I AM A DOG

A one shot from the perspective of a Dog.
DAII, Dog

The smell of dead flesh and poisoned grass had repulsed my nose over the past several months. The hounds and I agreed that something was amiss, and the taste of rotting air drove us crazy for the first few days. However, our howls and gruffs were ignored by our owners, suggested as passing mischief or a bad meat mixed into our breakfast. But dogs are rarely paid any attention until humans learn the hard way.

I couldn't give a name to the thing that had ruined my appetite and irritated my nose. It wasn't until the Mother Hawke kept repeating words such as Darkspawn and Blight and Ostagar that I was able to identify this sickness. I hoped it would pass in time, like bad droughts and locusts had years before, but when I heard the mother cry and plead with her son, I knew such things would not simply pass. I remember watching anxiously as Carver buckled his sword to his belt, packed a few dried meats and a flask of strong ale. I remember pleading with the boy to stay, hiding his underpants things because humans need such belongings to protect their bottoms. But he would swap me on the nose, scold me profusely, wash the ruined undergarments, and continue his preparations. But Carver is weak. He does not use magic. He will die unless someone protects him.

The boy does not smell like mana unlike his sisters. Magic has always been a problem for my family. For many years, when I was a young pup, we traveled from city to city like those vagrant elves I hear stories about. I enjoyed the adventure, but my family was tired of it. My former master, the Sire Hawke, would say it was to protect the girls from a place called the Circle. And while I have never seen a circle personally - because I am a dog and I cannot flip through picture books without getting scolded - I imagined it as this heavy fortress where the magic smelling humans are tied against the walls. That is what Sire Hawke said. That the mages are prisoned, shackled, and tied. A lot of effort, I think. A bit silly to shackle people just because they smell like magic, but humans are strange and believe in prevention. We Mabaris do not care for the magic smelling ones, as long as they do not smell like bad magic (Which smells like rotten egg and sulfur, oddly enough. Sometimes copper and blood, but that smells no different than war.)

It took us many years to finally settle in my village, Lothering. I like Lothering. It has open fields, green grasses, gentle ponds, and dense cattle of which my masters allow me to chase and harass. But where I had freedom, the sisters did not. I watched as Bethany and Marian forced themselves into isolation while Carver and I bullied the fish and cats at old Jonathan's farm. They rarely left the home, and if they did, it was to work at the quarry or do small tasks for the Chantry board. They had no friends save for themselves, and Carver was a bitter boy who could not bring his own friends back home. The town was never suspicious, though to be frank I believe they knew what the Hawkes were and simply kept mum out of respect. Over time, they finally met the villagers, but friendships were rare.

But what do I know? I am only a dog and I cannot share rumors at a bar, for dogs are not allowed in taverns.

Bethany and Marian were close growing up, even before the old master died three years ago. I think it is because they are magic smelling, unlike Carver. They would share secrets, had their own sister language, frequently pulled pranks on their brother, and fantasized about neighbor boys. The sisters were treated as a curiousity and fascination by the neighbors, who assumed the sisters were being locked up to protect their chastity as small village folk are likely to do. Bethany was always shy, so the older sister frequently took initiative. I once watched warily as Marian disappeared from home at age fifteen in order to share a romantic escapade with one of the farm boys who admired her but never knew her. I do not remember how many encounters Marian had with young random strangers, but she was quite experienced in such things whereas Bethany was not. The mother was sheltered from such information, the father knew only as much as he wanted to, and Carver despised Marian for it.

I love Carver because he embraces his nature and is not secretive about his feelings. Carver isn't as open minded or sweet as Bethany and he certainly is not able to keep his feelings disguised like Marian does. Carver is much like the Mother Hawke, scolding, sensitive, fearful, and worried. I see very little of his sire in him, as I do in his sisters. But perhaps that is because he is not magic and they are. I do not know.

What I do know is that if Carver dies, my family will fall apart. Mother Hawke cannot take another loss, as she did when my former master left. For all his ignorance and desire to prove himself, the boy is able to keep Bethany strong hearted and Marian responsible. They are my family, and without his support, my family will destroy itself or wane out of existence. So it is my duty to protect them. That is why I chose to follow Carver to Ostagar.

"Steady, boy..." Carver rattles nervously, stalking through the burning forests as he tries to navigate by the stars. His senses are dull, since he is a human, so it is my responsibility to safeguard his passage home. I can smell the rot and decay all around us. It has spread like a wave, immersing the valleys, forests, and the entire fortress behind us in death. The young master Hawke's face has paled these last few days, seeing so much death in such a short time span. His eyes have hardened, his body is tense. When the horns and drums of war descended upon us back in Ostagar, I knew then that I would never see my Carver again. Instead, he had become replaced by this stranger, hardened by war and ruined by desolation.

"Please..."

My ears perk, and I hear a pleading voice nearby. Human voice. Half choked and tired. Warily, I approach a wounded man, his body slumps against a broken tree. He is pale, and his eyes are milky. I can smell his blood rotting with the bad smell, like so many of the other pleading men we have met on our journey.

