#lyna lavellan

[pookydraws]

Where are you now, what have you found. Where is your heart, when I'm not around. Where are you now, you gotta let me know. Oh baby, so I can let you go.

[katalyna-rose]

(Talesfromthefade) Dance with me for the DWC?

Dance

1,168 words

Lyna Lavellan, fluff, hurt/comfort

For @dadrunkwriting

Lyna spent the day with the other children of her clan, learning the stories from the hahren, but the children looked at her like she might be dangerous, like she might be carrying some disease that they might catch. The stories fascinated her, and she loved that one of the hahren wove magic through the air, shaping the fire they all sat around into the story that was being told. She loved the magic and she loved the stories and she loved the hahren and she loved her clan. But the other children wanted nothing to do with her, and so she felt no love for them.

The hahren tried to keep her included, but the others acted as though she were not there, or, worse, complained that they didn’t want to play with her. She was too strong, they said. She was too good at it and it wasn’t fair, they said. She would hurt them on purpose, they said. But none of it was true. She’d hurt another child only once when she was younger, and it hadn’t been on purpose. And she knew that she was no better at anything than the others, except maybe at holding a bow.

“I’m learning to control it,” she told them, trying not to cry. “I won’t hurt anyone.”

But they wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t let them see her tears, so she ran away. The hahren let her go because there was nothing they could do for her, and she was beginning to suspect that some of them didn’t like her either and they were just better at hiding it.

Her father found her sitting beneath the statue of Fen’Harel that sat beyond the edge of their camp, hugging his paw and sobbing.

“Oh, da’len, my sweet child,” he crooned, scooping her into his arms and settling against the statue. “It is their loss. You are a sweet girl, and they will see it, in time.”

She wrapped her arms around her father and squeezed with all the strength in her little body. “Bae, they - they th-think I want t-to h-hurt them!” she sobbed, hiccuping.

“Da’len, da’assan, you know it is not true,” he cooed, but that didn’t help.

“B-but the-ey d-don’t!” she cried, pressing her face into his shoulder as hard as she could.

“In your life, ma da’len, there will always be those who will refuse to understand you,” he soothed, rubbing her back in long strokes. “You can’t convince them all, but you know what you can do?”

He lifted her chin and smiled when she met his eyes, small dimples forming in his cheeks that she wished she’d gotten from him. “W-what?” she asked, sniffling.

“Remember that what matters most is the truth you know, deep down,” he told her, a finger over her heart. “And you continue to be the wonderful, sweet little girl you know you are. If they are worthy of your attention and your affection, they’ll come around. And if not, that’s okay. You treat them with respect but you don’t have to make them like you. All that matters is that you act in such a way that you like you. Okay, da’len?”

Lyna nodded, still sniffling, and threw her arms around him again. After a while, she let herself slide into his lap, took the handkerchief he pulled from a pocket, and cleaned herself up as much as she could. He did the rest for her, then they just sat with the statue.

“Sometimes I think he’s looking at me,” Lyna said after a while. Her father blinked curiously, then followed her gaze to the statue.

“Does that disturb you, da’assan?” he asked.

She shook her head. “He saw me born,” she reminded him. “He saw me die, and he saw me take my first breath. I don’t understand why everyone hates him so much.”

“It isn’t hatred,” he told her. “Or at least, it shouldn’t be. Fen’Harel is a figure of caution in the stories. A reminder that all is not always as it appears, and that we must be vigilant.”

“He stands guard for our camps,” she observed, still looking at the statue. “He’s vigilant, too. Why is he bad, in the stories?”

“The wisdom of our ancestors tells us that he locked away the gods, da’len,” he said. “That he separated us from their guidance and protection.”

Lyna frowned. “But he protected me, and he’s protecting our camp right now. If he locked away the gods, maybe they deserved it,” she asserted with all the conviction of a child.

Her father laughed, then, deep and throaty and infectious. “Oh, my sweet one. The Beyond flows in you, an inseparable piece of your heart. Perhaps you speak wisdom that the People have forgotten.”

They sat in silence once more, both studying the statue and lost in their own thoughts. The sounds of music interrupted them, and they gazed back toward the camp. The smell of food cooking drifted on the wind, and they knew the clan was gathering to celebrate their hunters’ bounty. But Lyna didn’t want to go back yet, so she buried herself deeper into her father’s embrace.

