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I Am the Alpha	By : LadySephiroth Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 2363 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: Chapter titles are lyrics to “Then the Morning Comes” by Smash Mouth, which I also don’t own and don’t claim any rights to, nor am I making any profit off of it.
Section breaks are lyrics to “Part of Me” by Linkin Park, which I also don’t own and don’t claim any rights to nor am I profiting from it.
Author’s Notes: I’m not the only person who created a character that was just downright mean for no reason, but I hardly read DA fics where PCs are actual dicks for a good reason.
I felt like the human noble had the perfect backstory for this. Having your family slaughtered has got to do a number on you. I mean seriously. Think about it. You do not walk away from that and just go about your business, especially if you’re of noble blood.
Nobles are spoiled, coddled, and not used to real hardships. They sit around like fat cattle and just feed and order people around (thank you Arishok, you smexy beast). So take that noble, and thrust them into the events of DA: Origins. Tell me they’d take it well.
Nope.
When your whole world is violently taken from you, and you aren’t emotionally or mentally equipped to handle it, how do you deal?
That is the basis for this story.
In some places I quote directly from the game. In others I just paraphrase. I’m doing a playthrough as I’m writing this, but most of the events are altered for the sake of the fic and character development. That’s why I labeled it as an alternate universe.
Summary: A retelling. [AU] When your whole world is violently taken from you, and you aren’t emotionally or mentally equipped to handle it, how do you deal? Mainly Alistair/f!Cousland/Zevran. Also featuring Sten/f!Cousland/Zevran and Alistair/Leliana. Everyone’s a slut. And a critic.

I Am the Alpha
Paint the town
The town was called “Lothering,” but she had taken to calling it “Loathing.”
It was a wretched waste of space, so crowded and oozing with fear. The ground seemed harder here, more unforgiving. The people were paranoid and lost. The refugees were disgusting: crying and whimpering, allowing others to prey on them. They huddled together according to their kind, simultaneously trying to soothe their little ones and watching out for people who might rob them.
Not much of a chance of that happening with the highwaymen’s bodies scattered at the entrance. She informed an elven family begging for money that she killed them. They went to raid their booty. She firmly shook her head and pressed onward.
“The Chanter’s Board has jobs,” Alistair suggested. “Maybe we can make some coin if we take a look.”
Morrigan said something sarcastic, but Elena was too busy staring straight ahead. She didn’t want to stay here. It was disgusting. She wanted a warm, soft bed and an estate with guards and servants to do her bidding. Being out on the road and sleeping on the ground in tents made her angry. They had to find a better place than this to replenish their supplies. They could at least go to Denerim or another major city.
Beside her, the Dog whined. She looked down at him, and for the first time since her family was slaughtered she gave in to another facial expression that wasn’t a scowl.
“I know Sam,” she smirked, rubbing his head. “They’re both useless tools.”
“Useless?!” the witch and templar repeated in unison.
“How am I useless?” Alistair wanted to know.
“A better question would be how are you not?” Morrigan deadpanned.
He ignored her biting remark. “We need coin to keep traveling,” he went on. “We can’t get supplies if all we’ve got between us is three gold. We’re not going to last long at all.”
The witch couldn’t resist the opening he’d left her. “I’m surprised you can count.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t turned into--”
“SILENCE!” she screamed. The entire town stopped and look at her, but she didn’t care. Her outburst surprised both of them enough to shut them up, which is exactly what she wanted.
“Now look Alistair. Since you’re so concerned with our finances, why don’t you go check out the Chanter’s Board?”
He blinked his pretty brown (or maybe they were hazel) eyes in disbelief. His eyelashes were so long they were startling. Every time she saw him she saw glimpses of his brother, the recently deceased King Cailan. They had similar features. Alistair kept his reddish brown (or dark blonde; she could never tell what color it really was) hair short, cropped, and fussed with it when he thought no one was looking. Under any other circumstances she would have been attracted to him. He had a rather goofy personality: quick with a joke, no desire for responsibility, whiny, pouty, extremely sensitive and more than a bit emotional. She had concluded that he was annoying.
“By myself?” he asked. There was more than a bit of incredulity in his tone.
