Chapter 3: And In He Swoops

"Are all Non-Disclosure Agreements in? Once again, under no circumstances are you allowed to talk about the project beyond this hall. Leak so much as a drop of information, and you may as well walk away."

For a handful of seconds, the only sound in the room comes from the papers that the senior researcher is evening out. Heavy in their weight, in that they will sway which direction their careers go. This project is big time, no doubt about that. It's reflected in the way the 30-odd faces hold determined to prove they belong. 30-strong delegation of the brightest and the most promising Thedas could offer.

It won't do to be shown the door. Not on the first day, most especially. If the hall's lofty marble columns are any indication, it's a barometer of how high their careers can go. Finally, the researcher is placing the last of the metal paper clips. The herd snaps to attention, taller and straining in anticipation. The woman at the head of this glittering, shining pack smirks. She's seen it all before. Waves after waves of bright eyed geniuses getting set to jump out of the books to save Thedas and the World.

"Very well. With me," for someone at 4ft, the senior researcher has a way of owning a room. Mimi, she so casually introduces herself when she first walked in. Only Mimi is a renowned Osteo-Archaeologist from Orzammar specializing on DNA and genome. She steps off the platform and leads the way like a Mother Hen. Only these chicks are the creme de la creme. She knows well enough that this is the arena and behind her are trained specialists as vicious as the warriors of yore, lab coats and all.

And so they sweep through towering pillars, past portraits of scientists and philosophers. Every frame represents a milestone, landmarks that make Thedas' history all the more colorful. The pristine marble floor leads them all the way to the atrium, to the very culmination of Thedosian Renaissance. Everywhere they look legends past and present coalesce into a special blend of intellectual greatness. Their steps echo all the way to the glistening glass dome overhead and they find themselves right into the thick of living, breathing academia gods whose faces they've only seen in books.

The sheer radiance of the place is impossible to dull even a bit as it stands tall and graceful in an aura of brilliance, three storeys brimming with lecture rooms and libraries. Simple yet elegant white finish bursts to life where touched by sunlight and curved glass panels embrace the atrium's ground level from ceiling to floor. They provide 360 degrees view onto volumes upon volumes of books, complete with sleek white tables and clean cut couches. Furniture for the mind and the body, catering to only the best. It's easy to forget that the facility is not for students. In their place, researchers and fellows are sprawled along rows of bookshelves and tables, left to hunt in their purest form.

In the middle of it all is a statue of a wise monarch, crowned only with golden rays from above. She wears no mask and is instead surrounded by tomes and scrolls. A homage to the times when it took the nation's ruler to stand up for all students and a myriad of disciplines. Forevermore she serves as the very heart, and namesake, of the University's most revered research facility. Her legacy is etched at the base of her elaborate throne:

The Empress Celene Valmont Institute.

Someone in the group takes a deep breath. Whether the air in this building is rarefied in the lungs or in the mind doesn't really matter. In the University of Orlais, and Thedosian academia for that matter, this is sacred ground. Scholars all over the world would kill for a spot in this institute. The Institute.

The group progresses to the other end of the atrium and enters another hallway. Soon enough they leave the glass walls for the Institute's more secluded portion. Silence once again descends upon them, growing thicker as they walk farther from the building's beating heart. Their footsteps become more pronounced as they glance upon more frames of past Thedosian greats. One in particular caught a few pairs of eyes in that it doesn't feature a famous face, rather a quote framed by a pair of stone ruins.

"This world is full of wonders for those who seek them." – A wise elf

"Oh my gods, this is it!" The assortment of PhD candidates, architects, and archaeologists exchange looks, bursting in excitement. Suddenly the composed professionals from a minute ago have turned to giddy pupils being shown the computer lab for the first time. Before them, Mimi steps closer to a metal door nestled between another pair of pillars. After a handful of seconds of buzzing, she effectively shushes them to silence as she punches in the passcode. Before she allows entry, however, she makes sure to give them last minute advice,

"It would help to keep your jaws locked shut and from time to time pinch yourselves under the table. Sure worked for me this morning." She tops it with an enigmatic grin before sweeping the metal door wide open. What they find waiting on the other side sure makes for a good test in following directions.

