New Fanfiction – Walker: Independence

Posted in Posts by Rachael C Marek

I enjoy Westerns. I like the genre. For some reason, I’m all about the drama that often unfolds when an uptight Easterner travels West and clashes with the wildness of the lawless land.

I also relish in the potential for a star-crossed lover moment – Last of the Mohicans is one of my favorites. So, this show, Walker: Independence kept popping up on my list of “recommendations” and out of curiosity, I decided to give the first episode a look-see. It’s not a great show, but it had potential, and some of the episodes and topics touched upon were good, but because of what I saw in those first few minutes…I was inspired to write a new fan fiction.

There is absolutely something going on between the two characters above, Abby and Calian, and despite the series only being one season of 13 episodes, there is plenty of subtly between them to examine and expand upon. Who knows what the show’s writers intended for these two, but if you watch their interactions, you’ll see what I saw.

So, yeah. Here we go again.

If you’re unfamiliar with the CW show now on HBOMax, Abigail Collins and her husband, Liam are on their way to the town of Independence, TX where Liam is to be the new sheriff. One night, when they stop to rest, an unseen shooter attacks them, killing Liam and leaving Abby for dead.

Abby is saved by Calian, and healed by his tribe, who give her the Apache name “Walks in Tall Grass”. Once she’s recovered, she travels to town to inform them about what’s happened, and runs into the new-new sheriff, Tom Davidson, who she is certain is the shooter. Abigail Collins, now Abby Walker (see what they did there?) along with Calian and an outlaw named Hoyt join forces to stop Tom and his family from enacting whatever plans they have for the town.

I’ve put myself on a strict self-imposed writing goal of one chapter per episode per week. I don’t want to linger and think too much. I just want to write. I’m currently writing chapter 5.

After watching the show and seeing Abby and Calian’s relationship not really go anywhere thanks to having only 13 episodes, I checked out Archive of Our Own to see if anyone else had written about them. They had not. Not only were there no fics about these two, there were only a handful of fics in total. Talk about a small fandom.

The fic is titled, Through Calian’s Eyes and it’s rated PG (for now). This was a CW show, so it’s pretty tame, but I’m having thoughts, so the rating may change in the last chapter which would be non-canonical. I’m sharing Chapter One, and eventually it will get its own section under the Scribbles heading here, but if you’re interested, you can follow along over on AO3.

I hope you enjoy!

Untitled Pilot aka And Then There Were Three

It was warm on the prairie. It was the kind of day where the heat rising from the plains could play tricks on the eyes, but Calian knew the difference between worlds, or so he thought. When his little sister appeared to him, leading him when needed, he knew it wasn’t her. It had been many years since she had gone missing, and the figure that showed itself to him was her young self, not the woman she would have become in the years since, and yet he followed her, every time.

This time, she ran amidst the swirls of light spiraling off the land, leading him further than she had before until she finally stood still and pointed to a blue-green blur a short distance away –

– a woman.

A white woman…teetering on the edge of death.

She had been shot. Left for dead. From the look of her, she had walked a good distance before collapsing under the desert sun. Her alabastor skin was made even more fair by the compliment of copper colored waves surrounding her. Her features were so unlike his own, and yet there was something about her Calian couldn’t name, a deep seeded desire to help her, and not only because his sister had brought him to find her. Calian contemplated the consequences of being discovered with her. The townspeople were quick with their vile thoughts, believing his people capable of every type of ill intent.

But he couldn’t leave her.

There was still life in her. Her golden green eyes fluttered just once, but that was all the encouragement Calian needed.

She was small in his hands, and a fierce emotion of protection flooded his entire being. It was a feeling unlike anything he had felt before. He didn’t know what it meant, and he could never guess at what it would mean for him in the future, but at that moment, he knew he needed to safeguard her.

He took her home.

To his people.

Days later, when her golden green eyes fluttered open again, Calian was sure to be the first face she saw. His friend, Augustus had told him once that he had a kind face, and he knew for a woman, such as her, the emotion he could evoke would most likely be of comfort to her when she discovered where she was.

He was still concerned for her overall well being, but he was also curious about her. How had she come to such state? Who wished to inflict such pain upon her? The placement of the shot in her shoulder had meant to wound her, not kill her, at least not right away, so was she still in danger? He held her gaze, and found her eyes entrancing, and noticed, she, too, found it difficult to look away.

