Disclaimer: I own nothing of Dragon Age Origins, Bioware does.
In fact, Bioware also currently owns my soul.
Curse you for making such amazing story orientated and character driven games! Curssssee yooouuu!
In all seriousness, I got the game a few days after its release date, and it owned me right from the start.
See? I even started writing this fan fiction before I was even halfway through the story.
This started as a short one-shot piece and quickly grew into a multiple chapter story, one that had a life of it's own and kept on going until it was done.
I shall be uploading the next few chapters shortly, until then, please enjoy, and it would be lovely if you reviewed.
1. The Finding
Consciousness was slow to return to him, starting with the vague awareness that he was in pain. In itself, that fact wasn't enough to worry him as his mind worked it's way from the black edge of the abyss, bred and born for fighting, pain was just a fact of his life, and he accepted it without question. However, in this case, as his awareness spread out over his form, he knew he was hurt far worse than normal, and he was also aware that he should be grateful that he was pulling himself away from the blackness, and his next actions would determine whether or not he would be sliding back any time soon.
The next sense he regained was of smell, though it didn't serve any greater purpose, because all he could smell was blood. Lots of blood, a few hours old at the very least, judging by the heavier scent of wetted earth. Again, not such a strange thing for him to awaken too, bread and butter they would say, as common a scent in his life as the ash-and-pitch paint that traced patterns in his coat.
He drew a long inhale through his thick muzzle, feeling the sharp sting of a re-opening wound in his side, and a fresh layer of his own oozing blood slither through whatever strands of his fur that weren't already caked together. For a long moment, it was all he could do to stay awake, just to fight through the pain and dizziness, but he managed, and the moment gave him the opportunity to put his sharp ears to good use.
This sense told him more about his particular situation than the last two, for there were sounds to be heard, the mild chirping of crickets, grass parting way from the light breeze, the light flutter of wings, all so very different from the normal crescendo of battle, and yet somehow, it still sounded tentative. He could just barely make out the sounds of scurrying forest animals, but predator and prey alike were tentative, and now, thanks to the breeze, he could smell them, and he smelled fear.
Whatever had happened was now over, but not long enough ago for others not to be wary, and therefore, not long enough ago for him to be off his guard.
Mistress!
Suddenly he knew a fire in his limbs that pushed against the pain and the weariness. He was here, still living no matter how badly hurt, and the fighting was over, where was his mistress?
He opened his eyes only to be met with the scene he knew had existed about him from the second of his awakening. It was night, and very deeply into night, if the position of the sliver of the moon was any indication, but somehow the faint light given by the waned disk only made the scene more gruesome.
Corpses lay strewn about the uneven clearing all around him, crumpled in odd positions, and resting in great swathes of mud created by their own blood, cuts from short blades and mauled limbs from sharp teeth adorned every cold body. Their already inhuman and contorted faces stretched further still in what had been their death throws.
But that didn't matter now, he had seen dozens of such spectacles, and had he the mind to, would probably guess that he would see many more if he lived through this night. Now he barley even registered the twisted lump of a knurled skinned creature that had probably been his own kill, so intent was he on getting to his feet.
Find mistress.
The simple thought was enough to elected a determined growl from deep within his chest, and he stubbornly brought his legs under his form and shoved himself up.
He stood on all fours, wide head held high and defiant amidst the death all around him, for a few seconds.
His left hind leg gave way from under him, and his back end slid painfully back to the ground, the moment of bravado passed, and he felt the nearly overwhelming pain of broken bones. He whined and craned his thick neck around to stare at his large paw, which was now nearly as crumpled and twisted as some of the bodies around him. Dried blood clung to his light brown fur, and it had mixed in with the white war paint that traced bone lines across his whole body, streaks of the mix ran down the broken limb and stung in the places were he had accidentally reopened the breaks in his skin.
No matter, he hauled himself up once more, balancing his great weight across his three good paws, he had a job to do, he had to find her.
And so the great mambari hound limped passed the lifeless clumps of his darkspawn foes, forcing himself away from his fallen place, to seek out what was his. He didn't have much luck, even with his sight of the night, the bodies all around were clumped close together, and in some places laying over one another, the freshly dead having fallen upon the bodies of their already fallen comrades, making it difficult to make one creature out from the other. The blood of goodly folk smelled different from that of the blight, but the stench of darkspawn blood hung heavily about this forest clearing, choking off every other smell with little effort.
It all served to make his search even more desperate, his own lack of strength often forcing him to make circles around a pile of bodies that at any other time he would recognize as enemies, and his pain only making him more and more afraid as he walked near the edge of the battlefield and turned about to look in a different direction.
But despite his own pain, he stayed vigilant, focused, and he was rewarded.
