Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T

Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Origins, Origins DLC, Awakening, and Dragon Age II, Dragon Age II DLC, Dragon Age Inquisition as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.

Warning: A totally alternate universe re-imagining of the world of Dragon Age from my own highly skewed perspective. May be offensive to your sensibilities. If so, please stop reading immediately. Please consult your physician before embarking on any alternate universe fan fiction adventure.

Chapter One: Wouldn't Ewe Like to Know?

Word went out, not just across Ferelden but across Thedas itself. The Queen of Ferelden wanted warriors, rogues, mages - anyone who felt confident enough in their battle skills to put them to the test against the best of the best - to come to Ferelden. Ferelden wasn't highly respected in Thedas, despite being construed as the "Holy Land" of the prophetess Andraste's birth, but still, many answered the call, drawn by the promise of a great test of their abilities and potential rewards to follow. Some of them didn't even stop to wonder just why exactly Ferelden wanted them so badly.

They were gathered by the group in the Denerim coliseum and addressed by the Queen herself. She stood above them in the Royal Box, resplendent in golden taffeta, with her upbraided yellow hair shining in the sun underneath her sparkling crown, her famous affable smile shining down with all the brilliance of each jewel thereupon, she had them in the palm of her hand before she ever said a word.

"Warriors, mages, mercenaries, fighters of every stripe. You have gathered here today in good faith to put your skills to the test against the finest in all the land. If any among you have the skill to best the finest, you shall be greatly rewarded. As for the rest, the best of you will be chosen for a mission of great import for sake of our entire world. You will be free to turn this mission down if you so choose and go on your way in the same good faith that you arrived."

A lone warrior clad in silverite armor walked out of one of the opponents dugouts. They wore no helmet, and had long, dark hair. A rampant yellow wyvern was painted on the shield they bore.

"This, gentlemen and ladies, is the finest," Her Majesty said, smiling all the more affably as she gestured to the warrior. "Let the battle of worth begin."

The milling warriors stood in mass confusion for a moment, but a few at the front of the group quickly got the message and attacked the lone warrior, who just as swiftly drew sword and shield and defended. And just as swiftly as that disarmed and disabled his opponents. "Come and get me, if you dare!" the warrior shouted, in a voice that crashed over the arena like a tidal wave.

"Don't be shy, my warriors! You'll soon find that in this regard, my dear friend is not," Her Majesty said.

They all couldn't attack at once, they were too far spread to even see him, but they were able to attack in large groups, ten or more at once, warriors with swords and shields, warriors with greataxes, warriors with hammers, mages with spells of fire and ice, and quick-stepping rogues attacked from all directions with daggers and dual-blades and bows and arrows. It didn't seem to matter. The warrior in cumbersome armor treated them all the same, as pitiful opponents to be swiftly dispatched without mercy or apparently even much effort, even those who were able to cast their attacks from a distance. But surely there was a limit to how long he could keep it up against so many opponents.

When the crowd of opponents was considerably thinned out, a giant stepped forward, a massive qunari woman with an impressive rack (and quite a set of horns, too). She wore trousers and an upper body harness and nothing more, had an eye patch and was covered in scars, and was incredibly muscular for a woman, although a slight abdominal pudge gave voice to her introduction to fine Orlesian cuisine of recent years. She walked up to the melee casually with her traditional qunari-style axe balanced on her shoulder, then squared off and swung it. The warrior was barely in time to guard against it, and the blow rang against his shield with force enough to break his arm beneath it. It didn't seem to faze him, though, for he pushed back immediately and disarmed two other opponents with his sword before taking a swing at the qunari, who defended expertly and with a certain showman-like flourish that the warrior lacked or never bothered with.

A mage cast a fireball at the warrior's head. He defended with his shield and charged through the crowd and knocked the mage out with the pommel of his sword. The qunari took the opportunity to advance from the rear and swing again. The warrior turned just in time to catch the blow on his sword. He swept out with his shield to knock down three other attackers and spun underneath his own blade to knock out two more coming in on his other side. With the field cleared, he was able to turn his full attention to the qunari.

The qunari grinned. "You're good, human. Took on an army's worth of soldiers, all by yourself. But you haven't faced Ben Hassrath before now. I' been takin' it easy on you. Now the gloves come off."

The warrior's narrow, belligerent features drew into a most impressive snarl. "If you think you've got what it takes, heathen, then by all means, bring it on. I've seen more frightening things than you in my own mirror."

The qunari chuckled deep in her throat. "You know? Somehow I don't doubt that. Let's start this dance, shall we? You leadin', Messer?"

"You're taller. It'd probably look better if you led."

"But, uh… you're the man."

"Who said I was a man?" the warrior said, and spun out from under the blade and dashed in to lay the side of his - or was it hers? - across the qunari's ribs hard and fast. The qunari leaped away and spun her axe, laughing.