Despite her circumstances, and her initial fear, being near him had brought her a sense of calm. He could feel it. “How are you feeling?” He tried to keep his voice steady.

“How…how long have I been here?” She looked around nervously. Realizing she was in her smallclothes, she made a little effort to bring the blanket closer upwards in a discreet move of modesty.

“Four days.” Her face registered her disbelief, but Calian continued. “We found you in the plains. The Elders healed you.”

Her first thought was of thanks, something he appreciated more than he should have, but he quickly realized it was, in part, because of the way she looked, and what treatment he had become accustomed to from those that looked like her. She was surrounded by strangers, those reviled by the settlers, but she didn’t have the same look in her eye that he was used to seeing. She didn’t shrink away from him. Maybe they thought differently in Boston.

She tried to rise, but she was still in pain.

“Where are you from?” He tried to distract her.

“Boston. It’s east, in…”

“Massachusetts.” He found it delightful that she was surprised by his knowledge. “I’ve read of Boston.”

“Where did you learn to speak..?”

“I used to scout for the US Cavalry.”

His people whispered behind them. They did not like how comfortable he and the woman seemed to be, but it amused Calian all the same.

Her ears perked up when she heard the same phrase uttered a few times.

Djon-deh-zee.

“What…what does that mean? Djon-deh-zee?” Tears continued to pool, but he could see the strength behind the sadness too.

“Walks in Tall Grass. What they call you.” He couldn’t keep the smile from his lips.

“My-my name is Abigail. Abigail Collins.”

“I’m Calian.”

And then her sorrow had reason. A husband. Past tense. “..supposed to be sheriff…” She asked if Calian knew where the town of Independence was, which, of course, he did.

She was hopeful, and he couldn’t deny her.

After she rested, now that she had finally awakened, Calian took Abigail to the hilltop that overlooked the valley where the new town was expanding. Calian stood a respectful distance from her.

“I need to tell them what happened.” Her voice held a certain resolve.

“Find Deputy Augustus. He’s a good man.” Calian turned back toward his horse, a strange knot in his chest. “He’ll help you.”

“You aren’t coming with me?” He saw the disappointment on her face, heard it in her voice.

“Some might not want to see an Apache with a white woman.” Saying what so many believed aloud was almost as painful as leaving her.

“Well, that should change.”

He knew she meant it, and that was a salve to his soul. “Maybe one day.” He smiled again as he mounted his horse.

“Thank you. I hope to see you again.”

He responded in Apache, hoping to leave an impression on her. And then they each turned, not willing to watch the other leave.

When evening fell, Calian felt compelled to return to the ridge that overlooked the town – to where he had said his farewell to the intriguing woman who had so quickly turned his head. He sat quietly alone, wrestling with the warring emotions within him. He wanted to go to town, he wanted to find Abigail, to see her again, but given who he was, he knew the town would be suspicous of him, even in spite of everything he had done for them.

And as if on cue, Gus rode up to greet him. “Little bank robbery earlier.”

“Been a while.”

“Yeah. Took a hostage. A woman. Folks at the bank said her name was Abby. Abby Walker.” Calian knew Gus was fishing, he just wasn’t sure why. He had told Abigail she could trust Augustus, and she would have mentioned Calian’s name, but Gus was looking for something more. He could still hear Gus talking, but the words stopped holding meaning as his mind wandered. Something struck him.

Walker. She had taken her Apache name.

Such knowledge brought him a great deal of joy.

Gus rounded his horse around Calian, and Calian took the moment to calm himself. “I’ll track her first daylight.” He knew, at least in some part, that was what Gus wanted from him, so he obliged.

It was also an opportunity to see her again.

“Yeah. Or…you can ride down with me.” They looked at one another, an unspoken conversation between old friends happened in a matter of moments until Calian acquiesced and obliged Gus again. Together they rode into town.

Calian was unaware of the celebration happening to honor the new sheriff when he arrived, so he kept to the shadows, to the outskirts of the townsfolk so he could observe the happenings without being noticed. There was singing and gun fire and dancing girls and then there was Abby…with a man.

