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Mar. 5th, 2015 06:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sidewaysAs much as the entire Conclave debacle is an unpleasant shock, Lewen doesn’t really struggle with being dropped into the role of decision-maker. Once he realises there are loyal Andrastian Chantryfolk genuinely willing to listen to and even heed the advice of an elven apostate – two in fact, counting Solas – he’s quick to shed his wariness and start making calls. The Inquisition begins as a collection of right (and left) hands, but Lewen is a right hand that was trained to become the head, and rolling up his sleeves to wade into the thick of it comes much more easily to him than does sitting passively on the sidelines.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his fair share of troubles, though, and most of them have to do with being decision-maker for the Inquisition.
A little of it is political: for all its diversity, the Inquisition still comes across as a very human organisation, and it sits uncomfortably with him that this is the vehicle for his sudden influence on the world stage. Lewen has opinions – oh boy does he have opinions – but he wants them presented in context. When he speaks against the Circles, it’s as a mage who has been trained safely and successfully outside of them; when he makes alliances, it’s as a Dalish elf who has experienced his fair share of petty discrimination. He finds the label of “Herald of Andraste” grating, not least because he thinks neither he nor the historical figure deserve this indignity, and he resents having a human-centric motive thrown over him like a blanket to mask the pointy ears and vallaslin.
Relatedly, some of it is cultural: Haven isn’t too bad as far as human settlements go, but it’s still a different lifestyle to the one he’s been living. Stationary buildings behind a wall and a messy crowd of strangers, Chantryfolk muttering prayers everywhere while Templars eye his staff suspiciously, reverent your worships mixing with half-heard knife-ears - he feels out of place, and that’s unsettling for someone who puts as much weight on being in their right place as he does. Lewen comes to know the township better than my first Inquisitor ever did, setting himself a routine of walking the streets to replace the routine he would usually busy himself with in his clan, prowling the forest outskirts when the walls grow too stifling, and leaping with relief upon any opportunity to do something.
And then much of it’s just personal. His clan was close, as happy, healthy clans tend to be, and to be stranded across the sea while demons slip out of the Fade in unprecedented numbers and the humans turn fearful and aggressive as their power structure threatens to collapse around them leaves him with a great many worries, and a great deal of simmering frustration to go with it. He is their First; he’s supposed to be there, at Deshanna’s side, protecting and guiding and contributing. And he misses them, plain and simple. No former separation from the clan has been this lengthy or this dramatic, and as confident as he is of his ability to work his way through the chaos, he feels the absence of his kinsfolk – his mentor, his mother, his peers – quite keenly at times.
He answers Cassandra truthfully when she asks (“Do you hope to re-join your clan?” “I’d go to them now, if I could”) but that she disapproves slightly of this response suggests that she misunderstands. Lewen doesn’t claim to be held at Haven against his preference by her will or anybody else’s – he knows this is where he has to be. Where he needs to be. The mark cannot be palmed off (haha) to anyone else, but even if it could be it would go against his entire upbringing to thrust the responsibility onto another. Right now the best way for him to serve and protect both his people and his clan is to close the Breach and see Thedas steered back towards stability. He might not always like the vehicle for his influence, but it’s a chance to make serious changes nonetheless, ones that might mean the first real break in human-elf and mage-other relations in ages.
And the Inquisition does good things, which helps. He greatly approves of being allowed – encouraged, even! – to get out there in person and make a difference. The war room and the machinations of the advisors have their place, but he’s a hands-on individual and that they don’t think themselves too important to outfit refugees with blankets or help a grieving woman find solace goes a long way to soothing his reservations.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his fair share of troubles, though, and most of them have to do with being decision-maker for the Inquisition.
A little of it is political: for all its diversity, the Inquisition still comes across as a very human organisation, and it sits uncomfortably with him that this is the vehicle for his sudden influence on the world stage. Lewen has opinions – oh boy does he have opinions – but he wants them presented in context. When he speaks against the Circles, it’s as a mage who has been trained safely and successfully outside of them; when he makes alliances, it’s as a Dalish elf who has experienced his fair share of petty discrimination. He finds the label of “Herald of Andraste” grating, not least because he thinks neither he nor the historical figure deserve this indignity, and he resents having a human-centric motive thrown over him like a blanket to mask the pointy ears and vallaslin.
Relatedly, some of it is cultural: Haven isn’t too bad as far as human settlements go, but it’s still a different lifestyle to the one he’s been living. Stationary buildings behind a wall and a messy crowd of strangers, Chantryfolk muttering prayers everywhere while Templars eye his staff suspiciously, reverent your worships mixing with half-heard knife-ears - he feels out of place, and that’s unsettling for someone who puts as much weight on being in their right place as he does. Lewen comes to know the township better than my first Inquisitor ever did, setting himself a routine of walking the streets to replace the routine he would usually busy himself with in his clan, prowling the forest outskirts when the walls grow too stifling, and leaping with relief upon any opportunity to do something.
And then much of it’s just personal. His clan was close, as happy, healthy clans tend to be, and to be stranded across the sea while demons slip out of the Fade in unprecedented numbers and the humans turn fearful and aggressive as their power structure threatens to collapse around them leaves him with a great many worries, and a great deal of simmering frustration to go with it. He is their First; he’s supposed to be there, at Deshanna’s side, protecting and guiding and contributing. And he misses them, plain and simple. No former separation from the clan has been this lengthy or this dramatic, and as confident as he is of his ability to work his way through the chaos, he feels the absence of his kinsfolk – his mentor, his mother, his peers – quite keenly at times.
He answers Cassandra truthfully when she asks (“Do you hope to re-join your clan?” “I’d go to them now, if I could”) but that she disapproves slightly of this response suggests that she misunderstands. Lewen doesn’t claim to be held at Haven against his preference by her will or anybody else’s – he knows this is where he has to be. Where he needs to be. The mark cannot be palmed off (haha) to anyone else, but even if it could be it would go against his entire upbringing to thrust the responsibility onto another. Right now the best way for him to serve and protect both his people and his clan is to close the Breach and see Thedas steered back towards stability. He might not always like the vehicle for his influence, but it’s a chance to make serious changes nonetheless, ones that might mean the first real break in human-elf and mage-other relations in ages.
And the Inquisition does good things, which helps. He greatly approves of being allowed – encouraged, even! – to get out there in person and make a difference. The war room and the machinations of the advisors have their place, but he’s a hands-on individual and that they don’t think themselves too important to outfit refugees with blankets or help a grieving woman find solace goes a long way to soothing his reservations.