The slight moon disappeared behind a wisp of a cloud for a moment, then quickly reappeared, casting it's light off of something bright silver.
The dog brought his head up swiftly, then rushed as quickly as he could to the source of the twinkle. Not even the finest of darkspawn craft made a refection like that.
Mistress!
He had found her at last.
On the opposite side of the battlefield she lay, half laying on her back atop a darkspawn corpse in who's skull was buried a single silver dagger, her small elven frame delicate against the harsh brute she had felled. Her hair snared in the rough edges of her foes armor, and the curling black tattoo upon her forehead was nearly completely obscured by a layer of blood not unlike the one that he bore. Had he been able to see color clearly in this dim light, he would still have been hard pressed to distinguish between the stain of her forehead and her naturally blood red hair, but as it was, the pallor of her face was something he could easily see.
He whined as he approached her, now he could smell her blood, and it was far too strong here for his liking, too much of the stain beneath the two was from her, and it would've been easier for him to keep track of the places where her pale skin shone out in the moonlight free of blood, rather than count the numerous places where it seeped from.
Completely ignoring the dead darkspawn, he stepped right up to his mistress and sniffed her, then recoiled slightly, she smelled of darkspawn blood almost more than she smelled of her own. Though if the battlefield had been any indication, it was a right she had earned.
Tentatively, fearfully, he lay his sensitive nose against her throat -breathing heavily through his muzzle to keep from being overpowered by the mixed stench of blood- and waited.
Her skin moved! The rhythm was weak at best, but it was there.
He let out a long slow breath and lifted his head to study her again. Calmer now, he now saw the slight rise and fall of her chest beneath her drake scale amour, and -getting closer- could feel the rush of air pass by her slightly open lips.
There was a sudden sharp *crack* from somewhere in the woods behind him, and his twisted his head about to snarl.
It wasn't safe here, he knew, if more darkspawn didn't stumble across the grisly scene and decide to end what their kin could not, then the wild creatures of the forest would try to finish them, for out of the whole clearing, the two of them were the only things that the natural carnivores would even consider a meal. In the shape he was in, the mabari doubted he could defend himself properly, let alone his unconscious mistress.
He looked back to her.
Her right hand still loosely clasped the hilt of her long sword, just as coated in blood as the pair of them, just as covered as her amour.
What about the others? The other people should be worried, should be looking. Strange and unfamiliar as they were to the hound, together they were a pack, he knew that much about them. A true pack stood together, sought each other out when they went missing, brought down their foes together. It had been this way in his last pack, before the death of his first chosen, but even with the vast differences between all the members of this new pack, he understood one thing, each was unfailingly loyal to his mistress, she was alpha, even to the taller humans, and they trusted her.
And they should be worried about her.
A loud screeching from the woods pulled the hound from his reasoning, and he whined as he nuzzled against her sharp featured face, hoping to rouse some reaction, to get her to choose what do to next, but to no avail. He knew what he had to do, but also knew in doing so, that he could harm her more than he would help her.
A renewed stab of pain from his mangled paw reminded him of the alternative, and set him into action. Moving down onto his forelegs so that his chest dragged against the ground, he crawled forward and pushed his large head in-between her back and the side of the darkspawn she was using as a bed.
Carefully maneuvering his large bulk under the slight weight of his mistress without using all four of his legs was a greater challenge than he could of thought. But not once did the thought of giving up ever enter his mind, just as the thought of leaving the battlefield without finding her had never entered his mind, or the thought of leaving the weakened grey warden to her fate had never entered his mind.
She was his everything, he had killed for her, and he would die for her, without even giving it a second thought.
Such was the way of the mabari.
His continued wheedling jostled her position, and the great sword slipped from her loose hand as he managed to slid his long neck under her back, and as he tentatively rose higher up onto his feet, his momentum made her form slid down just slightly, so more of her weight was supported solely by his strong back.
It took a few moments of fumbling, and a couple of retries, but it was no small feat when he slowly stood up to his full height and took her fully from the ground. She had rolled over his back as he forced his way between her and her dead foe, so now she was slung across his back, her abdomen pressing down against his spine, delicate hands hanging limply towards the ground.
She was lighter than he had expected, the drake scale amour merely a fine extra layer of skin, as opposed to the heavy plates that grey-tainted-man wore, the kinds emblazoned with the templer sword. The thought made him whine again, grey-tainted-man should be worried for them, should be looking…
But they couldn't stay here any longer. If the others were going to find them here, they would've done so already, and his mistress didn't have time to wait in this meadow of death, she needed to be somewhere safer, and he intended to take her there, no matter how long it would take. Slowly, he made to turn around, taking his body in as wide a circle as possible so as to keep her weight balanced, no easy task as he limped horribly along.
