A.N. - This is the second story repost from the 'Moments In Time' universe. See my profile for an explanation and accept my sheepish apologies, if you're a return reader. If you're reading this for the first time, it is a companion piece to "Moments In Time", and will be a series of takes on Talia Cousland and her companions through the POV of Brego, her mabari. MIT is a FemCousland/Leliana romance, so if that's not your cup o' tea, this 'verse probably isn't either.

Since I'm reposting everything, I'm going to try to keep this one paralleling the main story, so I'll have three chapters of this one to get up before the next MIT chapter is reposted. For those of you who are wondering, Stolen Moments will begin to be reposted when I reach the appropriate point in MIT.

Standard disclaimers apply: Talia and anything else you don't recognize are mine; all else belongs to BioWare.

Dedicated to all the dogs I have had since childhood.

"The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog. . . .He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. . . .When all other friends desert, he remains." - George G Vest

His earliest memories are vague but persistent: the scent of his mother and siblings, the taste of her milk, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the warmth of them all surrounding him. These will return to him in dreams throughout his life.

Sight and sound play very little part in those earliest memories. He can hear the voices of the masters far above the nest box where he and his siblings roll about, already heeding the inborn instinct to establish their place in the pack with tiny growls and toothless battles, but their words make little sense to him.

"Twelve is an impressive litter, indeed, Lyndon, and to have them all survive even more so. Brinda is a good mother. How long until they can leave her?"

"Another two or three weeks, at least, Bryce. Thinking of getting one for Fergus?"

"Fergus is getting married; I don't think he'll have time to deal with a mabari, but I thought it might make Talia feel a bit better about having to share her brother."

He has already established his dominance among his siblings when he is plucked from their midst and held aloft by strong hands, squirming and whining anxiously, hearing the warning growl of his mother.

"It's all right, lass. One less on the teats, and he's going to a good home."

He never sees his mother again, but he never forgets her scent. A few hours later, he is deposited into a smaller set of hands, and his nostrils fill with the scent that will define the rest of his life.

"He's beautiful, Papa! What's his name?"

"It's up to you to name him, Pup. It's also your responsibility to see that he's properly trained; a mabari is no small responsibility. Ian has trained them before. He'll show you what to do, but you will be the only one the mabari truly obeys, so you must learn along with him."

"I will, Papa, I promise! Thank you!"

He whines a bit that first night, missing the familiar sound and smell of his siblings, but he finds himself curled up in a soft bed with the girl; he can feel her heartbeat and her warmth and quickly associates these with her smell.

By the end of their second day together, the memories of his mother and littermates have receded, and she has become his world.

Brego. That is the sound she makes when she calls to him, and he soon understands that this is his name, just as her name is Talia.

Understanding his place in this new pack is a slower process. He is subordinate to his Talia, of course, but after that, it becomes much more complicated. His Talia's father, mother and sibling are clearly above her in the pack, and therefore above him, as well. The sibling's mate is less clear, but she has a pleasing voice and gentle hands that frequently bring treats, so he eventually places her alongside the sibling in his esteem.

The rest of the many humans and elves that occupy his new world are less clear. They seem subservient to his Talia, but when he tries to assert his own dominance over them, he receives the worst scolding of his young life and retreats to their room to sulk in shame beneath the bed.

"He can't be allowed such displays, Talia. For all that he's a puppy, he still weighs nearly five stone, and he'll be closer to a dozen before he's fully grown. You must be able to control him."

"I will, Mother." His Talia's voice, thick with tears but determined, her scent laden with fear and remorse, making him whine in misery at having been the cause of it. "It won't happen again."

And it does not. He learns that these people, while they are beneath his Talia, are as off limits to him as the chickens that scratch the dirt in the surrounding farmsteads, the cats that haunt the stables and the other, lesser dogs of the keep. Once he understands this, he treats them with an aloof disdain, a king among his lessers, save a warning growl to the smaller ones, if they are too persistent. A warning is all that is ever needed.

Once he learns control, more is asked of him.

"A mabari is smarter than a regular hound by a long shot, Lady Talia. You can train him to respond to voice commands or gestures. Just a twitch from your hand will be enough to move him, but make good and sure that it's what you want him to do, because he'll run through fire or tear a man's head from his shoulders if you ask him to." The man stands before them in a heavy leather suit that covers him from feet to throat, a metal helmet over his head. Brego has spent the morning learning to attack on her command, biting down on the protected arms and legs, holding tight and shaking his head, growling with the fun of this new game, the stump of his tail wagging furiously.

"Brego?" His Talia's fingers curl into his fur, her voice disbelieving. "He wouldn't really hurt anyone!"

"No?" In a second, the man has grabbed her, twisting her arm up and behind her, one hand at her throat. The scent of her sudden shock and fear washes over him, triggering an instinctive surge of rage. His snarl is anything but playful as he leaves the ground, knocking the man away from his Talia. His jaws close around a padded arm in earnest, and there is a muffled crack, then a cry of pain.

