Disclaimer:

~ Consider this a spoiler warning. They will come up through the whole story.

~ I don't own anything, aside from my own character. Don't sue me, you won't get much. I'm open to being hired, though. Just sayin'.

Part One: A Most Faithful Friend

"You see, mi'Lord, the steed is strong. It will be a fine gift for your youngest son, Sebastion."

Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, ran a hand through greying hair and looked the horse over again – corded muscle strained against the sleek black of its coat, and a wild superiority shone in the gaze it directed at him. "Perhaps, perhaps. Leave me for now, will you? I'll make a decision and meet you out front."

The man accompanying him nodded. "Of course, mi'Lord. I'll be outside, take your time." His heavy footsteps quickly faded from earshot, leaving Bryce alone with his thoughts.

He shook his head. There was a time, not long ago, that I never believed I would live to have children – the Battle of White River...and now I have two sons. Maker help me.

Bryce knew he was at a loss. His eldest, Fergus, was his spitting image. His rich brown hair was the same as Bryce's had been when he was young, and sported the permanent scruff he had before the grey had started to take over the brown. He excelled with sword and shield, was quick with a laugh and a clap on the black, and was prone to rather...grandiose gestures when it came to his patriotism – a man others would follow. When Fergus had turned eighteen, finding a gift for his firstborn gift had been simple – a war steed, one that would enable him to help his father lead the armies of the King. A fine animal, Bryce thought. A full seventeen hands, slightly mad as all good war horses should be, and totally dependable. Fergus had leaped into the saddle, and he had soon proved himself the image of his father again.

Bryce ran a hand down the flank of the animal in front of him, feeling the power stored in the quivering muscle under his fingers. A slight smile touched his lips. His second son, Sebastion, was different from him in almost every single way that Fergus was himself made over. Despite sporting several strong Cousland traits – the strong jaw, for instance – Sebastion sported his mother's raven hair and green eyes instead of Bryce's own red-brown. Instead of his older brother's close-cropped hair and stubble, Sebastion had long hair and a close-cut beard that ran down from his sideburns and outlined his jaw. Where Fergus sported his strength of character on his shoulders boldly, Sebastion's was buried under a wall of sarcasm and self-depreciation. Where Fergus stumbled over words when talking to women, Sebastion was already forming a reputation among the female servants. Bryce chuckled to himself. Thank the Maker his mother hasn't found out about that yet. I have no idea how she'd handle it.

The shining incident that had revealed to him just how different his sons were, and yet how close they were bonded, had occurred two years ago to the day. There had been rumors of a slaver kidnaping Elves from the city's Alienage and selling them on the Orlesian slave market, and despite his best efforts the Teyrn had been unable to find the conspirators in order to bring them to justice. At the dinner table, Fergus had leapt to his feet and proclaimed that his birthday gift to his younger brother would be ridding the city of the slavers. He took a patrol of guards and left the castle immediately. Bryce had turned to apologize to Sebastion, but his youngest was no longer in his seat. He remembered Eleanor's aggravated shouts about having "stupidly heroic sons" that "ruined every family event," but the memory that would never leave him was when he had caught up with Fergus in the city. Through blunt though well-meaning force and pressure on known criminals, Fergus had finally located the headquarters for the slavers. Bryce watched Fergus kick the door down...only to find the slavers already tied up, the male Elves standing watch over them, and the female Elves swooning over a grinning Sebastion.

After being pressured, his youngest had revealed that he had disguised himself and simply waited in a tavern till eavesdropping revealed a highly coded and Orlesian-accented conversation. He had followed them in the shadows, and simply picked the locked back door and freed the slaves. Bryce remembered the two brothers hugging tightly, then talking to every single Elf and offering the full force of the Cousland family in order to right the horrible wrongs they had incured. I knew then that the two of them shared a bond that belied any difference of style or personality.

Suddenly, Bryce had a flash of inspiration. He realized he had been looking in entirely the wrong place, and rushed out to the front of the stable. He approached the livery's owner, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Daniel, but I won't be purchasing any horses today. I was wondering, though, if you'd be able to put me in contact with the Formari..."

***

The month passed quickly, and soon the castle was bustling with guests and servants. Bryce was happy. His son's belated birthday dinner went off with nary a hitch, outside of a series of more and more flirtatous looks between Sebastion and the daughter of a neighboring Arl. He stood from his place at the head of the table, clinking his fork on his ale mug until the various conversations had shrunk to a murmur.

Bryce cleared his throat."Everyone, everyone...thank you. I wanted to thank everyone for coming, it means the world to myself, to Eleanor, and our children. Today my son Sebastion turns eighteen, and as is our custom, he will receive a gift that welcomes him into manhood." Bryce motioned towards his son, and after the requisite struggle Sebastion left his seat and stood at his father's side.

The Teyrn smiled at his son, wrapping an arm around him, and motioned towards the back of the room. "I was quite stymied as to what to get you, son. The cost of providing chastity belts to every family in Highever with daughters of an eligible age was prohibitive."

The table erupted in laughter, and Bryce was rewarded with seeing a rare blush spread over his son's features. He waved the laugher down, then continued. "Sorry, Sebastion...couldn't help myself." His son shrugged, and Bryce noticed the young noblewoman winking directly at Sebastion. He grinned, and hugged his son tighter. "Anyway, the time will soon come when Fergus will no longer be able to function as your constant coconspirator. I dare say I've found a replacement."