"Dayum. You are good. And… you're a woman? I have to say I didn't see that from where I was standing. Or from here, either, really," she said.

"I know. It isn't easy to see when I'm in my armor. I stripped this stuff off a man after a battle, had it remade to fit me, but never had tits hammered into it. My face does nothing to reveal my gender."

"Not in a battle. How did a human ever learn to fight like you do?"

"The hard way. Now quit flapping your lips and fight me."

"First blood was yours. Guess I'd really better pick it up."

The qunari executed a series of spin maneuvers, bringing her axe down hard each time, and each time the warrior was either not there when it landed or was able to defend. "You know, you'd make good Ben Hassrath," the qunari said. "But I suspect you're regular military all the way. The Qun doesn't let women in the military."

"Too bad for the Qun, then," the warrior said, and charged with her shield up. The qunari braced, and warrior struck her like a battering ram. Despite her greater size, she was knocked off her feet. The warrior fell as well, but recovered quicker. She put the point of her sword at the qunari's throat before she could get up off the ground. The qunari smiled.

"Well done. I guess you really are what Golden Lady says you are," she said.

"You're damned straight," the warrior said, "but you're not so bad yourself, for a foreigner. Just about what we're looking for, in fact, except for that whole 'government spy' issue."

"You know what the Ben Hassrath are."

"I keep my eyes open and my ears perked. What I'd like to know is why you basically told me what you are," the warrior said, not moving the point of her sword so much as a fraction.

The qunari shrugged. "I'm not spying on Ferelden. I don't see any purpose in hiding my nature from you."

"Who are you spying on?" the warrior asked.

"The Powers That Be sent me to Orlais a few years back, to pose as a Tal-Vashoth mercenary captain and send reports, but within that role I have a lot of freedom to pick and choose what I do. If this 'mission' of your Queen's really does affect the safety of the entire world, I'll go along if you want me. For the safety of the Qun."

"So you spy on Orlais."

"Yeah."

"Not Ferelden."

"Yeah."

The warrior sheathed her sword and stood up straight and proud. She faced the Queen. "I'll work with the rosters and you'll have my recommendations within the hour, my friend," she said, and bowed slightly at the waist.

"Very good, my friend. I will leave you to it. And well done as usual." The Queen's smile shone down like the sunshine itself and then she waved to the audience, said her royal goodbyes, and was escorted by her guards out of the box and out of the arena. The warrior left as well, and all the other warriors, conscious and unconscious, were leaving or being carried out by guards or medics, so apparently it was the qunari's time to leave as well. She didn't know if she'd been chosen or not, or how they would contact her if they did choose her, but one thing she did know, she stuck out in Denerim. If they wanted to find her, they would.

She stopped by the coliseum concession stand on the way out for an ale and some questions. "Saw the fight. You're pretty good. What can I do for you?" the fellow manning the kegs asked.

"That woman that fought us all off. Who was she?" she asked, after a deep swallow.

The man gave her a strange look. "That was Loghaina Mac Tir. You can't tell me you haven't heard the name."

"Once or twice, maybe, used as an epithet by angry Orlesians. Who is she?"

The bartender nodded. "Yes, Orlesians would curse her name. It was by her brilliance and her blade that our nation is free of their Empire today. Queen Marica gave her the Teyrnir of Gwaren as reward for her services during the Rebellion. She went from nothing to High Nobility. She stands for everything the true blood of Ferelden can accomplish. She has saved Her Majesty's life on countless occasions. They are the best of friends. They share a bond closer than family."

"Marica. Was that Golden Lady?"

The bartender gave her another strange look. "Yes. What rock did you crawl out from under?"

"A really big one," the qunari said, and grinned a particularly ferocious grin. She downed the rest of her drink and left. She wandered the city for a time without any particular destination with her axe balanced on her shoulder, just memorizing the streets and alleys, and then made her way unerringly toward the Gnawed Noble tavern in the High Market. She didn't make it.

"Where do you think you're going, heathen?" The coarse, brash voice was unmistakable. The warrior was back. The qunari turned.

"I was just heading to the tavern for a drink. Care to join me, your Ladyship? Or are you too big to drink with the little people?"

The warrior pulled a grimace. "I don't drink at the Gnawed Noble. I don't need ale and pretension. Come with me. I know a better place where the drinks are stronger and if it smells like piss and vomit, at least it doesn't stink of overprivilege."

"Sounds like my kind of place. Lead on."

"You really go by the name 'The Iron Ewe?'"

"Yeah. What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Doesn't seem very tough somehow. "I would've thought you'd go by something more like… 'Iron Lioness' or… 'Iron Dragon.' Something tougher."

"Hey. Rams kick ass. They have horns, they like to hit things. I have horns and like to hit things. It fits."

"Then why didn't you call yourself 'The Iron Ram?'"

