"Thank you, I'll get right on that." The little elf smiled so tight her cheeks nearly split in half.

"Of course I don't have a damned passport. Why the fuck would I ever be here if I did!" The curt, hissing tone slipped over her tongue as she strangled the newest onslaught of documents with a false beam still painted on thick over her lying mouth. Dropping the involuntary pleasantries, Chiyo continued to mock the clerk as she made her way back to her seat. "I'm sorry, we'll need more proof of identification. Oh yeah? How about I show you..."

She swallowed the more violent outburst as she resumed the chair beside an elderly woman. Not that the poor dear could even hear her, but manners were often difficult to forget even at the most trying of times.

But this was utterly ridiculous.

Certainly, no crueler contraption of mankind's own make could possibly exist that was worse than a limbo of legality. There were less than a dozen people in the room and most of them were crisply starched, tightly buttoned, hoity-toity, void of emotion employees of the state. Over two hours had trickled away wasted and they'd still not called on her again. She'd been to the front desk, repeatedly, nearly every fifteen minutes, and walked back to her seat with additions to an ever increasing pile of paperwork.

Oh? You don't have your passport? There was a form for that. Pardon, what do you mean you don't carry an original copy of your birth record on hand hundreds of miles from home? Here, have a nice, double-sided questionnaire. You don't have a police report of the theft? Have another form. What's that, you don't have any other legal identification with you? There wasn't a form for that. There was an entire booklet that needed to be notarized. And half of it was in untranslated Tevene! Sign here, and here, and here…

It seemed the continuous harassment was only serving to make things worse and they were now just finding various busy work to keep her preoccupied. But instead of placating Chiyo's agitation, they were stoking the coals.

A heated huff escaped between the elf's teeth with the continual respellings of her own name. Each long tail of the Y turned up on itself and stabbed its way through the other characters, skewering the lot together with a hard line. Every dot and loop steadily became sloppier until 'Lavellan' was no more than a squiggle smeared by the side of her blackened palm and pinky.

Here, in a stifled bureaucratic cesspool of an office with shadeless, unopened windows, coughing patrons unbothered by the endless plight, and creaky little chairs with miniscule desks built onto one of the armrests that wobbled every time she changed the position of her hand or turned a page, Chiyo felt punished for being robbed, victimized by the circumstances and utter lack of sympathy by those who should be helping her.

Even as a professional writer, her fingers had never felt so cramped as they did forming her most-legible letters into tiny boxes with the shoddiest, most insufferable pens to ever grace the face of Thedas. Chiyo elaborated every possible detail of her life again and again, all to receive yet another slip of paper that would allow her passage out of the country when the time came, a day not far off considering how quickly the summer was being expended.

It was but a few days till August. And that final drafting date loomed ever closer.

Birth, citizenship, place of residence, employment, maternal histories, education, marital status, and her least favorite-the unique numeral of her elven registry.

Five little numbers, meaningless until they were grouped together to form a marker that might as well have been used as an ear-tag in a stockyard. No other race was obliged to memorize anything beyond their personal taxation code. Humans, dwarves, qunari, none of them were forcibly recorded in this fashion.

And all for the sake of their protection. To safeguard the funds established for their embetterment, coin collected to assuage the guilt garnered by centuries of slavery and abuse while the words knife-ear and rabbit never left their daily vocabulary. Of course, the progress made over the past hundred years had to prove the quality of the imposed aid.

Look at how literate and educated the Dalish are now in our schools, marvel at their permanent housing that we gave them the land and money for, applaud for how clean their feet and civilized their faces have become, amaze at how few children they have now that we've taught them to close their legs for once.

Perhaps the most despicable part of the assimilation was just how necessary it had become to exist. The cost of fighting back had become so tremendously high that most dared not challenge it. Those that rebuked the system lived on the absolute fringes of society, copper-less, comfortless, and for lack of better options, destitute. Otherwise, they were simply cut-off and cast-off, forgotten as remnants while time trudged on.

