#maiwe lavellan

[kestrelsansjesses]

One thing I like to fit in when I talk or write about my Inquisitor is just... a general feeling of displacement and not knowing what to do now that they're no longer the hero. They obviously still have so much work to do back in the southern parts of Thedas, but the game seems to indicate that it's largely a matter of organizing people and probably acting as a diplomatic bridge between different factions to help aid in fighting the Blight and famine. They lost their arm, they lost the strange Rift magic (which could be the only form of magic they had) and they could have lost the Inquisition entirely if they chose to disband. And now there's a new hero who has come in, and being a hero is horrible and yet- it feels like they've been benched, like they've been put aside and their time for adventures is over, even though this is a journey that in some ways started with them. They're not dead and they're still /young/ and suddenly it seems like a lot of stopping Solas has been taken out of their hands. How do they live with that? How do they feel? I know for my Lavellan, there's a certain level of resentment. She doesn't feel like her story is over, but it feels like it's moving past her no matter how hard she tries to keep up.

[hiatus39400]

This is for one of my longtime followers @kestrelsansjesses of Maiwe Lavellan and her Abelas c:

I hope you like it!

(PS: Commissions are open!)

[remington-zero]

@kestrelsansjesses it is too late eremes has already reached maximum elf height

[rabidtanuki]

Abelas x Maiwe Lavellan for @kestrelsansjesses

I went with the long side braid for her (she has an up-do version too).

Maiwe Lavellan belongs to @kestrelsansjesses.

Vallaslin .psd from here

[drathe]

Prize for kestrelsansjesses (August’s Bard’s Tale Challenge winner)

Her character Maiwe Lavellan and Abelas.

[destinyapostasy]

For kestrelsansjesses for this adorable drabble. 

I wanted to draw her again <3

[inquisitormaiwe-blog]

Shark - character of your choice!

Shark- A sleepless night [Zevran- it was just recently a certain Zevran’s birthday. Happy belated birthday crowblooded!] 

When Maiwe closed her eyes, she saw the faces of those she could not save, contorted in agony. Their mouths hung open in silent screams, their eyes wide open and accusing. You were not there in time, they said. If you had been faster, if you had not wasted so much time thinking, and simply acted… It was clear she was not going to sleep, though her body was weary and it hurt to drag herself from her warm bed. 

Throwing a blanket around her shoulders as an improvised cloak, Maiwe left the comfort of her quarters, determined to walk until exhaustion would allow her to sleep dreamlessly. Down the stairs, through the darkened halls. Not even a single candle was lit at this hour, the kitchens dark, their hearth fires stoked back to embers. There would be a few hours yet before the cooks would rise and begin the daily task of cooking for an entire castle. For now, the castle was hers. 

The moon broke forth from behind a few dark clouds, heavy with snow. It gave off just enough light to illuminate someone on the battlements, stalking back and forth just as Maiwe was doing. She thought she could see the faint shape of tattoos on dark skin, but her mind may well have far too fired up, her imagination very awake. Either way, she recognized Zevran, and though she did not know if he liked her, the company suddenly seemed appealing. Surely he could tolerate her for a few minutes. 

Up stairs once more, breath tight in her chest. She took a moment to compose herself at the top, aware of how she must look- flushed, tired, hair unbrushed and what was clearly not a cloak settled around her. He looked tired as well, nodding to her as they stood side by side, looking out over snow covered mountains falling into a deep darkness. In the morning it was beautiful, but by what little light there was now, it simply looked ominous. It did not do to spend too long dwelling on their elevation. It made them safe, even if it was remote. Even if Maiwe did not enjoy feeling quite literally above all of Thedas. 

“Did you you ever have nightmares? During your first journey, or after. Nightmares about people you didn’t save.” Her speech came out fragmented. How could she put into words the faces she saw when her eyes were shut? The Inquisitor should not have nightmares. The Inquisitor needed to be strong. But what was the harm of telling one person? He had been through something roughly equivalent once already, accompanied the Warden on adventures far worse than her own. 

Uncharacteristically, Zevran made no jokes and gave no flashing smile. He simply nodded, a simple movement that conveyed all that needed to be said. He understood.  He knew in a way others didn’t. He should have retired and lived his life in peace, yet here he was. Maiwe’s company could hardly be worth it; once you saved the world once, maybe it became difficult to sit idly by and not leap into action again. 

Though they could not be said to be close or to know each other well, when Zevran opened his arms she stepped into his embrace. They took warmth from each other, and comfort- the knowledge that their nightmares were not a unique experience, that they did not have to suffer alone. Their meetings may all be like this- during the night, hardly any words spoken. It did not matter, as long as they knew that they did not have to go forward isolated. 