As he hobbled past her former resting place, his sharp eyes fell over her weapons, the long sword half drowned in the bloody earth, and the glittering dagger stuck fast in the skull of the darkspawn. He hated to leave her metal fangs here, open and attainable to any kind of riff-raff, they where hers alone, extensions of her very arms as much as his claws were. Her best defense. But there was no way he could take them both, her slight weight would tire him far faster than he would have liked anyway, and the metal was useless to him, and, so long as she was knocked out, to her as well. But still…
Deciding quickly, he maneuvered himself and wrapped his strong jaws around the hilt of the sparkling dagger, then pulled experimentally, the enchanted blade didn't so much as budge. Determined as ever, he tried again, yanking harder and harder with every pull, growling in frustration even as the weakened bone began to crumble under his efforts. In one last desperate motion, he yanked backward with all his weight, and the blade came free, surprising him. He stumbled back, and felt his mistresses weight slid off to one side, forcing him to put his injured foot down to keep her firmly upon his back. He whined horribly as the hurt paw took his weight, but he stood tall, prize clenched in his teeth, and his mistress still slung safely over him.
No more dawdling, he had done all he could here, and the sounds he had made would likely attract attention, and they were far too vulnerable in the dark. Doggedly, he resumed his walk across the field, picking his way between the piles he had only just examined in his search for his mistress, heading directly for the tree line, where they could become lost in shadows.
Her body jostled against his ribs with every bouncing limp, and he was aware of more warm oozing liquid spilling down his back, but he didn't slow, pushing his way through the thick brush and into the trees. He didn't have anywhere specific to go, wasn't following any logical path, instead focusing upon getting far away, still hoping that the pack would find them first.
The others in the pack, mistresses trusted them all, and therefore, so did he, even if he didn't particularly like a few of them. Grey-tainted-man teased him often, making odd faces and saying strange things, trying to feed him the awful burnt bits of his meal, but he also stood strong beside both of them, defending mistress with his strong shield in battle, and making her laugh in the peace of camp. The three of them, he knew, shared something that the others did not, the clawing black taint of their enemies, mistress and Grey-tainted-man were the last of their first pack, and they found a deep trust and comradely in that fact. Pack mates no matter the circumstance, standing tall for each other.
They had been gone so long, just the two of them.
Did Grey-tainted-man know? Would he try to find them?
The sharp tasted of metal was a welcome relief from the bitter poison of darkspawn blood, and he retained his tight hold upon the weapon, even though it would catch and pull upon the brambles and branches he forced his bulk through. He had always fought so hard, this was just a different kind of battle, and he would win it, no question.
A sudden whoosh of wings forced him to a stumbling halt, and twist his head this way and that, frantically looking for the source, to try to tell if it was a threat, or just another watcher of the night.
A slight motion on a low tree branch to his right showed him that it was the former, this time. A deathly black crow, glimmering gloomily in the faint white light, watched the pair with what could have been called an air of contempt, or perhaps indifference.
Either way, the look reminded him of dragon-eyed-lady. Dark in nearly every respect, she always bedded far away from the rest, always just on the fringe of the pack, it had occurred to him that she wasn't the only member that preferred her presence there.
"Like a bad cold," Grey-tainted-man had said to mistress once. "Always there, just on the edge, not close enough to fight off with a sharp stick, but not far enough away to just block out."
Mistress had rolled her eyes.
Dragon-eyed-lady liked no one, and him least of all, despite his continued interest in her. Perhaps it was because mistress was always interested and attentive to her as much as any other, or perhaps because of the way dragon-eyed-lady could morph into animal shapes, some much like his own. At any rate, it seemed both his, and mistress's, attempts at friendship had been, as yet, completely fruitless. Still, she fought hard alongside them both, her dark wooden staff channeling great energies to strike at their foes, casting terrifying spells to become a spider and crash right into the fray, his personal favorite way to do battle.
Even if the battles didn't end quite well…
Just a short scouting mission, mistress had said, wouldn't be gone long, nothing to worry about…
He hoped that dragon-eyed-lady at least cared that they still hadn't returned. If nothing else, she could turn into a wolf and track them. Better her than an actual wild pack.
The crow watched impassively as he went on, weaving between the thick trunks and trying his best not to make his pace too uneven. Both of them were in pain, there was no need to sacrifice speed for more energy sapping agony.
His large feet found their way to a well worn deer path, just wide enough for his broad form to pass through, unhindered by the forest growth. This path he would follow. If any creature knew a place of safety, it was the largest of the forest prey. With their soft faces and large eyes.
So much like the face of the lady-who-sung.