Shuffling together the pre-printed novel she'd been assigned to detailing, Chiyo returned to the front desk and waited for the gentleman ahead of her to finish his business.

It was possible that they'd forgotten she was there in purgatory with them, but her last day in Carastes wasn't going to be spent in its entirety trapped within administrative loopholes.

"Alright, I have a finished a relocation form, a personal identification proclamation, a Dalish migrants addendum, a statement as to why my documents are missing, I corrected the I-864 as asked, I have my application for a new visa," The piqued elf laid each item out in turn and in order as the woman across the long bureau kept her bespeckled eyes fixed upon the finalized documents she was embossing with fresh red wax, each motion performed with astute precision. "Is there anything else you need?"

A begrudging sigh escaped the orderly lady's dark lips and she placed her brass stamp squarely back into its holder and the cup of scarlet paraffin back over a heating element.

"Let me take a look," She thumbed through the first few sheets, her horned glasses slid down her arched nose. The bright whites of her eyes, magnified by the rich umber of her skin showed no sentiment as she reorganized the stack and looked directly at Chiyo. If she was bothered by the blend of deep browns and greens and yellows that smeared one side of the journalist's healing face, it certainly wasn't apparent.

"It seems you have all the necessary documents." With a hard crimp, the bundle was perforated, set with a brad, and placed on the bottom of a thick pile beside a potted ficus. The miserable twig for a tree stood limply in its bowl. Thin roots poked out, exposed from the mildewy peat it had been forced to reside in. A few tiny white flies fluttered as the muggy air was stirred. When was the last time the little plant had been in the sun, the wind, the rain? No living thing deserved to be trapped here for all eternity...

"So…" She cleared her throat when the receptionist selected several items from a different stack. "When can I take my photograph and have my passport remade?"

"I'm afraid we don't perform that function here without the proper clearance." The clerk punctuated each head-spinning sentence with a firm whack as she systematically processed other completed forms. "If you'd read section twelve part C and the following subset, we'll have to forward your papers and have them verified by all parties involved who can attest to their authenticity and accuracy. Then we shall receive notification of permission to reissue your credentials."

"And… how long will that take? Are we expediting these today, tomorrow? I can't stay here long." Chiyo's hands slowly crept up over the desk's edge. She stared blankly at the unaffected person who stood between her and her ability to cross the Orlesian border, and subsequently back into Ferelden.

"Approximately three to five weeks, if your country of origins can return them promptly and there is no difficulty in matching your records." Another stamp thumped, a precise piece of paper turned over and arranged for approval.

Weeks. And several of them at that. Maybe even a month… It took several seconds to wrap her head around the time frame and its unexpected bulk. Her precarious deadline became ever more doomed. Unless a miracle happened, she'd became a fugitive and cross illegally if that were her last option.

Her life's fate was going to be determined by a simple lack of permission, turning her into a woman on the run. Hair left to grow to unwieldy lengths, clothes shabby and layered with stitches. She'd have to change her name to something mysterious, or heralding, and would sign it with a kiss in the dark lipstick used as part of a shady disguise. Leaving renegade drafts in caches hidden around the country, only those who could decipher the code would know the wealth of knowledge hidden behind the gibberish. They'd be printed on the forward of every major publication, alongside a wanted poster. Every Carta mob boss, government agent, and police commander would slam the paper on a desk or throw it at a cohort with outrage as the ghost-writer slipped through their clutches yet again.

Or not.

With her string of luck, though, she'd probably next be found writing snippets on toilet paper from a Tevene penitentiary. They'd shave her head to cut down on the lice...

The glare off glasses flickered her way as the woman straightened in her chair. "If you are in much of a hurry, I'd recommend locating your residing dignitary and make your plea there."

Not that they'd see you. It wasn't said aloud. But the woman's lackadaisical tone implied it very much to the long ears the words and gaze fell upon.