I whine, turning to Carver and leaning my weight towards the source. As the young master approaches, I comfort the dying stranger as best I can, pressing my head against his limp hand.

"... The taint..." Carver whispers, shaking his head. Slowly, he draws his blade and murmurs an apology to the stranger. "I am sorry."

With one thrust, he cuts into the man's cheap armor, breaking through the plates and burying the blade deep into his heart. I have lost count how many strangers we had given a mercy death, but the task has become more systematic and less difficult to bare. Carver gently picks through the man's pockets, gathering what little supplies the stranger has on his person, and we walk away. There is no time to mourn the death of strangers in a strangeland.

We journey towards Lothering where I hope the sisters and the mother would be alright. I cannot sense how far this Darkspawn / Blight / Ostagar evil had spread, but it is far, and my nose is clogged with the smells of it all. The further we travel, the more organized I realize my enemy has become. The further we leave the fortress behind us, the more ruined our environment looks. It is as if this poison not only has a bad smell, but is quickly swallowing the land around us in its pestilence. The trees have lost their leaves, the water has dried into red dirt. Soon, we are walking in what appears to be a wasteland.

"... Does it end?" Carver mutters.

We rest only briefly, between hours. Then the boy goes over our supplies, carefully divides them, feeds me a bit of raw hide, and we continue.

"Where are all the Darkspawn..?" Carver asks me.

I wish I could reply.

I would say - Young Master, I am afraid to say that I've come to the conclusion that Darkspawn army is now tearing through small villages, towns, and likely heading for Lothering. While we may not see them above surface, I can smell the ground reeking, and I hear screams sometimes in the more shallow spots where I feel the ground may crumble underneath us. They are under us, young master. And they are not interested in one boy and his dog. They want more blood, and that would be in Lothering. I hope our family is alright.

But I cannot reply.

Because I am a dog.

Instead, I perk my ears and search the red, dusty emptiness around us. I sniff the air, and I detect a familiar taste. Magic. Stone dust. Cheap lyrium. Mother Hawke's lily perfume, a birthday gift to Bethany. And sweat that smelled like Carver's.

I bark enthusiastically, tongue lolled and prancing like a goat who found a batch of fresh daisies. Carver draws his sword quickly, anticipating war, but I bound quickly towards the good scents. It is a light in the darkness of all this decay. And as I pounce over the hill a distance, I could see the outlines of the sisters running towards the sound of my howls. I ran quickly, and can hear Carver following my steps as quickly as only a human's legs can carry, the distance between my family closing.

"Oh maker, Carver!" Bethany cries, the desperate sound breaking her voice. Even Marian Hawke, eldest sister, smiles widely and outpaces Bethany as her eyes drifted from friend to the emptiness around her.

The twins embrace, the impact of Bethany throwing the both of them both tumbling into the ground. My own emotions pique at this excitement, and I share this enthusiasm by leaping into Marian's arms like a child. I am a heavy dog, and this was not a good idea on my part, for soon my poor young master is pinned to the ground with me curling into her arms like a scared pup. "... Ooooh MAKER you are HEAVY."

"Why are you here! You should be fleeing Lothering!" Carver cries out, but his protests are interrupted by the relief of having his twin close by.

Bethany sobs, shaking her head and holding her embrace. "I had to find you! It had been a week, and we thought for sure it was too late... Tell me you won't leave again."

Which was an odd request to make, since I doubt Carver would leave now that he had his family here. But I am not a human, I am a dog. I do not know these things.

"Never," Carver laughs, scruffing the back of his sister's hair. "How could I leave my better twin? I should not have gone."

At this point, Marian had manages to dislodge me. She picks herself up onto her feet and ignores the reunion. Relief shifts into tension as Marian quickly turns and starts walking the direction she came, "Quickly. We must return to Lothering before it is too late."

"Good to see you too... sister..." Carver mutters bitterly. Bethany pulls at his arm, encircling it and smiling warmly at her twin, giggling ridiculously as if they were ten years younger and in the middle of a holiday, as opposed to a desolate waste land.

I follow the eldest sibling as is accord for my instincts. She is the pack leader, and her decisions are final.

I want so much to say Oh thank you for coming! We were so worried you had died. It was horrible in Ostagar. We killed so many people that smelled bad, and the evil creatures would snap at us with their swords. We watched a king die before our eyes, we saw so many Grey Wardens-that-are-heros-but-smell-like-the-bad-smell fall. I am glad you are safe. Without Carver, you would be lost. Without you, he too would be lost.

I hope Carver will say these things, since he is a human and I am not, but he keeps his silence. The war has terrorized him. What Marian may have mistaken for being a 'total jackass'(As she frequently calls him during our trip) is actually a defense mechanism. Carver is hurting.

I wish I could say these things for both of us.

But I cannot. Because I cannot speak.

For I am a dog.

Author's Notes:

This was originally part of another fic, but I just didn't know where that OTHER fic was going.

As a stand alone, Dog makes for a wonderful narrator. Maybe I'll expand on this one day. for now, I think its a great one shot.

Good dog, Dog.