Her voice was soft, and she talked differently than the rest, but she had always shown him great respect, kind words came as easily to her as deadly arrows flew from her bow. She would always have a pat on the head for him, or a particularly juicy bit of meal from her own stew, a kind twinkle in her eyes that resembled the stars above him now.
Better yet, lady-who-sung liked mistress, likely her greatly, and was always there in the few times where mistress's strength failed her. Lady-who-sung pulling out her own double blades to stand over mistress, protecting her just as fiercely as he himself did.
Lady-who-sung wished for a deeper connection to mistress, and if his elven beauty never figured that out, he would do his best help lady-that-sung show her, for all their sakes.
Lady-who-sung would be concerned for them, wouldn't she? Could she convince the others to look for them? Did they even know where to start?
The deer path had begun to incline, slowly at first, but gaining steepness with every step. It wasn't until now that he began to notice how weary he was becoming. He panted hard around the hilt, and his back ached with the pressure, his hurt foot was now mostly numb, and he knew that he would have to try to keep it somewhat warm. Keep the blood flowing, lest he lose all feeling.
Lose feeling, lose the limb. Such a thing had been all to common in his former pack mates, he would not let it happen to him.
At least mistress still felt warm upon his fur, and so long as she was warm, he would press on.
The trail continued up the hill, and it wasn't until he reached a breach in the trees, where the moon shone unhindered upon the hard earth, that he stopped to study his location. They were high above the forest now, upon this hill, and he tried to see something, anything, that might given him any kind of clue.
Nothing, he couldn't even make out the battlefield clearing in the crush of trees below, and no smoke from a fire anywhere around. Had he been overly concerned with their location, he would've worried about being fairly lost, as it was, he was merely glad he had gotten them this far.
His break didn't last long, and it only took a few paces before the two of them where shadowed over by the trees again, completely blocking their view of the valley below.
A few more fumbling steps into the trees, and he slipped slightly, the ground going down far deeper than it should. He managed to catch himself before either of them fell, but it was a close thing. He had to stop again to readjust his footing, and he studied the thing that had caused the problem in the first place.
It was a massive paw print, pressed deeply into the trail. He knew it was days old, both by the fact that it was so deeply pressed into the earth,-back when the ground had been wet with the rains,- and because of the faded scent. Regardless, he still felt primeval fear at the sight and smell.
It was a bear print, and judging by it's size, one of the great brown bears, though it was still a large paw even by that massive species' standards.
Much like the man-of-bronze-skin was massive compared to all the other two legs in the pack.
The only thing short about that man was the way he talked. He said what he meant, and always meant what he said, and that was just the way it was. Battle and blood and death, were facts to man-of-bronze-skin, it was the way it was, and it was something they shared in common. The man was almost more beast like than dragon-eyed-lady after morphing, and he had no qualms or self worries about it. Man-of-bronze-skin held the kind of beastly warrior respect he would've thought only possible from the other dogs of his packs, and he liked the giant man for that.
Mistress liked him for that too.
Nearly as wildly rugged as both of them by nature, she hailed from the roaming packs of elves, who lived as hunters, ever on the move, ever at the mercy of the wilds. If there was one thing she and man-of-bronze-skin understood that the others did not, it was that if no words were needed, then they need not be spoken. Complicating things for pointless reasons was worse than willingly forgoing weaponry for the sake of pride. The wisest were sometimes the quietest.
Man-of-bronze-skin would not fret over their long absence, wouldn't question why, or where, or how, if there was something he could do to help them, he would just do it. If he felt there wasn't anything to be done, he wouldn't cloud himself with 'what-if's?' or 'now-what's?' he'd move on to the next thing, the next fight.
Much like he was now just moving on, focusing on the seconds of the night, and not the worries of the dawn.
The bear wouldn't be a worry of the dawn, he knew. The track was old, and it was moving perpendicular of the deer trail anyway. What was a worry right that moment, as he pressed on, was that he was exhausted, his own wounds and blood loss catching up with him faster than he could ignore it. But he wouldn't give up just yet, he could still feel her warm breath touching his side, she still needed him.
He realized suddenly that he held his mouth open wide, his long tongue lolling out around his hard fangs, the weight and taste of the dagger now gone. His step hesitated slightly, he couldn't even remember when he had let the blade fall from his grip, didn't even think he had be consciously aware of his actions, but he realized it had probably been for the better, her weight was increasing with every passing minute, and unloading the unusable weapon might have given him a few more moments of strength he could use to taken them even farther forward.
So it was without even a backward glance that he again moved forward.
He wasn't sure how long he went on, nor exactly where the deer trail was leading, but he kept on, blindly knowing the further they got from the clearing and the slaughtered darkspawn, the better. A fork in the trail only briefly slowed him, the trail to the right was fainter, far less used, but there none-the-less, and he followed that one, thinking that perhaps there would be a safe place to stop, if just for a moment.