They looked like they knew one another. They were speaking in hushed tones, their faces were twisted as if tight with anger or stress. She had made a fast friend, so it seemed, and a pang of jealousy struck Calian’s heart. Would he ever be as fortunate to find himself in her confidence? To stand close to her, in the view of any and everyone.

He turned away, frustrated.

What he had not seen, and what he would not know for some time was that Abby had tried to kill the new sheriff. She believed him responsible for her husband’s murder, and Hoyt had intervened and saved her. He would be grateful to the man later, but just then, he did not like how close the stranger was able to stand beside Abby.

The next morning, Calian tracked Abby to the site of her attack. He could hear her cry out as she found her husband’s body. He also heard the click of her “friend’s” gun.

He called out her Apache name first, so she would know it was him. He tried to keep the disdain out of his voice as he followed up with, “Tell your friend not to shoot.”

He heard her reassure her friend that she knew him, and while he approached her cautiously, he could see she was relieved to see him again. It caused yet another pang to his heart that he could not control.

“And then there were three.” Her friend, Hoyt said. Calian didn’t quite understand the reference yet, but he would.

Abby picked up a tossed aside rifle, as if it might bring her strength, and then she asked, “Will you help me bury him?”

They did.

He spoke reassuring words in Apache, “There is no death. Only a change in worlds.” He knew she couldn’t understand him, but he hoped his presence would bring her some comfort. “His soul goes to the air now.” It was what his people believed, and he tossed some of the dirt at the grave to the air symbolically. Abby, too, offered her own rite of passage, the placing of her ring upon the stones that marked the burial. Hoyt then spoke words of solace, something more appropriate for their people, and it all seemed to bring her closure.

As they left, Abby spoke of a conversation Calian had not been privy to, about revenge. But she had learned something about herself in a short time. She wanted justice for what had happened to her and her husband.

She had found a sense of belonging in Calian’s absence or maybe because of his presence. He found himself truly hoping it was, in part, the latter. In spite of everything he knew of this land, he had discovered a sliver of hope he never thought possible. He knew it was too soon to think such thoughts – they were from different worlds – they might never be accepted – she was in mourning – but he had been destined to find her, and he could not deny their connection. He had no idea what might be in store for them, but he was willing to risk a great deal to find out.

He couldn’t stay away from her. He didn’t want to. And he was willing to bear Hoyt’s presence to be by her side. “And then there were three.” Hoyt had said. Calian now understood.

~ * ~

Are you a fan fic writer? Are you working on something different from your usual? Wanna share so we can all support you? Drop a link in the comments.

Happy Writing!

15Mar2017

It’s a Smorgasbord

Posted in Posts, Quotes, Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

Hi-SmileyEmoticon A lot has happened in a short time, and much of my free time has been taken up with, albeit good things, but time consuming nonetheless. I have had very little time to do the things I enjoy, like writing here.

Hi! I hope you’re all well. Today I’ve decided to share a little bit of everything, I’m so very behind. 😉 There’s some good news, a quote, and a writing prompt.

So the good news. I got a new job and start this week. Yay! This has made it necessary to buy a “new to me” car, which is where all my free time has gone – research mode.

And then the best news of all, my pilot advanced to the semi-finals of the Fresh Voices contest. Yes! Yes! Yes! (Happy dancing ensues!) Positive feedback is hard to come by in this, my chosen field, so you can imagine the boost to my psyche upon learning such wonderful news, which I had to read four times to see if my eyes were deceiving me, in part because I was having this weird side effect of water drippage. 😉

Now, the quote. This is about staying positive, which is sometimes hard to do:

Life

And then there’s this Writing Prompt, number 101, for those of you up to the challenge:

Something Dumb

I hope to be back to the old routine soon. Wishing you all the very best in your endeavors! Happy Writing!

3May2016

Writing Prompt Challenge Accepted #18

Posted in Posts, Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

First off, I am thrilled to share the work of simplysimplymeblog, who accepted the Writing Prompt Challenge.

Remember, any time you’re inspired, please share what you create. You can either post it here in the comments, or on your own page, just be sure to link the post or my site so I know it’s out there. 🙂

A scenery so beautiful, that has become lost over time, it hides many stories of those who walked it’s path. Maybe it was of lovers, who enjoyed it’s peace and serenity, creating memories to share with those to come. Or of those who were parted by destiny, yet met here to maintain their promises, or of those who revisited in remembrance of lost lovers. The secrets it withholds shall be tied within its ageing beauty, as the old marks fade, the new emerge.

