#about maiwe

[inquisitormaiwe-blog]

[[Consider: Maiwe sweeping into the Harvestmere activities dressed as a halla, head adorned with real horns, countless enchanted lights and flowers dangling and interwoven into her hair. It’s worn loose for once, its color golden rich against her pale skin and the white dress that Josephine strong armed her into wearing. She’s unaccustomed to the garment- it is at once too flowy and too long- but it is what so many picture the Dalish as wearing. 

Maiwe dresses as a halla not because she particularly identifies with them, but because it makes a powerful political statement. The Inquisitor is Dalish, and she is not content to hide her heritage- she wears it as proudly as the vallaslin on her face. The halla is one of the few animals that can be said to be uniquely elven, as yet untainted by human association. 

Her head should be bowed under the weight, but she holds her neck so straight and so carefully, and her eyes are challenging. She is no longer content to hide and hear the whispers about their untamed, heathen Herald. She has nothing to do with Andraste- today she wears her Dalish pride so openly, and lets them all see that she will forge her own path, and not follow those they have lay down before her.]]

[inquisitormaiwe-blog]

Before Skyhold, Maiwe had never used a proper tub- she barely knew they existed. She had bathed in streams and hot springs before, but it was always a luxury or a cold tip, a fleeting sensation that never lasted. Upon discovering the wonders of the bath (thanks, in large part, to Josephine), Maiwe has become a bit of a clean fanatic, with a fondness for lightly scented soaps and scrubs that simply cannot be overstated. She likes to be /clean/, to have no dirt under her nails and to have her hair shine like gold. She also likes her companions to be similarly clean, though she has long since given up on a few of them. Still, if they would just try a long soak, maybe they would see where she was coming from.

Oh well. More hot water for her. 

[inquisitormaiwe-blog]

Post-Trespasser Drabble Thoughts: 

She was never soft, but anything in her that would have once yielded to pressure is firm now. Her eyes had been so lively once- they showed fear and a burning hope for something more and something better than what she had been handed before. Now they were hard and flat, almost affectless, their restless waters becalmed. With every labored, wheezing breath the smallest glimpse of anger fell off her- just enough to scent the air, but not enough to give away the rage that kindled inside. 

She had given them everything; her aching arm was testament to that. But it was not enough. It was never enough, never would have been enough, and they all left her too readily, eager for a life that was separate from her and from the trials they had faced together. Too few had stayed at her side, and the occasional letter did not suffice. Where once Maiwe had friends, now she felt only the empty echo of them, the bitter jealousy of watching their lives turn in different directions, separating from the war and the violence and the blood. Had she truly been so naive to think they would stay? 

Worse yet, Maiwe felt her own agency stripped away. Never before had she been more of a figurehead. Unable to separate elf from reality, she watched as people tripped over their tongues to meld her with her title. They still called her Inquisitor, clumsily apologizing but insisting it was an honorific. Sometimes ‘Herald’ came out, though she had always fought it, had pleaded her own growing agnosticism. She had met Mythal, had unknowingly befriended the Dread Wolf, and still they called her a creature of the Maker, as if the tattoos on her face meant nothing. 

Too aware of her impotence, Maiwe contented herself to simmer, letting the anger become all that sustained her, grateful for that small sensation of feeling. If the anger would keep her alive, so be it. Whatever magic she had, magic that had halted the devastation of her lungs, had been stripped from her. With the Anchor, she had been fated to die. Without it, she was fated to suffer. What would have been more merciful?

[inquisitormaiwe-blog]

Maiwe’s handwriting is at once more ornamental than you would expect it to be, but more practical. It is not the typical chicken scrawl of someone whose role in the clan had little to do with writing- it is slow and practiced, though it tends to be extremely small, to the point where it’s difficult to read. There are unexpected flourishes- curves and curls where it’s not necessary to have them, letters that link together in one continuous line. It is not a handwriting that speaks of quick, sloppy notes- it is too precise, too laborious. Still, it is not messy either- it almost nice to look at. Almost. 

[inquisitormaiwe-blog]

Her flesh burns with the fever of her arm, burns out the corruption, and she is reborn. 

[inquisitormaiwe-blog]

[[My tentative post Inquisition fiction plans include Maiwe organizing her own counter army of elves- showing them that it’s entirely possible to teach the world that elves have their own place to be and their own role to play without having to kill everyone in the process. This could include traveling to Tevinter and freeing slaves- given the clues, that seems like it could possibly be a logical step. Perhaps even siding and seeking out Briala, depending on what position of power she’s been left with. 

Thoughts/ideas/further contributions to the Maiwe meta post Inquisition/post Trespasser extravaganza?]]] 

[inquisitormaiwe-blog]

[[Real talk though, i’m so sad for Maiwe? Like, I totally did this to her myself, but she gains just another level of disability and the only connection to magic she ever had- one she had wanted so badly when she was younger, even though it was killing her. She loses her lover (if I write her as having romanced Solas), but she gains this terrible knowledge that he wants to destroy the world that she knows. I don’t think she would even know what to do with it. She fought for so long, and her friends all end up leaving in the end. Where does she go? What happens? What place does the world have for an ex-Inquisitor who knows too much?]]

[inquisitormaiwe-blog]

[[The growing mark combines with the mucus in Maiwe’s lungs and it’s slowly choking her. Every day it’s more difficult to breathe- her only salvation in a constant barrage of potions and spells stored in amulets that have to be refreshed daily.Thanks new DLC. *thumbs up*]]