Dragon Age: Origins
Mabari
He had failed his Man. Even as he lay in agony with the Bad Ones' taint burning in his blood, he knew only that he had failed his Man. His Man had trusted him with his life, trusted him to protect him, and he had failed. He was a Bad Dog for failing his Man.
The ache was phenomenal. Part of him had severed at the death of his Man, the Bond breaking him as surely as any sword, and he knew he deserved the pain. He deserved worse. He should have taken the blade for his Man, he should have been closer, should have done something to help him.
But he had been too far away, too surrounded by the Bad Ones, to help his Man. When the ones who smelled like Bad Ones but were not, the 'Grey Wardens,' had come he had let himself be dragged away.
Now he lay in a cell, an open cage, dreading the loss in his heart that is the empty space of his Man. He remembered when he had first met his Man. He was smaller then, a pup, and the first time he laid eyes on his Man it had felt like a piece of him was complete that had been empty. He had not known this piece of him was missing until it had been filled; he knew only the urge to please his Man, felt only the extension of himself swell until they were One.
Now he was empty, and whined his distress to the man outside who kept reassuring him and offering him treats. He didn't want the joy of treats, he did not deserve them. He was a Bad Dog, and Bad Dogs do not deserve treats. He smelled the man's pity, his sympathy. The man, this kennel-master, loved the other dogs and so by extension loved him. But he did not want this man's love. He wanted his Man!
"It'd be a shame to lose such a promising member of the breed," the kennel-master was murmuring to someone. "Do you think you could help? There's some elixirs I can make, but I can't get near enough to muzzle 'em."
"Why do you think I'd be able to?" a female voice answered, concerned.
He raised his head at the sound. Something about it… something about the tone tugged at the Void in him. Was this a kin of his Man come to take him away?
"You're a Warden, right? Most you've got to worry about is teeth-marks. Give it a try?"
There was a pause. "All right, give it here."
The gate to his cage opened and the woman stepped in. He struggled to his feet for her, the need to please her outweighing the agony in his blood. She met his gaze and he was startled by the sympathy there. He did not deserve this woman's sympathy. He was a Bad Dog, and growled half-heartedly at her when she approached with the muzzle. But he did deserve the muzzle. Muzzles were for Bad Dogs, and he let her put it on him.
Her fingers scratched his ear and her smile pleased him. The Void in him twisted and ached at the love he saw there, and a piece of him stirred. He felt the Bond again and let its purpose fill him. He did not deserve someone so loving. He was a Bad Dog… but he wanted to be loved again. He wanted that adoration to shine in her eyes like it had in those of his Man. He sunk to the ground, whining, and she rubbed his ear with two fingers. His Man used to pet him like that, and he whuffed at her in thanks.
When she was gone again, he let the agony burn through him. He deserved the suffering of her temptation. He wanted her to be his, but he did not deserve her.
What woman would want a Bad Dog like him? With a sigh he let the Bad Ones' taint drag him back to sleep.
He smelled her before he woke. His vision was blurry, but he deserved it. Bad Dogs did not deserve to see well. But he could still smell her, and felt the kennel-master giving him some kind of elixir. He could smell the man's relief and joy, and the taint in his blood recoiled at the liquid even as his skin cooled.
He looked up and saw the woman from before, the one who spoke to him like his Man, and she was smiling at him. Something in him strained for her, that empty piece of him began to fill, and he needed her. He needed to please her, to protect her, but the weakness in him dragged him back to the earth even as he whined at her.
He could hear them talking even as his vision started to clear.
"What will happen to him now?" the female sounded worried. She was afraid for him? He did not des… no. He did. He did deserve her. He wanted to prove himself to her. He would prove that he was worthy of her, that he was a Good Dog.
"Who knows? Why not come back after the battle and we'll see if we can't imprint him on you."
"You think that's possible?" He heard the joy, the excitement in her voice, and he whuffed.
"Sure. He probably knows you're the one who's saved him. Why not come check back later?"
He whuffed again, louder, gratified when she peeked back at him with a wide smile. She had saved him? Yes. He knew this now. He smelled the elixir on her; she had seen fit to save a Bad Dog like him. He would not let her down. He wagged his stump of a tail.
