My housemate has one of those little poodle mixes, a bichon-poo, and it is perhaps the cutest little waste of space in the world. It behaves horribly and she just adores it. So this story is dedicated to Riley, the little monster. Minor spoilers from the story 'Kicking and Screaming'.
That is NOT a Dog
Characters: King Alistair, Eamon (mentioned: Aveline Cousland and Rollo/Dog from 'Kicking and Screaming')
Pairings: None
"What is that." Alistair asked, pointing an accusing finger at the small, quivering caramel lump currently sitting on the edge of the bed, a shred of pillow still hanging from its mouth. Eamon sighed.
"I believe it is a dog."
"No, I'm quite sure I know what a dog looks like. I fought alongside one for the entirety of the Blight. That…that is not a dog." The offending creature let out what sounded remarkably like a bark, for all that it was assuredly not what Eamon had said it was.
"Not all dogs are mabari, Alistair." Eamon replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's a gift, from the Orlesian ambassador, on behalf of the Empress."
"They send me a small, curly-haired thing to ravage my bedroom? As a gift?" Alistair asked as he approached the thing, which both growled and wagged its tail at him. Knowing he could probably crush the thing with his one hand, the King of Ferelden was not impressed.
"It is probably some sort of veiled insult, your Majesty." Eamon shrugged. "Knowing the attitudes of most nations towards Ferelden, anyway."
"Is it going to get…bigger?" Alistair asked, keeping his distance. The dog burrowed back into his bed, and there was a tearing sound as it shredded the sheets, its stubby little tail wagging furiously.
"Not by much. It is a lapdog." Eamon shook his head as the small thing came out of the covers, trailing the tattered remains of rather expensive linens. It barely came up to Alistair's shin, covered in caramel curls, with dainty paws and a disgustingly adorable face. "Its function is to simply exist. A fashion statement for a noblewoman."
"Yes, I can just imagine Aveline's reaction to such a dog. Or Rollo's, for that matter." Alistair responded, drily. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled."
"Yes, well, Aveline is not your average noblewoman." Eamon concurred, a tad sourly. "I can have it removed, though such a move would certainly be seen as an insult to the Orlesian ambassador."
"Yet, we have to suffer their insults, which just destroyed my bedding, thank you very much." Alistair grumbled, kneeling down to be able to reach the canine. It alternated between trying to nip at his hands and roll over so its belly could be scratched. "I am going to break this thing by touching it."
"Nonsense. You handle fine china well enough." Eamon scoffed.
"A dog should not be comparable to delicate teacups." Alistair groaned, obliging the little dog with a belly rub. It cocked a dog-smile at him, stumpy little tail motoring. "I don't suppose I can send it to the kennels and rescue the rest of my furniture?"
"Send it to the kennels? You cannot be serious. It would be torn to shreds in minutes." Eamon grimaced at the gory image. Alistair was unphased.
"But that is where we keep our dogs." Alistair reasoned. "They gave the animal to us knowing this, I would presume."
"But if you do that, it gives them a specific incident to refer to while calling Fereldens uncultured barbarians." Eamon frowned. Alistair rolled his eyes.
"They don't even need a reason. Do you expect me to inflict this thing on the castle staff? Or perhaps you like wasting the kingdom's money to replace my sheets every day?" The King straightened, and the dog jumped up, snapping at his pants, demanding attention. He brushed it away in annoyance. "Does Isolde want it?"
"You can't regift it!" Eamon said, perhaps a little too hastily. Alistair laughed despite himself.
"Oh, sure, good excuse. You just don't want the thing." He sighed, shaking his head. "In the kennels, then. We'll figure out something to do with it. Maybe the kennel master can teach it to not rip into everything it can sink its teeth into."
"He'll probably be insulted." Eamon mumbled.
"I'm going to insult someone, or I'm going to lose all my sleep dealing with this thing. I'm going to go down the path of insulting the one person who cannot lash out at me politically simply for me asking him to do his job." Alistair said easily. "If it gets eaten by a mabari, that will simply be unfortunate. I'm certain it can stay with the little dogs from the Anderfels, the ones that hunt badgers?"
"Dachshunds."
"Right, the sausages with legs." Alistair waved him off. "Any more interesting surprises I should know about, or are my other coronation presents less destructive?"
"Well, there are-"
Alistair groaned. It was going to be a long day.