#warden things

[woundedsoul12]

WIP Wednesday

So in the spirit of discussing writing things today I want to talk about pacing. There is pacing your story as a whole, but there is also scene pacing.

This will probably never be fully fleshed out and never make it to AO3 but it's a drabble I have done for @babblingrook and her Parallel Lines story. Her chemistry between Carver and Davrin has given me thoughts yall. And I now ship them hard.

I'm not going to tell you what has happened prior to this. Where they are or what is going on. If I write well enough I should be able to drop you mid scene and you know exactly what's happening. I'm going to post the snippet and then do the breakdown

366 words lets go

“How's she holding up?” Davrin's voice is even, measured. His eyes are focused on his work, hands now always busy to hold the weight of what has passed since Weisshaupt.

But the slight scrape of steel against whetstone pauses as Carver takes the seat next to him with a reserved sigh.

“She is… as well as can be expected.” The older Warden's brow is tight. Weary. Ladened with far too many burdens as his shoulders slump with fatigue.

It's a look all too familiar as Davrin nods slowly.

“She's tough. A bit reckless, but tough.” It's the most comfort he can offer as he returns back to the calming motion of sharpening his blade. “Just give her some time–”

But both men know time isn't a luxury they have. Not with the nightmares coming more frequently and the song loudly singing in their blood.

A Calling Rook now hears screaming as well, though she has yet to understand the gravity of that pull.

“It wasn't your fault, you know?” The words fall from Carver's lips unexpectedly. So much so that Davrin's hand wavers, almost dropping his sword as he inclines his head towards the other man.

“You say that now–” the elf huffs as he leans back against the broken half-wall behind him. The stone bites through the fabric of his tunic, a pain he deserves as his eyes flutter closed. “But if I had been better– stronger…”

The warmth of the calloused palm against his forearm should not come as a shock, but he sucks in a breath through parted lips all the same when his rich irises meet azure blue.

“Tormenting yourself won't change the past,” comes a voice too soft for the stoic Warden-Constable. There's understanding in the flex of his fingers against the taut muscles under his hand, as if he can reach through the veil of Davrin's grief and pull the younger man back from an all too known path.

“Spoken with experience, I'm guessing?”

The curve at the corner of the elf's mouth is almost playful in its challenge. And Carver can't help but grin back as he replies, “With age comes experience, or something like that.”

“She is… as well as can be expected.” The older Warden's brow is tight. Weary. Ladened with far too many burdens as his shoulders slump with fatigue. It's a look all too familiar as Davrin nods slowly.

The ellipses you can actually feel Carver sigh there. It gives us a break and a physical feel for what is happening. This is a tense scene but you can't be all tension. You have to ebb and flow and control pace. Also if it's painful like this you should have some short choppiness in there. Different sentence lengths add to the disjointed feeling of their emotions.

And then Davrin has a short reply. You will notice in this there are a lot of hard stops. Because that's the nature of the piece

But both men know time isn't a luxury they have. Not with the nightmares coming more frequently and the song loudly singing in their blood. A Calling Rook now hears screaming as well, though she has yet to understand the gravity of that pull. “It wasn't your fault, you know?” The words fall from Carver's lips unexpectedly. So much so that Davrin's hand wavers, almost dropping his sword as he inclines his head towards the other man.

Whoooo did you feel that shift? So did Davrin. We went from thinking about Rook to thinking about Davrin now. And because I didn't ease that transition I backed it up with Davrin's action of almost dropping his sword. That was on purpose. Feelings are reeling post Weisshaupt and as worried as Carver is about Rook, he's worried about Davrin as well

“You say that now–” the elf huffs as he leans back against the broken half-wall behind him. The stone bites through the fabric of his tunic, a pain he deserves as his eyes flutter closed. “But if I had been better– stronger…” The warmth of the calloused palm against his forearm should not come as a shock, but he sucks in a breath through parted lips all the same when his rich irises meet azure blue.

Davrin's dialog here is broken to show his pain. His grief. You can hear his voice aching. But then because I want you to feel a connection between the two I ease you into Carver touching him and use a longer sentence to connect

“Spoken with experience, I'm guessing?” The curve at the corner of the elf's mouth is almost playful in its challenge. And Carver can't help but grin back as he replies, “With age comes experience, or something like that.”

We hard shifted again at the end. Davrin was wallowing and Carver brought him back. There I use Davrin's single dialog line to shift flow and tone and give that little hope with their actions and some shorter sentences here

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Today’s Random Warden Head Canon...

Brought to you by my own recently-unveiled sensory processing issues! 