She ignored him. “And since you seem to think he’s an idiot that constantly needs watching, you go with him Morrigan.”
“Me?” she repeated, her dark eyes flashing. “I hardly think that…”
“Yes, you hardly think. I get that. Now both of you get out of my sight.”
Morrigan was a Witch of the Wilds, not one to be trifled with. Her dark features stood out in stark contrast to her golden eyes and sun-kissed skin. She had a wicked sort of beauty about her, the kind that was both dangerous and alluring. Her body was barely covered in her clothes; men stared at her in fear and admiration. Perhaps some of that fear should have spread to Elena, but she didn’t fear anything. As far as she was concerned nothing could scare her after the abominable snowball of fuckery that avalanched her in the past week.
Morrigan, however, was unimpressed with her fearlessness. The witch’s eyes clouded over with damning power, but Alistair grabbed her arm and dragged her off before a proper standoff could ensue. “Come on,” he muttered, leading her over the bridge and back towards the Chantry.
Once they were gone she breathed a huge sigh of relief.
“I swear, Sam,” she muttered, looking down at the dog, “sometimes I think everyone is out to get me.”
Sam got up and walked off.
Surprise registered on her face before her usual indignation and scowl set in. “Where are you going you damn mabari?”
The question sent the dog into a trot. She sighed loudly and followed after him. “You’d better be leading me to a nice warm bed,” she muttered under her breath. “Or at least a decent meal. I’m sick of eating Alistair’s cooking. It tastes like feet and rocks.”
Not that she knew what feet tasted like, but if she had to guess…
The hound stopped in front of a set of prisoner cages. All of them were empty except for one. Its occupant was something she’d never seen before. She was immediately fascinated by it.
“What are you?” she asked, her brown eyes widening ever so slightly.
“I’m a prisoner,” he answered simply. She thought he was being smug. Maybe he was. There was a scowl on his face, one not unlike her own, but deeper. He had no eyebrows, and yet he could frown. Interesting.
He was bronze. She put her hand up to the cage and pressed it against the bars for comparison. She wasn’t really afraid, a fact that sparked a hint of something in the prisoner’s eyes. Her own skin was, perhaps, a medium maple syrup color at best. It was undoubtedly brown, undoubtedly dark, and undoubtedly strange, even among her people. All the other humans in Ferelden were so light by comparison.
Even more odd was the fact that her eyes and skin were the same color: the same deep, rich, earthy brown. They almost blended into each other. The only thing that stood out on her was her blonde hair, which she kept short on purpose. It made people look at her, drink her in. But instead of being intimidating and off-putting, she was often described as exotic.
And here he was, with the same features: dark skin and light hair. His hair was long, braided back and pulled up into a ponytail. Did he qualify as exotic too?
He was the only thing she’d ever seen with a skin color that could compare to her own. A strange basis for fascination in a normal person’s eyes, but she was not a normal person. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Not since she’d witnessed the massacre of everyone she knew and loved. Not since it haunted her every night in her dreams.
Reliving the horror made it hard to act normal. She wasn’t even sure what that was anymore. She was constantly angry, in a state of perpetual rage, hoping, wishing that something or someone would put her out of her misery. It made her reckless. It made her vicious. It made her hard to deal with.
She was always picking fights, always rushing head on into battle without a plan. But darkspawn and wolves were no match for her ferocity. Maybe this thing would be. Maybe she could provoke him. Maybe he would kill her.
“I do not appreciate being stared at human,” he announced scornfully, breaking in on her thoughts. “If you have nothing to offer me be on your way.”
“Nothing to offer you?” she repeated, staring up at him. Well she didn’t have any food or water. Maybe she could do something else for him. Maybe she could let him out.
She looked at the lock on his cage, peering into the mechanism to see how it worked. After a few seconds she reached behind her and pulled a pin and a couple of other tools out of her short blonde hair. She always kept them in her hair, just in case. No one ever thought to look there for them.
She tested the tumbler with the pin, and then with the lockpick. No good. She could pick locks but she wasn’t good enough to pick this one. “Whoever made this really wanted to keep you in here. What did you do?”
“I killed an entire family of farmers.” He said it like he was commenting on the weather.
She looked at him like he was insane.