The secrets shall remain undisclosed, the mysteries unwritten, the abandoned scape still echoes the laughter and whispers of those who have gone …

Thank you again, Sobia for sharing your words!

I only wrote one flash fiction piece this week, because as I stated in a recent post, I was trying to make the deadline I set for myself for the rewrite of my pilot. I almost made it.

StandingInTheLight

The Chase

He knew from the moment they had met that he would eventually find himself here – standing in a cell the other had once occupied. They had been playing a game of cat and mouse for years, years beyond comprehension, so it was no wonder one of them had eventually found themselves in such a place. He had lost track of the other sometime in the Victorian era, this must have been where he disappeared. There had been rumor of the man who did not age; he was the inspiration for a number of myths and tales, because he had the unlucky fortune of being caught. It was discovering the source of those stories that had brought him here.

The world continued to move forward, yet this place held the remnants of the world it had once been a part of. It still smelled and felt like it had hundreds of years ago, when it was new. He stood in the center of it, feeling the warmth of the setting sun streaming in upon his face, and smiled to himself. There in the stone, a set of markings had been painstakingly carved. The game was on, again.

I’d also like to share a little snippet of the fanfic I wrote the other day at work. It’s a WIP. It hasn’t been edited or rewritten yet, so please forgive any errors. For those of you unfamiliar with this topic, I am not exaggerating, nor am I ashamed/embarrassed to admit, when I say, “I am obsessed with (the video game series) Dragon Age.” One slow day at work, I just randomly started writing fan fiction. 30,000+ words later…yeah. It’s one of my goals to write for the series, in any shape or form. Just putting that out there.

If you’re interested in reading what I’ve written so far, chapters one and two are available under the “Scribbles” heading. There’s some adult content in chapter 2, so you’ll have to click a link to a site that confirms you’re of age. 😉 It was my first attempt at writing, oh, let’s call it what it is, smut. It was so much fun! Don’t worry, the following is smut free.

To be a mage was to be a bit of a show off. While we cast spells, we are alight with magic. We flash with a rainbow of colors, imbued with powers from the Fade. We twirl our staves in a great display. For any mage, their staff is an extension of themselves. It helps to focus our hits, it directs with greater accuracy, but it also needs to bear quite a burden. I knew with each passing fight, I was not only developing new skills, but I was also capable of more than I had been before.

I was stronger and my mana drained at a lesser rate than it had even a few weeks earlier. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I outgrew my current staff, but while in the Temple of Sacred Ashes nearly overwhelmed by heretics and creatures of every variety, I cringed upon hearing a sound every mage must dismay at hearing.

I twirled, casting spell after spell, some deadlier than others, when I felt my staff shudder, and in the strange silence that follows any flurry of spellcasting, the inevitable groan of the staff splintering under its current burden. I cringed. Many of the senior mages in the Circle still had the same staff they passed their Harrowing with. As I was quickly learning with my ever-expanding cache of spells, I wouldn’t be so lucky.

As we had finally found a moment’s reprieve, I sat in silence, despondent at the state of what I regarded as an ally, or an old friend. We had been through quite a bit together, and I would be sad to put her to rest. I gently traced my fingertips along the fragmented edge, thinking back on the journey we had undertaken so far, and how we had arrived at such a strange place, a hidden temple, a ruin.

*A special thank you to rooster82 at DeviantArt for the stunning mage Warden, Devene Amell.

22Dec2015

Dragon Age Fanfic Update

Posted in Posts by Rachael C Marek

DA-Mage I’ve been updating my Dragon Age fanfic weekly over at AO3 (Archive of Our Own) and because I was initially sharing my writing here, I felt a little careless that I had ignored the updating here as well.

I write under a pseudonym on the AO3 because I wasn’t sure of what kind of writing I was going to explore through this avenue, and this may sound odd, but I thought I might be embarrassed.

