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dayntee · 6 days ago

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[Fic] That Year at Arlathan University - Chapter 5: Extracurriculars

Full chapter available on AO3 here and below the cut.

Summary: In which many activities take place outside of class.

Still rolling with slow burn, so don’t take the title too dirty just yet y’all. 🤣

******

After buying back some grace, figuratively and literally, with his office mate, life got a little smoother for Solas. Slowly, they began to develop rituals as both colleagues and friends.

On Mondays, he'd arrive early with a tea for her and a flavored latte for himself.

"I don't know how you can drink that sugary garbage," she'd remarked with a grimace on her face.

"And I do not know how you can stomach hot leaf water, but I suppose I will not judge you for that, at least," he had retorted. She glared back at him for but a moment? Which he held, before both burst into laughter.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were busier, the two often hustling from back to back classes. However, they quickly discovered their first session after lunch were in adjacent lecture halls, and began to take meals and walk together.

He'd quiz her on the latest bit of Elvhen he'd taught her, usually aligning the lessons with whatever his students were currently reviewing, and she'd fumble through pronunciations and grammar until she got it right. He'd laugh and she would pout—but ultimately, he exhibited patience through gentle corrections.

Meanwhile, she’d find relatable anecdotes of Dalish experiences to the phrases he’d teach. How they might use them now, or how the context had come to be misinterpreted. Never did she presume the knowledge she offered was correct—instead, she’d begin to dissect the differences in real time, postulating on the hows and whys that it came to be.

He found himself particularly enamored with these discussions.

Wednesdays he would see her very little, and came to learn it was because Harding had roped her into acting assistant coach of AU's archery team. She apologized in advance for the sports bag and bow quiver taking up additional space in the office on these days, but he brushed her concerns aside.

"At present, it is our shared space, and you are entitled to it." For that, she seemed grateful.

Fridays were the only day they seemed to have trouble encountering one another. He'd enter the office as she was leaving for class, or she'd arrive as he was hurrying to a staff meeting. It was always something different; lunches planned were always cancelled for last minute requests, or booked solid due to other events. Eventually, in the back of his mind, he wrote it off as a day to go about his normal business.

After a few weeks of this dance, he’d come in one morning to a small package wrapped in foil on his desk. A folded note accompanied the gift, and he realized this was the first time he’d seen her surprisingly elegant script.

Consider this fair trade for the tea. You seem to like sweet things. I hope the Dalish origin of these isn’t too offensive.

He could hear the teasing tone of her voice as he read. There was no signature, but a little flourished smiley face beneath the message that tugged from him a not dissimilar expression.

Housed within was half a dozen baked treats, dough flaked on the outside, but soft and buttery within, housing a tart jelly made from mixed berries. Their irregular size and shape suggested they were handmade.

He had no idea what they were called, but they might have been even more delicious than his normally preferred Orlesian frilly cakes, and paired even better with coffee.

It was all becoming predictable and oddly… comfortable. He had begun to realize the more time passed, he was beginning to seek if not prefer her company to his usual solitude. Even more interesting was that this disruption in his routine was not unwelcome.

Classes, on the other hand, were another matter entirely. Plenty of students were learning and growing, to his approval.

Others were proving a proper pain in the ass.

Unfortunately, there was only so much adjustment he could make. The politics in play around this year's students were a minefield to navigate and Solas was finding himself spending more time in the administrative offices appealing to Leliana's best nature—as well as reporting his own findings on the evolving situation.

"Exactly how long do I need to tolerate this year's Antivan subterfuge, headmistress?"

"Dean is fine, thank you," Leliana shot him a placid look; they played this game of titles every year. "And you know the answer as well as I—for as long as they are properly funding their students' tuitions."

"There are a lot more of them this year," he noted, standing with his arms crossed behind his back in her office to discuss the matter with her and two others—one Varric Tethras and a tall, stern-faced woman with shortly cropped dark hair.

"You've noticed too, Chuckles?" the dwarf sighed. "They're not the only group making plays either. I've seen more Wardens, more transfer students from Tevinter and Nevarra… Hell, even Isabella is looking to install the Lords of Fortune in our halls."