[kestrelsansjesses]

All Roads Lead to

[[This was meant to be a drabble to really tie up those angst feelings about Lavellan and Solas after Veilguard. I realized pretty swiftly that it was going to be longer than that. Hopefully there will only be one or two more chapters of a similar length but for now, have this. Please be warned, there will be heavy spoilers contained within for the game. And as always, I really appreciate any feedback you have. Comments make the world go round! AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60827047/chapters/155361805]]

Eight years was a long time to not see someone’s face. An eternity, practically, when it came to the matter of love. 

Eight years of the hunt. Word came in- Solas was spotted, and just as quickly vanished. Though Maiwe Lavellan had disbanded the Inquisition, she still had assets. It was easier, in fact, to move in something that approached secrecy without the bureaucracy of organization. It was not like her allies ceased to be so; they simply spread over a larger area now, and sent letters to each other more covertly. 

For the first few years, Skyhold held too many memories. Maiwe left it empty, or for the use of her friends when they should need it. It had been Solas’ gift to her in so many ways, and there were too many echoes of him written into the stone, into every blade of glass that broke through the cobbles, through the patches of moss that grew on certain walls. There were homes for her use in Kirkwell, rooms to stay in if she visited Orlais, so many doors open to her in Ferelden. All over Thedas, people were eager to welcome the Inquisitor, even after the Rift had closed. Even after she lost the magic of her arm. Maybe they simply wanted to stare at the emptiness, at either a sleeve carefully pinned back or her series of prosthetics, some more elaborate than others. Maybe they just wanted to say that they had hosted her for dinner. Either way, it grated on Maiwe. 

Skyhold was home. Clan Lavellan was no more, and with every revelation of who the Gods were, she felt more and more uncertain of what it meant to be Dalish. There were no easy answers; no other clan could tell her what to think about it. Every elf had to contend with it in their own way. Solas had offered to take her vallaslin, his magic at her disposal. Maiwe had said no at the time, so sure that meanings changed things. Now the marks were of shame; she knew too much. And they reminded her of him, every time she looked in a glass, unable to stand Falon’din’s lines etched into her flesh. 

There were dreams too. When Maiwe was away from Skyhold, they were mere abstractions. She chased a shape that looked like Solas through an endless forest, ruins that looked vaguely elvhen at her feet. The wolf never came closer than a few feet away, no matter how sneaky she was. It never said a single thing at her. It only watched. 

But once Maiwe Lavellan returned to Skyhold, the dreams changed. In the comfort of her luxurious quarters, really more than she ever deserved or expected, he felt closer than ever. There was the balcony they had shared their first kiss on. There was the bed, where… Well. Here was the rotunda, still with Solas’ paintings on the wall. There he had mixed her the herbal teas that allowed her to survive, despite her body’s insistence on the opposite (and despite the fact that he loathed tea.) Conversations in every room, with so many empty now except those who had nowhere else to turn. Skyhold was a cold place, but she would fill it with voices again slowly, over time. 

The veil was thin there, and made thinner still by whatever actions Solas took to tear it all down. That had to be why the dreams changed. The wolf grew closer and closer still, until he stood just outside the light, where the shadows almost became reality. His voice too- “Lavellan,” she heard him say. “Vhenan.” But still, Maiwe could not reach Solas. He was always at least a step away. When she called to him, he did not answer, but his presence was felt more than ever, until it was almost physical. Years of this, but had she not survived worse? What was the pain of love lost versus the cost of an arm? When she did not dream, she was kept awake by the sensation of fingers that were no longer there, of the missing made real. Dreams or asleep, it did not matter. There were things she could not get back, no matter how hard she tried. 

For years, her path continued. Maiwe resolved to save Solas, one way or another, and despite the lack of formal Inquisition, she was not without allies. First came the Dalish from various clans, as lost as she was with every revelation about who their Gods had been. Then came those Dorian helped- the freed who did not want to stay in Tevinter, but had no place else to go. And her spies and eyes were everywhere. 

Then he was found. 

Varric and Harding worked tirelessly to track Solas. Varric could have chosen retirement long ago; his mentorship of her was over. He had helped the Inquisitor save the world. He had helped the Champion of Kirkwall, and more than earned a grand house full of servants to polish Bianca. Yet he chose this; Maiwe felt she did not deserve the friends she had, and tried not to be jealous when Harding wrote to her of another young elf nicknamed Rook, Varric’s newest project. One day, this Rook could be the new Lavellan, a new Inquisitor for new problems. 