Chiyo's breathing became heavy as the vexation and indignity rose to near boiling levels. "You know what? I might just do that. Thank you for the courtesy."

Reaching across the work-table, the small elf snatched the edge of her papers from their tray and gave a sharp yank, sending the higher forms toppling in a cascade. The ceramic bowl holding the moldy topiary spun off the desk's corner and hit the floor with a resounding crack.

Like weasels popping up from their holes, the other employees all looked up from their own quartered cubicles and tidy desks and prepared piles.

She winced as the shards clattered and wobbled loud amid the much too apparent silence. "Sorry…"

Grimacing with a bottom lip clamped between her teeth, Chiyo spun on her heels and left with as much dignity and grace as she could summon.

[V.T. Stop. All is going really well in Tevinter. Stop. Haven't been arrested yet. Stop. I'm on to something really big here and don't want to leave until I get to the bottom of it. Stop. Is there any way I could get an extension? Stop. You won't be disappointed. Stop. C.L.]

[C.L. Stop. You know that goes against our company policy. Stop. And there is only so much budget allocated for goose-chases. Stop. Not that it ever stopped me. Stop. Sorry kid. Stop. Damn accounting will have my hide if I don't say it. Stop. Don't go down any nug-holes I wouldn't. Stop. We have to print on the first of Kingsway. Stop. With or without you. Stop. V.T.]

Chiyo folded the telegram in half before tucking it down into her back pocket. It wasn't the news she'd hoped for. Summer wasn't going to last forever, the fruit of her labors would either be harvested or laid to waste. All publishable works had to be finalized within a week of printing. And from Tevinter it would take several days for a single draft to reach Redcliffe. They didn't need her there for the editing, but that only mattered if she had something prepared in time.

She had to start over. And she had to do it soon. Now even.

Not a minute more could be wasted on the fake vacation that had served to distract her from her goals. It had been disturbingly easy how Chiyo had shirked duty and diligence to spend lazy hours perusing postcard stands and playing makeshift games of chess in the hotel's parlor. Buying day old bread for the duck pond-and subsequently being chased from the park by zealous swans. Poking through the local apothecary had been somewhat worthwhile. The smooth-talking clerk had been quick to sell her the latest remedy for bruises, as well as pushing several hair treatments in the direction of her companion that went unpurchased. They'd spent much of the better part of the last several days well within the public's eye being as humdrum and ordinary as possible for any who might be watching.

And the food. The glorious food. Her palate was quickly becoming ruined by the degrees of spice and complexity of flavors to be had in even the most simple dishes. The light, creamy yogurts blended with ripened fruits put every heavy Ferelden dairy product to shame. And whoever had thought to put saffron and nutmeg in oatmeal deserved a parade in their name.

Her mouth watered at the thought of her last breakfast in the small town, she'd have to make the most of it before they slipped back to Qarinus. But first, she must get to work. Tomorrow's rewards would only come if they were earned. And she had an epic achievement in mind.

Jostling a paper bag onto her narrow hip with enough goodies to drive her through the task ahead, while Chiyo turned the lock on her room's door.

Immediately, her nose curled at the noxious fumes that wafted about in an invisible haze that left her dizzy.

"Solas? What are you doing?" Chiyo's chest heaved as she coughed, dumping the sack onto the limited table space by the coat rack. With empty hands she immediately covered her mouth and nose, her eyes began to water as she rushed to open the lone window.

The sounds of liquids sloshed from behind the closed-up washroom, but a few moments later an elf donning a pair of heavy gloves and a mask excused himself, slipping through the narrowest gap he could make in the doorway.

"Getting a head start." With care, Solas peeled the rubber from his hands and lifted the mask's straps from each ear. "I've worked in less adequate conditions before, but there is no sense in not having all these images ready for lyrium exposure."