He would not fail her like he had his Man. He would not fail his Girl.
Chaos was everywhere, but he would not be distracted. He heard screaming, smelled the blood of the other men, felt the rush of battle as it raged about him. Other mabari fell around him, felled by arrows covered in taint or cut down by swords.
He raged in his cage, throwing his shoulder against the gate with all of his might. It creaked and shattered beneath the onslaught of his fury, his desperation, and he was free. He brought a Hurlock down by the throat and ripped it to pieces before launching himself at the next Bad One he saw. The urge to destroy them, to wipe them from the earth, burned behind his eyes. Dozens fell under his might, and he rejoiced.
Then he felt the pull of his Bond and agony lanced through him like a knife. His Girl! He had to find his Girl! She was hurt, he could feel it.
The need to rescue her sent him flying across the land, towards the Wilds. Common sense told him she would be in the Tower, but something else, something primal and older than he had any right to question, told him she would not be there. He let the Bond pull his heart towards her and he ran.
He did not stop running until he could smell her. He had run for days, desperation pushing him to limits he was not certain he could meet, but he could smell her now. She was alive, she was safe. Sorrow clung to her like a blanket, but he had found her.
The road beneath his paws churned under his speed, and he skidded to a stop before her, barking a warning at her and her Traveling Ones. He smelled Bad Ones following him, had been for days, and he hated himself for bringing them straight to his Girl. He turned and let his anger surge into his growl as he planted himself between them and his Girl.
Her surprise was thick in the air, but she recognized him, and was glad for him. He would prove he was a Good Dog, one Bad One at a time. He threw himself at them as they approached, and felt her Traveling Ones fight beside him. The Bad Ones were demolished in moments, and he stood proudly among them, ready to accept her love or her spite, whichever she felt fit to give him.
She knelt before him and rubbed his ears, the smile lighting her sorrowful eyes, and he whuffed.
"I think this is the mabari I saved in Ostagar." She smiled wider.
"He was looking for you, I think." A man beside her. A Grey Warden. He whuffed; his Girl smelled like them as well. "They do that; it's called imprinting."
"Does this mean we'll have this mangy beast following us now?" the other woman who smelled of ancient magic and Bad Things sighed. He did not care what she thought of him. She was not his.
"He's not mangy!" the Grey Warden smiled at him, and he whuffed again.
"I've always wanted a dog like this." His Girl kissed his snout and he licked her face, making her laugh. "Maybe it's fate!"
"You should give him a name." the Grey Warden prodded, and his Girl considered.
"How about Dane?" she beamed, despite the groans from her companions. He recognized the name; it was a good Name for him. Dane was the name of a very Good Dog, and he barked in agreement, making her laugh.
His heart swelled. She wanted him! He would prove he was a Good Dog. He would protect her, keep her safe, or die trying. She was his Girl, and he would fight for her until the last.
His Girl was leaning against him, arms around his neck as she sobbed quietly. He felt her distress, her sorrow, and knew what it meant to experience loss. He was a Good Dog, so he let her cry on him and licked her face to clean it of tears. The man, the one she called Alistair, smelled of similar sadness. Alistair had tried to comfort his Girl several times, but she had just hugged him tighter and Dane had snarled him away.
The Witch did nothing to comfort his Girl. If anything, she made his Girl feel worse. Dane took great pains to keep his Girl away from the Witch when he could, bristling and snarling when the Witch got too close. He would tolerate her Bad Words towards himself, but he would not allow her to belittle his Girl.
His Girl began scratching his ears and Dane huffed. He appreciated her love, but she was the one who needed comfort, not him. The man, Alistair, Dane recognized the looks he gave his Girl. His Girl returned them when the man wasn't looking and Dane cocked his head at them. He could see the Bond between them. It was in their blood, he could smell it. He wondered why they did not act on it. If his Girl had been a female he wanted, he would not be sitting across the camp sulking in his own misery.
Dane snorted and his Girl leaned off him to tend the fire. Dane took the chance to hop to his feet and pad purposefully towards Alistair. He saw the Bard, Leliana, watching him with amusement, but Dane ignored her and sat in front of Alistair so they were eye level. The man watched him warily, and Dane stared at him defiantly. He should be consoling his Girl! Why was he sitting here when his Girl wanted him to help her?
