Among the list of visitors Solas might receive, Snow was close to the top. At first, he had been surprised, even suspicious of the attention; as both a mage and an elf, few of the humans in the Inquisition sought his company, a state of affairs he had been content to let be. Snow had proven quite egalitarian in his treatment of both the elven servants and the handful of dwarves among the Inquisition, but his curiosity towards magic was more remarkable still. Where most of those without any magical sensitivity regarded the mere discussion of it with fear and superstition, Snow was inquisitive and open-minded. Solas suspected his interest was rooted in either his recent entanglement with the magic of the Fade or his apparent penchant for dangerous things, but supposed he could not fault him for either.
"One moment."
Solas stepped aside to allow his guest to enter, but Snow remained at the doorstep. Belatedly, he noticed the man was winded, as if he'd run some distance.
"You have healing magic, don't you?" asked Snow, breathless but undeterred.
Solas frowned. "Yes. Why?"
"There's a wounded dog — attacked by demons, I think. It won’t survive on its own. Can you help?"
That raised an eyebrow. While it was true that few people would be pleased to see a dog perish, not many would go to the trouble of seeking out a healer if they lacked the skills to aid the animal themselves. Fewer still would consider turning to magic. Had he been turned away by the Chantry sisters or the apothecary already? It was unlikely that either had time to spare on a stray animal.
The momentary pause lasted too long for Snow’s liking, who seemed to take his hesitation as refusal. His eyebrows knit together in a frown, leaving his honey brown eyes wide and plaintive. “Please, Solas.”
“Very well,” replied Solas, turning to claim his cloak and staff from where they rested near the door. “Lead the way.”
Snow led them out of the village and past the frozen pond, winding a path beneath the snow-cloaked firs. His stride was quick and purposeful, slowing only to occasionally glance over his shoulder and ensure that Solas was keeping pace.
“What brought you out of the village in the first place?” inquired Solas.
“Ah, I go for walks sometimes,” Snow replied, without turning back. “Sometimes I’ll climb the rocks to look at the Breach, or Haven. This time I noticed a trail of blood, so I went to look.”
Solas raised his eyebrows. “Do you often follow trails of blood through the woods…?”
“Not usually, but –” Snow cast a glance over his shoulder, a small smile breaking his serious expression. “I thought it might have been a lion kill, so I couldn’t resist. I’ve always wanted to see a mountain lion.”
Dangerous things, indeed. “What led you to conclude the attacker was a demon?”
“Lion don’t leave burns.” The moment of levity passed, and Snow’s voice grew quiet. “Stay behind me now, and keep your voice down. It’s frightened and hurt – we don’t want it to try to run.”
Snow stepped into the thicket first, his movements slow and steady. “Hey, brother, it’s alright,” he murmured. The enchantment Solas had cast when he first awoke in this age held fast, rendering the meaning of the words clear to him, but whatever tongue they belonged to was unfamiliar. One of the Marcher dialects, perhaps…? “I told you I’d come back.”
It took a moment to locate the animal. The trunk of a fallen tree formed a burrow in the snow-covered earth, where Snow sank down to his knees. In the shade of the tree, Solas could dimly make out the distinctive snout of a wolf as it nuzzled the proffered hand.
Solas’ step faltered momentarily in surprise as he glanced between Snow and the animal. “A dog, you said.”
The beast’s head snapped toward Solas when he spoke, its ears flattening against its skull with suspicion, but Snow didn’t withdraw his hand. “Steady, brother. You’re safe, I promise. He’s here to help you.”
“It is a dog,” Snow replied, a terse note impatience that Solas had not heard from him before creeping into his tone. As he spoke, the beast permitted him to run his fingers across its temple and gently scratch its ear. Perhaps he was correct; a wild wolf would have surely bitten him already. “Trust me.”
Solas inclined his head in silent acknowledgment. Snow gestured for him to approach with a tilt of his head, but the wolf-dog began to growl the moment Solas stepped forward. “Be still,” Snow murmured. “He needs to look at the wound.” A strangely subtle thought to attempt to convey to an animal. After a few moments, however, the beast seemed to settle, the growl in its throat quieting until Solas could hear only the sound of the wind and its labored breathing. He had heard that the mabari of Ferelden had long ago been enchanted to comprehend language; perhaps this unknown breed, if it was indeed part dog, shared a similar heritage.
