#eirwen lavellan

[obsidianmichi]

Describe Your OC in Five Gifs

Eirwen Lavellan:

Saw @feynites post it. Thought it’d be fun. She’s still my favorite OP mage babe chasing revolution and apotheosis.

[obsidianmichi]

“Solas?” Eirwen’s voice broke through his thoughts.

He glanced at her, surprised by how easily she anchored him. So, that must be Deception, he thought. It was a conversational spirit. Its scrabbling metallic voice intrinsically different from the spirit named Ellasin, though he’d no doubt it could be pleasant when it wished. If this creature believed it could find hooks in him, it was quite wrong. He waved a hand. “It is nothing.”

“You’re certain you’re not angry?”

His eyes rose to where she sat at the table, her palm flat on the pamphlet of Circle spells given to her before she left. That tone, he thought, higher than normal with a slight hitch to it. Full of worry and nervous fear. He was furious, he decided, but only at those who’d instilled the expectation of punishment after displeasure. Calmly, he set aside his book. “I am not, Eirwen.”

She nodded, and her eyes returned to her pamphlet. Turning the page, she gnawed at her lower lip. The vague, pensive expression she wore suggesting she did not quite believe him.

Solas wondered at at that lack of trust, and then he wondered if he should convince her to put her trust in him. Not when he might betray her gift as so many others had done. Trust betrayed often enough became hard won, until finally it could not be given at all. He almost shook his head. Could love exist without trust? The thought struck him like a battering ram, slammed into his forehead and left him dizzy. Did he… did he want her to love him?

They trysted, yes, though they’d not gone beyond that. He was fond of her. Fond enough to offer a token of affection as he might to an elvhen maiden. One he’d be expected to offer according to his people’s courting traditions. A token the maid might look over and decide if she found his spirit to her liking, giving him leave to pursue her. A knightly gesture reminiscent of the elvhen he’d been rather than the one he now was. He longed a little for his lost innocence, for gallantry. When he’d believed in the noble purpose of Elvhenan, a protector rather than destroyer.

His eyes returned to Eirwen, watching her lick her thumb before turning another page. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Head tilted, resting her cheek on her fist. Fingertips pushing bangs off her brow, only for them to stubbornly flop back.

He wondered what his foolish, younger self might do, unburdened by duty, guilt, and grief. The self who’d not have spared her a second glance after drawn fully into being by Mythal, not an ignorant forest elf so below his station. A wild elf, he thought with some surprise. They had existed in his time, after all. Those who lived on the edges of Elvhenan and her conquered territories, deep in the forest. Content in immortality and ignorance. Threatened every so often by Ghilnan’nain’s creatures. Hunted on occasion by Andruil when she desired sport, though not always the easy targets she expected. He’d known a few young nobles who’d traveled into similar woods to bring back trophies and slaves. Some were successful, while others never seen again. Outside the vallaslin marking her to Falon’din, she was very like them. Had they met in his time, it would be he who proudly wore Mythal’s vallaslin and she bare faced.

His lips twitched. Perhaps not as one of my people, no. Yet he could imagine her in some rich green glade, hidden away from the eyes of the skies above. Relaxed on some root raised by a helpful tree, basking in the sunlight as her it dappled her skin. Surrounded by animals and spirits, one of the freed halla resting its head on her lap. Or, perhaps, a wolf. No, Solas thought, amused by his imagination, he’d not have spared a moment’s consideration.

Eirwen glanced at him, her sky blue eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“There’s been much to consider,” he replied, sliding to his feet. “Only a few hours remain before the sun fully rises, not even the rooster has crowed.”

“Are there any roosters left, do you think?” she asked wryly.

He chuckled, striding across the room to where she sat at the table. “Chickens are simple creatures,” he said as he came to a stop beside her. His hand rested on the back of her chair. “I doubt the dead have much interest in them, a few may yet survive.”

Her head tilted, eyes rising to meet his as she blew her bangs off her forehead. “You answer the silliest questions with the most serious answers, Solas.”

His fingers dropped, curving her cheek. A smile played on his mouth. “Were all the chickens in town dead, we’d be unlucky indeed.”

An amused light danced in her irises, long lashes surrounding them. Her lips tucked, hiding the beginnings of a grin. Then, she reached up. Her hand wrapped gently about the back of his head and pulled him down. He went easily, enjoying the sensation of her soft mouth pressed to his. The kiss was slow, thoughtful. A gentle kiss as her hand slid down his cheek, her lips opened. Squeaking when he swept her off the chair and up in his arms.

