.m.
I'm sorry. I tried to change it.
xxx-xxx-3454, 6:01 p.m.
Should I be worried? Did you break a machine again?
xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:02 p.m.
No! I double-checked your order
xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:02 p.m.
And glad I did because it was not right
xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:03 p.m.
But your table number was on the portal and I cross-referenced it
xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:03 p.m.
You are seated with Vivienne
Solas laughed. Dagna was adept at picking up on the complex political dynamics that ruled the senior faculty. He had never said an unkind word about the manipulative, but brilliant, curator and department chair. Although he could only guess on the concrete details that Dagna knew of his other life, she was clever enough to realize that Vivienne was someone to be avoided. If only, as a result of her on-again-off-again dalliance with Leliana. As much as the Nightingale had a tender spot in Solas' heart, he couldn't help but think the two conniving women were made for one another. Why then was Dagna so upset?
xxx-xxx-3454, 6:04 p.m.
Thank you for checking, Dagna.
xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:04 p.m.
AND DR. LAVELLAN AND A GUEST!
xxx-xxx-3454, 6:05 p.m.
Alright, thanks for letting me know.
Oh, that would be why.
Solas had prepared himself to run into the young scholar, only it would be another thing to sit next to her and who he assumed to be her silver-headed lover throughout the entire party. He had not heard much from Ellana, or what she planned to do about the orb, but given that they were emailing back and forth about the exhibition again, he assumed that things were warmer between them since he had driven her home from the Winter Palace.
Approaching his assigned table slowly, Solas saw that Vivienne, Ellana and Fenris were already seated. Waving awkwardly, he thought Ellana looked somewhat eager at his approach. If anything, to have another ally as Vivienne was clearly digging at the young art historian. Fenris gave him a strained smile, while extending a raised palm to a place card with Solas' name and title written out in excessively intricate calligraphy letters.
"Oh Solas, darling," Vivienne cooed as he pulled out the chair. "I thought since you and Ellana were working on this charming little exhibition together you might want to sit next to each other for this fantastic event. So when I joined the host committee-"
"Thank you, Viviene, that's very kind." Solas forcefully cut her off, gesturing at a passing wait staff member for a glass of champagne on a platter. He grabbed two glasses, immediately downing one before setting down the other next to his plate. It was going to be a long night.
"You could have at least dressed properly if you were going to pickle yourself." The curator continued shaking her head in abject horror at Solas' naked throat.
"I will bear that in mind." Solas dismissed, loosening another shirt button, as he caught an amused glance from Ellana. Her body was stiff, but he enjoyed the approving glint in her eye at his open rebellion. Although Ellana needed to behave politely towards the chair of her department, he did not.
He listened as Vivienne fussed over Ellana and her outfit. The dress she was wearing was made out of a delicate gold netting that draped artfully over one shoulder and fastened at her waist. He was surprised after Vivienne urged Ellana to stand and turn around, to see the voluminous skirt open down the sides revealing a pair of fitted satin pants and metallic gold shoes. It was an avant-garde look, yet effortless. Solas noted that she wasn't wearing any make-up for instance.
"She made the dress herself, you know." Fenris leaned over and murmured to him. A peace offering?
"I did not."
"It was salvaged from a thrift store, the whole bottom was torn off. Ellana has a gift to find beauty in unexpected places." Fenris laughed, a small bittersweet huff, "She should have been an artist."
"She has an eye," Solas agreed. He wasn't sure if Fenris was lecturing him, or making an overture of friendship. Either way, he was determined to tread carefully. Looking around the table, he saw that there were no additional place cards or water glasses set-up. Vivienne had set the group up for a game of survivor on her island. The two men would have to get along for the rest of the evening whether they liked it or not.
The conversation continued on at an uncomfortable snail's pace. Occasionally Fenris and Solas would mutter something at each other. The artist was taciturn and looked out of place in the faux marble and chandelier interior. His outfit was formal, a black blazer and vintage tie, but something about the look seemed askew. Solas wasn't sure if it was the rumpling at the edges of his shirt, or the face tattoos, but Fenris was decisively cool, oozing a bad boy persona that made him feel rather humble.
