W/N - Again, thank you so much Roxfox, Josie, Ygrain, EE and Padawan Mage! I had a weird inspiration and let's look at a dog's life. There's a little hound backstory, a little tongue in cheek, a little dogmance and how he sees the Warden and others. Lot's of doggy action too! Cameos from Dairren, Vaugh, Soris and Rexel. Next up is the confrontation.

The Jail

The smell of blood in Cyrano's nostrils was almost maddening to the warhound. This place stank of death and destruction, something Cyrano had come to truly understand since they fled from Highever so many months ago. Though he didn't understand everything that had happened from that time, he knew that he was in the company of good and strong people who would help his mistress. As he led the way down the hall, he picked up a scent, faint at first, but then strong. There was a horrible tinge of evil to that aroma that he could not help but remember…it was Arl Howe.

Images played out in the hound's mind as the smell coursed its way up through his snout into his brain. It was as if all of the pent up anxiety of the quest was flooding over him all at once. He could envision the father, the lord of the house in Highever, petting him. He was but a puppy then, gurgling and chewing on some cloth toy. The father smiled and rubbed his belly and then gave him to the mistress, Alice. She was different then, smaller, rail thin and gangly with freckles and wild hair. He liked her smell, loved licking her face. Her squeals of laughter excited him and he leapt about, yapping and wagging his tail. They rolled around in a ball of fur and hair and lanky arms and legs, the puppy tearing at her dress.

"Oh, dear Maker, what have you done, Bryce?" It was the mother, the lady of the house. "Now I'll have to change her before she can begin her lessons with Master Aldous! What a mess!"

Cyrano looked up at the mother and made a sorry whine, tucking his tail between his legs. Then, all of the people began to laugh and the hound perked up at the sound and began leaping around again, yapping as he spun in circles. It was a nice place to be and he knew that he was loved.

"What will we name him?" the mother asked.

The father put his finger to his chin. "The pup was a gift from the lord of West Hills, Cyrano DuClaw. How about Cyrano?"

"An Orlesian name? Are you sure?"

The father nodded. "These are different times. I fought the Orlesians all those years ago, but the hated Emperor is now dead. A new Empress sits on the Orlesian Throne and she is wiser…gentler. We may finally see an end to the bitterness that tore our two kingdoms apart."

The mother smiled. "Then Cyrano it is."

Soon, Cyrano grew to be a massive warhound and he learned to bite and claw, but only when the mistress told him to. Very quickly, they became as one warrior, fighting with one mind. It would be a bond that would last a lifetime. She would train with him for hours, wearing this tasty padded cloth over her arm and he would grab on, thrashing and tearing until they were both exhausted. Then, the mistress would fall to the ground, laughing and Cyrano would leap on top of her, pretending to bite her throat. "Okay, okay, you win, Cyrano!" she would shout and then, when he relaxed, she would roll over on top of him and snuggle his neck. He loved her smell, so sweet and fresh. If they ever became separated, he could sniff her out from across Ferelden by following that scent.

Then, images of the hated Howe filled his head again and he growled involuntarily, his ears pricking up sharply. There was something about the man that Cyrano did not trust from the very start. He could just smell it on Howe - it was like giant rats in the pantry that the cook detested. The hound could still see that night in Highever clearly – the night that had changed them forever. He had been forced to sleep on the rug and not in the mistress' bed. She invited a strange smelling man into their room and he started wrestling with her and her clothes fell off. Cyrano was tempted to tear the man to shreds and bared his teeth, but the mistress told him to lie down and to be quiet. The two resumed wrestling and the mistress giggled like when she played with him, but it was a little different, more exciting. The hound could smell something in the air and the mistress began moaning, something she would occasionally do in the room alone. The sounds and the smells made him think of the bitch down in the kennels and he uttered a growly yelp.

He realized though, that he didn't like the rug at the foot of the bed – it was cold, unlike the thick warm quilts on the mistress' bed. Maybe when she and that man, Dairren, were done wrestling, he could jump back in. But, whatever they were doing seemed to go on forever and Cyrano soon fell asleep.

Some of the images were disjointed from this point on, but he remembered smelling smoke and waking up. Not just the smoke from a fireplace, but much worse. There was fighting too and not the pretend kind either. The odor of blood soon seeped through the door. He had to warn the mistress. His excited barks woke the man and he said to be quiet, but the man didn't know what he knew. He couldn't hear or smell what Cyrano heard and smelled. Why couldn't he understand?

The man opened the door and arrows flew into his body. For the first time, Cyrano saw a dead person and his instinct and training took over. Everything around him blurred and he charged a soldier with a crossbow. The eyes opened with fear and the throat tilted back. Fangs dug into flesh. It was the first time the hound tasted blood, fresh and salty. Massive jaws clamped down and thrashed until the whole head rolled away. Was this the right thing to do? The man threatened the mistress so it had to be right. The room was now quiet and he turned back to see the mistress, her naked skin still glistening from sweat. He made a tentative whine, but she stroked his face, rubbed behind his ear and wiped some of the gore from his snout. "Good boy. Show them no mercy."