He almost laughed.

Surprised arms went about his neck, her back arching. “Solas!” That aroused indignation.

“Hours,” he murmured against her mouth.

Her cheeks heated with a lovely blush.

He lay her down on the bed. In the next moment he was on her again, continuing their earlier embrace. Tongue slipping between her mouth, her licked and nibbled at her lower lip. His fingers toyed with the ties of her tunic. She moaned softly, eagerly dragging him closer.

“Is this you searching for your romantic streak?” she asked, breathless when they broke for air.

“Mm,” he traced a fingertip down her ear. “I, at least, never needed to look far.”

Eirwen swallowed, wriggling into the mattress.

“If anything, I have been quite restrained,” he continued, drifting lower. “Consider all I learned during my wanderings in the Fade, the countless courtship rituals I have seen put into practice.”

Her mouth opened, simultaneously her brows frowned. Her clever mind chewing away at new information. Cogs worked behind her eyes. Have you ever used them? There lay the silent question, the first and the expected.

His mouth twitched, he was beginning to enjoy this dance of theirs. The danger she represented a distant memory as fascination consumed him. Curiosity sated by watching her mind puzzle through a problem. “Shall I compose odes to your beauty and recite them?” he asked, all gallantry.

She reddened.

Attempting to keep a serious expression as the flush suffused her entire face, Solas lay cool knuckles against heated skin. “Ask for a favor to wear near my heart?”

“Like some hero in a tale,” she sighed.

Ah, there is the path. The thought caught him by surprise. For Eirwen, such a course would be unexpected rather than unwelcome. She disregarded fantasy and fantastical romances, perhaps even proper courtship as simply not for her. Yet, he’d no doubt if given the opportunity she’d be hungry for the likes of Swords & Shields. A quiet romance hidden in shadow and darkness was the worst approach. Yet completely open was also wrong. A secret, he thought, a precious secret shared between two. A quiet romance in public, perhaps, but relentless in private. She was unused to touching her emotions, cloaked herself in wholly logical practicality. He smiled, running a thumbpad over her lips. A game of masks and silliness might be precisely what she needed.

“You are very strange,” Eirwen said. “Every time I think I have you a little figured out, the board rotates and I need to start all over again.”

“I might say the same,” he replied. “You yourself are something of a mystery.”

[obsidianmichi]

“I don’t think anyone wants to be the guy who got the Inquisitor’s kin killed,” Varric said. “She’s a bit touchy about Dalish lives.”

“That’s true,” Bull agreed, then he paused and heaved a heavy sigh. “I suppose it wouldn’t be good for my health if she died on our watch either. Well, that kills a few of the more dangerous plans.”

“Don’t tell me. You were gonna put her on your shoulders and make yourselves a mobile artillery unit.”

“No comment,” Bull said.

Varric chuckled. “You were!”

“Well, Solas is too big. The Inquisitor is… the Inquisitor, can’t exactly ask her. Even if she was willing to do it, I’d never hear the end of it from Cassandra. Sera is still mulling my proposition over, but I’m guessing she’ll say no. Pip though, she’s smaller than Sera! Just the right size, and she’s crazy. Plus, if she sat on my shoulders, I’d permanently have barriers. Think of the havoc, Varric! I could tackle a dragon horns to horns!”

“Solas isn’t gonna let her sit on your shoulders, Muscles,” Varric said. “Or let you carry her straight into a dragon’s mouth.”

“Solas is a spoilsport,” Iron Bull replied. “Pip’s a grown elf, and he knows it. He’s not her anything until he actually stops pussy footing around and makes a move. Besides, even if he finally made up his mind, he still doesn’t get to decide what she does. He can watch, all disapproving and broody.”

“Okay,” Varric sighed. “Ela might get jealous.”

Bull chuckled. “I can live with that, might even enjoy it.”

“Bright Eyes won’t say yes.”

“I’ll convince her of the plan’s tactical viability,” Bull said cheerfully. “Her type loves that talk. If Solas wanted to get into her pants, all he’d need to do is talk strategy all day. Get her off by giving her brain a noogie.”

“I will take that suggestion under advisement,” Solas’ stiff voice came from the other side of the clearing.

They both jerked their heads up, and exhaled a relieved sigh when they saw he was alone.

“How much of that did you hear?” Varric asked.