They trickle in expecting a room similar to the one they came from. Instead, their eyes are welcomed by an amphitheater three storeys high. A group of middle-aged PhD candidates who had been teary eyed seeing Celene's shrine is now openly sniffing. There's a gasp from a trio of Archaeology postgrads, and an Architecture fellow's whistle has all but echoed in the room.

Decked in all whites, same as the rest of the building, the room comes alive with sunlight pouring from high above. Looking up they see that one of the walls is outfitted with clean cut glass windows. The vaulted ceiling is abundant with recess lights throughout its 40sq meter span. At its very end, another wall stands tall. There's another whistle as somebody realizes that its lower portion serves as a display panel, almost like a hologram. It's lit up with ten digital screens all throughout, some bigger than others. From where they stand at the rear section they see that all features an assortment of maps, photos of artifacts, and video feeds. One of them reaches for his mobile phone, no doubt to gloat, only to remember it has been collected and taken away. "Shit!"

"Gang, anytime this year if it's possible?" They hadn't realized that Mimi has already marched halfway through the room—no, theater. Not wasting another second, they make their way through mazes of long desks and chairs. Everywhere their eyes land is white and clean. And well-designed. It's clear all non-essentials has been disregarded to allow for maximum use of the facility. No frills, no fuss, just your best. Every single time you enter the room.

"The Prince Etienne Wing has five more lecture halls, although the rest are not as big as this one. The interdisciplinary study lounges are available Monday to Sunday for fellows and researchers. Those would be the shining, shimmering ones we've passed going here. There's also a cafeteria for socials and eating. Read: free breakfast and lunch for fellows. Yes, as of today that includes you. Finally, the manuscript library is located on the second floor of the East wing. Should you have any need for archived volumes in that library, just approach me and we'll write you a requisition. Professor! Good afternoon!" The senior researcher greets a man clad in black who's patiently watching the group the entire time.

"What—"

"Ladies and gentlemen," she interjects with narrowed eyes. Instantly the entire throng is reminded of her last-minute words of wisdom. "This is the project's lead professor. He will be taking over for Dr. Eris as they both focus on field archaeology. He graduated from the University of Orlais reading Philosophy, Psychology, and Sociology. Those were then followed with Masters in History and Cultural Anthropology from the University of Markham. The previous seven years he has spent on the field all over the world and, as of this week, is our newest senior research fellow at 29 years old. People, Professor Henry Valmont."

The senior researcher's introduction barely registered among slack jaws and wide eyes. In their absorption with the larger than life lecture hall, none of them had noticed the muted young man at the head of it all. Yet, here he is. Almost invisible in his open black cardigan, grey shirt, and dark jeans. He sits ever so casual on a stool, his slender fingers toying with the edges of a manila folder. They can tell he is trying to blend in, but he can only do so much with his piercing green eyes and graceful presence making a strong statement. None thought it possible, but within a minute of Mimi's introduction the magnificent hall is all but eclipsed by the star power of the surprise guest.

"I need to sit." It's one of the History postgrad students. She glances back and is met with an amused half-smile from Professor Valmont. An "eep" manages to roll out just as she is sitting down.

"Good afternoon, everyone." Sonorous baritone voice dominates throughout and the group can't help but watch Professor Valmont's every move. His high cheekbones complement an aquiline and delicate nose; features that become otherworldly as the afternoon sun shines upon him. The young professor stands to his full 6'2", thinking of what to say as his red luscious lower lip comes to life, trying to find a rhythm. After a couple more minutes his jaw goes firm, though not as strong and square. It's such an interesting contrast at 29 years in that it gives him a boyish vulnerability, especially with his unkempt black hair falling all over his forehead. Still, he commands the room with his electric green eyes that feels like they've been around for a hundred years.