Solas joined Snow kneeling beside the beast. Mercifully, the hollow beneath the trunk was shallow enough that they needn’t attempt to extricate the injured animal in order for him to examine the wound. It was immediately obvious that Snow’s surmise regarding the culprit was correct: in addition to several deep gashes across its ribs, a swathe of flesh along its hind leg had been reduced to black char. The beast must have been attacked by one of the maddened rage demons that still wandered the mountain’s slopes.
The wound was recent, at least – the dark blood matting its fur was still slick and sticky, and the acrid scent of burnt hair and flesh still clung to it – and despite its ghastly appearance, the flames had not eaten away too much of the muscle beneath. It would be simple enough for Solas to mend – yet he hesitated. He had pronounced no particular expertise in restorative magic, and the wound would be beyond a lesser healer. Caution insisted that he should pretend to be incapable, yet Snow’s earnest murmurs of reassurance, meant only for the wounded beast’s ears, left a pang of pity in his chest. A quiet whine of pain from the animal was enough to win the battle.
“I believe I can help,” Solas said, looking back to Snow, who let out a breath of relief. Solas was again struck by the man’s investment in the animal’s plight, as if the dog were his own. Although he had never had cause to think Snow unkind, the display was still oddly touching.
“Thank you,” replied Snow, with a grateful smile.
“The process of closing the wound will be painful,” Solas warned, with another glance down at the dog’s face as he wondered whether it could in fact comprehend his meaning. Were the animal less intelligent, it might have been kinder to put it out of its misery rather than forcing it to endure the pain of healing such extensive nerve damage. “You will need to keep it still.”
Snow nodded, his smile fading into a determined look, before he turned back to the dog. “I’ll hold you still, alright? You can trust us. This will be over soon, I promise.” He was answered – perhaps – with another whine. After a moment’s consideration of the situation, Snow untied the sheathe of his sword from his belt and set it aside, then shimmied into the hollow in order to lay against the animal’s back. In that position, he would be able to use his full weight to control the animal. “Alright, on your mark.”
“Very well. Let us begin.”
The minutes that followed were long and grueling. Conventional methods of healing, such as the magic to which he presently restricted himself, worked by exploiting the body’s natural ability to heal itself. Knitting closed a wound or rejoining a broken bone was a relatively simple matter, but to regrow flesh that had been burned or cleaved away was taxing. Combined with the aggravation to the wounded nerves, the work was slow and miserable, akin to an amputation in reverse. Spirit healing was a far gentler process, but one that would draw too much attention to a simple apostate while in the company of the Inquisition.
The dog’s courage was admirable, and it suffered the ordeal with more grace than many people could have mustered. Despite its relentless snarls and whines of pain, it submitted willingly to the best of its ability. Although Snow was able to use his weight to control a great deal of its reflexive thrashing, Solas suspected that it could have thrown the man off in a moment if it had a mind to escape. Snow was hardly a slight figure, but the beast was frankly enormous.
By the time the wounds had closed, the dog was panting heavily, and sweat shone on Snow’s face even in the shade of the burrow from the effort of holding it down. Snow had long since soaked his own leggings through where he knelt on the ground, leaving his knees chilled and aching. “It is done,” he said softly.
Snow didn’t reply, only breathing heavily as he finally released his grip on the animal’s fur. After a while, the dog slowly emerged from its makeshift den, cautiously testing its weight on the once-wounded leg. Snow climbed out after it, covered in considerably more dirt and sweat than when he had entered half an hour earlier, but seemed content to remain seated in the snow as he caught his breath. He extended a hand to the dog, which responded by happily licking it. “You did well, brother,” Snow panted, a weary grin spreading across his face as he ruffled the dog’s ears. “You did well.”
“What language is that?” asked Solas, at last presented with an opportunity to indulge his curiosity.