Solas sighed, stalking into the clearing and taking a seat on their blanket. “Enough to know I should avoid the rest.”

“Good,” Bull said. “Where’s Pip?”

“Gathering stones,” Solas replied, reaching into his pack. He drew a pair of smoothed rocks, tossing one to Iron Bull and one to Varric.

Dropping his cards, Varric caught it easily. Surprised by the sudden heat blooming in his hands, he almost dropped it. “It’s warm!”

“Eirwen…” Solas paused. “She worried about your health in the mountain cold. She has enchanted a few stones we might keep in our bedrolls, as the Dalish do when they’ve no luxury for fires. She’ll be here soon with the rest.”

“Bright Eyes is such a sweet kid,” Varric said, thoughtfully turning over the rock in his hands. “This definitely answers why Merril’s house never gets cold. I’m surprised at you though, Chuckles. I expected some snark.”

Bull pressed his stone to his cheek. “Admit it, Solas. You do get rather uptight about Dalish problem solving.”

“I’ve no issue with Dalish solutions,” he paused, “when they work.”

“And there it is,” Bull said.

Sometimes, I do a great job with character dialogue. This whole section cracked me up from start to finish. I forgot how much I enjoy writing Inquisition companion banter. This whole story is mostly just that. You can read it in In A Dreamer’s Eyes.

[obsidianmichi]

Eirwen studied him for a moment with her bright blue eyes. “I suppose it might seem strange on the surface and, maybe, a bit hostile.” Pushing her fingers through her hair, brushing back orange bangs. “Still, it... isn’t what you’re thinking.”

He leaned forward, suddenly restless.

“Besides, I can’t say I don’t deserve the way she treats me,” Eirwen added. “Ellana is worried. She wants me to return home. She’s just terrible at showing concern, and it turns to hostility. Badgering or emotional bullying become means of getting what she wants.”

Solas swallowed, he supposed that answered a few questions though it opened up several more. Ellana’s hostility toward another member of her Clan bothered him less. Or, perhaps, more. He’d not wanted to be the cause of their tension. The idea he might seemed silly now too. His mind should not have traveled in that direction. Ellana lashing out at Eirwen for the reasons she stated were far more worrying. “I see, it is only natural she would want her family somewhere safe and away from the fighting.”

“Oh,” Eirwen paused, her lashes fluttered. “No.”

“No?” He hid his confusion.

She took a quick swig of ale, her nose wrinkling at the taste. “Ellana doesn’t want me to leave the Clan.”

Carefully, Solas made a study out of the wood grains on the table. Out of all the answers he expected, the idea Eirwen might be considering leaving the Dalish hadn’t been one of them. Ellana seemed perfectly content, perfectly proud of her people. She did not ask questions. He’d assumed Eirwen to have similar opinions. They were of the same Clan.

“You’ve said before our Keeper was wise to take an interest in the affairs of humans, but you never asked why she sent me.”

“A Dalish First did seem an odd choice,” he agreed. “From what I understand you are the future leader of your Clan, are you not? A risk, certainly, to send you to a Conclave filled with Templars.”

Eirwen bit her lip, her eyes narrowed. Considering, he realized. She sat still and in silence for some time, and he stayed in silence with her. “Deshanna felt it was important I see the world,” she said. “She wanted me to experience how the shemlen lived, so I could make my decision.”

Solas blinked, and found himself leaning ever closer. He’d not expected that attitude either. “I do not suppose you will explain why the opinions of the humans might be under consideration in choosing a future Keeper.”

Eirwen smiled. “I didn’t go to understand them, Solas. This journey is about me, about who I am and what I want.” Her eyes swept over her ale. “Keeper knew I needed to understand my options.”

“There are few in this world for mages and elves, fewer still when both traits are combined,” Solas countered.

Her finger circled the mug’s lip. “Our way, the Dalish way, is only one way of living. There’s more to this world than just us. A Keeper must be able to see what others can’t.”

“I see,” Solas murmured, though in truth he didn’t.

“I planned to go alone, but Ellana overheard,” Eirwen continued. “She insisted she come.” Her lips twitched. “To protect me from my stupid choices, those were her words.” Then, her smile faded. “Poor Ellana, she doesn’t understand.”

“She is frightened then that you will never return,” Solas said. “I confess, I do not see why you would not. It is your duty to carry on the traditions of your people.”