Having a really inconvenient idea about how every Warden experiences the ‘song’ of the Taint in their blood and in others through different sensory metaphors...which means I guess I gotta go read over everything I’ve ever written to see if I’m being consistent about it now don’t I?

But here’s some fun thoughts for now:

Nate senses it like vibrating strings (duh cuz he’s an archer)...harmonic resonance with Carver...mmm baby...also, imagine each Warden as a different stringed instrument in his mind...

Loghain experiences it like drumbeats...heartbeats are percussive and he recognizes the different rhythmic patterns of his fellow Wardens...Stroud’s his timpani, btw, in case you were wondering...

Carver experiences the song of the Taint through smells. Yeah. SMELLS. I dunno. I’m still working on this one, okay?

Solona...oh man. This explains a lot about her, actually. She tastes it (she’s related to Carver, after all).

Oghren feels it in his guts (IDK what that means, that’s just what he said when I asked him).

Velanna sees it like an aura around people. She is also prone to migraines.

I gotta think about Sigrun and the rest. (Anders? OMG...he has A LOT going on...I tend to write him as an all-or-nothing sensory person...he either needs ALL THE STIMULATION or none of it...)

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Chapter 5: Lost

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30448620/chapters/107090958

Characters/Relationships: Carver Hawke/Nathaniel Howe, Stroud/Loghain (established)

Summary: Carver gets lost. That's it. That's the whole chapter.

Excerpt:

As they finish packing up again, having finally had a chance to recover from the highs and lows of nearly drowning and then fighting off a swarm of Darkspawn, Carver realizes he’s still soaking wet. He’s somehow managed to ruin the second set of spare clothing he's had to borrow from his fellow Wardens, and he doesn’t have the nerve to ask Loghain if he can borrow his. He doesn’t suppose the dwarf is close enough in size and proportions — Stroud’s clothes had been awkward enough to fit into — and he certainly doesn’t think his cousin seems the type to carry a spare set of anything with her when she can simply transform into a bear or Maker-knows-what-else.

Loghain glares at him for a moment, almost daring him to ask him anyway, and when he doesn’t, the old man hefts his shield over his pack with a sigh and stalks off.

So Carver tries his best in soggy ill-fitting breeches to keep up with Nate, chasing after the sense of warmth and reassurance he gets just from being near him, as he scouts ahead of the group for a new place to make camp, away from the river and the rancid-smelling pile of slain genlocks they’ve left behind.

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WIP Tuesday

Tagged by and tagging myself. This is a callout post.

Me: y’know what the next chapter of Warden Hawke needs?

Also Me: no...let’s just try to finish this awkward conversation between Nate and Carver, ok? the sooner we can resolve this weirdness, the sooner we can get to the good stuff!

Me Again: lol...yeah...sure...okay! *whispers* wrestling. that’s what it needs. Wardens wrestling. Carver being jealous of Nate and Oghren rolling around on the ground wrestling. maybe Stroud cheering them on, and Solona’s creepy laugh, and Loghain and Shale sharing a moment of disgruntlement. you’re welcome.

...

“I, umm...I’m sorry about trying to kiss you earlier,” Carver murmurs between mouthfuls of stew.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nate says. “I just didn’t want you to do anything that you might regret later.”

“I don’t think I would have…”

"No? No regrets, then, about throwing yourself into a freezing whirlpool…? What about that emissary? I watched you just stand there, ready to give in and let it siphon the life from you.” Nate shakes his head. “If it weren’t for…"

“Fine!” Carver snaps, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth. “I get it.” He stops and swallows. “You think I’m an idiot. I said I was sorry. And I promise it won’t happen again.”

But Nate looks almost as wounded by this as Carver feels. “That’s not what I meant…”

“What did you mean?” Oghren plops down on the other side of Carver with his bowl.

Nate sighs. “Can you please go away…?”

The dwarf turns toward Carver. “He likes you. Probably won’t tell you so. And he’s better than most of us at keeping people out of his head. But he does. Seen it happen to him before with that pretty mage…”

“I said go AWAY!”

“Fine…fine. Just keep brooding and pining, then. You know it looks good on ya.” He winks at Carver as he stands up. “Just don’t break this one like you broke the last one when you finally decide to go for it, eh?”

“I didn’t break any...”  Nate glares at him. “You know what?”

Oghren has a wry twinkle in his eye as he stands up on his toes and lifts his chin to be level with Nate’s. “What?”

[wrestling...obviously...]

goddammit.

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Day 72

of @the-wip-project’s 100 Days of Writing

Do you have filler scenes in your WIPs? How do you fill them?

