joiedecombat (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
joiedecombat) wrote2009-11-20 01:30 am
joiedecombat) wrote2009-11-20 01:30 am
Entry tags:
[Dragon Age] let's try this again
Yeah, so, remember when I said there would be fanfic? Here's a little bit of it, part of what will hopefully be a larger sequence dealing with some of the particular issues that spring from the human noble origin, and how they dovetail with Alistair's personal damage. It's a draft and needs some work, and I demonstrate at the end why I should not be allowed to wield either foreshadowing or dramatic irony, and aside from that I'm not sure what to call it yet - I'm kind of tempted towards "The Art of Losing Everything," but I know that it only comes to mind as a title because there's already a fanfic titled "The Art of Losing" posted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
swooping_is_bad, so that's a no go.
Second draft, reposted now that I've fixed the timing some. It's still sort of fudging, since I think we're meant to suppose that Alistair doesn't hear anything about the PC's backstory until, as with the other companions, they mention it in dialogue - but all such references are glancing at best anyhow, so, pff.
Spoilers for the human noble origin and the main plotline through Ostagar, and bits of Alistair's backstory besides. And, yes, my PC's name makes it into this draft. I prefer to edge around specific details like that as much as I can, but DAO's PC unfortunately doesn't get the last-name-basis treatment that Commander Shepard gets in Mass Effect, so it's harder to work around.
----
He caught her as she fell, when the racking spasms brought on by the darkspawn taint had passed and left her to drop like a string-cut marionette, and with relief he noted the soft flutter of breath that left her as he lowered her to the weathered stone of the old temple's floor. "She's alive."
Duncan simply inclined his head, as though this was what he'd expected. Maybe he had. Alistair had the impression that the older Warden may very well have seen enough Joinings to know the difference.
"At least one of them made it," Alistair murmured, mostly to himself. He wondered if there'd ever been a Joining where none of the recruits had survived. If only Ser Jory hadn't tried to run... A wife and a child was a lot to lose, he supposed, but even so.
It just seemed like such a waste. Poor sod.
Duncan settled down into a crouch nearby, for the moment ignoring the cooling corpses behind him. "What do you make of her?" he asked.
Alistair hesitated. "I'm not sure," he admitted after a moment. "There's no question she knows her way around a blade, but... I get this feeling sometimes like she's not quite all there, you know?"
It had been a little unnerving, to tell the truth. Clare had been a quiet, somber presence through the foray into the wilds, for the most part not joining in on Daveth and Ser Jory's nervous chatter. She'd pulled her weight - had more than pulled her weight, to be honest; in the end Alistair wasn't entirely sure they'd have come back with the treaties if she hadn't been there to do most of the reasoning with those witches. Nor had she failed to account for herself when it came time to fight... but she'd fought almost recklessly, carving viciously through Blight-maddened wolves and darkspawn alike with sword and dagger. He'd been beside her when the first of the darkspawn had come into sight, and he'd seen the color leave her face, and then he'd seen her tighten her jaw and throw herself headlong into battle.
It had been the same at the Joining just now. Shaken though she'd looked after Duncan had cut poor Ser Jory down, she'd taken up the chalice and drunk without hesitation - not as though she wasn't afraid, Alistair thought, but with a sort of resignation. Almost as though she didn't entirely care what became of her.
"I expect she's still numb."
Duncan's words had Alistair's head tilting. "How's that?"
Duncan looked at him, in a way that left Alistair with the uncomfortable impression that he was missing something important. "How much have you heard about what happened in Highever?"
"Not much," Alistair told him. "I've been a bit busy, you might recall - running errands for the Chantry, annoying mages, tromping about the wilds with wolves and darkspawn and creepy witches all gnawing at my ankles." He paused to think back about what word had come into Ostagar along with Duncan's return from Highever. "There was some kind of revolt there, I think I heard."
"Not a revolt." Duncan's voice sounded heavy. "A betrayal. Arl Howe turned on the Couslands."
"What?" Alistair found himself staring in disbelief. "I knew Howe was slime, but to take the teyrnir by force - now, at beginning of a Blight, with the King calling for troops - is the man insane? What of Teyrn Bryce?"
Duncan remained silent for a space, and the graveness of his expression left an uneasy feeling uncurling in Alistair's gut. "Bryce and his wife are dead," he said at last. "Their daughter was the only one that I could save."
It took a moment for the full import of Duncan's meaning to sink in. Their daughter. "Then Clare--" he said, and Duncan nodded silently. "...Maker's breath. No wonder."
By all accounts, Teyrn Bryce Cousland had been a good man, and his family a close-knit one. Less than a fortnight ago, this woman must have had nearly everything anyone could wish for.
No wonder she seemed sometimes as though she had nothing to lose.
Alistair found himself trying to imagine what it must be like - to have had a home and a family of the sort he'd used to daydream about as a boy, a father and a mother and siblings and servants and all of that, only to have it ripped away in one night of treachery and violence.
He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea, perhaps because he had nothing to really compare it to. Harm coming to Arl Eamon, or blood spilling in the halls of Castle Redcliffe - it was unthinkable, and besides that, if Alistair had any true home and family it was with the Grey Wardens, and the idea of them falling to treachery was too ridiculous to imagine.