“Among the Dalish, we believe a decision made for the wrong reasons corrupts both the work and its purpose,” Eirwen replied, her voice even. “This choice must be made for the right ones, with a clear heart and mind. I have worked hard to become Keeper, but I…” she trailed off, “I have doubts. I want to know if this path is the right for me.” Her fingers interlocked, both hands clenched together on the table. “I need to see clearly.”

He wondered if she’d planned to say something else.

“A Keeper is more than a leader,” she added softly. “We are our Clan’s spiritual guides, a source of wisdom and ancient knowledge. It is our duty to see the Clan through hardship, and aid them in the discovery of their purpose. I suppose,” she tapped her chin, “I’ve more in common with Chantry sisters than Circle mages, closer to Cassandra and Leliana than Vivienne.”

“I see,” Solas nodded, though he found he did not know what else to say. At least, he did not without additional condescension.

“Ellana doesn’t...” Eirwen sighed. “For her, Clan Lavellan is her home. Among the Dalish, a member of our Clan leaving our forests is the greatest sin. We should not be in the Inquisition at all.” Her fingers twitched. “And I… I am blessed with the gift of magic, the Creator’s magic and the ancient secrets of our Clan.” With a sigh, she stretched her hands and arms above her head. “You see, when I was born a red star glowed in the heavens. Revaslin da’elgara el’somniar thenerdin, freedom’s blood at dawn. The same star our legends say shone on the morning of Shartan’s birth. The others, they see me as marked by the gods for greatness. So, for Ellana, there is no choice to be made. She doesn’t know why I haven’t gone home.”

Solas paused, his hands flat on the table. This had been about him, he realized, though not in the way he imagined. “The Inquisitor believes I will…” he searched for the right word, “tempt you from your purpose.”

Eirwen laughed. “You’re hardly a demon, Solas. I’d say she considers you more a contributing factor. She worries about my work with refugees and soldiers. Each day I stay, I only confirm her fears.”

He looked away, disgruntled. He did not know whether he was bothered by the fact he ranked so low, considering Dalish superstitions or that the Inquisitor clung to these silly superstitions at all. The Anchor had been passed by an act of chance, and she had survived it despite her lack of magical talent. That should be enough. Eirwen, at least, seemed to take it in stride though he supposed she’d come with a far better frame of mind for it. In the end, regardless of whatever trappings worn, the answer was simple. Ellana does not wish for her friend to leave her family. He thought on Ellana’s hostility, which must have begun from the moment Eirwen decided to remain with the Inquisition. A choice made long before their first face to face interaction. Indeed, he could not remember her in Haven. “Yet, you have stayed regardless of the Inquisitor’s wishes.”

“If I allowed Ellana to bully me into returning home then the choice would be made for the wrong reasons,” Eirwen said. “I need to know I’m the right person, in the right place, at the right time. She can’t answer that, only I can.”

“Perhaps,” he began slowly, “there is some merit to Dalish wisdom after all.”

She arched a brow. “I’ll take the compliment as it was meant, rather than how it sounded.”

“I apologize,” Solas said. “You are wiser than most. I consistently find myself surprised by our conversations.”

Eirwen snorted. “Your bar is set incredibly low, Solas. Or, maybe,” her head tilted and she smiled, “you just have a low opinion of me.”

He sighed heavily. There was no way to escape it, he always seemed to offend one way or another. “That was not my intention.”

“Well, I’d say a gentle ribbing is in order,” Eirwen said. “I’m not the Inquisitor, so I don’t need to worry about bringing you down a peg or three.” She giggled. “I suppose I’m just lucky you haven’t gone off on silly Dalish superstitions.”

Solas studied her for a moment, incredulous. The knot in his stomach loosened and he smiled. There it was, he thought, that boundless, centered certainty. He knew he looked into the eyes of a woman who anchored the world. A leader, yes, and a spiritual guide. Yet, the more he looked the more he found he could not imagine her as a Keeper. She was something else. “What… do you think you might do if you were free?” He swallowed. “Should you choose not to return to your Clan.”

“There’s much of the world I haven’t seen,” Eirwen replied. “Perhaps, I’ll wander the wilds and find the secret places, or visit the Alienages to bring the city elves some comfort.” She rested her chin on her hand. “I doubt I’d ever stay in one place long.” Her lips twitched. “I can’t say the idea of being a witch ghosting through the woods doesn’t appeal, bound to nothing and no one.”

“What of relationships?” he asked, surprised by his boldness. “Walking the world by yourself would certainly be a lonely endeavor, though I am certainly not one to chastise such a choice.” His fingers drummed the table. “Have you not considered settling down, building a family?”