He was rewarded for his instincts when the trail wound into a miniature valley, sheltered on both sides by sloping hills and overhanging trees. The ground here was layered with flattened grasses, each oval in shape and large enough for a human to lie in. A deer nesting ground, as safe a place as he could find, and now, moving with agony in every part of his body, he staggered to the center of the enclave and unceremoniously collapsed.
For the briefest of seconds, the hound was selfish. He lay on his belly, breathing hard and completely ignoring his burden, but he regretted it instantly, and slowly, carefully, moved to shift his mistress's lithe form from his back.
He could go no further with her weight upon him, and for him, it was the same as saying he was too weary to go on at all. He would never, ever, leave her.
Her head lolled limply as he slid her to the ground, loose strands of hair tangling with the short grass. Half upon her back and half upon her side, the elf lay defenseless and as bloodied as ever.
He had brought them as far as he could, and had another duty now. As far from danger as they could get, they needed to recover. Laying back down upon his belly, he extended his head and began to lick the dried blood from her forehead. Cleansing the sticky mess from the halla-antler tattoo, and hopefully, from the wound from whence the blood had come. A ritual as old as the ash warriors themselves, the saliva of the mabari hound was well known to help heal even the greatest of wounds, and it was an action he preformed without thought, just as he attended to her hurts first.
Still, he wished for the healing touch of the soft-voiced-lady.
She could make even the deepest cut seal itself with the briefest word, then she would run her careworn, but still soft, hands over the hurt, easing whatever sting remained. Then she would have a kind word of encouragement, or a mild, but caring, admonishment over being hurt in the first place.
The two of them seemed the only ones to share the trait of knowing when mistress was troubled or upset over something, and while he could offer a shoulder to curl up into, and wet kisses for support, soft-voiced-lady had words of comfort to impart, wisdom brought from long years of life, and she would offer it without judgment or platitudes. How many times mistress had walked into her tent with a tense face and tired eyes, stood and talked, even for a few moments, and then come away with her calm determination back in place, he could not remember. But he did remember that soft-voiced-lady would also seek his mistress out when she knew that the elf was troubled and unwilling to admit it, and help to work it out.
A simple, "What's on your mind, dear?" had promoted more than one painful conversation that his mistress would have otherwise carried with her, like a heavy and tangled ball of yarn, and for that, he had a greater respect for soft-voiced-lady than he had for the others. Mistress was Alpha, but soft-voiced-lady was caretaker, to all and without question.
Soft-voiced-lady would be worried about them, but she would use that worry to rouse the others, to use her age and experience to direct them in the right course to seek them out.
There would be help for them, he was sure, but would it be in time?
He had no way to know.
Her face was completely cleansed of blood, her too pale skin glowing out from the spiraling black curves of the tattoo, and throwing into sharp relief the viscous cut that ran from temple to cheekbone, barely missing her right eye. He ran his rough tongue over the uneven scab, drawing forth fresh lines of blood in places, but knowing that in doing so he would help her heal cleanly, hopefully diminishing the scarring.
That done, he moved he head back and studied the rest of her body.
He was hard pressed to find anyplace that wasn't coated in dried blood, but he also knew that he could do little, if not nothing, for the wounds under her amour. Whatever lucky arrow or sword tip had found it's way between the tightly woven drake scales would have be quickly hidden again by the shifting of the scales, and though much of the dried blood had oozed it's way between the thin cracks, his tongue just couldn't get enough saliva to make it's way to the wounds. At best, he would merely be cleaning her amour, and frankly that wouldn't do either of them any good at the moment.
So he concentrated on the few places her skin was uncovered. Neck, chest, arms and legs being the targets, he went about his duty, always aware of her shallow breathing, and faint pulse under her skin. He did the best he could, growing more tired with each passing stroke of his tongue, even as the deep night ever wore on, until every part of her skin was mostly cleared of both her blood and the blood of the darkspawn, until each and every cut, nick, and puncture was clearly visible. And while he was satisfied with his job, he was also worried.
She was growing cold.
The blood loss would have been the biggest factor, but she was also unconscious and unmoving, and in the darkest part of night, there was no warmth to be spared from anywhere around them.
She could probably survive the wounds she had sustained, especially now since it seemed they had all stopped bleeding, but only if she didn't succumb to the cold, if they both didn't freeze to death first.
The solution was fairly easy, but he was wary of broken bones. As he had carried her, he had been aware that certain places in her chest felt far softer that they should have been, but it was her already soft abdomen laying across his spine and as long as he had walked carefully, he had been able to avoid jostling those soft points too much. But in order to keep her warm, to keep them both warm, he had to lie on top of her, and he knew all too well how easy it was to slid into oblivion from internal damage.
