DAO: The One Who Was Mistress

Title: The One Who Was Mistress
Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Characters: Female Cousland, Dog, Sten
Genre: uhm, family?
Summary: He knew all her moods, and all her expressions and all her voices, and as they run from the burning place they called home, he could feel her sadness through the bond they shared. He howled at the moon, mourning the older humans, who gave him to his mistress. He felt so very helpess, being able to offer only his own whimper and comforting whine, when she wrapped her arms around his neck and salty water fell from her eyes.

As far as he could remember, he would always accompany her everywhere, from his first clumsy steps, to his very first bite on unwanted suitor, to his very first taste of enemy's blood.

He knew all her moods, and all her expressions and all her voices, and as they run from the burning place they called home, he could feel her sadness through the bond they shared. He howled at the moon, mourning the older humans, who gave him to his mistress. He felt so very helpess, being able to offer only his own whimper and comforting whine, when she wrapped her arms around his neck and salty water fell from her eyes.

She then hid what she felt, and he did the same. He still was a warhound, and if his mistress was strong, he will be right there, as strong as she is, always having her back.

He watched how she made her way around the old ruins the strange smelling man led them; speaking to various people, exchanging items with them, finally returning with someone, only to leave again. Again without him.

He nudged the strange man, Duncan, with his snout and whined. The man just laid his hand, so much bigger than his mistress', on his head and quietly said: "I understand your disagreement, Lord, but this is something she must do without you. But once it's finished, she will once again need you by her side."

It took long hours for her and the other men to return. She nearly died that day; he could feel the bond that connected them weakening before it started to grow stronger again. The day grew darker, before she rejoined him with one of the men wh accompanied her sooner. There had been sorrow in her smell; he nudged her palm with his snout, and she smiled at him a little.

Somehow, he never would believe that some other animal but him will be able to save his mistress, but once they had been on top of the stone tower and the dark ones overwhelmed them, a huge bird carried his mistress and the man away; he fought his way out of the tower and to the wilds that surrounded the stony ruins, following after them, using their bond to not lose them.

The woman with yellow eyes disliked him, and he returned the sentiment - she was keeping him away from his mistress, and giving him names none of the servants back at their home would dare to call him. But she was helping the older woman, who in turn was helping his mistress get strong and healthy again, so he kept his teeth away from her, even if he was angry at her. After all, his mistress woudn't be pleased, if he run around hurting people, even if they deserved it, without being commanded to do so.

Their pack got bigger fairly soon, too - there was this yellow-eyed woman, the man from the ruined place, some other woman, and that huge man who was locked in a cage. Lord liked the last two - the woman would give him treats and speak to him in lilting tones, that reminded him of mother o fthe young pup from their home. And the man would stare at him, daring him to look away, only to have Lord stare right back, his teeth bared. They respected each other, and when mistress had been busy, Lord would often find his way to the warrior's side, keeping him company as the man took care of his weapons.

And later, they got even more people to their pack - an elven man who spoke just like mother of pup, his tongue curling around his words in such an enticing way, that Lord found himself pulled towards him almost against his will. The man liked mistress, and only because of her he indulged the mabari, Lord knew that, but still could not help himself, especially when he heard the two of them talking in that strange, sing-like language. He didn't really like the next additions, though - the old woman who wanted him to bathe (like really, no proper warrior dog would go to battle smelling like flowers), that there had been that short man who smelled like beer and wanted to ride him and then there was that stone something, what threatened to squish him.

But they all were part of his pack, and as such, he would do everything in his power to protect them.

When his mistress died battling the mighty beast that led the dark ones, Lord felt part of himself departing as well. His life had no more purpose, he felt, and if not for the huge warrior, he would perish in his sorrow. But the warrior mourned his mistress as well, it showed in his smell and in the way he laid his big hand on his head, patting him for the very first time.

And so there were they; he by the side of the huge warrior, as he reported to his own master, big hand laying on his head once more, as he spoke of his mistress.

"Sten of the Beresaad, you had been away for many months, amongst those who are not followers of Qun. Were there any who were worthy warriors?"

"Only one."

That day, Lord howled his sorrow to the skies, the warrior by his side being quiet once again, the blade his mistress gave him on his knees, as he watched the moon rise.