Truth is, I really enjoy writing this story, and I have written a “mature” chapter (or two) which involves a little smut. I like that word. It’s totally tame, especially compared to some of the stories I’ve read on the site, but it was something I wanted to challenge myself to write. There’s a first time for everything, right?!

I will not be posting the more mature chapters here, but will share the link when they go up, as you have to choose acceptance for such content before continuing on the site. That’s for any of you minors out there. 😉

I appreciate your continued support, and would love your feedback when we get to those racier scenes as it’s so different and new for me, but until then, enjoy Chapter Two of Redcliffe and The Circle.

The village had been under siege for days from a horde of undead from the castle, and the lad had been on lookout duty awaiting reinforcements, as they were ill prepared to survive another attack. The people had taken refuge in the Chantry, hence the silence. We followed the path that twisted down the hillside past the windmill, as the boy tried to catch his breath amidst prayers and thanks.

The heart of the village had been built on stilts and it rose slightly above Lake Calenhad. I do not know why I found this odd. Perhaps because I could not understand how it was defensible? I found that having that idea was odd as well. The silence had been deceiving. From a distance the village seemed almost abandoned, but there was a great amount of noise coming from the Chantry, and we were informed that the leaders of the town could be found within.

Villagers and soldiers moved quietly about, looking beleaguered and downtrodden after many days of turmoil. The few knights present seemed to be gathering supplies and organizing what they could in preparation for yet another onslaught. A small training area was filled with young, inept men, and it was clear that if they were going to survive the night, they would need help.

The doors to the Chantry were heavy, probably reinforced, which was good, and took a little effort to open. The stench of fear was palpable. The villagers were like refugees in their own town, huddled together, praying for mercy. I overheard conversations of plans to leave the area, traveling to destinations outside Ferelden in the hopes they might outrun the evils here and the Blight. I heard mention of Kirkwall, a city across the Waking Sea that was taking in refugees, and it reiterated to me that no matter what, we had to succeed.

The moment that thought settled in my mind, I shivered. “No matter what” was a broad phrase with many meanings, but how many dire circumstances could one country survive? An undead army was on the march in Redcliffe, the Brecilian Forest had had werewolves, darkspawn were scorching the earth in droves with an archdemon at their backs, and civil war was tearing us apart at the seams. Then there were the other facts, such as the king was dead, the Wardens betrayed, and there were only five people (and a trusty mabari) trying to unite all the inhabitants of Ferelden against the Blight.

A man stood in the center of a small group of soldiers and Templars, clearly the one in charge. When the men disbanded, I saw him rub his face in exhaustion and frustration – the burden of responsibility. We could sympathize.

His name was Teagan, the brother of the Arl, and he remembered Alistair as a boy. His appearance softened, and he greeted us warmly, even referring to me as “my lady”. I was relieved that he bore mages no ill will, despite the magical nature of the attacks. He even made a remark about my beauty to which I could not help but blush. He was sly in his flirtation, and I was compelled to return the compliment. I was unsure how Alistair might respond, but it was all so new and unfamiliar, and honestly, it was harmless. I was starting to feel more like a woman, and less like a thing…it was nice to discover there was a distinction.

We learned from Bann Teagan that the castle had been inaccessible for days, and no one had been heard from, including the Arl and his family. He had been duty bound to protect the village and its people, but with many of the castle’s soldiers scattered in search of a cure for the Arl’s strange illness, they were unprepared and incapable of doing more than riding out the storm behind the Chantry’s walls.

We took it upon ourselves to do what we could to help the situation by recruiting those in the village who had abilities to lend. In our efforts we discovered an elven spy, who, after some persuading, offered us Loghain’s name as his contractor. That man had his claws dug deeply into every region; playing a game we knew nothing about.

I knew very little of the politics outside the Circle, we had our own, but from what I understood the Arl was a powerful man with a swaying voice in the political circles. This was one of the reasons Alistair suggested we seek him out. He would be a strong ally against Loghain, and that was something we desperately needed. Obviously, this is why he had been singled out with hostile intent, so he couldn’t offer us his help or stand against Loghain. Rescuing him now seemed a priority, and in order to reach him we would have to defeat this current threat.

Night fell, and what came with it was something I could barely believe.