"The greatest warriors often fall from the wounds they cannot see."
In his darkened weariness, he could not recall where he had heard it, but he knew it to be true. Still, it was either cause more pain and stay together,-and warm,- or freeze separately and in only slightly less pain. An easy choice compared to what he had been deciding all night long.
So it was with the greatest care that he rose back upon his shaking legs and made to stand over her, then lowered his torso down to gently lie upon her abdomen. Carefully twisting his head and shoulders, he slowly lay his broad head against her ribs.
He had been right, the instant he let down, he felt a few of the bones sink, and her breathing became erratic, pained.
He quickly lifted his head back up as she coughed, her stomach rising and falling harshly below him, as fresh blood spilled from her lips. He was grateful that the fit didn't last long, her breathing slowing back down to shallow gasps, instead of wrenching coughs, and the trickle of the blood stemming itself slowly.
He wouldn't try that again, this was the best position for warmth they could get without causing more harm. It turned out to work more in his favor anyway, as he finally turned his attention to his own pained body, more specially to his broken paw.
He looked himself over quickly before choosing the fist target of his attention. In all honestly, he had been hurt far worse before, barring the broken limb, and considered himself lucky that his mistress had kept their foes occupied enough to keep them from beating upon him after he had lost conciseness.
Tending carefully to the tender flesh of his paw, he considered that last thought. He didn't remember much of the fight, as it was much like so many others,-they blurred together, one into the other,- but he did remember that the pair of them had done fairly well, considering, and he did know that it seemed like a battle they could win if they stayed close and watched out for each other.
Unfortunately, it seemed the darkspawn knew that too, and somehow, in the chaos of battle, he had lost track of her, and become overwhelmed. He might have gotten out of it, if not for a cheap shot aimed at the back of his head as he was recoiling from a flame spell. He remembered falling, blackness creeping into his vision, his foes pressing in around, going for the kill…
Then nothing.
A sharp pain from his paw reminded him to pay better attention to what he was doing, but it still bothered the hound. By all rights, he should be dead, unless…
He turned his gaze back to the pain lined face of his mistress. Had she managed to distract them? Had she brought them all to her, to fight and to fall under her blades, drawn them far from his wounded form to keep him safe?
It would explain why she had been so far from him on the battlefield, and why she was so very badly hurt.
Deep in his soul, the mabari knew hurt.
He had never given a thought to giving up his life for hers, such was the way of the hounds, but the idea that she might have died for him was almost more than his animal heart could bear. He had failed her in battle, and in his mind, not even the mile long hike baring her broken form could redeem him for that.
But he was a dog, and more than that, he was a proud mabari hound, he would not wallow in guilt, he would do better, be stronger, and never again would this event repeat itself.
That thought over, he went back to his foot.
Somehow, from her amour he caught the faintest smell of wet leather, and it reminded him of yet another pack member.
Elf-that-purred loved leather, he wore nothing but leather, and in his strange purring speak he would talk to mistress about equally strange tales that she seemed to find amusing. Elf-that-purred was a good fighter, quick on his feet, and an elf both like and unlike mistress, but he wasn't all together sure whether he liked the dark skinned person or not.
Elf-that-purred hadn't shown any particular interest or disinterest in him, hadn't talked to him like the others did, but didn't purposely ignore him like dragon-eye-lady often did.
But he liked mistress, and not in the same way as lady-who-sung did, the hound could smell exactly how he liked mistress. A hot, and heavy smell that made him wary, and distrustful, but mistress hadn't really acted as though she minded, and until elf-that-purred did something she didn't like, he was perfectly content to remain as neutral to elf-that-purred as dark man did to him.
In truth, he didn't know if their disappearance would concern elf-that-purred, but he figured that he might just be the type to join a search if it was what everyone else was doing. The man seemed like that kind of personality.
His paw thoroughly cleansed, he turned his head over his front legs. Now there was nothing he could do but wait, watch and hope. His last, and most important duty of the night, to keep vigil over them both. To make sure that after all his efforts, they weren't finished off in their sleep by a hungry or annoyed forest predator. The thought crossed his mind that there might be something he could do to help the others find them, howling perhaps, barking long and loud.
He blew through his heavy lips and set his head down upon his front paws.
There was no guarantee that the others would even come this way, and no way to know if there might be other creatures with less than pure intentions that would follow his ruckus just as easily.
To much to risk, not enough to gain, not with their odds. Far better to wait out the night, hope that mistress would reawaken with the dawn, and they could seek out their pack together.
For the moment, the hound would simply have to try to stay awake.
A task easier thought than done, the night dragged by slowly, and more than once he jerked his head up and shook it vigorously, blinking his blearily eyes at the still woods all around them, which echoed with all the normal nightly sounds, other creatures going on with life, as though nothing was happening.