"Hey boy." Alistair murmured, still watching him uncertainly. Dane huffed in annoyance and took Alistair's sleeve in his teeth and pulled. The man stumbled off balance at his strength, but Dane ignored his protests and dragged him across the camp to where his Girl was sitting. He deposited Alistair on the log near his Girl and huffed in pride.
He was a Good Dog.
Leliana burst into laughter from across the camp and Dane just whuffed, staring at Alistair before cocking his head towards his Girl meaningfully. His Girl was watching this and she smiled. It was the first smile since meeting her in Ostagar, and Dane grinned his doggy grin. Alistair looked at him before glancing at his Girl and cleared his throat.
"So, now that I'm here," he glanced pointedly at Dane, "is there… something you'd like to talk about?"
His Girl blushed and looked at the fire. "You don't have to do that, Alistair. If anything I should be the one comforting you. I didn't know them as long as you did."
Alistair scooted closer and put his arm tentatively around his Girl, and Dane whuffed in agreement. Pleased, Dane trotted over to Leliana and sat next to her so his Girl could have some semblance of privacy.
"You are much smarter than they credit you, no?" Leliana whispered, patting his head. Dane nodded, and she laughed. "Glad to know I was not the only one who wished to drag that silly man across the camp."
Dane watched his Girl and Alistair and was content. He was a Good Dog, and Good Dogs looked after their Girl.
Dane was furious! This Bad Man had tried to kill his Girl. He burned with the urge to bring the Bad Man down by the throat and rip him apart. Alistair smelled of similar hate; Dane could hear the anger surging through the man's blood, eager to strike down the Bad Man before them. Dane approved of Alistair then. He approved the urge to defend his Girl, and Alistair rose in his estimations.
But his Girl wanted to let him live. Only her touch on his head kept Dane from flying through the air, but he was a Good Dog, and he waited obediently. He didn't have to like it, though. Leliana was the only one who was not wanting to rip the Bad Man to pieces. Dane did not understand. She had seemed so intelligent, speaking with him in camp, addressing him as an equal. Why was she being unreasonable now? She should want to kill the Bad Man! The Bad Man had almost killed his Girl.
This was not to be tolerated.
Dane did not understand. His Girl was helping the Bad Man to his feet. His name was Zevran. Dane dismissed his name as irrelevant. He would always be a Bad Man; he did not deserve a Name. When his Girl began walking and the Bad Man watched her in a way Dane did not approve of, he growled his displeasure.
The Bad Man had the common sense to regard Dane with cautious fear. Dane was not fooled. His Girl was too friendly, too trusting, but she did not make Mistakes. The Bad Man was just that: a bad man. Dane would keep an eye on him.
Better. He would keep two.
Dane was watching the Bad Man at the camp. His Girl was safe with Alistair, so Dane planted himself directly in front of the Bad Man to watch him. The Bad Man regarded him with a wry smirk and Dane snarled his distaste.
"Ah, my fine furry friend," the Bad Man was saying, waving a hand, "you are protective of our lovely Warden, yes?"
Dane narrowed his eyes and growled low. A warning. He did not like the Bad Man talking about his Girl.
The Bad Man ignored his warning and continued. "She is fortunate to have such a loyal hound. In Antiva, dogs rut about in the streets eating garbage." Dane cocked his head in a whine at that. "Yes, you are quite fortunate to live in Ferelden." The Bad Man sniffed the air. "It even smells like dog, here."
Dane was wary. The Bad Man was good at hiding his emotion, but Dane could smell it. The Bad Man was afraid, but not of Dane. The Bad Man feared something else, something other, something Dane did not understand.
"Speaking of smell, I don't suppose you would consider a bath?"
Dane snarled, bristling. He would not let the Bad Man touch him. Ever.
"No? A shame. You smell like a dog. Several dogs, in fact."
Dane huffed in pride. The Bad Man was good at giving praise. The Bad Man seemed amused at his reaction and Dane huffed again, wary.
The Bad Man leaned back on his hands and regarded Dane with cold calculation, and Dane bared his fangs in another warning.
