Author's Note: Not all of these chapters will correspond directly with events in 'Moments In Time', but this one takes place immediately before (and is referred to in) the fourth chapter of MIT. The reposting process has at least let me do a bit of editing to bring them more closely into agreement.
I talk to him when I'm lonesome like; and I'm sure he understands.
When he looks at me so attentively, and gently licks my hands;
then he rubs his nose on my tailored clothes, but I never say naught thereat.
For the good Lord knows I can buy more clothes, but never a friend like that."
W. Dayton Wedgefarth
"You are such a handsome fellow!"
Brego cocks his head, looking up at the red haired female with a wag of his tail. Her voice, gentle and lilting, reminds him somewhat of the female who had been Fergus' mate, as do the songs that she sings in camp at night. His Talia had sung before, to the child, but the boy is dead, and his Talia has not sung or laughed since they left home. She sneaks him morsels of food when his Talia is not looking, as well, as the other female had once done.
"Yes, you are a handsome dog! Yes, you are!"
He wags his tail again and offers a soft chuff of agreement, not sure what else she might want. Not that he does not appreciate the attention, but -
"He's a mabari, not a baby." His Talia has paused and is looking back at them, a trace of impatience coloring her voice. "And he's supposed to be scouting ahead."
Shame washes through him at the reprimand. He knew his duty, but there had been a clump of grass that had borne the scent of a wolf, and he had paused to cover it with his own mark, and then there had been a rabbit hole, and then the red haired female had spoken to him. He likes her, but his Talia does not seem to care one way or the other…she cares only for fighting, these days. He thinks sometimes that perhaps it is the taint that he can smell in her now that has changed her so; he would drive it from her if he could, but he has no idea how to do so, so he fights beside her in the day, listens to her cry out in her sleep at night and allows her to cling to him when she wakes with the scent of grief overwhelming all else.
Giving the female a last, friendly chuff, he bounds forward, his head high as he scents the breeze of the warm afternoon, then low to snuffle along the ground, seeking traces of what has passed here recently and ignoring the tantalizing odors that try to draw him away from his task. He is a Good Dog, not a Bad Dog; he will not disappoint his Talia again.
He is not so far ahead that he cannot hear the conversation as the female falls into step beside his Talia.
"Do not scold him, please," she says softly. "The fault was mine for distracting him."
"He knows better; you don't." His Talia's voice is toneless again, and he knows that if he looks back, that her eyes will not be upon the other woman, but scanning the terrain ahead with that alert, hungry look that is so often on her face now. "And I was reminding him, not scolding him."
"I have heard tales of the mabari warhounds, but he is the first one that I have seen," the woman offers. "Are they really as smart as they say?"
"Depends on which 'they' you mean," his Talia replies indifferently. "And which mabari. They differ just like people do, but Brego is smarter than most of the people I know."
He swells with pride at this, but keeps his attention on his duty as Morrigan's scornful laugh rings out:
"Including Alistair, surely!"
"Smarter than me and nicer than Morrigan," Alistair calls from his rearguard position.
"Parshaara," the large male rumbles, the word not one that Brego understands, but the disapproval in his voice strong, though that is usually the case on the rare occasions when he speaks. "Your noise will draw any darkspawn in the area to us."
"Fear, Sten?" Morrigan's voice takes on a mocking lilt. "I would not have expected that from you."
"The darkspawn are formidable opponents," the male replies. "It is not fear to acknowledge this fact, and it is folly to ignore it. The advantage of surprise should be preserved whenever possible."
He is still unsure of the large male. He does not smell like any human or elf that Brego has encountered, and unlike Alistair or the red-haired female, he does not try to befriend Brego with scraps of food or kind words. He simply watches the dog, as he watches them all, without speaking.
His Talia has become angry with the large male more than once since she released him from his cage, but he never becomes angry in return, just as he never responds to Morrigan's taunting. His Talia spars with him almost every night in camp now, and this makes her as close to happy as Brego has seen her since leaving Highever, though she still does not smile as she once did.
The red haired female sighs as the others fall silent. "I am sorry," she says in a low voice that likely only Brego and his Talia can hear.
"Morrigan and Alistair have been arguing since the first time they met," his Talia answers in an equally quiet tone. "That's not your fault."
"How old is Brego?" the other asks after a moment.
"My – father gave him to me on my twelfth birthday," his Talia answers, the hitch in her words so brief that perhaps only Brego is aware of it. He chances a brief look back, seeing the pain flicker across her face and vanish, leaving the scent of grief in its wake. "So…five and a half years old."
"You're only seventeen?" The surprise in the female's voice is audible.