What felt like ages later, he had his head lying again upon his paws, their shared body heat slowly pulsing through them both, he was on the very brink of dozing off, he became suddenly aware that the sound around him had changed, the animals drawing silent as they only did when danger approached. He could hear it now too, faint but present.
Footfalls.
Too light to be any of the darkspawn, but there were many other dangers in the land besides the blight, enough to cause him no small amount of worry, especially since they seemed to be drawing nearer.
They were unevenly paced, and poorly concealed. Whoever, or whatever, wasn't hiding, wasn't afraid, but tracking. The footfalls reached the point where he knew the deer trail split, and he held his head high, ears straining.
For the longest of moments, there was no sound, none at all, then his fears where confirmed, the footfalls were following the secondary path. This was no coincidence, they had been tracked, and, he realized too late, they were trapped in this canyon. The deer who nested here were quick on their feet and light, they could easily bound up the hills on either side and escape, but not even at top strength could he match that. They were trapped.
The footfalls slowed in pace even as they drew closer, and the hound forced himself to his feet, drawing back his lips to show off his impressive rows of teeth. They were discovered, no point in remaining quiet, at least he could try to scare off what ever it was.
He let out a loud and impressive snarl as the footsteps came upon the edge of the brush, preventing him from seeing his foe, and the breeze blew the wrong way, blind in every aspect.
Desperate to protect all that he had, he snarled louder and barked, snapping his teeth together for added effect. Bravado really, but the best he could give.
From the brush came a voice he recognized, even though the words he did not.
A thin two leg pushed his way passed the brush and stepped fully into the clearing, staring down at them both in a mixture of great relief and greater worry upon his sharp face, in his hand he clutched mistress's dagger, the one he had dropped along the trail.
He stopped his growling instantly. It was elf-that-purred, his amour and hands dirty from the grim on the trail, and caked with dried blood, his forehead lined with worry.
"You know me dog, I know you do." Elf-that-purred spoke directly to him in that strange accent of his. "I only want to help."
The hound was aware that the darker elf thought he meant to attack him, thought that maybe he had lost his mind, or was mad with the fury to keep his mistress safe, so with no other means to communicate, he backed off of her still form and nuzzled her face, whining pitifully.
Taking the invitation, elf-that-purred strode quickly over to them and fell to his knees, his hands going for her face and wrist, sighing with relief when he found her pulse. His nimble fingers quickly went for a pack upon his back and undid the strings in the blink of an eye, rolling out a large rough blanket, which he draped over the other elf.
Then his dark eyes found those of the worried hound.
"You brought her all this way?" the tone was incredulous as he glanced around the clearing. "by yourself?" the elf studied the blood patterns along his back, quickly understanding how he had done it. "Carried her all the way…" he let out a low whistle and ran his fingers over the dagger he had set on the ground. "I suppose Alistair was right about you dogs, I didn't think it was possible, but…"
He whined again, sitting back on his haunches to relieve the weight from his tender feet, and nudged her face again softly.
Elf-that-purred blinked and shook his head. "Yes, yes… you're right my friend. We need to focus upon her now." he tucked the edges of the blanket in around her. "I don't think it a good idea to move her again, not until Wynne looks at her, but I can't leave the two of you again to go for the others…"
He watched the elf furrow his brow in thought, still smoothing out the blanket.
"You did good, bringing her here, you know that, eh pooch?"
The mabari had the feeling elf-that-purred was really only talking to help himself think, but listened attentively anyway.
"By the time us back at camp had grown worried and tracked you to that clearing, the darkspawn had overrun the place again, and were trampling around the woods looking for those responsible." he let out a dark chuckle, "of course, at first, we thought you had been killed and were being eaten along with the bastards you felled." another dark laugh. "those beasts regretted every last miserable second of their lives, we all made sure of it."
So he had been right in taking them away from that place, the thought gave the hound comfort, just as much as the appearance of elf-that-purred.
"afterwards, we realized that nothing of you could be found,-apart from her sword that is,- and we," he paused and looked up at the hound again. "we all hoped that meant you got away, and all of us have been searching all night."
Elf-that-purred reached his hand across mistress's prone form and to the mabari's surprise, scratched roughly behind his ear.
"Good dog, you kept the warden safe."
The oddly touching moment lasted only a few seconds, then the dark elf's attention was back upon mistress, still thinking about how to call the others. "We all went off in different directions, it would take too long find every one at once…" He snapped his fingers suddenly, grinning grimly. "We need them to find us."
Wearily he tilted he head and 'humphed' in his throat, if that was as easily said as done, he would have made sure they were found a long time ago, and probably by someone with a little more healing skill.