“Why would you do that?” she asked. Flashes of finding her own family member’s bodies made her step away from him a bit. He was a murderer then. One that felt no remorse, apparently.
“It does not matter,” he answered. “I did it, and now I must pay for my crime.”
She could picture him snapping bones with his huge hands. She could picture him snapping her bones with his hands, giving her sweet release. He looked more animal than man to her. He had such harsh, deep features. Maybe if she let him out...
Sam’s bark interrupted her thoughts.
“What is it?” she asked. He cocked his head in the direction of the bridge, calling attention to Morrigan and Alistair.
“Useless idiots,” she muttered, taking her hand off the cage.
“We picked up the jobs at the job board,” Alistair said as he approached her. He handed her a few sheets of paper. “Here. I’m sure we’ll get a bit of coin from each of these.”
She browsed through them, stopping at one that seemed particularly ridiculous. “Why are there bears terrorizing people?”
“I think they’re infected,” Alistair responded. She kept reading and found out he was right.
“Did you read all of these?” she wanted to know.
He was hesitant to respond to her for fear of setting her off again. But if he didn’t respond he was going to set her off anyway. “Yes. Why?”
“Get to it then,” she commanded, shoving the papers into his chest.
“Get to i--what?” he said in disbelief. “Are you not going to help? You think Morrigan and I can do all of these things by ourselves?”
“Take Sam,” she said indifferently, waving him off.
“And what, pray tell, are you going to be doing while we’re doing the work?” There was a hard edge in his voice, one that was holding back a threat or an insult. She almost welcomed it, if only to see if he actually had a backbone or not.
“I’m going to see about this,” she said, pointing to the occupied cage.
The sight of its occupant made the templar change his tune. “...A qunari?” He seemed about as curious as she was. That was good. She refused to be denied.
“I think he can help,” she went on, though she failed to add how she wanted him to help. She wanted him to strangle her or snap her neck. She wanted him to put an end to this charade she was playing at.
The witch was put out. “You want to take this fine specimen with us to hunt darkspawn?”
“Fine specimen…?” Alistair repeated, giving her a disgusted look. “Really? You want to serve him up with gravy and wine?”
“Perhaps I do,” the witch replied, but she still looked put out. No telling why with that one.
“All right, enough,” Elena barked, causing them both to snap to attention. “Take Sam and go work on a couple of these jobs. I’m going to go see about getting this qunari freed.”
She didn’t even know what a qunari was, but apparently that’s what was in the cage, and that’s what she wanted.
Alistair sighed in defeat. “Let’s go kill the wolves, I guess. Come on boy.”
Sam whined his discontent at leaving his mistress, but followed after him.
Once they were gone, she looked back up at the qunari. “Who has the key to your cage?” she asked.
“The mother in the chantry,” he answered. He had such a solemn, heavy voice. It matched his calculating gaze and his deep, ever-present frown.
“If I let you out, will you help me?”
“You are a Grey Warden?” She didn’t even care how he knew that. She just nodded. “Then yes. But the mother may not give you the key to my cage.”
Her features eased into a knowing smirk. “Oh yes she will.”

PART∙OF∙ME∙WON’T∙GO∙AWAY
Calculating. Cool. Calm. Composed. Confident.
She stood before her, honey dripping from her words. Her reasoning was sound, but her voice sounded almost hypnotizing. If she didn’t know any better she’d think she was a mage in disguise.
But no. The girl was just a rogue, though a fairly well-kept one. It was obvious to her she had not been battle-tested like their dear templar who had taken charge. What was his name again? Ser...something or other.
She couldn’t remember.
“What did he do?” the girl asked.
“He slaughtered an entire family of innocents,” the mother answered. “Children too.” She recounted the tale she had been told, trying hard to shake the haze from her mind. This girl was doing something to her. Whatever it was she didn’t like it but she couldn’t fight it either.
“I want his key,” the girl said.
The revered mother shook her head, partially to clear the haze and partially to disagree. “If you let him out, we could be his next victims.”
“I’m a Grey Warden,” the girl pressed. “I need his help. I will take full responsibility for him if you release him into my custody.”
A Grey Warden? Really? This slip of a thing?