The Bad Man sighed. "This is why I do not accept contracts that include mabari. If only I had been properly warned!" He put a hand to his forehead dramatically and Dane rolled his eyes, making the Bad Man chuckle. "You wound me."
Dane shook his head and padded away from the Bad Man, content that he was safe enough for the time being. He looked up and saw Alistair slowly scooting closer to his Girl. With a huff of approval, Dane trotted up and sat on her other side. He nudged her towards Alistair with his shoulder and she squeaked, falling into him. Dane watched his Girl and Alistair flail around trying to untangle their limbs and Dane grinned.
He was a Good Dog.
The Bad Man saved his Girl today. Dane had been watching, vigilant, tearing at the throat of a Hurlock archer that had dared to shoot at his Girl, leaving him too far away to stop the Genlocks creeping up behind her.
There had been a moment of utter dread, a reliving of his worst memories, but then the Bad Man had been there. He had come from nowhere, from the very shadows, and both Genlocks were dead. The Bad Man could have attacked his Girl, or let her be hurt, but he had saved her.
Dane would not forget.
At camp he went up to the Bad Man and peered close at his face, making the elf uneasy. With a bark Dane licked the Bad Man's face, making him flail and scramble away. Dane grinned and whuffed, and heard his Girl's laughter.
"Ah, friend, this kiss, it was nothing serious, no? I just do not feel inclined towards you in this way."
Dane barked. He was willing to give the elf the benefit of the doubt. He had saved his Girl, and was therefore not such a Bad Man anymore.
"He likes you, Zevran." His Girl smiled.
The Bad Man—Zevran, Dane amended—was not so Bad. He whuffed and wiggled his tail. Zevran eyed him curiously before a small smile broke his frown.
"So you were watching, yes?" Zevran murmured. "This is good. She needs someone to watch her back."
Dane barked in agreement. He head-butted Zevran, knocking him over, and the elf put a tentative hand on his head, scratching his ears. Dane tolerated the touch for a few moments before huffing and leaping away, leaving the elf laughing in the grass.
Denerim smelled like nothing Dane had ever smelled before. He was overwhelmed at the sensation of it all; he smelled Humans and Elves and Dwarves and Bad Things and Things Good To Eat and then he smelled something new.
He bounded after the New Thing and found a miniature person, barely as tall as he. The Small One laughed and Dane decided he liked the sound of it and allowed the Small One to pet him. Dane bounded around the Small One and then heard the whistle of his Girl. He turned immediately and padded back to her, aware that the Small One was following him.
His Girl looked surprised, and then amused. "Find yourself a friend, boy?"
Dane whuffed and the Small One giggled behind him.
"Puppy!" the Small One clapped and hugged Dane's neck. Dane decided he also liked the feel of the Small One's touch. It made him want to protect the Small One, almost like he did with his Girl, and he grinned.
"You know, if he comes with us he'll have to fight darkspawn," his Girl pointed out.
Dane was horrified. The Small One could not fight darkspawn; it was far too Small and Weak to face the Bad Ones! He barked his disagreement, appalled at the thought of the Small One being torn apart by Bad Ones.
She smiled. "Exactly. Now put him back where you found him."
Dane rolled his eyes. His Girl had been teasing him again. With a whuff he guided the Small One back to where he'd found it and left it there as he padded back. His Girl was very smart. He was a Good Dog, and he had a Smart Girl as his Bonded One. Dane puffed out his chest with pride, and reveled in the sound of her laughter.
Dane was curious.
His Girl had gone into her tent and, oddly, Alistair had followed her in. He was hearing odd sounds from in the tent and his Girl kept crying out. The Crow seemed amused, and Dane had chased him away when he tried to creep closer to the tent. Zevran had pouted but not tried again. He was Not Stupid, after all.
Dane whuffed and trotted towards the tent, hackles raised. It sounded suspiciously like Alistair was hurting his Girl. That would not be tolerated.
He poked his head through the tent flap and Alistair looked up at him, mortified. His Girl was on the tent floor, looking up at him upside-down and she burst out laughing. Dane narrowed one eye at Alistair and huffed knowingly, grinning when the man turned red.
"Kalliaaaaaan…" Alistair whined, "Your dog is leering at me."