“Nevarran,” Snow answered, without glancing away from the dog. It had settled down onto its haunches to sit beside him, tilting its head into his hand as he scratched its ears. “It’s a Nevarran breed, for dragon-hunting. They understand any language, I think, but I thought it might be comforting to hear something familiar.”
Solas spent another moment examining it. The newly-healed skin of its hind leg remained bare, but the fur should regrow with time. Upon closer inspection, it was easier to discern the differences in physiology between dog and wolf. Although the animal did seem to have some lupine heritage, its chest and shoulders were too broad and muscular to be a true wolf, and its face and snout less sleek. Most noticeably, its size and bulk far exceeded that of a common wolf. Still, the differences were subtle enough that Solas suspected they would be lost on a layperson. Whoever had bred it had doubtless intended the resemblance. (He could not help but wonder what Snow had been thinking, approaching such a creature. He toed the line between brave and foolhardy.)
“This is a remarkable animal,” he observed. “How did such a creature find its way here?”
“The Conclave, I suppose.” Snow shot him a look, as if to say not now. Solas quickly took his meaning: they would have hardly allowed what amounted to a war-dog inside the Conclave. The animal would have been left behind in Haven to await a master who would never return. Grief might explain why such an intelligent animal would be driven to the nigh-suicidal endeavor of battling demons alone.
The poignancy of that thought left Solas quiet for a while. “This was kind of you,” he said eventually.
Snow shrugged. “Least I could do, really. I couldn’t stand to just leave it out here to die.” He met Solas’ gaze once again, his eyes warm and earnest. “Thank you, Solas. Really.”
Solas answered with a small smile. Although the display of gratitude was unnecessary, his sincerity was nonetheless endearing. “What now?”
“Good question.” Snow turned to meet the dog’s eyes, ruffling its ears once more. Resting on its haunches alongside where he sat on the cold earth, the animal was tall enough to look down at him, if only slightly. “What now? No more chasing demons by yourself, I hope?”
The dog answered him with a whine, managing to sound remarkably apologetic, then licked his cheek. Snow gave a careless laugh. “I suppose he’ll come with me for now, and we’ll figure it out from there. Are you ready to head back?”
“Whenever you are. You must be weary.”
Snow let out a groan as he reached over to grab his sword from where he’d cast it aside, then pulled himself back to his feet; Solas could not quite tell how much of the performance was in jest. Even for someone who spent so much time training his body as a weapon, the exertion must have been considerable. “I’ll manage, I think.”
“I was unaware you spoke Nevarran,” Solas idly commented as they bean to walk. That in itself was no surprise; Snow had spoken of himself so little and with such reticence that there were few things about the man Solas could say he was aware of.
“Mm. I spent a few years there as a young man.”
“I take it that is where you came across – what are they called?”
“Nevarran dragon-hounds, yes. I had the pleasure of serving as an aid to a hunter who owned one. Magnificent animals.”
Snow’s eyes had fallen to the dog, which hung close to his side as he walked. Despite being quite tall himself, the dog’s powerful shoulders easily reached his hips. As calm as the animal had proven now that its injuries had been treated, it was an intimidating – and awe-inspiring – sight.
“Clever, tenacious, and strong enough to tear a man’s arm off,” Snow continued cheerfully, as if he had already forgotten volunteering to wrestle one such injured animal with his bare hands within the hour. If nothing else, he had forgotten his exhaustion, at least for the moment, with his voice taking on an enthusiasm that Solas had overheard as he spoke of the Inquisition’s horses with its stablehands. “They’re actually meant to harass and distract the quarry, not take it down outright, but when your quarry’s a dragon or wyvern, that’s easier said than done. Ferociously loyal, as well.”
“One supposes they must be, or they would pose as much of a danger to the hunter as the dragon itself,” Solas observed.
Snow’s laugh was as clear and refreshing as spring water. “True. Although it goes beyond that. With such dangerous prey, an unreliable companion is worse than no companion. A dog that balks at danger or misunderstands a command at the wrong moment can get you killed in a heartbeat. But,” he went on, “a dog that can’t think for itself and adapt to the situation can be just as dangerous.”