Well not really a slip but she was certainly no warrior. In fact, she could tell by the way the girl carried herself that she was of noble blood. What was she doing wielding a sword and running off to slaughter darkspawn? She should have been holed up in an estate somewhere making important political decisions.
These were dark times indeed if noblewomen were joining the Wardens.
“Very well,” she sighed, handing over the key. She felt a sense of relief as she did so. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with him.

EVERYDAY∙REMINDED
Fifty silver for killing the highwaymen outside of town, plus some free equipment. Maybe Lothering wasn’t so bad afterall.
She put the coins in her pouch, resolving to tell Alistair what had transpired. This way he could see she was contributing. She didn’t know why he felt that was important. He put her in charge, yet he fought against her every order.
“Whiny little brat,” she muttered.
The qunari had not moved since she left. She thought to tease him with the key, but decided not to.
“The mother is releasing you into my custody,” she said as she opened his cage.
“Very well.”
“I told her I’d take responsibility for you.” She offered him a hand to help him out of the cage, but he stepped out on his own.
He was much bigger than he looked behind bars. She wondered if all qunari were that big. She almost whistled, but kept the sentiment to herself. She didn’t really like being viewed as an object. She assumed he wouldn’t either.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“I am Sten.”
“I’m Elena.”
She dropped down onto one knee and pulled her pack off of her back. She was sure they had collected some armor that he could wear. Perhaps they could sell all of the things they weren’t using so that they could get even more money. She never had to worry about coin until now. She didn’t really like the added responsibility.
She let him pick out what he wanted to wear and use. Once she had him fitted and gave him a weapon, she closed her pack back up and put it back on. There was a tavern not far from there. Perhaps they could go get something to eat. He had to be starving after being in that cage for so long.

HOW∙MUCH∙I∙HATE∙IT
They met over by the bridge leading out of town. Elena had brought not one, but two people with her. One was the qunari, and the other was a chantry sister wearing a sword and still in her robes.
“...What’s new?” Alistair asked, his eyebrows quirked.
“Here,” she replied, handing him a bit of coin. “I’m contributing.”
“I can see that.” He pocketed the coin, adding it to everything they made in the village from the chantry jobs. They had a few sovereign now. “And you’ve even brought along new people. Wonderful. You’re…?”
“Leliana,” the sister responded with a warm smile. She was in the typical pink robes of the chantry sisters. They were sprayed in blood. She had short red hair and a friendly, cheerful disposition.
She wouldn’t be smiling like that for long.
“Sten,” Elena responded when he looked at the qunari who refused to answer.
“Wonderful,” he drawled, managing to curb some of his sarcasm. “I’m Alistair.”
“Now can we please leave? I’m starving and there’s no food at the tavern.”
“There’s no food anywhere,” Alistair sighed. He thought she’d understand that this place was strained of resources by now. Obviously not. She didn’t understand a lot of things that would be common sense to anyone else. She was a noblewoman. She was a spoilt brat.
“We can make camp once we leave,” Leliana suggested. “Alistair and I can go hunting while you rest my lady.”
Great. The sister knew she was a noble. Fantastic.
Alistair rolled his eyes. “She can’t just sit there and expect us to do everything,” he started as irritation tightened around his words. “She has to contri--”
“Help, please! Someone help us!”
The mabari took off first, up the exit bridge and around the corner. Elena followed, not wanting to see any harm come to her hound (and secretly hoping that someone would run her through, since the qunari clearly didn’t). Alistair and Leliana were more worried that someone was being hurt. Morrigan couldn’t care less so long as she saw some violence. Sten remained indifferent.
They dispatched the bandits, raided their bodies (that was more of Elena’s thing), and met Bodahn and his son Sandal. Having never been exposed to dwarves, she gave both of them an odd, judgemental look. But she was polite enough.
“Thank you for saving us,” he said.
The conversation went on for a minute or two. Morrigan sarcastically offered them a place at their sides, but Bodhan didn't really pick up on it. He turned them down anyway.
“No no,” he said, all smiles and pleasantries. “We’ve got enough excitement. Don’t need anymore. Thank you kind sers.”
Elena wanted to ask for a reward for their help, but somehow Alistair talked her out of it.
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I Am the Alpha