“Well, I do have an arranged marriage,” she said. “I suppose I could take it up again, but that would involve returning to the Clan.”

Solas choked.

Dabbing her mouth with a napkin, she smiled. “Honestly, Solas, I haven’t given it much thought.”

This actually answered the question of why Eirwen was at the Conclave, which I’ve actually never had a good answer to. I wasn’t actually trying to redress the whole Bioware concept of “Keeper wanted me to see the world” when a Dalish clan has too many mages and somehow I did. Since Keepers are closer to DnD druids and DnD druids are nature clerics, I’ve always ended up headcanoning that they’re more like shaman or, I guess, medicine men. They’re more than just keepers of knowledge or Clan Chiefs, they’re spiritual guides. I suppose we can call them counselors and therapists, and that spiritual leadership is important. It’s the kind of leadership that’s easily corrupted, and a choice that can be made for the wrong reasons.

We can’t discover if a path is what we want when we’ve never experienced anything else. When the road is hard and difficult, it’s even more important to know we chose to walk it. So, for Dalish mages, it’s less, “we’re kicking you out because we don’t have room for you” and instead, “you chose to leave so you could figure out if this crucial, important path of leadership is right for you and for us.“ A change in intention shifts the whole thing so much. It’s part of the training.

Eirwen takes that very seriously, but she’s always been filled with indecision. For her, traveling to the Conclave was a spiritual journey as much as a physical one. For Eirwen, I think the answer to being Keeper was always no. She doesn’t want that, she wants to find her own will to power and path of leadership.

It’s funny, I’ve been listening to the Lion King Broadway Recording lately and there’s a lot of themes there that connect with Eirwen’s journey. Endless Night is a really good one, Shadowland. (Shadowland works for Ellana too.) Also, He Lives In You.

(Yes, Ellana is the generic Inquisitor name so I went with that. She’s a Dalish hunter/rogue. I am sorry if your Inquisitor is also named Ellana and this one’s not like her at all.)

I find it a little fascinating that Eirwen and Solas have similar conversations when she isn’t Inquisitor. They’re actually less tense because she doesn’t have to play nice with him, there’s less concern over what is and isn’t appropriate. Fewer confusions about boundaries and relationships with subordinates. Solas is also more relaxed, mostly because he doesn’t need her or need her to be successful as a proxy for fixing his Corypheus mistake. He just isn’t sure what to do with her.

[obsidianmichi]

“Do you…” Eirwen paused as they approached the cliff. “Nae,” her soft, breathy laugh filled the air, “na sahalan lathleen.”

“You will not ask?” he asked. “What is there to fear in a question, lethallan?”

She smiled, yet another secretive smile. “It depends on the question.”

Solas grimaced, that was an answer he might have given should the question be one he did not want to answer. In a swift blow, the closeness he’d felt a moment before severed. The distance again vast. It irritated, more so because he’d decided against closeness. He should be grateful for the garrison carefully erected around her heart, not left frustrated by it.

Her breathy voice lingered in his ear. “Garas ma tel’sulevin, lethallin?”

Why am I uncertain? He chuckled. “Perhaps, I’ve yet to find certainty.”

“I thought you nothing but,” she replied playfully. “You always seem so sure, Solas.” Her bright blue eyes swung, and she glanced over her shoulder with a cheerful grin. “An impressive feat given how often you’re wrong.”

A spark of indignation shot through him, then his irritation faded and he laughed. “There is much I do not know in this world, and much I do. You would do well to listen to the voices of your elders.”

“The eyes are often clouded by age,” Eirwen said. “Their sight dims, the ears deafened, but the voice…” she giggled, “the voice shouts so loudly!”

He smiled wryly. “I am sorry to disappoint, lethallan. I fear age has yet to take leave of my senses.”

She whipped around, dancing back a few paces. Tantalizingly close, just outside of reach. “I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear.”

Pushing back his hood, he laughed. “Ma lasa vhenan samahl.”

She smiled, leaning against a tree. “I’m glad, Solas. Your heart could use more laughter.”

His eyes fell on the reddened tips of her ears, her ruddy cheeks and nose. Skin a mix of pale and red blotches from the cold. Oddly in contrast with the orange bangs flopping on her brow. Her warmth echoed in his empty center. He remembered her kneeling before Varric, fingers running over his lips. The sudden, unexpected stab of jealousy. Followed by shame for his foolishness over misinterpreting care for a teammate, and finally confusion. I’ve not yet found certainty. Struck by another impulse, he stepped forward so they were less than a breath apart and lay his hands on her ears.