I tend to think of all my stories as filler, if we’re going by the ‘slice of life’ or ‘seemingly unimportant moments’ between the Big Events in people’s lives definition of that term. I like writing within the drudgery of everyday life, I guess? Like, cool...you saved the world. But who does the dishes? 

The things I’m less excited to write, that actually feel like filler to me, are the transitional ‘summary’ paragraphs to try and contextualize these interactions and to get me from one of these little moments or scenes to the next. The big epic events that allow my characters to eventually get to the issue of who will be doing the dishes...I just really struggle to sit down and write those kinds of things.

---

I got tagged by @blarrghe and @noire-pandora today for WIP Wednesday (thank you both!), and I’ve been feverishly trying to draft a quick one-shot after seeing this brilliant post cross my dash again and being suddenly inspired...to cry a little, I guess? 

So here’s some Loghain and Stroud* in the Deep Roads together again, 15 years after Inquisition I guess?, for one final Stroghainoff adventure:

"It's not really you, though, is it?” Loghain mutters, more to himself than to the very life-like apparition of Stroud standing before him, mustache and all. 

“Of course not.” Loghain answers his own question and turns away from the hallucination. “My mind has begun to go, it seems...I suppose it won't be long now..." 

He continues trudging along, muttering to himself and following Maker-knows-what sense of direction he’s got left down here. He hasn’t decided if he’s trying to avoid the Darkspawn and the inevitable for as long as he can, or rush headlong toward them for a quick and brutal end. But he can’t seem to pinpoint the direction the Archdemon’s song is calling him to, so he supposes it doesn’t matter, anyway.

"Did you hear the one about the Grey Warden who packed up everything and moved to the Deep Roads?" the imaginary Stroud-ghost asks.

Loghain stops.

"He said it was his --"

"Don't," he whispers, shaking his head.

“That got a laugh out of you once.”

“The last thing I need down here is a Spirit -- or...or...whatever you are -- following me around and retelling his worst fucking jokes.”

"It's me, Old Man."

He finally turns back, peering at him again through the darkness. He seems more solid than before, but Loghain still doesn’t dare to reach out and try to touch him. 

"My brain could have easily just conjured you up with the same terrible sense of humor that the real you had," he sneers.

"So what difference does it make, then?”

“Well, one of you was real, for starters.” 

Stroud chuckles, and it’s perfectly infuriating, just as he remembers it. “A long time ago, I promised you that we'd do this together, didn’t I?"

"And you broke that promise when you decided to play the hero and stay behind in the Fade."

"You knew that I was already hearing my Calling then. I wouldn’t have been able to keep that promise, even if I hadn’t stayed behind." Stroud thoughtfully strokes his mustache. "But while I was there, I met some...spirits, I suppose. Justice. And he introduced me to Devotion...and Patience.”

Loghain watches him, looking for any kind of break in the illusion.

“How long has it taken you to catch up to me, Mac Tir?”

"Fifteen bloody years…" Loghain grumbles.

"Oh."

"Yes."

"And you've been alone this entire time?"

"Of course I have!"

"Loghain…” Stroud reaches for his hands, whispering, “I'm so sorry."

Loghain stares at his hands, being held by a ghost. A ghost whose thumbs rub circles into him the way Stroud always did whenever he had gotten lost in one of his many rants.

"I'd have taken care of you, you know?" Loghain blurts out.

Stroud smiles. "I know."

"I’d have held you through the nightmares. Force-fed you mush if I had to. And talked as much sense as I could into you for as long as you’d let me. And when the time came..."

"I know." He nods, pulling Loghain into the very real-feeling steadfast sturdiness of his embrace.

*This Stroud got left behind in the Fade, but like, IDK...who’s to say he, or at least some part of him, didn’t make it out of there somehow? Not me. I don’t know how any of this works.

The rest of this is just going to be them bickering and lots of bewildered letters from Orlesian Wardens regarding two old men seen fighting Darkspawn together before disappearing into a half-collapsed tunnel.

Tagging @serial-chillr, @pinkfadespirit, @paraparadigm, @cleverblackcat, @funkypoacher, @juniper-tree, @convenientcoma, and anyone else who has any art or writing or other WIPs you want to share!

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Together Into the Abyss

T+ rating, Stroud/Loghain, end of life, Calling/Fade shenanigans I guess...?

Summary: Loghain is tired. He's lived much longer than anyone should, especially someone with the Blight coursing through their veins. After helping to rebuild the Order, he disappears into the Deep Roads, and wanders, waiting for the madness of his Calling, or the Darkspawn, to consume him.