"This first meeting is only tainted by the many losses that had paved the way for all of us to be picked for this project. Daunting as it may be as it is abrupt, let us take this opportunity to rise up. Let us rise to the challenge for our fallen colleagues. Let us give our best—and more, so that we may be able to shed light upon these hidden truths. Upon our shared heritage. More importantly, let us give our best so that we may be worthy of the shoes that we have to fill. Let us not lose sight of the fact that, in this project, history and its significance will be our guide." Professor Valmont's weighted words land with added authority with his cut-glass accent. He glides towards the whiteboard and with elegant fingers proceeds to write:

HISTORY SIGNIFICANCE

"Beyond the status quo, the convention, let us try to focus on the story behind these treasures. Let us try to focus on what they signify so that we may be able to realize their value in the scheme of things. Only then can we fulfill our calling and succeed in our mission. And that is to place them in their rightful places in our culture and history."

He replaces the cap on the marker and plays with it as he gestures with his free hand to the vacant seats. "Let's start, shall we? Please take a seat and Mimi will bring you up to speed."

"Alright, settle down," the diminutive researcher takes the floor, facing the wall screen. She browses through the smaller, overlapping screens and stops at an image of a painting. Another minute passes by as she waits for the shuffling and scraping of chairs to die down. "Is anyone familiar with the legend of Skyhold?"

At her words the entire congregation perks up. A couple of hands from the Architecture bunch shoots up the air. "It's the fabled site of the Siege of Skyhold! From what we've seen in class before, the ramparts are of traditional Thedosian design. The enigma starts with the castle, however, being that it's said to be an assortment of Dalish, Dwarven, Fereldan, and tribal designs. That is the reason why no one has pinpointed a definite origin story for it, architecture-wise."

"To add, no one has been able to trace it all the way back to its first owner." The same History postgrad from earlier pauses to sneak a glance at the professor, who is sat again at his corner stool with his arms crossed. He tries to urge her on with a smile and a nod. With a smile, she faces the rest of the hall. "It doesn't help either that the fortress lies just a tad out of reach of both Orlais and Ferelden. So there was no record of which noble commissioned it. One noble family did live there at one point but given the location, the setup wasn't just as sustainable."

"Okay, I think I'm gonna call you Hermione and Buffy from now on." Mimi nods her head as she shuffles through photos upon photos of assorted landmarks. Her frenzied search slows down just as the chuckles die out, "There."

She faces the group with a triumphant smile. It then evolves into a smug grin upon seeing the photo's effect. Thick silence has shrouded the room, with a sprinkling of open mouths. A pair from the History cluster has all but stood up and one from Archaeology has fallen out of his chair.

"Holy moly..."

"My word. Is that—"

"Shangri-La!" It's an impressive feat that the archaeologist had his eyes glued on the screen the entire time, even as he picks himself up from the floor.

"Close enough, close enough." The senior researcher picks out another picture and positions it side by side the painting and the first photo. In his corner, Professor Valmont is all eyes and ears, his green eyes ever intense as he observes the group. Thin brown eyebrows emerge from his disheveled side-swept fringe, meeting in a thoughtful frown.

Back in the fray, a couple of Architecture experts has resorted to paper and pen in the absence of their camera phones. The image of the medieval painting is common enough, a regular sight in textbooks. The first and second photos, however, are archaeological breakthroughs all on their own.

The fact that they are isolated from the rest of the Institute, separated by a digital metal door, makes the silence even heavier. They exchange glances just as the gravity of the situation starts to sink in. The total blackout, the rigorous screening, and the fact that the University has managed to get a prodigious talent on board? This is earth shattering stuff. Once in a generation—no, once in a millennium discovery!

Taken from most likely a drone, the first image features a great stone wall enclosing a multilevel courtyard. The snow and ice can only do so much in entirely concealing the trauma that befell the ramparts. Parts of the East and West walls have collapsed and one of the towers in the North wall has a gaping hole in it. Marks from catapults are everywhere, too, so much so that it's a feature also shared with the second photo. The difference, however, is that whereas the first photo was taken from the north, the second was taken from the south.