Alistair had the vague notion, as Clare began to come around from the shock of the Joining, that he should tell her some of this. There would be nothing that could replace what she'd lost, but perhaps it would come as a comfort - however small - to hear about the fellowship that she'd become a part of, and to know that so long as the Wardens survived, none of them would truly be alone.
After the battle, he thought. There would be time to talk then.
----
swooping_is_bad, so that's a no go.Second draft, reposted now that I've fixed the timing some. It's still sort of fudging, since I think we're meant to suppose that Alistair doesn't hear anything about the PC's backstory until, as with the other companions, they mention it in dialogue - but all such references are glancing at best anyhow, so, pff.
Spoilers for the human noble origin and the main plotline through Ostagar, and bits of Alistair's backstory besides. And, yes, my PC's name makes it into this draft. I prefer to edge around specific details like that as much as I can, but DAO's PC unfortunately doesn't get the last-name-basis treatment that Commander Shepard gets in Mass Effect, so it's harder to work around.
----
He caught her as she fell, when the racking spasms brought on by the darkspawn taint had passed and left her to drop like a string-cut marionette, and with relief he noted the soft flutter of breath that left her as he lowered her to the weathered stone of the old temple's floor. "She's alive."
Duncan simply inclined his head, as though this was what he'd expected. Maybe he had. Alistair had the impression that the older Warden may very well have seen enough Joinings to know the difference.
"At least one of them made it," Alistair murmured, mostly to himself. He wondered if there'd ever been a Joining where none of the recruits had survived. If only Ser Jory hadn't tried to run... A wife and a child was a lot to lose, he supposed, but even so.
It just seemed like such a waste. Poor sod.
Duncan settled down into a crouch nearby, for the moment ignoring the cooling corpses behind him. "What do you make of her?" he asked.
Alistair hesitated. "I'm not sure," he admitted after a moment. "There's no question she knows her way around a blade, but... I get this feeling sometimes like she's not quite all there, you know?"
It had been a little unnerving, to tell the truth. Clare had been a quiet, somber presence through the foray into the wilds, for the most part not joining in on Daveth and Ser Jory's nervous chatter. She'd pulled her weight - had more than pulled her weight, to be honest; in the end Alistair wasn't entirely sure they'd have come back with the treaties if she hadn't been there to do most of the reasoning with those witches. Nor had she failed to account for herself when it came time to fight... but she'd fought almost recklessly, carving viciously through Blight-maddened wolves and darkspawn alike with sword and dagger. He'd been beside her when the first of the darkspawn had come into sight, and he'd seen the color leave her face, and then he'd seen her tighten her jaw and throw herself headlong into battle.
It had been the same at the Joining just now. Shaken though she'd looked after Duncan had cut poor Ser Jory down, she'd taken up the chalice and drunk without hesitation - not as though she wasn't afraid, Alistair thought, but with a sort of resignation. Almost as though she didn't entirely care what became of her.
"I expect she's still numb."
Duncan's words had Alistair's head tilting. "How's that?"
Duncan looked at him, in a way that left Alistair with the uncomfortable impression that he was missing something important. "How much have you heard about what happened in Highever?"
"Not much," Alistair told him. "I've been a bit busy, you might recall - running errands for the Chantry, annoying mages, tromping about the wilds with wolves and darkspawn and creepy witches all gnawing at my ankles." He paused to think back about what word had come into Ostagar along with Duncan's return from Highever. "There was some kind of revolt there, I think I heard."
"Not a revolt." Duncan's voice sounded heavy. "A betrayal. Arl Howe turned on the Couslands."
"What?" Alistair found himself staring in disbelief. "I knew Howe was slime, but to take the teyrnir by force - now, at beginning of a Blight, with the King calling for troops - is the man insane? What of Teyrn Bryce?"
Duncan remained silent for a space, and the graveness of his expression left an uneasy feeling uncurling in Alistair's gut. "Bryce and his wife are dead," he said at last. "Their daughter was the only one that I could save."
It took a moment for the full import of Duncan's meaning to sink in. Their daughter. "Then Clare--" he said, and Duncan nodded silently. "...Maker's breath. No wonder."
By all accounts, Teyrn Bryce Cousland had been a good man, and his family a close-knit one. Less than a fortnight ago, this woman must have had nearly everything anyone could wish for.
No wonder she seemed sometimes as though she had nothing to lose.
Alistair found himself trying to imagine what it must be like - to have had a home and a family of the sort he'd used to daydream about as a boy, a father and a mother and siblings and servants and all of that, only to have it ripped away in one night of treachery and violence.
He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea, perhaps because he had nothing to really compare it to. Harm coming to Arl Eamon, or blood spilling in the halls of Castle Redcliffe - it was unthinkable, and besides that, if Alistair had any true home and family it was with the Grey Wardens, and the idea of them falling to treachery was too ridiculous to imagine.
Alistair had the vague notion, as Clare began to come around from the shock of the Joining, that he should tell her some of this. There would be nothing that could replace what she'd lost, but perhaps it would come as a comfort - however small - to hear about the fellowship that she'd become a part of, and to know that so long as the Wardens survived, none of them would truly be alone.
After the battle, he thought. There would be time to talk then.
----