"Ah, ah, my doubting friend," elf-that-purred wagged a finger at him, still grinning. "the wonders of opposable thumbs. You've done your part, now it is my turn." he looked back down at mistress and moved the blanket from her side, his hands seeking out pouches on her belt. "forgive me, my lady, but this is for your own sake." he withdrew a palm sized vial of a yellowish liquid.
Even in the dim light the hound recognized the burning liquid, and he leaned his head closer, not having the faintest idea how this might help the others find them.
Elf-that-purred did not hesitate, quickly slinging his long bow from his back, and fishing out both an arrow and a thick piece of string. "I'm not a sharp a shot as Leliana, it's true," he began to tie the small flask to the shaft. "but, I always hit my mark when it matters most," he stood, drawing the bottle equipped arrow back upon his bow as he pointed it to the night sky. "and nothing matters more than the life of a friend." the last sentence was spoken in a whisper, as though elf-that-purrs was afraid to admit it to himself.
Then the arrow was let loose, soaring upwards with a sharp whistle, he quickly lost track of it in the dark sky, but elf-that-purrs did not, and a mere split second later, another arrow was notched in the bow, the tip of this one glowing a bright fire red, and just as the first arrow's momentum reached it's peak, the second was released. Streaking up to the near pinhead of a target.
The second arrow hit it's mark perfectly, the tip glowing white hot, slicing straight through the glass and into the liquid as though it was paper.
The flask exploded out in a bright and loud flash, it's height so great that the light lit up the tops of trees for miles around. What little liquid didn't burst into flames immediately, slithered down a short way before the flame caught up, and more popping explosions blinded out even the light of the stars.
Every living thing across the forest bore witness to the improvised firework, including the five humans that had spread themselves far and wide searching for their friends.
A single, fair haired knight, who was trying to disentangle his plated leg from a peculiarly nasty brier bush, jumped and nearly toppled over in shock as the airborne explosive went off high above his head. Growling angrily and cursing the bush, he wrenched his leg free and began to jog as quickly as he could toward the general location of the beacon, oblivious to the long black vine still tangled in his amour and dragging behind him.
To the south and east, a woman with hair the color of night was standing on a large flat rock on a small hill, amber eyes casting a far reaching gaze over the forest, until the explosion and resulting flash caused her to turn her head over her shoulder. Staff leading, she turned her whole frame to face the flash, but waited and watched until the second explosions were over before shifting her body into the form of a large raven, and gliding her way to the higher hill
Deep in the trees to the west, a red headed rouge twisted to the sky at the sight, only registering a brief moment of surprise before going on the move, even before the second explosions had begun, a fiercely determined look upon her soft face as she bounded silently through the trees.
To the east, a man as dark and tall as the trees around him, stopped his slow determined pace to look to the sky, the bright yellow light throwing his severe features into sharp relief, before he causally and calmly switched directions and moved off towards the hill with the same slow pace.
In a small clearing to the west and south of the hill, a woman with hair as white as the moon itself, moved at a hurried pace, her long silver staff leading her every step. The loud explosion caused her to whirl on the spot, bringing the dragon adorned tip of her weapon to bare, before she relaxed her stance and studied the secondary blasts, carefully judging the trajectory before setting off, her pace considerably quickened.
Back upon the hill itself, the hound pressed his ears against his skull, blinking rapidly at the sudden light. Truly, elf-that-purred would get the attention of their pack, and every other pack from miles around. Hopefully only their pack would think to seek out the source of the explosion, and the others would do their best to avoid it.
"There now, if that doesn't do the trick, then nothing short of Maker intervention will." Elf-that-purred lowered his bow and grinned over at him.
He just blinked at him, having no better response in mind.
"Hey, it was a good idea." apparently his lack of response had offended elf-that-purred, but he was too tired and worried to care.
Whining softly, he lay back down beside mistress, resting his head back upon her abdomen, taking some small comfort at the fact that she already felt warmer under the blanket.
"Hey now, pooch, she'll be okay," elf-that-purred moved back to kneel at mistress's other side, his hand going to roughly rub the top of his head. "and you'll be okay too, Wynne will get here, work her magic, a couple of healing potions later, and we'll all be slaying darkspawn before the end of the week."
He just whined in response, the idea of more fighting was exhausting rather than comforting.
"You've done your part," elf-that-purred repeated, never stopping his hard strokes. "rest now, dear friend, I will watch over you both."
Perhaps it was the exhaustion speaking, but the mabari suddenly decided that he did indeed trust elf-that-purred, and for the first time since waking on the bloody battle field below, he relaxed. Letting himself enjoy the warmth of his mistress under him, and the rough hand rubbing against his short fur, he began to feel sleep close slowly over him.