If the group already thought the first photo a visual feast, then they're halfway to losing their minds over the second. Clues lay abound everywhere their eyes land that even 30 pairs are having a hard time keeping up.

"Is that an entire interior wall that caved in? Just look at that! How is that hall still stable?" One of the sketchers from Architecture is up on his feet. He looks about two seconds away from jumping the long table.

"Forget about the hall, look at that undercroft!" Another Architecture expert has already beaten his group mate, making his way to the front in a heartbeat.

"That waterfall may just hold the answer with regards fresh water supply for the inhabitants, too." Not to be outdone, one from Archaeology has reached the display panel as well, trying to get a better view of a back hallway.

"Waterfalls. It looks like an entire prison was built over one on this side right here." Hermione is proving true to her new nickname, separating herself from the growing gaggle.

"Good heavens! Look at the Great Hall!"

"What used to be the great hall. And the inner courtyard looks like it's been smashed pretty good as well!"

"I think I need to sit down," It's Buffy yet again. She reaches for her bag, taking out a copy of The Rise and Fall of The Dragon Age.

"I think you all need to sit down or sightseeing is over," an exasperated Mimi interjects. It takes half a minute for her laser eyes to take effect on more than half of the group that by now has obscured the images for everyone else. "Ladies and gentlemen," she glances over the professor for the go signal. The senior researcher nods in determination as she receives one.

"We have reason to believe that after 1,000 years of searching, we have finally found Skyhold."

It's been days since they had been taken to Jader. To say that it has been an intense series of events would be an understatement. Under typical circumstances, she would have observed restraint and calculate a plan. But it hasn't been a typical night. And theirs hasn't been a typical ordeal.

Everyone they know are dead… lost. They may have survived Solas' attack but she wasn't sure whether the situation they are in now is any better. They have talked about it in the nights that had followed but until now they still are not certain which is real. Doubts remain as to how exactly the Eluvian crossroads have been affected and how they have come upon this other world. Because it has to be another world. There is simply no other explanation for it.

From escaping arcane fireballs, they have stumbled upon a world with flying vessels, horseless carriages, and a myriad of other advancements that are beyond imaginings in the Thedas they had left behind.

"It does not sit well that you are far away from your home. For you this place brings nothing but futility. Despair. Fatal ends."

In her preoccupation Leliana did not even hear the woman until she is by the table behind her. "Sorry, this is hardly the time for conjectures," she points her button nose upwards as she turns her head towards the window high above. "I suppose this is far more urgent than being out there, hm?"

"Your song is old and painful, but seeing you now I know there is still light. The Nightingale yearns for an ending to her song but the chains won't let her. Cold and ruthless and painful she embraces them even when it hurts. Yet she withstands bondage because she wants to forget the flower that blooms." Leliana tenses upon hearing that name. Her name.

"Her wings remain as strong as ever but she fears of falling. Falling is a long way down, terrifying when you're alone and there's nobody to keep you from the solid ground." If barging in on her solo interrogation was meant to calm the spymaster down, then it sorely backfired.

Leliana finally gives in and tears her ice cold blue eyes from the window. Sat in front of her is a middle aged woman, her brunette hair up in a bun. She's the image of calmness with her hands clasped together on the table. Leliana remains frigid in place. She felt the minutes trickle by. Throughout their staring match she says nothing, intent in keeping her guard up. Still the woman meets Leliana's icy blue with calm, bottomless hazel eyes.

"I don't have to read your mind to know. It's all in your face. Your eyes give you away especially when you think of her. Like a love lost. A last chance wasted. But to love is never a waste. You don't have to give up on your heart. Flowers bloom all the time but not all of them can get to sprout at the right bush or maybe the sun is not warm enough or maybe it just isn't the right time," the woman rushes to add, like the words would slip away from her fingers if she holds on a moment too long. By now the friendly smile is but a trace and her green-tinted eyes spill out intense curiosity. Something the elusive Nightingale doesn't appreciate. Her body tenses, wanting to repel the intrusion. No one has ever really dared confronting her before. Not like this.