Chiyo remained by the window, sucking in the cleaner air. How could he even stand to breathe was a mystery when her lungs already felt on fire. His workshop in Dorian's cellar was nowhere near as toxic as whatever he'd just brewed up in the bathtub. "And what was so wrong with your room that you had to stink up mine?"

Placing the protective wear on the floor, he explained with much chagrin. "Room-service nearly caught me in there while you were out. I thought it best to relocate before any questions surfaced as to why an elf has a key that should be in the hands of one, absent, Dorian Pavus. As far as they'll now know, he checked out early. I'll try to find other arrangements later this evening."

"Well, if you are done turning this place into a laboratory, I'd like to ask for your help." Perhaps it was the fumes, but his presence had given her a sudden spark of an idea, harebrained as it was. "I need an interview. A real one. At this point, you're my last hope of keeping a job."

Chiyo watched as a curious brow rose over his hooded eye. Already she knew that look, and hated it for the flip-flops it created in her stomach. "And what did you have in mind? Certainly nothing so abstruse as my interests might entail."

"The other day, you were starting to tell me about the connection between the Carta and the police and the whole lot. I still have my doubts, but I'd also be willing to hear you out this time." Finally able to breathe somewhat, she proceeded to turn out the contents of her last purchase onto the table and drew out the only chair from its position on the wall. Snack foods, bottled beverages, a new set of pencils, a journal of pristine writing paper. Everything she would need to accomplish a feat she'd not attempted since her collegiate days… an overnighter.

"Has something changed your mind to make you want to listen to my conspiracy... drivel, as you called it?" Solas probed her reasoning with an ever-present teasing lilt as he ambled by, selecting a package of wafer-thin potato crisps seasoned with oil and salt.

A quick twist against one of the tight drawer pulls made a bottle cap pop and a rush of fizz erupted as she broke the seal of a clear, citrusy tonic.

"No, but I think you of all people can talk enough to fill a few pages. And you can start by how you got involved in all this." She couldn't help but beam with her ribbing jest, all the while wrapping her lips around the beverage's open top.

"I hope you don't have any other plans. It's not a story that can be made in any way brief." Making himself comfortable at the head of the bed, Solas readied for a long night of questioning. A pillow shoved between his back and the wall, he crunched his way through a handful of chips. "Should I start at the beginning where I spent six months hiding from thugs out of Orzammar or should we skip all the way up to my first detainment in Orlais where I was accused of conspiring to steal lyrium out of a shipment being hand delivered by the Carta straight to the Chantry's doorstep?"

Chiyo's pencil was already scratching at the foremost page, "The very beginning, I can always edit it down if need be."

"One request, though." She looked up from her introductory sentences to be met with a serious gaze. There was no joke or jovialness in his tone and no room for misinterpretation about his situated, firm demeanor. "No names. Not mine or Dorian's or anyone else I may mention."

"Deal." Incognito it was then.

Chiyo shifted in the hard wooden seat, the bones of her hips were numb from the hours which she'd been sitting. Her back snapped as she forced it to straighten from a deep hunch over the makeshift desk. Shoulders groaned and popped once she finally dropped the worn stub of a pencil against the page and it rolled into a pile of curled shavings. Her eyes, her hands, her head, everything ached, having been pushed long through the night and into the earliest hours of the morning.

It had been some time ago since she'd lost the counsel of the subject whose gentle snores came from the comforts of her purloined bed. Somewhere after she'd begun a second revision he'd drifted off once the steady flow of questionings ceased.

Over the span of several hours, they'd toiled to create something that now resembled much of a proper article. One that would either work brilliantly and come with success or end up in the rubbish alongside all the bizarre works of supposed subterfuge that had come before it. But unlike those farcical entries, this one came with a nagging suspicion of truth.