"Because rams have testicles. I don't."

"You know, certain varieties of mountain goats are called rams. Even the ewes. You could technically call yourself Iron Ram, testicles or no."

"Don't go getting technical on me, now. Besides, my mercenary company is called the Rams. I don't want to be 'The Iron Ram' in charge of 'The Rams.' Doesn't sound right. I'm the Ewe in charge of the Rams. It works."

"If you say so. If you weren't so hung up on gender bias, you could've been 'The Iron Bull' fronting something like… 'The Chargers,' but too late now, I suppose." The Ewe grumbled under her breath most of the way to the dockside tavern the warrior led her to.

"Ah, the Fishwife's Cloister. Shoddiest dive this side of Denerim, which is saying something, believe me," the warrior said, when they reached the place. "But it's got the best 'shine. Real Wyvern's Ridge, straight from Gwaren, but you didn't hear that from me. The stuff is illegal. Too many people have died from drinking it."

"Oo, sounds like a challenge," the Ewe said.

"Not so much any longer. I made them stop selling the foreshot, which is what was killing people. But it's still a damn stiff drink. Goes down like a hurricane, but it tastes like heaven."

"Sounds like my kind of swill."

They went inside and bellied up to the bar. The bartender nodded to the warrior. "Afternoon, Teyrna. The usual?"

"Yes, and one for my new 'friend.'" The bartender nodded and swiftly poured two large tin tankards from an unlabeled bottle of clear fluid. He passed them down the bar to his customers and the warrior caught them both and past one to the Ewe.

"So, you're a real bigshot around here, eh?" the Ewe said, and tipped back her tankard for the first deep swig. The liquid went down hot and hard, like the best of her favorite drinks, and she started to cough. "Ah, that is good swill," she said when she had her breath again.

"Told you," the warrior said, and took her own deep swig. She slammed the tankard down. "As for me, you can't believe all of what you hear."

"I've heard you're tops with Her Royal Majesty."

"Depends on your definition of 'tops,' I suppose, but we're fairly close. Most of the time. Not always by my preference."

"The Queen ain't good enough for ya?"

"She gets me into a load of trouble."

"You seem like you can handle it."

"I can handle it. That doesn't mean I want it. Kind of like this damned title, and all the bloody hell that comes along with it. I never asked to get mixed up with royalty and politics."

"Do you always wear the armor?"

"I don't sleep in it. Always."

"You know… my Lieutenant in the Rams is a fella from Tevinter. He's Aqun'athlok. He lives his life as a woman."

"Good for him, or… her. What's your point?"

"Just wondering."

"Just wondering if I wished I were a man? Just because I don't have tits on my chestpiece doesn't mean I wish I had a dick in my codpiece."

"It's just something I wondered. You're kind of rough and rugged for a woman, after all, and the men's armor is kind of a giveaway for that kind of thing. But apparently you're just cheap, or you're into trophies."

"A little of both. I typically collect the weapons of fallen foes. I've got quite the collection. Couldn't quite resist this armor, though. It was the only thing I ever saw that was nearly my size."

"Yeah, you are a big bitch, for a human."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"So, did I make the cut today, or what?" The Ewe asked.

"Of course you did. The best of the very few. I'm hopeful that there's a few more like you in the group I take on tomorrow."

"Did you get other recruits in days past?"

"Some."

"What's this big mission of the Queen's?"

"Wouldn't tell you even if I really understood it."

"Shouldn't I be told? I'm going to be in on it, after all."

"You'll be briefed."

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"Don't have much to say."

"How about another round?"

"Now that I can say yes to."

Silence spun out between them for a few long moments, but The Ewe couldn't let that last. "So. Teyrna. What does that mean, exactly?"

"Headaches."

The Ewe threw back her head and laughed. "You're quick, I'll give you that. Dry as toast, but quick. Come on, though, what does it mean? I'm new to Ferelden."

"I oversee the southern half of the country. Teyrna Brycia Cousland oversees the northern half. We're the closest advisors of the Queen herself."

"So… Ferelden is a Matriarchy?"

"No, a simply Monarchy with a nominally-democratic Aristocracy. It's accidental that the top three people in the nation right now happen to be female. Actually, a surprising number of the top aristocracy happen to be female at the current time. We don't worry too much about gender in our heirs, but still, it is a little odd."

"You got kids?"

The woman paused. "I have a son."

"I kinda have a hard time picturing you married."

"I do my duty by my nation."

"Took one for the home team, eh?"

"Yes. Well, the advantage to having all this unaccustomed wealth is that at least I could hire a wet nurse. I might have had to sleep with someone I didn't love and carry a baby to term, but at least I didn't have to have the kid sucking on my tits."

The Ewe snorted up some of her drink as she was swallowing. "Not the bonding-mother type, eh?"