From the back of the room, a young man clad in mage robes walked through the door. He was carrying a small bundle, wrapped in cloth. Bryce guided his son over, and the rest of the guests slowly followed them away from the table. The young visitor, a Tranquil, smiled softly and spoke without inflection. "My young Lord, you're about to-"

Sebastion raised a hand, interrupting him. "I'm sorry to interupt, but my name is Sebastion. Not 'mi'Lord,' or any other title. Such distinction isn't needed, friend." Bryce heard the murmurs of his guests behind him, but didn't care. You make me proud, son.

The Tranquil nodded, and continued. "Sebastion, you're about to receive a very special gift. When I remove the blanket, please lock eyes. You'll know when to look away."

Before anyone could speak, the man pulled the blanket back to reveal a young Mabari puppy. The puppy was sandy brown, the muzzle a darker shade, and clearly very young. Bryce knew it was only six weeks old, but it was already the size of many full-grown pets that nobles in other nations preferred. The puppy yawned, then slowly opened his eyes. It locked eyes with Sebastion, and suddenly a chill rushed through the room. The muted discussion died in throats of speakers, and a frisson of energy sparked inside Bryce. He had been told all about imprinting, of course – the Formari were nothing if not complete with any who inquired into purchasing one of their hounds – but he would never have expected the moment to be so powerful.

The puppy wriggled in the hands of the Tranquil, until he let the puppy down onto the floor. It slowly padded to Sebastion, who extended a hand slowly. The Mabari sniffed the outstretched fingers, then licked them and barked happily.

"Now, the Mabari's name. Look him in the eye, and state it" the Tranquil whispered.

Sebastion lowered his head, looking directly into the hound's own. "Scout. Your name is Scout."

The puppy, never breaking eye contact, reached up and licked his nose.

The tension in the room erupted into applause and laugher, and Bryce let out the breath that he had unconsciously been holding. He felt a hand clap his shoulder, and Rendon Howe's low voice. "A fine gift, my old friend. He'll be the envy of the other nobles."

Bryce returned the gesture, draping one arm over his old friend's shoulders. "I don't think he cares much, Rendon."

Bryce turned to find Eleanor, and Rendon kneeled, extending a hand to the puppy. "Now, there's a good do-"

Bryce heard a yelp, and turned back. Rendon was holding his hand, while rivulets of blood dripped down his fingers and splattered on the floor. "The...the beast attacked me!"

Bryce laughed. "He is a war hound, old friend. Come, let's get you patched up."

Bryce and Rendon walked away from the crowd, and while none noticed, the Mabari's eyes never left them until they left the room.

*** Several Years Later ***

The campfire crackled, and a plume of sparks flew into the night sky only to dissipate like seeds from a flower in fall. Alistair, Grey Warden, sat on a piece of firewood, cleaning and polishing his shield from a long day of combat. Across from him, the newest Grey Warden was pouring over the age-old contracts between the various races and the Wardens.

"So, Sebastion...is it true, what they say about Mabari hounds?"

Sebastion looked up. "Say what?"

Alistair sighed. "Look, I'm used to being ignored by our resident angry witch. Being ignored by you too might just hurt my masculine feelings."

The two of them shared a look for a minute, and then both broke down laughing. Both composed themselves, and Alistair caught Sebastion looking around the camp. "What? What's wrong?"

Sebastion shrugged. "Just wondering where Scout went...ah, there he is."

Alistair turned to look in the same direction Sebastion was. "Where?"

"Pestering Morrigan."

"Ah."

Suddenly, the two of them heard Morrigan let out an exasperated sigh. "Another? I just gave you one, fool dog."

Alistair opened his mouth, but Sebastion smiled and raised a hand to quiet him. The two men heard the Mabari whine once, twice.

"Perhaps you should go and hunt something, then. For a warrior beast you are remarkably over-dependent."

The hound let loose a loud, happy bark.

The two companions had to strain to hear Morrigan's response. "Oh, very well. But tell no one, or I'll change you into one of those frilly Orlesian things."

The camp went quiet, aside from the crackling of fires. Scout trotted over, and after flopping himself on the ground rested his head on Sebastion's lap. Sebastion smiled, and scratched him behind the ears. "And yes, to the question you were going to ask. They are as intelligent as the legends, they do understand speech, and they imprint on one master for life."

Alistair nodded. "So what...you got Scout as a gift? Maybe he was the runt."

Scout raised his head and barked sharply.

Alistair raised his handed defensively. "Hey now, we're OK. I just meant...you were begging for treats from Ms. I'll-kill-you-and-eat-your-soul. Not the smartest move in my book."

Scout barked again, then yawned and lowered his head back onto Sebastion's thigh.

"I wouldn't worry, Alistair," Sebastion said. "He's always been an excellent judge of character."

Alistair noticed a dark cloud crossing his friend's face as he said that. He was about to remark on it, when Scout raised his head and licked Sebastion right on the nose. The men laughed, and the Mabari kept his place by his master's side throughout the night.

The next day found him there as well, making Darkspawn and wild creature alike tremble in fear. The Mabari hound feared nothing at his master's side – wild bear or towering ogre, shambling undead or blood-magic wielding maleficar – they would all meet the same end. As Sebastion threw himself against impossible odds again and again in desperate attempts to vent his anger and grief, in the back of his mind he never worried. In the following months, whenever he was able to spare a glance during battle at the most faithful friend he had ever known, his father's words would ring unbidden in his memory:

"...the time will soon come when Fergus will no longer be able to function as your constant coconspirator. I dare say I've found a replacement."

A touch of a smile would cross his lips. Yes, Father, I think you did.