He gathered her close and stood, and she whined because she thought he was going to carry her back to the clan. Instead, he began to sway to the faint music that drifted on the breeze with her still in his arms.

“Dance with me, Lyna,” he urged, and when she looked at him he was grinning. She smiled and rubbed her eyes, a bit sore from her tears, then nodded. He set her on her feet and held her hands, and she looked at how different they were in size. Her father’s hands were big, all angles and long fingers and dark calluses and scars that stood out paler than his light gold tan. Her hands were small, short, and stubby, with chubby little fingers. But she hoped that when she grew she’d have her father’s hands. They were good hands that held her tight and comforted her and wiped away her tears. They helped her hold her bow and teach her how to draw the string. They bandaged her when she got hurt and carried her when she fell asleep where she wasn’t supposed to. And now they held her hands as he led her in a dance without steps.

They didn’t follow the dances that had been handed down through generations, that told stories of the past or simply preserved the culture they had lost. They danced to the beat of their hearts, to the swaying of the trees, to the faint music that flowed from the clan. Lyna stomped her feet and twirled around and her father held her and spun her and lifted her into the air. It wasn’t long before she was smiling again, then laughing gleefully as they moved. Her father always could soothe away her fears and loneliness. She was never lonely as long as she had her babae.

[empresstress13]

Quick sketch of @katalyna-rose ‘s Lyna! 💕

[izzym-art]

Commission for @katalyna-rose and her Lyna Lavellan and our favourite elvhen egg Solas ♥ thank you for commissioning me! 

[thema-sal-shiral]

Thema and Lyna side by side.

Thema belongs to me. Lyna belongs to @katalyna-rose

Kat was nice enough to let me remake Lyna with my PC DAI, with mods to show her with longer hair. That poor man at the bar wasn’t too wrong, they do look a little bit alike. This is also reference for anyone who reads Ménage à Trois.

[patheticnugbaby]

Doodle of @katalyna-rose ‘s Lyna Lavellan

Trying slightly sharper curvy shapes, perhaps another time I’ll try really going for the crescent moon shape/feel for Lyna because I saw here/read the description for her and I immediately wanted to do that. For now, I had fun with a more professional look ‘cause I wanted to put her in a coat like that one.

[the-emerald-halla]

Lyna Lavellan

Lyna is 26 years old during the Conclave. Cis female, pansexual. Rogue Archer (Dalish Hunter); Artificer. She has been known to throw traps directly into Fade rifts - just in case.

Positive Traits: Intelligent, loyal, compassionate, patient, strong of will and body, talented player of the Game.

Negative Traits: Stubborn, reckless when people she cares about are in danger, selfless to a damaging degree, withdrawn.

Family: Ashavise Lavellan (mother, clan Lavellan's First, married to Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, living), Fen'an Lavellan (father, rogue hunter, city born, deceased), several paternal cousins that she is no longer in contact with. 

Lyna loves Solas, loves to study with him and learn from him. She adores that he can play the Game at Halamshiral while simultaneously giving all of Orlais the middle finger using only a hat (the Helm of Drasca, adapted to be more decorative than useful).

She teaches herself to control the Fade to a certain extent through sheer willpower and knowledge of how the Fade works, despite not being a mage. She's not a Dreamer, but she can shape her own dreams and meet with spirits in full consciousness. She loves to learn, and becoming the closest thing to a Dreamer she could be is another way to learn.

Lyna belongs to @katalyna-rose.

Want to participate? Submit your OC!

[katalyna-rose]

I finally got around to going through my screencaps from Lyna’s playthrough. I’ve got a lot of great stuff that’ll I’ll share when I get around to making posts for it, but I also came across this incredibly jarring glitch. It’s literally not even visible in the scene itself, but somehow I got lucky (or unlucky) and managed to capture it anyway. So, since I had to suffer, now I’m making you all suffer, too!

Solas, you stole my hair! Give me back my hair! You can’t steal my hair and break up with me! My heart or my hair, but you have to pick one! Damn it, Solas, give me my hair back!

Anyway, yeah, this is not what I was expecting to see when going through screenshots.

Also, I have about 500 of them now. I expect that to just about double by the time I’m done with Trespasser...

Bonus: T-Pose Judgement

Double Bonus: Night is Day, and Day is Night