Eventually, Vivienne lost interest in Ellana and turned her claws upon the handsome artist.
After searching for the artist on the internet in a fit of jealousy, Solas was surprised that Vivienne didn't think to do the same. Fenris was one of the most well-known photographers in his generation. He had received renown for his grunge portraits of misfits and other misbegotten youth of Minrathous. A self-taught prodigy, he had been awarded multiple fellowships and awards, including the venerable Tehirin Grant, one of the most prestigious recognitions a contemporary artist could receive in their lifetime. He was not yet forty.
"So you make work?" Vivienne said with a thinly veiled sneer. Solas noted that she didn't call Fenris an artist outright. Such a term, after all, to her was an honor.
"Yes," Fenris said, cutting up his piece of chicken with disinterest, spearing a small bite with a fork.
"What kind of work?" Vivienne tried again.
"Photography. More video lately."
"Oh really? Tell me more."
"Vivienne," Ellana interrupted gently. "You might recognize Fenris' work from the recent retrospective at the Museum of Contemporary Photography, what was it, three years ago?" She paused looking at Fenris for confirmation. "Yes, and he's the founder of Pauper Ranch, the collective outside of Tevinter."
"Wait, you are that Fenris?"
So she had heard of Fenris. Solas suspected that Vivienne had known the whole time.
"Yes," Fenris replied with a bored look on his face, spearing another bite of chicken.
"Such inspired portraits. I think I saw that show. It was elegant even if the subject matter was a little unrefined. Ellana, come to think of it, weren't you in more than a few of the early works? My, my you have known each other for a long time."
Solas tried to recall the photographs that Vivienne was referring to. The ones he had seen online had a few blonde elves in the background, but he didn't think any of those looked like Ellana.
"I was," Ellana said in unison as Fenris gave a disdainful "Thank you."
"Well isn't that wonderful, Solas," Vivienne unexpectedly said. "An art historian and an artist together. Rarely happens, but aren't these two precious?"
Solas choked on his food a bit before slugging another healthy serving of champagne to clear out his windpipe. He noticed the look of horror on Ellana's face and resisted the witty comebacks he had at the ready for Vivienne. Or asking where Leliana was that evening.
"They are an attractive couple," Solas responded awkwardly, raising what was left of his glass in a toast.
Mythal had raised him to be a gentleman. Vivienne was a bully. Rising above her jabs was the only way forward.
"Thank you," Ellana graciously mouthed in Elvhen as she clinked her glass to his, and Fenris did the same with his water.
"Pardon me," Vivienne said, standing with a flourish. Her strapless dress made out of white crushed velvet reflected the light elegantly. "I must go give the welcome address as the chair of the host committee for this evening."
The group glanced at each other in tense silence until Vivienne was out of earshot.
"I-I," Solas began to stutter. "I did not anticipate this seating arrangement," He thought it best to apologize, even if the other two in the party were just as much a victim of what appeared to be Vivienne's foul play. If anything, such a statement was obligatory.
"Don't mention it," Fenris said, slapping him on the back like an old friend. "That woman is-"
Ellana shot her lover a warning look. A waiter came by and both Solas and Ellana grabbed another glass of cheap red wine.
Solas jumped in his chair a bit when a voice from behind him shrilly whispered, "Don't drink that swill!"
Turning he saw Dorian crouching low on the floor looking up at Ellana and Fenris. It appeared the magister had dragged himself over to their table on his hands and knees. Scanning the room, Solas caught Iron Bull's gaze with a bemused wave.
"That was such a set-up by Madame Blizzard," Dorian whispered, twisting his mustache. "When will this massacre end?"
"Another hour," Solas answered in a doleful voice looking at his watch.
Dorian groaned, spreading out on the floor in despair, spurring a few faculty to shush him in the background.
"We are going to Kirkwall after this shitshow for Varric's party. Do you want to come too, Solas?"
"I wouldn't want to impose." Solas turned to look at Ellana and Fenris to search their expressions for how he should answer.
"You should come," Fenris said. "Ellana tells me you collect. Some of the best will be attending."
Ellana nodded encouragingly, a faint smile on her lips.
"Alright," Solas assented unsure what he had just agreed to.