His Girl laughed again and shooed Dane out with her hands. Dane whuffed and backed out of the tent obediently, wagging his tail.
He was a Good Dog, and he had done a Good Thing. He sat by the tent protectively, glaring at Zevran when he attempted to sneak closer again.
Zevran frowned and crossed his arms petulantly as he sat back down on his log. "You are a cruel, cruel dog."
Dane rolled his eyes and Zevran chuckled. Dane sat by the tent the rest of the night, proud of Alistair for finally becoming a Good Man. He would be Good for his Girl, and Dane extended his Bond to include him.
He was a Good Dog, after all.
Dane was not happy. His Girl had been gone for too long and her Pack was too restless. Alistair was with her, at least, but Dane would not rest until he could see his Girl again. The Crow, Zevran, was equally restless and paced the room.
Dane followed when the Crow slipped out of the castle and together they tracked down his Girl. She was in a Bad Place—Zevran called it Fort Drakon—and it smelled of blood and death and Bad Things. The Crow was a Smart One, and together they walked into the Bad Place in search of his Girl.
Dane followed the pull of his Bond and found Alistair in a cage, wearing only his trousers. The Crow opened the cage and spoke with Alistair but Dane left them. He needed to find his Girl; he could not, would not, rest until he did so. He found her tied to a board surrounded by Bad Men, and he roared his anger as he threw himself at the Bad Men who dared to touch his Girl. He tore them to pieces, bringing them down by the throat and crushing their legs in his jaws, ignoring the pain they inflicted upon him as insignificant.
When the Bad Men lay still around him he went to his Girl and whined, licking her face until she stirred and smiled at him. The Crow appeared and whistled at the bodies before helping his Girl off the board, and Dane glued himself to her side while they gathered her gear. He and Zevran carved a path out of the Bad Place while Alistair and his Girl followed, and he did not rest until they were free.
His Girl hugged him around the neck and kissed his bloody snout and he barked in his joy. He had saved his Girl, and that was all that mattered.
His Girl wasn't moving. She had taken him with her up to the top of the Bad Place and there he had seen the Evil One which his Girl called the Archdemon. It smelled of death and corruption and tainted things, and he had thrown himself into the battle with abandon.
Now the Evil One lay dead, slain by his Girl, but she lay motionless beside it. He licked her face, whining, not understanding. His Girl was invincible. She had killed many things more impressive than this Evil One. This was not the time for her to be sleeping! His Girl must be very tired to have fallen asleep here, amidst all this smell of death.
Alistair was nearby, his Sword on the ground in front of him as he knelt at his Girl's side, and he smelled of grief and sadness. Dane whined and lay down beside his Girl, resting his head on her chest. She was just tired. She just needed to rest, and then she would wake up and rub his ears and call him a Good Boy and everything would be Right again.
Only it wouldn't.
His Girl was still. Too still. And cold. Dane began to panic, whining and shuffling his feet as he paced around his Girl, crying and begging the Old One to heal her like she'd healed his Girl before. She couldn't be. No. Not again. He could not have failed his Girl like he'd failed his Man. He…
He had failed.
He had failed his Girl. He should have… been faster. He should have kept the Evil One from touching her. He should have done something!
He cried and whimpered as others, the Pack, approached and attempted to touch his Girl. He could not allow it. He would defend her in death as he failed to in life, and bared his fangs and growled at the Pack, daring them to touch his Girl and defy him.
Alistair knelt and pressed his forehead to Dane's, and Dane cried for his Girl just as Alistair cried for her. Dane allowed Alistair to pick up his Girl. They were One, just as Dane and she had been One.
Dane followed Alistair and his Girl down through the Bad Place, the empty blackness inside him spreading in her absence. He was empty.
He was alone.
Dane watched as Alistair set his Girl on the pyre, helpless and hating himself for failing her. He was a Bad Dog, after all. Alistair stood beside Dane as his Pack lit the pyre, away from the others, not wanting their comforts or sympathies.
"It's just you and me now, boy," Alistair whispered, still crying the loss of their Girl.
His fingers buried in Dane's fur and Dane leaned into the touch, feeling that piece of him stir. Perhaps he wasn't so alone after all.