Her cheeks went red, exactly as he hoped. Breath catching in her throat, teeth running over her lower lip and after her tongue sneaking out into the cold. “Solas?”

“Your ears are frozen, lethallan, nearly frostburned,” he replied. “How will you think if you cannot keep them warm?”

Her eyes widened, face growing redder. Lashes batted, flustered. Lips trembled, her tongue plastered to the roof of her mouth. The deep breath she inhaled.

I do my best to get some poetry out of Dragon Age’s elven language/cipher. “You give my heart laughter” is the basic translation, “You fill my heart with laughter” is probably a better interpretation.

[obsidianmichi]

The Many Faces of Eirwen Lavellan

Eirwen is one of the only characters who follows me between games, recreating herself, still searching for purpose and meaning. She’s trying to find a skin she feels comfortable in. She’s one of the few characters I’ve ever had who swaps out identities like clothes, trying on new forms and faces, new shapes and new roles.

Battlemage. Thief. Warrior. Assassin. Priest.

Savior. Renegade. Revolutionary.

Wanderer.

In some ways, the Elder Scrolls setting (though not the MMO itself) fits her better than Dragon Age. The player character is always the star ascendant, on the path to becoming a god in their own right. The Chosen of Daedric Princes, Dragonborn, Nerevarine, Sheogorath, even the unkillable Vestige whose soul is bound to Coldharbor is far ahead of the pinnacle the Inquisitor is allowed to reach. Capable of taking many shapes, many forms, of pursuing any path they like. Sometimes, lost in their freedom.

What Eirwen has always wanted to be is unbound. In some ways the only acceptable end for her is what happens to Alice Quinn at the end of the first season of the Magicians. Loses herself along with her mortality, becomes something else. Gives up her mortality by choice and with it what binds her to the world, so she can chase the horizon and wander the stars. Her trajectory has always been out rather than up.

After all, she did get out. She went elsewhere. Became someone else.

[obsidianmichi]

Eirwen Lavellan: Evolution

“And what is the worth of one voice lost and alone in the dark?”

“I suppose... we’ll see.”

[obsidianmichi]

“Heh,” the woman scoffed. “So many dreams, so much to lose. Will you cry, child, when those dreams crumble? When you witness all you’ve built burned to ash by those you fought so hard to save?”

Eirwen grit her teeth. “No.”

“Open your eyes, da’len.” Fingers seized her jaw. “Tell me true.”

Her eyes opened and she found herself staring into a pair of ancient golden eyes set within an elven face. High cheekbones, skin stretched taught. A face without sags or wrinkles common in old age, but it was not young. Ageless, she thought, with wise, jaded eyes.

“No,” she repeated. “When what has been is burned to ash then the only logical answer is to build again. A dream cannot die until we cease fighting for it. It dies when we are too afraid of what might be lost to take risks, too ashamed of what has already been, and too frightened of our mistakes.”

“And how do you know yourself to be the one, trapped as you are by your fate?”

“If I choose my fate, am I still trapped by it?” Eirwen countered. “Do I make fate or does fate make me? If fate cannot be avoided, what does it matter except in perception?”

A sardonic smile cut across a beautiful mouth.

“I either chose or I was chosen.” She lifted her chin. “If I am worthy then I will succeed, and if I am not then I will die. But I believe in myself. And whether that is ego or arrogance, if I believe then I’ll find a way.”

This is probably why I can’t stop writing this character. There is so much confidence in her, so much certainty, and it says everything about the kind of leader she is.

“All inevitably crumbles, but we will rise. Again, and again, and again, to stand for those lost in the tide. The world shall always tilt one way or the other, but it can be righted. If it is broken, we will reforge it. If it falls, we shall pick it up. When it stumbles, we shall catch it. When it becomes lost, we will find it. We will remind it of who it is, what it is, where it has been, and where it should be going.”

Whenever she starts with the speech-making, I always remember why she has the story she does. I remember that for all her mistrust, she believes in people and their right to make choices even bad ones which is what, ironically, sets in direct opposition to Solas. She remembers that the process of change is one that involves striving, failure, falling down, and standing up again.

It’s always, “why should you be given godlike power?”

Oh, yeah, that’s why.