While implicating every particular body of power known to the face of Thedas, doctrinated or illicit, his was a story that linked them all together. The Divine's leashing of their pampered guard dogs and their harsh laws enforced on the general populace, Templars permitting the continued trade of smuggled lyrium to pass beneath their noses, nation's selling their subterranean mining rights away to agencies under the complete control of dwarven mobs, the Chantry sitting on a stockpile of the valuable mineral-both physically and in the market- so large that they controlled to the last copper the lyrium's over-inflated retail value. And those at the top were all making a killing off one another. Others involved merely ended up missing or dead.

And there was more. Solas had seen evidence that implied the Chantry wasn't just ultimately money-hungry. With their limitless supply and no restrictions as to what they were permitted to do with the potent material, they were also using it to perform top-secret experiments in the development of 'new' technologies. Yet, if his theory was correct, these discoveries weren't new at all, but incredibly ancient and stolen from the ruins left by elves of millennia ago.

It was enough to make even her head feel a hundred times too crammed.

Turning the knob on the buzzing lamp, she extinguished the blue-bright source offending her dry corneas. Those same eyes soon relished in a welcome dark of the muted moonlight that peeped through the drawn curtains. Chiyo closed the cover on her journal and turned her sore body in the chair to see what had become of the now silent elf.

Solas looked so peaceful, spent with his story told and relieved of being the sole harbinger of the dangerous knowledge collected over several years. Yet, he'd spoken like a person who was seldom listened to, avidly and eager to a fault even, encouraged by each added bout of inquiries. She never interrupted and waited patiently for each titillating wave of answers to pass before prodding any deeper.

Nug-hole indeed, but it still felt as though they'd only just begun to pare away at the exhausting truth's surface. Her spine crackled as Chiyo stood, hands pushing on her hips while correcting the deep hunch in her posture.

Arms wrapped around a squished pillow, he'd nodded off into a sprawl across her bed. So much for him finding someplace else to stay, not that there was a budget for multiple accommodations.

She wasn't going to torture herself by sleeping at the desk. The floor looked questionably comfortable at best, maybe padded with the blanket trapped beneath him. No sofa or lounge offered her any sort of reprieve. And the bathroom was barely tolerable, still rancid with the odors of a cobbled chemical bath, film left drying in rows from the rod.

With a cautious creep to the far edge, she considered the bed with space enough for a small elf to slip beneath the covers and steal a few hours of rest before they checked-out of the hotel at nine. If she fell asleep right then and there, she could have almost four solid hours… Surely, Solas wouldn't mind, considering the situation he'd put her in. Besides, if she stayed beneath the bedspread they'd never even have to touch.

Peeling back the scratchy comforter, Chiyo kept her bleary eyes upon the placid face who'd usurped most of the pillows. Sitting lightly atop the mattress edge, her weight sank the side and she held her breath, waiting for any movement or sign of disturbance. At first, she slipped her legs beneath the sheets and began to settle in, but the uncomfortable heat burning in her cheeks forced her to sit up again, least the bed catch fire.

Nope, nope, nope. This was obscene, the worst of ideas, and she knew it. How would she feel if woken to a stranger of a week crawling into her bed?

The inferno of her face quickly alighted the rest of her body.

Oh… No… better not think about that compromising proposition whatsoever. Even mental erotica was probably considered to be illegal in this day and age, at least, of the lurid caliber currently playing out between her ears. Better turn herself in for indecency, straight into the stocks where the world would learn of her perversions and pelt her with all manner of nastiness.

But she was so tired, too worn-out to even drag her feet into a cold shower…

Maybe just curling herself into the smallest ball possible at the end to rest… It couldn't hurt, right? Unappealing feet were the only part left within any proximity. One recovered pillow, still warm from his body heat, and the corner of a blanket, her solitary saving graces.

Just a little sleep was what she really needed, and wanted. That was all. And nothing more. She'd feel better afterward and could put some much-needed distance between them again in the morning. It wasn't even a night together, just four hours on the furthest edge of the bed. Maybe she'd be lucky for once and wake up before him, and he'd never have to know…

Or maybe he might… Go to sleep!