"And this makes you privy to my personal feelings?" Leliana is determined to keep it short. Give her nothing more and she will go away. Eventually they will all tire. Leliana regards her with a cold gaze, eyes narrowing with calculation. And yet, something about her words penetrates, making her unable to look away. Finally she decides on keeping busy with her orange slippers and starts tapping her foot against the table.

"She was a noble one. But she was not it. Nor was the one before her. They were not the lone rose in the bush. Full of promise, full of love, but sometimes it's all in the seed if it would push through the hostilities. It has to want to push through. For you. It has to be for you. Because it is your rose and it revealed itself to you, didn't it? It grows only for you." The woman tilts her head to the side, trying to see more of her.

Her words are meant to strike deep and Leliana sees them for what they are. She looks up to her with a stare that's daring her to go further if she cares for nothing else. The semi darkness and biting cold of the isolation room embrace her. She opens her palms to let in more of the cold. More for the numbness.

At this point, if the soldiers don't get them for the prince then she would happily spare them the hesitation by taking down this annoying blabbermouth.

The woman gives her a small smile as she catches a glimpse of Leliana's outstretched hands. "You have grown accustomed to it, thinking it helps to drive away the dreams. It's a new skin, worn for function, but does it really work? It fits well and it moves well but sometimes it becomes too tight and there's no space to move, there's no space to breathe. It twists tighter and tighter and it hurts. The new skin tightens and it hurts to feel. Drown it, bury it, hide it away… you make it stop, but it still hurts!" The woman embraces her own arms and Leliana notices her shivering with heavy breaths. Finally. Leliana thought she was the only one that feels the chill in the air.

"Tell me, since I have been so open, what else do I need to know? Clearly you have everything mapped out." Leliana hedges closer to the table, restraining her shaking, handcuffed hands on the side. She's teetering on the edge, and all it takes, she feels, are two more seconds with this woman before she topples the table over.

"This world brings nothing but grief. The Maker gives and He takes away. The sweeter the gift, the harsher the price. Fools find solace in it not knowing the cost. Perhaps they don't even care. But I know better. I should know better now. The rose has wilted. There is no hope for it now," she finishes with a sweet voice. Yet, all the woman's attention is on the table that has started shaking. Leliana notices and looks down to see that her own hands are starting to turn a painful white.

"I felt your pain. I heard your song. A sad song. But there is hope. You must keep faith. You must not let yourself become what you fear. Keep faith in the way all of them has fallen short for you. This is not the end and somewhere deep inside, a part of you knows this, too. It's buried under all the grief and is sleeping comfortable in the cold but it will awaken. And when it does it will be shining brightly, free, light, and loved." The woman gives her a small smile and that's all it takes for Leliana to lunge forward.

And yet, she remains in place.

Cool and collecting her wits with a breath that threatens to hurt her chest. She savors its grasp on her heart as it keeps it from beating again. The chilling air cools down the unshed tears a couple of degrees yet she fights with a fiery smirk,

"I'm a veteran of the Fifth Blight. The Left Hand of the Divine. The Nightingale of the Imperial Court. The Spymaster of the Inquisition. I've conquered everything. I have nothing to fear."

All the woman has for an answer was a tender half smile, understanding and accepting. Leliana feels naked in the cool air. She keeps building walls but all she feels is frayed. And betrayed.

No!

The woman watches as the table wobbles violently. As Leliana sways backwards to the metal chair she gives the final blow,

"That's it. You can do it. Just let go."

Everything around Leliana fades out save for the gentle click of the door. In the semi darkness she looks for a way out—anything, anywhere but here. She needs to get out of her own mind. She shakes in desperation and all it does is make her curl to herself some more.