"My son understands me."

"You like the brat?"

"He's a fine young man."

"He'll make a good Teyrn?"

"He's bound for other things."

"What kind of things?"

"That's his business."

"Is it? Or is it yours?"

"Hmph. All right. Let's say it's Queen's business."

"How far into the Queen's business does a Teyrna get? You said she gets you into a lot of trouble."

"Too far. I'm not just her Teyrna, I'm her General and her Right Hand."

The Ewe nodded. "You're like her Arishok. I can see that. You wouldn't be allowed to be Arishok in Par Vollen, but I don't see that stopping you. You'd roll into the country and set yourself up in a matter of hours, and everybody would just fall in line."

"Arishok is a good thing?"

"Head of the military. Less like General and more like… one-third of a three-headed King. Not exactly, but… that gives you an idea of the kind of power we're talking."

"The Arishok has three heads?" Loghaina asked, pulling a face.

"No. There's three heads to our government: Arishok, Ariqun, Arigena. They each play a different role in making sure the whole works the way it should."

"Oh, I was gonna say. I mean, you qunari look weird, it's true, but three heads, that's a whole other level."

"How often do you get laid?" The Ewe asked, with a sky-high elevation of her one visible eyebrow.

"Not frequently. My husband only did it the once, and now he's dead."

"Did you kill him?"

"Alas, no. He died of natural causes."

The Ewe downed the remainder of her second tankard and slammed it down. "You need a man, Teyrna. Or a woman, if you'd prefer. It's a hell of a release of tension."

"Thanks for the advice, but I think I'll go on as I've been. And call me Loghaina."

"You got something against sex?"

"Sweaty, slippery, filthy, humiliating, painful, and most of all, involving two bodies touching… no. No, I have nothing against sex."

"Hmm. Yeah, somehow I kind of think you do."

"I don't like people very much, men or women, of any race or creed."

"That's kind of strange, because everything I've heard about you today just says how selfless and giving you are. People really seem to like you around here."

"Ferelden doesn't know me very well."

"You've been nice enough to me. Of course, you're probably trying to work me over, find out whether I've got a spy network in place here in Ferelden."

"Probably."

"If you don't like people, why did you risk your life to set Ferelden free from the Orlesians?" The Ewe asked pointedly.

"Because I wanted to be free. When you want something out of life, you have to reach for it. You can't sit on your ass and wait around hoping it will come to you. I also kind of got roped into the whole mess against my will."

"How did that happen?" The Ewe asked.

"I kind of accidentally saved a damsel in distress who turned out to be a princess. My life has been a shit hole of the Void since then."

The Ewe pounced. "Saved a damsel in distress! You do like people!"

"So I helped someone! You can't make a case for me being fucking Andraste from one Good Samaritan moment!" Loghaina said, slamming her fist down on the bar. "Besides, she was running from the bedamned Orlesians. I'd have done pretty much anything to put one over on the fucking Orlesians."

"What's so bad about the Orlesians?" The Ewe asked. "I mean, they're pompous as all get-out, and they really need to call time on the frills and codpieces, but in the years I've spent spying on them, they don't seem all that bad."

"Which Orlesians are you spying on, the nobility or the common folk?" Loghaina asked. She was grinding her teeth.

"Well, I'm spying on the nobility, of course, but I hang out most of the time with the common folk."

"There's your problem. You're not seeing the true face of the Aristocracy. They believe themselves chosen by the Maker. They believe that they are allowed free rein to do whatever they so desire - to whomever they so desire. That means they're free to rape and murder their own common folk. They believed they were free to do that to our people as well. More so, because a Fereldan commoner was worth even less in their eyes than their own people. I saw horrible things done to people I knew, for reasons I never could fathom."

"So it's not the people that are the problem, it's the society."

"Whatever it is, it needs to end."

"Hissrada."

"What?"

"My real name. Designation, whatever. There are no names under the Qun, just… jobs, titles… things we do. Mine means 'liar.' What does yours mean?"

"I don't believe my name has any meaning, beyond the fact that it was my great-grandfather's name. Why do people from other cultures always ask what your name means?"

"I don't know. 'Loghaina' just sounds kind of weird and… special, like it would mean something. Have you ever had a nickname?"

"No."

"Oo. I'll have to come up with one for you. Probably something to do with a dragon, because I think you're definitely a fire-breather."

"I don't like nicknames."

"I do. Everyone under the Qun has a nickname. We have to. Our names when we're kids are just numbers."

"I don't like nicknames."

"Too bad, Mama Dragon. Say, can I bring my Rams along on this mission? They're a great bunch of knuckle-knobs. You wouldn't regret it."

"You didn't sign them up for the competition."

"It didn't say I had to. I figured I'd do enough to impress all by myself."

Loghaina thought. "Your best. Only your best. But yes, you may bring your Rams along."