"Eighteen, this Harvestmere," his Talia replies, adding, without any real interest, "How old are you?"
"Twenty-five," the female says, and Brego can smell the fresh wave of grief from his Talia.
"My brother was twenty-five," she whispers, and Brego can hear the sudden quickening of her stride. Moments later, she is drawing up alongside him, her face set in grim lines, dark eyes haunted. He whines softly, nudging his head beneath her hand, and she scratches his ear automatically without looking down.
"Talia, wait!" the female calls after her, then apparently remembers the large male's call for silence. "Damnation," she mutters under her breath.
They continue forward without further conversation until, as sometimes happens when the wind is just right, he catches the scent before his Talia or Alistair become aware. He stops immediately at the foot of a shallow rise, standing stiff-legged and growling softly, his hackles bristling as he stares upward.
"Darkspawn." His Talia can feel them too, now, standing beside him and gesturing for the others to move forward.
Alistair's face is intent, his brow slightly furrowed as he crouches, loosening the straps of his pack and letting it slide carefully to the ground, the others doing the same. "Half a dozen, maybe," he murmurs, sliding his sword from its sheath.
His Talia nods, her eyes alight with a dreadful eagerness, the scent of the battlerage beginning to seep from her pores. "Morrigan, Leliana, fight from the top of the hill. Sten and Alistair, circle to the right; Brego, follow me to the left." She is in motion almost before she is done speaking, drawing her sword as she breaks away from the others in a run, and he follows her, Alistair's urgent whisper lost in the fall of her feet on the ground and the rush of the wind in his ears.
"Talia, wait! There's something – dammit! Everybody move!"
"You just had to bring up her family, didn't you?" Morrigan's sarcastic query is the last thing he hears before they round the curve of the hill and the darkspawn come into view: genlocks, hurlocks and, towering over the rest, the same type of massive beast they had faced atop the tower, lips skinning back from yellowed fangs in a thundering bellow.
His Talia's steps never falter as she hurls herself into the midst of the group, blade flashing briefly in the sun before the first gout of dark blood bursts into the air as her strike opens the throat of a genlock. She spins, her shield catching it as it falls and sending it flailing into one of the others as she targets yet another, and magic and arrows begin to sing through the air, aimed at the ogre.
Brego lunges, his jaws closing around the knee of the nearest hurlock and closing until he can feel the bones splinter between his teeth. Releasing the leg, he is immediately at its throat as it sinks to the ground; an instant later, and it is dead as Alistair and the large male join the fight.
The lesser creatures fall quickly, but the ogre lashes out with a massive fist and his Talia is sent tumbling, her sword flying from her grasp. Alistair attacks and is snatched up and shaken like a rag doll in the beast's grasp: the same, savage assault that had killed the mage who had fought alongside them in the tower.
"No!" His Talia scrambles to her feet, heedless of the absence of her sword as she charges in, using her free hand to grab the tattered armor tied to its body with rope and leather straps and pull herself upward, slamming at it with her shield, screaming curses at it. "Me, you bastard! Fight me!"
The beast roars, dropping Alistair and grabbing for her. She whoops with glee, hammering at it again, and her reckless laugh continues as its claws close around her shoulder and hurl her away, stopping only when she crashes into the trunk of a tree.
Brego howls his fury and darts in, sinking his teeth into a heavy calf, but it is the large male who ends the fight, moving in behind the ogre and slicing across the backs of its knees, then driving the point of his massive sword deep into the center of its chest when it topples backward to the ground.
"Alistair!" The red-haired female scrambles down the hill, tossing her bow aside in her haste. "Talia! Maker, please, no!"
"I'm all right!" Alistair wheezes, pushing himself slowly to his hands and knees. "Check on Talia; I'm all right." He tries to stand, but sinks back to his knees with a groan.
"I will be the judge of that," Morrigan announces irritably as she strides to his side, fishing in the pouch at her hip. "See to the other idiot, and summon me if her injuries seem severe," she orders the other female, shoving a handful of poultices and potions at her before crouching beside Alistair. "Sten, it seems I will need your assistance to pry him out of his armor."
Brego races to his Talia's side; she is moving slowly, carefully working her arm free of her shield. "I'm all right, boy," she mumbles as he nudges her gingerly, but she is pale, her right arm held close, guarding that side, and when she pulls her helmet off and drops it to the ground, a bout of coughs leaves her lips smeared with blood, the scent strong in his nostrils, and he whines, looking anxiously to the red haired female as she arrives.
"You most certainly are not!" she says heatedly, restraining his Talia with a hand on her shoulder when she tries to stand.
"Alistair," his Talia croaks, craning her neck, staring toward where Morrigan and the large male all but hide him from view. "Is he –" She breaks off fearfully.