My time in the Circle was a time of study. We were taught about demons and spirits and the dangers of blood magic, but for the most part, it was clinical, with the exception of the Harrowing. The Fade was an elusive entity, almost beyond study. The ever-present threat of possession and the possibility of becoming an abomination were always at the back of a mage’s mind, but within the Circle walls, for the most part, these things were just ideas. We, as mages, had little experience with fighting, let alone actually defending ourselves against a legitimate threat.

I’ll never forget that moment I saw my first darkspawn in the Kocari Wilds. My stomach sank, and with it my heart, that something so truly horrific could exist. They were beings of anger and hatred, with no other sense then to fight and kill. They had no language beyond the garbled noises they made, and yet they could unite and strike in formation, leaving death and devastation in their wake. They scorched the very earth and left twisted remnants of themselves behind as reminders to those lucky enough to survive, that true evil existed and was living among them. Or below them, as it were.

I learned quickly that they were almost as frail as any mortal, as they were made of flesh and bone just as we were, so when I got my first glimpse of the creatures that now stormed towards us from the castle, I almost felt a sense of relief. They were half skeleton beings with fleshy remains that hung like ribbons from various body parts. Some wore bits of armor and carried weapons and shields, but they appeared fragile in their bony state.

They descended upon us in a cloud of bright green magic, and as I struck them, I realized their frail state was merely an illusion. The magic that bound them was powerful, and it took more effort than I could have imagined to defeat them. Wave upon wave of the undead came from multiple directions, and for some time, I feared it may be never ending, but in the end we were victorious, but not without a few close calls.

Alistair, Sten, and Keiko had run into the thick of battle, and there were a couple of times when I saw them nearly surrounded and a panic and fear I had never felt before crept in. I would yell out commands to both Morrigan and Leliana and somehow we were able to hold back the impending doom that seemed inevitable. This would be one of those arguments for why it was best to avoid personal connections within ranks – impaired judgment – something I would deliberate over when I was alone.

I sent out healing magic when I saw each of them wane in strength or stamina, and I was overcome with relief when the last of the corpses were struck down with no others on the horizon.

The Circle had definitely not prepared me for this.

We reunited in the main square and I looked everyone over in case they needed additional healing, but other than being exhausted from battle, everyone was miraculously unharmed save a few minor cuts and bruises. I made a mental note to remember to ask the First Enchanter for more training in spells that would be useful in protecting my companions amidst battle when we traveled to the Circle for aid. Maybe even Morrigan could teach me a few new tricks. I would ask her when we were next in camp. For now, we had to plan our next move.

4Dec2015

Fanfiction Madness Continues…

Posted in Posts by Rachael C Marek

Origins-WardenShield You may be wondering, “Why are you wasting your time with fanfiction writing?” And I would respond with a blank stare, before I started stumbling around for a way to make you understand. People who are “fans” of something, and I mean devoted fans, get it right away, for others it takes a little more persuading. Plus, I’m hoping the creators of the Dragon Age series will find me and offer me a job. 😉

Until a couple of years ago, I had no idea what fanfiction was. Surprising, right?! I had written an episode of the TV show Alias in college, but that was to build up my portfolio and to learn to emulate an existing voice, I never thought of it as fan fiction, although that is exactly what it was. I was taking characters someone else had created and I wrote my own story. I’ve been planning on writing a post on fandom, and this sort of ties into it, because there is no telling what will strike a chord in you.

Dragon Age to me is what Star Wars is to The Sis. I’ll expand more on this in the other post. As a fantasy enthusiast in a first person game, it’s easy to get swept up into the adventure and romance. Not all my friends like fantasy and sci-fi so they may not understand, but how does one not want to be chosen to save the world, wield magic, create unlikely alliances, and find romance with a powerful witch or a sassy assassin or a sweet warrior?! Well, I guess non-fantasy people.

Anyway…the other side of this coin is that as a writer, you have a fully flushed out world with fully realized characters, and there’s no pressure, it’s just fun to explore. I love to write, it’s what I want to do, but as writers we place so much pressure on ourselves to get it “right” that we often lose the spark, especially when we’re still considered novices. We don’t have anyone waiting for our next great piece, we don’t have fans coming to us in droves wondering what happens next…((pouts))

I’ve been doing a lot of this fanfic writing while at my serving job, because I often have long spaces of time with nothing to do. I can come and go in this story without feeling any loss of momentum, or having to get in the right frame of mind, and at least I’m writing something – and I really like it. To think about characters I have come to know in situations not previously explored is just fun. Which brings me to my next installment in the Dragon Age story. I hope you like it. If you want to see where the madness began, with a writing prompt image, click here.