Solas raised an eyebrow at that. "Are they looking to stir trouble with the Veil Jumpers specifically? They have competing interests, do they not?"

Varric's shoulders went up in a shrug. "Damned if I know, but you gotta admit it's strange these groups are rolling into our halls all at once. Things only get busy when trouble's brewing,"

"Loathe I am to admit, I agree with Varric," the other woman in the room crossed her arms pointedly. "We have seen supporting evidence in admissions. They have increased this year by nearly forty percent, and more than half of the students have received support from one scholarship or another. The Chantry is struggling to maintain comparable funding from Orlais and Fereldan."

"Thank you, Cassandra," Leliana tented her hands in front of her. "I have also begun to hear whispers among my contacts that additional financiers have begun looking into investments in and around Arlathan, particularly within the city center. New businesses springing up rapidly and bids for available land are rising to unusual levels," her brow furrowed. "The source of these efforts is muddied; they don't all appear to be related, but I do not suspect it is a coincidence. It may not be within the University's power to intervene, but I would advise we keep our collective ears to the ground, yes?"

The others in the room nodded their agreement before turning to leave.

"Solas, if you've a moment,"

Solas halted his exit, allowing the others to leave and gently closing the door behind him.

"Speak plainly now; what have your people reported?"

Solas took a slow, measured breath; there was but one individual who was currently aware of at least part of his secret, purely out of necessity. He required the dean's assistance to keep his storied history and suspiciously long lifespan under wraps, especially amongst the longer tenured faculty. Thankfully, Leliana was a trustworthy woman once her loyalty was earned, and that had been a foundation he had been careful to lay the grounds for over a decade in advance. She knew little more than that he was of ancient times and that their goals were, more or less, aligned.

"How much do you know of the Evanuris?"

"I believe I have heard you use the term before. Is that not the name of the Elven pantheon?"

"In a manner of speaking," he stepped forward and took a seat; this was going to take some explanation. "The Evanuris fancy themselves gods, but in truth, they are no more powerful today than a duke or empress might be,"

"That is still quite powerful,"

"Yes and no," he frowned. "Their names may carry power, most certainly amongst the Dalish, but the world at large currently views them as religious myths of legend rather than the truth of them. Powerful aristocrats who happened to be in the right place at the right time. I have heard-" he paused, trying to word his next statement both carefully and clearly. "I have heard they desire to re-emerge. To public view."

Leliana leaned in, concern shadowing her eyes. "You are certain? The Chantry would be put in an… awkward position at the appearance of Elven gods made flesh,"

"Yes, I imagine it would," there was an underlying wryness to Solas' agreement, but they both knew his current arrangement bringing the Chantry and Veil Jumpers together in the foundation of Arlathan University was the lesser of two evils. "The work we have all been doing here explicitly discredits their divinity. It is my intention to ensure the world will know who they really are, and why they should remain irrelevant in today's society. We can, and should, continue our progress in unearthing the truths of Elvhenan and giving a deserving history back to the People, but…"

"But?"

"If the Evanuris wish to regain their power and influence, they will intervene, and it will not be for anyone's benefit but their own. What I do not know is the manner in which they will attempt this,"

"Then we will remain vigilant," she leaned back slightly, letting out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "Are you prepared to stand against your own gods, Professor?"

Solas barked a laugh he couldn't hold back, and she eyed him closely. She was not one to appreciate being left out of a hidden meaning.

"Forgive me, Leliana. But it won't have been the first time, and just as unlikely to be the last," he responded after calming his amusement. He removed his glasses and cleaned them with the edge of his sweater. "Even if we are successful in our efforts, they won't go quietly back into the shadows without a fight."

Leliana smiled, a fire in her eyes as bright as the color of her locks.

"Then we shall give them one,"

Notes:

Ahahaha, I bet you didn't expect PLOT.

Funny how this started as a vehicle for crack and smut and has somehow turned into modern day financial intrigue. *throws up hands* I've got no excuses, let's see where it goes.