Yet it still galled to hear everything secondhand. Contrary to what everyone seemed to think about her, the Inquisitor did not think her time for adventures had ended. Her arm was gone, but not her spirit. In the years since its loss, Maiwe had a variety of prosthetics made. None were perfect, but one could hold a bow so she could shoot. But they needed her in Skyhold; no one could agree with each other without the famed Inquisitor to intervene. Half of what Maiwe did now was solve petty squabbles so that people could simply survive. There were rumors of a Blight that crept over the land without regards for borders. The other half of what she did was more shameful; she wrote letters to Solas, left on her balcony for the wind to take them. It was easy to imagine him reading them, one half of his mouth quirked upward. 

Vhenan,

You know I could never approve of the path you’ve taken. But when I think of you, when I think of Crestwood and all you revealed to me, part of me understood. 

I know you are not a monster. I know you are still the same elf who played chess with the Iron Bull, who talked magic with Dorian, who let Varric call him ‘Chuckles.’ 

You are not them. 

Ar lath ma, vhenan. 

Now, always. I will not let you fall to the dark. 

Lavellan 

[kestrelsansjesses]

I decided I couldn't write until I recreated my Inquisitor in Veilguard, which I didn't do super well the first time around. Maiwe Lavellan, eight years post Trespasser. Yes, she kept her vallaslin. She probably grows to regret that lmao.

[kestrelsansjesses]

My brain rot is so real, are there any Dragon Age role playing sites around? I need to play my Maiwe Lavellan to live

[kestrelsansjesses]

snippet as I cook away on this baby

'The veil was thin there, and made thinner still by whatever actions Solas took to tear it all down. That had to be why the dreams changed. The wolf grew closer and closer still, until he stood just outside the light, where the shadows almost became reality. His voice too- “Lavellan,” she heard him say. “Vhenan.” But still, Maiwe could not reach Solas. He was always at least a step away. When she called to him, he did not answer, but his presence was felt more than ever, until it was almost physical. Years of this, but had she not survived worse? What was the pain of love lost versus the cost of an arm? When she did not dream, she was kept awake by the sensation of fingers that were no longer there, of the missing made real. Dreams or asleep, it did not matter. There were things she could not get back, no matter how hard she tried.'

[kestrelsansjesses]

Character asks! 1 for Shrike and Wren (because their names are absolutely lovely), 7 and 29 for Shrike, 22 and 30 for Wren, please?

Thank you. :D 

01. What does your character’s name mean? Did you pick it for the symbolism, or did you just like the way it sounded?

I don’t know why, but I got stuck on this idea of giving my Bioware characters bird names a while back. It started when I played Origins, I think, and I had Kestrel Tabris. Then I played Inquisition and I had Maiwe Lavellan, with Maiwe being Tolkien-Sindarin for ‘gull.’ So when I replayed the OT, I realized I had to name my girl after a bird, and I thought that besides the alliteration, I really enjoyed the imagery of shrikes as these fearsome little impaling birds that no one expects big things from, but are none the less complete badasses. For Wren, it was again the alliteration that appealed to me, but I also wanted her to have a softer name, something that was sort of pretty and traditional but also... not. I like how it’s almost at odds with her personality. 

07. Is there a catchphrase or sound that they tend to make a lot (likely without being aware of it)? Not so much a catchphrase as her tendency to speak like she’s barking orders all the time, even in casual conversation. It’s like she can’t turn the part of her brain that’s military off, so it leaks into even the most intimate of conversations. She also likes to use people’s names a lot when speaking to them. It’s kind of a ‘leadership 101′ thing, where people respond better to you if you call them by their first name. 

29. What is one of the most courageous things your character has ever done for a loved one? Man, choosing in game answers are so cliche but potentially sacrificing herself on the Crucible and refusing Garrus to go with her really was the ultimate sacrifice. She very nearly did die, and she had no idea that she would return alive. Still, the lives of her friends was worth so much more to her, and it was a price she was willing to pay. 

Wren Ryder

22. What kind of tattoos, piercings, birthmarks, freckles, and other such unique physical features do they have? HAH SO MANY. A light dusting of freckles across her cheeks. Single ear piercing in each ear. A tattoo resembling a cascading pattern of bits and bytes over her left eye, extending down her cheekbone, that she got in a fit of rebellion the very day she turned 18. Purple hair, another form of sticking it to her dad, but something she liked enough to maintain for the years to come. A band of dark eye make-up as a homage to Bladerunner and to her father, as her one happy memory with him is watching that movie. She’s certainly got a lot of look going on, but I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. 

