The Dragon King
Or, Three Dragons Alistair Slays, or Three Times Alistair is The Hero. AUish. Alistair/vague f!PC for your convenience.
"You cannot be serious."
But she is, because his lady is always serious when she gives him that look, the one he is becoming increasingly familiar with as the days go by. In fact, he's become accustomed to nearly all of her looks by now, how her eyes twinkle when she has a plan, or how her nose twitches when she's annoyed. It might have something to do with how obsessively he watches her: there is rarely a time when his eyes don't follow her form. As Wynne accused him once, he has an awful habit of watching her swaying hindquarters as she waltzes in front of him, charming a merchant or killing a bandit.
Still, he has to admit killing Flemeth is a stupid idea, especially when they confront the old witch and she shifts into a giant flaming dragon. What was his lady thinking, anyway?
He fights anyway, thought, because his lady has chosen to put herself in danger and he won't abandon her to this fate for anything, no matter how stupid she can be sometimes.
Still, it takes seeing her there, clutched between the dragon's teeth, for him to move, to react, to thrust his sword between the dragon's eyes, even if it causes the dragon to drop his love and focus its attention on him, knocking him out cold before falling.
When he wakes up, it's because his love is kissing his face, thanking the Maker, Andraste, the Creators, the Ancestors, the Paragons—any deity she can think of, because he's alive and that's more than she could ever ask for, really.
Fighting Flemeth may have been a stupid idea at the time, but he can't say he regrets it. Especially because she hasn't stopped kissing him since.
2—The High Dragon Andraste
Religion has never been Alistair's strong point, but the idea that these cultist think this dragon is Andraste offends him a bit. So if his lady wants to kill this dragon-imposter, well, he's more than happy to help.
It seems easier than the fight with Flemeth, even. Maybe they are stronger than they were before, maybe they are more prepared, but it doesn't seem to take long for the dragon to start slipping, and when he sees an opening, he takes it.
He has to admit, it's pretty amazing the way he grabs the dragon's head, flinging himself into the air before slashing, and when he tumbles onto the cold ground below the dragon is already dead. His blood is singing as he slides off the dragon's body, victory beating into his ears as his heart soars with relief. It's over, they've won.
His love is lying in the snow, clutching a broken arm and smiling up at him, her face beaming with love and adoration and a touch of envy. "You know, I might want to slay a dragon someday, too, you know."
He grins and offers her a hand up. "I just wanted to save you the trouble, that's all."
He laughs, his blood still singing, and he feels like he could take on the world and win. This is the second time he's faced a dragon and won. "Tell you what, the next dragon we face, I'll let you kill it, alright?"
Except that's a lie, because the next dragon they face is the bloody archdemon and one of them has to die and he won't let it be her, not for anything in this world.
"Alistair, please, don't, I won't let you—"
He kisses her, partly to shut her up, and partly because he wants the feeling of her lips against him to go with him into the afterlife.
"You say that like I'm going to give you a choice."
He runs before she can stop him, his blood singing and his heart pounding. Maric's blade lies firmly in his hands, steady like his determination.
He has a dragon to slay, after all, even if it kills him.
4—The Dragon King
The Dragon King they call him now, in hushed whispers of honor that follow his ghost around Denerim, in the Frostback Mountains and as far away as Antiva, into the very shadows of Queen Anora's court. At the top of Fort Drakon sits the skeleton skull of an archdemon, Maric's blade wedged between its eyes permanently. Men and women from Ferelden and beyond have tried to retrieve the blade, but like a sword in the stone, the blade remains immovable to even the strongest of them.
He would have liked that, she thinks, placing a dozen roses on a grave that should have been her own. He would have liked it, indeed.
Alternate—The Old God
Sometimes, he wonders if Morrigan knew. If she knew he would have trouble killing his own flesh and blood, and that's why she used him to create a God-child.
Because it is difficult, starring down at eyes that resemble his own, even if those eyes belong to a demon-possessed vengeful goddess who would destroy Ferelden if she could, because those eyes are still his. He gave them to her, even if he didn't really want to at the time. This demon-girl is a part of him, a part he plans to kill tonight, and as hard as the thought may be, he has no other choice.
Still, things become much easier when the girl decides she has had enough and shifts into a giant dragon. He breathes a sigh of relief then, the battle suddenly seeming easier.
Dragon slaying is just something he does, after all.
He wouldn't be the Dragon King without it.
A/N: This was written because every time I want to kill the frickin' dragon ALISTAIR GETS THE FINISHING MOVE. ALWAYS.
I forgive him, though, 'cause he's a sexy, sexy beast when he's slaying dragons. Rawr. :D
Also, I was thinking about how Moria was the Rebel Queen and I thought Alistair needed a title like his grandmother. The Dragon King came to mind, given that it's the, you know, dragon age.
A bazillion thanks to Crisium for being a speedy and awesome beta. Read her stories if you haven't already!