RedcliffeVillage

Redcliffe Village

The village of Redcliffe was famous for its hilltop windmill, and after hearing about it for years from the Templars who traveled Ferelden in search of what they considered uncontrolled magic; I was excited to finally see the twirling sails for myself. What I was not excited about was the eerie silence of the village that followed. As a Circle mage, my life was limited to the walls of the tower; silence was my old friend. Approaching a place that should be bustling with life, only to find it quiet, was to put it mildly, unsettling – as was the conversation with Alistair before we moved any further.

He asked to speak to me alone for which I received some knowing looks from the rest of the party who continued forward, allowing us some privacy. I was immediately tense. I found it easy to continue to maintain my distance from Alistair while on our journey, and although done purposefully, I hadn’t thought he had noticed. The events in the cave, the magnitude of what lay ahead of us, in addition to my irrational thoughts about a nonexistent relationship weighed heavily upon me, and I felt it best to recapture my level-headedness, through distance.

The Circle, although full of people, allowed each of us a great amount of time to find solitude, especially as we grew older. As children, there were always elders to watch over us, but even as a child I remember keeping my distance from the others; the bitter taste of betrayal from my family lingered for some time. Being sent to a strange place, to be treated like a dangerous object, to never be free…I didn’t know that was what lay in store for me when the Templars came for me, but my parents had.

But I digress. I know I had grown quiet since leaving the Brecilian Forest, but it was a habit, a coping mechanism, or whatever you want to call it, because retreating to the safety of my own mind was where I found comfort. I had not intended it to be alienating, especially to my companions, and I said as much when Alistair asked if I was all right.

I was also troubled by how the world suffered. Being locked away, sheltered, I only had the smallest of insights into what everyone else had to deal with on a regular basis. So far, each time we traveled somewhere new there was a new threat. The darkspawn were a recent development, but villagers had to deal with civil war and in-fighting, dragon attacks, bad crops, bandits, and so much more while trying to raise a family and just live their lives. The Dalish had been dealing with werewolves and were continually on the move due to a variety of fears and threats.

The mages only had the Templars to worry about, and the constant fear of possession, and the threat of tranquility – our world was contained, limited. So much more could happen on the outside, and I found it oddly thrilling. When Duncan recruited me, I had no idea what he was truly offering me…I’m not sure if he knew either, but what he had done was open the world to me…and then there was Alistair.

Not only did he want to talk about me and my well being since the cave, he bombarded me with news so surprising I was left literally speechless. As if our challenges weren’t already great, he shared with me that he was the bastard half-brother of the late king, making him the last in the Theirin bloodline.

I can only imagine the look I had upon my face, because he had to stifle a laugh. He shifted uncomfortably under my scrutiny as I tried to make sense of what this meant. Not only did this completely change him in my eyes, it affected our entire mission. Maker’s Breath! He could be the next king and he was wandering the countryside, killing darkspawn…I wondered if Loghain knew, which of course he did. As Maric’s former friend and advisor, I was sure he was privy to any number of the old king’s secrets.

Alistair assured me that this changed nothing, that he was devoted to our cause and the Grey Wardens, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the beginning of something so much bigger. The Arl of Redcliffe would know what to do. Our only hope was that he had recovered from whatever strange illness he had contracted.

I joked with Alistair about being a prince and the look of horror that dawned was one of the funniest things I had ever witnessed.

And then it happened– closure, or what I hoped it would become. His confession was what I needed to regain that perspective I was so in need of, and I got it (although I soon discovered it was to be short lived). The decision had been made for me, and for a moment my heart ached at the loss. I swallowed hard, and with it, the intention of burying my growing feelings. I suppose Morrigan’s suggestion offered us at least a chance at something, a connection, but it rang hollow now. It always had.

There would be many who would want to utilize this information to their own benefit, even if he chose to remain a Warden, his name would always hold sway, and should he become king, I was a mage. He could also be considered a threat to those political factions vying for the throne for their own purposes, and a target for anyone wishing to exploit such a connection. We would have to do what we could to conceal this knowledge.