From there, Cyrano had learned to identify the picture of the bear that went with the men of the hated Howe and he tore them apart without hesitation for the mistress and he would always get extra Mabari biscuits when this happened. During his journey, he had learned much and grown close to the mistress' friends. The mistress and the big bronze man painted him with the Kaddis of the Open Skies, symbols of power for a warhound that signified the fierce Mabari of Ferelden. The skinny witch often complimented his intelligence, saying that he was even smarter than the funny prince. She would often have him fetch ingredients for her potions and for that little doll that she had that looked like the funny prince. They even had a game where he would steal her small clothes and he would put gifts in them. The dwarf would try to get him drunk all the time and the kind old woman even gave him regular baths.

The images in Cyrano's head faded and he made a snorting chortle that some would call a laugh. But, the smell of the Howe was now strong and drove all other thoughts away and the hound put his nose to the ground, sniffing. The Howe was close…very close. They came to another door on the side of the hallway and the elf crouched down to the side, checking along the frame and the wood. Bad things could happen if the elf didn't check and so the hound made a quiet woof of approval. The elf looked back with a smile and a wink, which reminded him a little of the way the elf would look at the mistress when he didn't think others were watching. Cyrano knew that the elf and the mistress had wrestled too. The mistress seemed to like wrestling. But, it had been a while since she and the elf did it. Maybe she got a lot better at it than him. She only seemed to wrestle with the funny prince these days.

The hound could now smell death and fear beyond the door and the sound of whimpering, much like the room in which everyone was being hurt. This made Cyrano mad and he couldn't wait to get in there. The elf opened the door and evil men turned in surprise. In a flash, Cyrano was leaping through the air. Paws struck hard against a man's chest. The body flew back onto the ground. The head hit the floor. A throat lay bare and exposed. There was the taste of blood.

A fury overtook the hound as his Kaddis glowed with power. The mistress came in and again, they were as one. The bright sword would flash and then fangs would come out in perfect timing. The mistress would cut down any man that threatened her faithful dog and he would tear at any man challenging her. A soldier moved at them and a sword arm pulled back. Teeth tore at the forearm, stopping the attack. There was a scream. The mistress' bright sword plunged through a heart.

These men wore the symbol of the bear, like he had come to hate. There could be no mercy for these people. A dull thud got his attention though and he turned to see the mistress stagger. A man with a great axe had hit her, the blade denting her shiny armor. The man pushed her down and then leapt on top of her, drawing a dagger. This was no play wrestling. He pulled the visor of her helmet up and draw his hand back, the tip of the dagger aimed right at her eye.

Paws scrabbling on the bloody floor, Cyrano bounded ahead, snarling with spittle flying from his fangs. The bearded face turned. Eyes opened wide with fear. Massive jaws clamped down on hair and skin until a skull shattered. Now the room was quiet again and a familiar hand rubbed behind his ears and wiped gore from his snout. "Good boy. You can let go of that head now."

Cyrano realized that something was stuck in his mouth and he let it go, the round object falling and then rolling wetly on the floor. He made a quiet whine, hoping that this was okay and when the mistress smiled, he perked up, wagging his tail and woofing happily. Only then did he see the elf unlocking jail cells and letting people out. Other elves came out and kissed the ground. They were so thin and ragged. Several men came out too, babbling and ranting wildly so that even the hound could not tell what they were saying. These people were burned and scarred and cried pitifully. The old woman took them and added them to the growing throng of ill and wounded. Hopefully, she could help them, maybe even give them a bath too. Finally, the mistress took a dirty man out of his cell. This man was angry and demanded something from the mistress which made her unhappy. The elves called him a rapist and a murderer and the Zevran elf became agitated. Cyrano didn't like it when someone upset the mistress or her friends.

This commotion made the dirty man even more angry and he threatened the mistress and everyone else. He would see them dead. They would be hanging in cages, food for the crows. He would make the mistress beg for mercy. Cyrano was about to leap, but the mistress put her hand out to stop him. She was up to something though. She calmly walked back and pulled a tunic off one of the dead soldiers. She smiled and put it over the dirty man's naked body and smoothed it out so that Cyrano could see the picture of the bear. She pointed to the man and just said, "Howe."

There was a snarl. Human eyes widened in panic and fear. The body turned to run. Fangs dug into soft flesh at the calf. There was a scream and the smell of urine. A hand came up, but teeth ripped it off the arm. Another scream. Now, the throat was exposed. The Mabari biscuit would be very tasty after.