30. When it comes to the arts (music, film, theater, etc), what does your character like? Fun fact: Wren actually studied literature in university, but her tastes are pretty... low-brow, if we’re going to be polite. She likes bad reality television from the Milky Way and film noir from decades before she was torn, before humans had even discovered all the other alien species. Pulp science fiction and aggressively vintage music (at least for her time period) complete the whole thing. Oh, and Blasto. Everything Blastio. Girl has an autographed Blasto poster she keeps locked in a safe because she doesn’t dare put it up. 

[kestrelsansjesses]

#6 & #9? 💖

Cool asks for Fic Writers!

6. First fic/pairing you wrote for? (If no pairing, describe the plot)

Solas/Lavellan. :x Forgive me father, for I have sinned. My first real big fic was ‘Anthesis,’ about my chronically ill Maiwe Lavellan and Solas, and my first real fic ever was probably a Solas/Lavellan drabble. I haven’t been in the game long, haha. 

9. Do you ever have plans to write anything other than fic?

Yes! I was working as a nonfiction journalist for a while, for one thing. I’m proud of the work I did, though I won’t publish it here since it gives away my real name haha. If anyone is curious though, I’d happily send them links. I also want to be a professional science fiction/fantasy novelist, but that’s a long, long road and I don’t know if I have the confidence to embark down that path, to be honest, or the skill. But I do have this stupid MFA in Creative Writing that I should do something with. 

[kestrelsansjesses]

A playlist for my beautiful sad child. <3 I chose the songs but @bel-era was nice enough to put together the 8 tracks for me.  Featuring Johnny Cash, The Bravery, The Parkington Sisters, and more!

[kestrelsansjesses]

Did I ever show off this one? I’m almost certain I did, but have it again, while I work on writing stuff. 

[kestrelsansjesses]

one word prompt (accepting)

knight-enchanter said: maiwe or maiwe/solas; regular universe; "apotheosis"

*the highest point in the development of something; culmination or climax.

*the elevation of someone to divine status; deification.

Maiwe entered into legend reluctantly. She could not control the tales of her own exploits as much as she tried; they simply wormed out of her grasp, forming new stories, new adventures that she had never undertaken.

“Let it happen, kid. The more you fight it, the larger the stories will get. Trust me.” Varric was no comfort, given that he contributed a fair few of those stories himself.

There was a newfound awe in the eyes of those who visited her. Before she had been their Herald, but now she was Inquisitor, and few would defy her divine status. It didn’t matter that Maiwe was Dalish, marked as belonging to another religion entirely. They saw Andraste in everything she did, in every decision that she spent so long weighing in her mind. Andraste guided every movement- “Do they think you’re still Andraste’s chosen when you shit?” Sera was no help either. She hid her true thoughts with humor, but when she thought Maiwe was not looking, a look of consideration came onto her face, tempered with something akin to a religious fervor that seemed out of character for her.

It only became worse when her illness became public knowledge. There was nowhere Maiwe could turn save her private quarters, and even then messenger ravens would come and land on her balcony, pecking at the glass until she let them in and relieved them of her duty. Now she was no longer Andraste’s chosen- she walked such a close parallel path to that favored savior that there were those that muttered that Andraste had come again, to punish the world for their maltreatment of the elves. It would have been a worthy cause, had the common public actually treated the public any better. Instead, they only treated Maiwe differently; they still called Solas ‘rabbit’ and ‘servant,’ and worse things were said of Sera.

“Andraste was ill. A wasting illness of the lungs, just as you have.” The heads of the Chantry looked at her with new respect. It was not so long ago that they decried her in Val Royeux, making their sentiment quite public. Now they groveled and did not meet her eyes when she sat on her ridiculous throne; she was above them in more ways than one.

Their faith in her grew, as Maiwe’s own faith faltered and stalled. The Gods were locked away or something worse and would not help her. Soon her prayers grew silent. What was the point? She could talk into the abyss without the trappings of religion, though she missed it and the ceremony that surrounded it. The more she turned away from faith, the more it sought her out.

“I am not Andraste. I am not her chosen. I’m nothing, you understand? Nothing!” But she did not actually say the words out loud. At heart she was a coward, and she couldn’t alienate them all. Not yet. She resented it though, and she let her resentment to the Chantry grow and fester all at once, but she let them refuse to meet her eyes, all the while cursing the power given to her through a quirk of fate.