Chapter 1 (of 3): A Familiar Song in the Dark

790 words

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33372793/chapters/82887856

Excerpt:

“Leave me be! I did it, didn’t I? I saved your fucking Wardens...and left them better off than I found them, if I do say so myself!”

He hears -- no, he feels -- that infuriating chuckle.

“Isn’t it enough that you still haunt my dreams? Can’t you at least wait until I’m asleep?!”

It’s possible that he is. Possible that he’s dead, even, which would be a welcome surprise. He’s never imagined himself being allowed to slip so peacefully into the beyond. Not when everything else in his life has been such a struggle.

But it’s far more likely that he’s just going mad.

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Stroud’s Kids

Today’s random DA head canon idea brought to you by me wallowing knee-deep in all my weirdly fluffy Warden WIPs (ok, so they’re mostly all just silly stroghainoff fics):

The newest Eastern Warden, Carver Hawke, slips up and accidentally calls Stroud “Dad” a couple of times and it catches on with the others at Vigil’s Keep. Stroud doesn’t hate it. But Loghain certainly finds it idiotic. So Nate starts referring to him as their “Evil Stepmother.”

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Day 15

of @the-wip-project‘s 100 Days of Writing

Had a little chunk of time, and far more inspiration than I needed really early this morning, so I wrote three chapters ahead in Warden Hawke...

“Wardens!” they hear someone or something roar from the other side of the cluster.

Someone else hollers, “Oh, thank the Stone!”

“It has never bothered to thank me for saving its weak, fleshy behind…” a deep rumbling voice, like boulders moving against each other, murmurs loud and low enough to hear under the shrieks of the Darkspawn between them.

“Were you checkin’ out my ass again…?” the second voice asks.

“Perhaps, if it had one…”

There’s a rumbling charge that shakes the walls of the tunnel, and a huge stone golem comes rampaging through the thickest of the Darkspawn, clearing a path to them. A heavily-armored dwarf follows close behind, swinging his axe in a frenzied rush, with a galloping bear at his side, swiping its massive, deadly claws at any blighted creature foolish enough to wander within its reach.

Oh shit, oh fuck...I had this triple cameo planned for this fic from the beginning, but I kind of didn’t anticipate how much fun I would have writing snark between my Amell (who is not nice or warm and is guilty of many ethics violations) and Loghain, and Carver, and poor Stroud...terribly out of his element trying to keep these two from killing each other.

“So…” Solona plops down next to Carver. “Gotta admit, it’s a little weird to be seeing you again down here in blue and silver. I kinda figured you all might have been eaten by Darkspawn shortly after we met.”

“I was hoping you might have forgotten our prior meeting…” he groans. “Didn’t exactly realize one of my cousins would end up saving Ferelden from the Blight.”

Solona cackles at that. “Hardly! Have you been up there recently? Whole country’s in disarray. But I left other, far-more-capable people in charge of fixing that mess...” She glances over at Loghain, who is still too busy fussing with his armor to overhear, then back to Carver. “How are your mother and sisters? Did you all make it to Kirkwall?”

“I’m fairly certain Marian will be fine, as always. And as far as I know, Beth and our mother are alright, too, though our uncle squandered the family fortune and apparently gambled away the estate. When we arrived, we had to indenture ourselves to competing mercenary groups and have them bribe the guards to even let us into the city.”

“Sounds fun!”

Loghain, having finally given up on cleaning the remaining gore from his uniform, squats down across the fire, eyeing both of them suspiciously. “If I’d have known you two were related…”

“You’d have what, Mac Tir?” She asks with an absolutely wicked-looking smirk that reminds Carver so much of Marian that it almost makes him miss her. Almost. “Would you have asked to be transferred back to Orlais? Because that can certainly be arranged…”

Stroud snorts into his mustache and Loghain shoots him a nasty look of betrayal.

“Andraste’s tits...” Solona looks back and forth between them. “Are you two fucking?!”

By the way, I guess I head canon shapeshifter Amell sleeping in bear form with Shale and Oghren (platonically) because even when they’re assholes to each other (maybe especially then?), Warden affection is very important to me, and being a bear is the best way to ensure she doesn’t get crushed (also, bears are just a running theme in everything I write with these Wardens).

But Carver doesn’t sleep. He can’t. So he waits. He waits until he’s convinced the others are asleep, their thoughts drifting into quieter places. Stroud and Loghain in their shared bedroll, Nate in his own further away from the fire, and Shale and Oghren and his cousin, who, in addition to being the Hero of Ferelden, is apparently now one of his commanding officers, nestled into a loud snoring pile of stone and dwarf and bear nearby.