I stared at him for a moment, longer than I intended, as I tried to wrap my head around the idea of him becoming king. He was a strong and brave warrior, but there was a vulnerability about him, something Morrigan disliked in him, which of course I found endearing. He would need to be protected, and although I disliked the idea of telling all our companions, we had to watch over him. He could not be allowed to charge into the fray, or take unnecessary risk, although I would never tell him that.

We had speculated that we were probably the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden, but now knowing that he was also the last in a royal line…and I thought we had problems before.

This post got really long, so if you’d like to read the rest of the chapter, you can find it here.

Have a great weekend!

29Mar2015

Discrepant Writer Reviews – Death Comes to Pemberley

Posted in Reviews by Rachael C Marek

Death Comes to Pemberley recently popped up on Netflix, and as a Jane Austen enthusiast, I was excited to see they had picked it up. I had been seeing articles, set photos, etc. for some months, so I made the effort to watch it almost immediately. If you are wondering why I hadn’t watched it sooner, it’s because we haven’t paid for television in over 3 years. So yes, I’m fairly out of the loop on most things.

Based on the novel of the same name from 2011 by P.D. James, I have to say I have been less inclined to read any of what is basically fan fiction of one of the most famous love stories in all of literature. This is not a judgement in any regard. I love fan fiction, I write some myself, but what I have discovered in some of the reading I have done is that it lacks the…hmm, what’s a good word…magic?

Jane Austen ran in the circles she was writing about. Modern day writers can only emulate what they’ve studied, read, and seen because we have not lived it first hand, and again, by no mean is this a shortcoming. I love period pieces, and if we only wrote about what we “know”, we wouldn’t have the wide range of diversity we do in any medium. As writers, we each have a voice, and when it comes to something as widely beloved as Pride and Prejudice, you have to get it just right.

So here is my quick review.

The film was broken up into three parts. I’m pretty sure it could’ve been told in two. Anna Maxwell Martin and Matthew Rhys play our leads, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy in their sixth year of marriage planning their annual ball when tragedy strikes. A murder. Because of the people involved, a wedge is slowly driven between the couple and we are given a glimpse as to the repercussions of following one’s heart instead of one’s head – or at least in the minds of these characters.

The actors are both very good, but I felt Elizabeth was cast incorrectly. She was not the same spirited woman I have come to love and this is where I blame the writing. She seemed weak, and that spark that had attracted Darcy to her in the first place was replaced by insecurity and she was kind of dull. Darcy was too distant, even from the beginning of the film, and because so little is really known of him from the original material beyond those honorable traits we know and love, he too came off a bit dull.

Now, I haven’t been married, so maybe after six years of marriage in this world, they’re a little bored of each other, but when we leave them at the end of Pride and Prejudice, it’s not that I expect the permanent happily ever after, because it is based in “reality”, but I expect more than this. Of course there will be hard times, etc., but I also expect that the challenge they presented to one another would carry over. They should have spirited debates, and still have some spark…well, I think so anyway, and that was missing entirely from this tale.

I didn’t feel/see any spark between these characters, and I almost felt like the obligatory “romantic”, oh, let’s call it what it was, the sex scene was meant to reassure us that they did indeed have “something”, but that doesn’t happen in Jane Austen’s stories, so I know it was meant specifically for modern day audiences, and for me it felt out of place.

There’s an odd side story involving Wickham, played by Matthew Goode, and that does have some bearing on the story overall, but in the vein of a mystery, it was still rather convoluted. The other failing was the absence of Jane and Bingley, the two people dearest to our main characters. I think there were two scenes with Jane, and they didn’t amount to much.

I love the idea of seeing more of two of my favorite characters, as I’m sure does every Janeite, but I would almost prefer to imagine their fates as an open-ended tale without any real knowledge of what happened. Looking back on what I’ve written, it doesn’t sound that promising of a film, but it had its moments, and I was glad to have the opportunity to watch it. If I were flipping channels and it was on, I’d most likely leave it for a bit, but it’s lack of overall charm doesn’t compel me to go out of my way to watch it again.

Well, that’s my take anyway.

Happy Sunday!