“With such demanding requirements, it must have taken a great deal of effort to breed such a creature.”
“Oh, centuries. Nevarrans are nothing if not committed to their hunts. Some will tell you that dragon-hounds are nothing more than mabari with fur, but if that were entirely true, it wouldn’t have taken them so long.” He shot Solas a grin. “Not that you heard anything of the sort from me, if any Nevarrans ask.”
Solas found himself returning the smile. “I shall take care not to repeat it within earshot of Cassandra.”
Speaking of Cassandra, as they approached the outskirts of Haven, her distinctive figure came into view pacing the training ground. Were he not already in the man’s company, Solas might have expected to see Snow with her; he seemed to have spent nearly every day practicing with the new recruits since sealing the Breach. Unsurprisingly, their approach from the wilderness in the company of such an animal caught her attention quickly and forcefully enough for her to abandon her task to stride towards them.
“Do you know what that is?” she demanded once within earshot, in a tone Solas had come to recognize was not anger but merely her particular… charm.
“A dragon-hound, no?” Snow called back. As Cassandra came closer, he lowered his voice to his usual melodically soft-spoken tone once more. “I was going to ask you if you had seen it before.”
“I have, in fact.” She gazed down at the dog with a frown. “It belonged to a nobleman – Lord Gael Abraxas. He perished at the Conclave.”
Snow fell in stride with her as they walked back towards the village gates, with Solas trailing silently behind. “I found it injured in the woods, and Solas offered to help treat its wounds.” Solas raised his eyebrows but did not comment. That was a charitable – and misleading – way of putting it, but it would do neither of them a service to protest. “I think it was hunting demons.”
“Demons?” Cassandra frowned again. “I wonder…”
When she trailed off in thought, Snow raised his eyebrows. “Hm?”
“The soldiers who found you said a wolf drew their attention before the rift you stepped out of had opened.” She gave the dog another thoughtful glance. “If it was searching for its master after the explosion at the Conclave…”
That left Snow quiet for a moment. “Perhaps I was just returning the favor, then,” he said, reaching over to scratch the dog beneath its ear. “Were there any survivors from Abraxas’ retinue?”
“Yes, but they departed not long after. I suppose it would have been too dangerous to search for the dog after it ran off, and without its master, there would be no guarantee that it would obey anyone else.”
Snow sighed, casting another long look down at the dog, but did not reply.
“You seem to have earned its trust,” observed Cassandra. “If you know how difficult these animals are to bond to a new master… Perhaps this, too, was the hand of the Maker.”
Solas could not be certain whether it was his imagination, or if Snow did indeed restrain another sigh at that remark. “We’ll see how it goes,” he said eventually. “If it’s willing to have me, I would be honored.” There was the shadow of something unstated behind his words.
“You must still exercise caution,” she warned. “A great deal of caution.”
“If it were permitted to accompany its master on such a long and sensitive voyage, I would imagine it’s fully trained, but we’ll complete a few trials to be sure.”
“That would be wise.” At Haven’s gates, Cassandra stopped. “In the meantime… It should not have the run of the village. Do not leave it unattended. If it proves disobedient…”
Snow inclined his head towards her. “I will be mindful of the risk, you have my word. Thank you, Cassandra.”
She nodded, then strode back towards the training field.
Snow watched her for a few moments, perhaps ensuring that she would not reconsider her decision, before looking to the dog, then to Solas. When he smiled again, there was a touch of worry mixed with his gratitude, but it vanished quickly.
“Thank you again, Solas. I owe you a favor.”
Solas shook his head. “You owe me nothing. To save such a creature is its own reward.”
“Still —” Snow reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder, before allowing it to drop away a moment later. Between the gentle touch and the warmth of his smile, Solas was momentarily taken aback by the man’s charm. “I won’t forget this. If ever you need something, just say the word.”
Solas answered with a smile of his own, then turned away to return to the warmth of his cabin. Behind him, he heard Snow’s voice in an affectionate undertone: “Now, what am I to do with you?”