"Brego, out!" Her voice cuts through the rage, and he immediately releases his hold and backs out, his eyes never leaving his target.

"Bad dog!" Her face is pale as she rounds on him and he crouches in shame as others come running.

"No, Lady Talia!" The man pulls off his helmet and cradles his arm carefully, his skin ashen and beaded with sweat. "He did what he should have done: defended you." He gives a strained chuckle. "He's a strong one, he is. Your daughter is well protected." This last is directed to his Talia's father and mother, who stand at the fore of the gathering crowd.

"But Ian, your arm!" The mother looks at him with a mixture of fear and anger, and he droops even lower.

The man he bit shakes his head. "I provoked him, Your Grace, and he did exactly as he ought." Moving to a bench, he pulls a thick piece of meat from a sack. "Anyone who tries to hurt your daughter will have to go through him. You picked a good bloodline, Teyrn. Here." The man passes the meat to his Talia, and Brego is torn between continuing to watch him as he steps away and looking longingly at the treat. "Give him that and praise him."

"Good boy." She crouches beside him, offering the meat, which he accepts carefully, dropping it to the ground and tearing at it as she wraps her arms around him. "Good dog, Brego. You did the right thing. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"Good boy." The father's deeper voice in his ears, a strong hand scratching his head, and he whines with pleasure at the praise and attention, savoring it even more than the meat. "Good Brego!"

"Bryce!"

"That's part of what I got him for, Eleanor."

"The perfect companion for a young lady. Between that and her sword, we'll have a time indeed finding a husband for her."

"We've got a few more years before we need to worry about that, and in the meantime, I want her protected."

"We'll see." The mother seems no less displeased. "You'll be singing a different tune when you have to double her dowry to get a man to take the dog along with her. Now, help Ian out of that ridiculous contraption and let's get him to the healer!"

Later that night, he is draped across the foot of their bed when the door to their room opens. He lifts his head, his eyes on the door, even though his nose has already identified the visitor.

"Good dog," the mother whispers, scratching his ear as she offers him a thick slice of cheese. "Just don't tell Bryce I said so." He chuffs softly, his tail bobbing once as he accepts the cheese, and when she leaves, he stretches back out with a contented sigh, listening to his Talia's steady breathing in the darkness.

Some weeks later, he is introduced to the offspring of the brother and his mate: a tiny, squalling thing that he greets with a polite sniff before backing away with an anxious whine. The tiny thing grows quickly into a child, and he does not need to be told that he must endure this child's attention without growling, though he is permitted to get up and walk away if he becomes too bothersome.

The years pass, and he is content within his pack. The boy grows large enough to play properly, and becomes much more interesting, and he continues to learn to fight alongside his Talia, taking his cues from her voice, her gestures, her scent, until he can respond almost without thought. There are quiet times, as well, drowsing before a roaring fireplace in the winter or lazing in the summer sun with her head pillowed on his back and her voice in his ears.

The night it all changes begins unremarkably, but he knows as soon as he awakens that something is badly amiss, the smells and sounds screaming a warning to him, one that he tries to pass on to his Talia. This night he tastes blood in earnest, killing for the first time in defense of his Talia and their pack, instinct flowing seamlessly into place alongside his training. She fights alongside him, the scent of her fear pushing him to even greater ferocity. He smells her grief, too, when she and her mother find the corpses of her sibling's mate and child, and he grieves in his own way as the scent of their blood fills his nose, but his fury is one with hers.

They fight, their fear banished, and none can stand before them until they come to the larder that she had caught him in the previous day. The bodies of the rats are gone, but her father's blood is thick in the air, his body broken on the floor, and their grief flares anew. He can feel her eagerness for battle, is ready to fight and die at her side, but the tainted one comes, the odd mix of corruption and calmness in his scent baffling Brego. That the father and mother hold him in high esteem is plain from the way they speak to him, but when they speak of things that he does not understand, his Talia becomes angry.

He whines as he stares between them, knowing that she – and he – must obey the leaders of their pack, uneasy at the thought that she might defy them. At last, her shoulders slump in defeat; she hugs them and goes to the tainted one.

"Come on, Brego."

He looks at her in confusion, something between a whine and a growl wavering in his throat. She does not want to go; her scent screams it, and he hesitates, unsure if he should attack the tainted one or obey his Talia.

"Go, boy," the father urges him weakly, reaching out a bloody hand to pat him, and now Brego can smell the death on him, nibbling at the edges of his scent as the rats nibbled at the sacks in the larder. "Go with them. You must protect her now."

Protect her. This is something that he does understand, and with a last whine he goes to her, following her as she follows the tainted one through a dark tunnel that smells strongly of rat. When they emerge into the night, he cannot see anything beyond a glow high above them, but he can still smell the blood and burning in the air. He does not understand what has happened, why they are leaving their pack, but he smells and sees her fear and her grief, and an answering grief wells up in him. Throwing back his head, he gives voice to a single, mournful howl before turning to follow his Talia.