"He's fine," the female assures her briskly. "In better shape than you right now. Drink this."
Her tone does not invite argument, and his Talia takes the vial and downs the contents with a grimace. "Just my ribs," she grunts, then gasps as the female prods at the area.
"At least one is likely broken," she says, removing his Talia's sword belt with swift efficiency. "This will hurt," she warns as she reaches for the lower edge of the chainmail hauberk.
His Talia bats her hands away, looking suddenly alarmed. "My sword!" she exclaims, trying to rise again. "Where –"
The female pushes her back down once more. "Unless it has grown legs, it is undoubtedly still where you dropped it," she informs her with no small amount of exasperation, "and I've no doubt that this smart fellow would be willing to bring it to you." The blue eyes turn to him expectantly, and he barks once before bounding away, eager to be doing something for his Talia.
The sword is not hard to find, and by the time he returns, holding the grip carefully in his teeth, the female has helped his Talia remove her chainmail.
"It will be easier to apply the poultice and wrap without your tunic," she begins hesitantly.
His Talia snorts. "You really think anyone is looking right now?" she asks, wincing as she pulls the shirt over her head. The ribs on her right side, just below her breastband, are already turning an ugly mix of blue, green and black. The female applies the poultice with a sure touch, then wraps a bandage around her chest several times, pulling it snug.
"Ow!" his Talia complains.
"If it's not tight enough, the broken ends will scrape against each other every time you breathe or move," the female informs her.
"Too tight, and I won't be able to breathe at all," his Talia grumbles, but she draws a slow, careful breath, then another, the tension in her face easing and a bit more color returning to her cheeks as she nods.
Morrigan approaches and crouches, examining the wrap and peering into his Talia's face. "A competent job," she concedes. "You've had some practice at this sort of thing, it seems."
"Healers are rare on the road," the female replies, meeting the witch's gaze steadily. "One learns what one must."
"Indeed." Golden eyes remain locked on blue, the challenge crackling through the air almost palpably, and Brego whines, nudging Morrigan. She glares at him, but rises. "We will obviously be going no further today," she announces. "Those ribs will need at least a night to heal, and the other fool's breastplate has several dents that must be beaten back out before he can wear it again. I will scout the area and see about a hare or two for dinner while the rest of you deal with the corpses and set up camp."
Without waiting for an answer, she shimmers into the form of an eagle and lifts into the sky.
"It would be a fine thing to be able to fly, no?" the female asks him as he stares after the bird. "I know a song about a dog and a butterfly; perhaps I can sing it for you, once we are settled?"
He looks at her with interest, but his Talia makes a scornful sound. "Why would a dog want to be a butterfly?" she asks, pulling her tunic back on and reaching for her sword.
"They can fly, and they are beautiful," the female responds with a shrug. "In Val Royeaux, ladies planted whole flower gardens just to attract them, and at times, it looked as though the air was filled with jewels: brilliant red and green and blue and gold swirling about –"
"And all of them crushed by a child's careless hand, or torn apart by a strong wind. A falcon or an eagle, maybe, but butterflies?" His Talia dismisses the notion with a shake of her head. "Give me a good, sturdy mabari without wings any day. She finishes cleaning her sword and returns it to its sheath, gripping at Brego's collar to pull herself to her feet.
"You should rest," the female admonishes her, but his Talia shakes her head again. The energy of battle has faded from her, and he can smell the pain that has nothing to do with her injuries beginning to reassert itself.
"I don't need to rest," she says, staring at the darkspawn corpses as though wishing they would rise up so that she can fight them again. "Sten, Alistair, let's get them piled up and burned." She starts to stride away, but pauses, glancing back at the red haired female. "Thanks, Leliana," she says simply, touching a hand to her ribs.
"I was glad to be able to help," the female replies, watching her walk away and giving a dispirited sigh. "She would fight from sunup to sundown, if she could, just to keep from thinking, would she not?" she asks softly, the blue eyes sad as they turn to him. "And the memories will still find her when she stops."
He gives a low whine, and she reaches out to scratch his ear with a wan smile. "I am glad that she has you, at least. Everyone should be so fortunate as to have a friend who will never betray or abandon them."
She hides it far better than his Talia, but he can smell the sorrow and the fear in her, and he wonders at its cause. Perhaps she lost her pack, as well? She has proven herself a part of this one now, and her name is Leliana.
He stretches forward to lick her cheek, forgetting that he had not yet cleaned his mouth of the darkspawn blood, but she does not flinch away, taking the gesture as it is intended and wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Thank you, mon ami," she whispers. "Now, let us help the others, yes?"