DISCLAIMER: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Origins, Dragon Awakenings, Dragon Age II, The Stolen Throne, The Calling, Asunder and all Dark Horse Comics are property of Bioware™ and Electronic Arts ™.

SPOILER WARNING: This story may contain spoilers for Dragon Age games, books and comics.

A/N: This story uses characters from my I Shall Endure universe. It does not follow the plot line or reveal the outcomes of the I Shall Endure series.

FROZEN DRAGONS

Chapter 3: ANSBURG

The Soggy Sock Inn, Ansburg, The Free Marches === 9:39 Dragon, Guardian

Alistair opened the door to his rooms cautiously as was his habit. A smiling elf greeted him.

"Ah, my handsome warden."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Zevran. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"So suspicious. Can I not simply visit a friend?"

"No, Zev, I think a motive that pure would be impossible for you. Come in." Alistair waved Zevran through the door. "I hope you can wait. I've just returned from a rather tiring, although successful, search for an elusive group of darkspawn. I sorely need a hot bath and a good night's sleep." He watched a grin spread across the elf's face, and added. "No, no massage required."

"One day, my friend, you will want a good massage, when I offer."

Alistair stood at the door of his room, towel and clothing bundle in hand. He gave Zevran a sidelong glance. "I value your company, elf, just not in my bath or my bed."

"You will regret that choice one day, my handsome friend. Go," Zev admonished. "Go, I'll order dinner and we'll talk when you return."

Shaking his head and smiling, Alistair walked down the hall to the rear stairway. The bathhouse, situated behind the inn, had several private bathing cubicles. One was being filled for him as he entered. He had paid extra for fresh water. The servant left, as Alistair put his change of clothes on a bench.

Alistair ran his fingers through the water. Hot, but not unbearably so. He undressed and stepped in, letting his legs acclimate to the heat. Then he sank down into the hot water, hissing as it hit his buttocks, his groin and then his stomach and back. He could feel his body temperature rise and the sweat break out on his forehead. He slid down and dunked his head, wetting his long hair. Once thoroughly soaked, he sank back against the end and closed his eyes. He sighed. Pure luxury. Soaking and silence. He could feel his muscles relaxing as the heat seeped into his body. I'm getting old. I'm looking forward to an evening with a friend. He mind drifted. Maybe I should let Zevran give me that massage. The thought surprised sat and soaked for some time.

As the water turned tepid, he roused himself. I should shave. His stubble was turning into a beard. He turned and adjusted the polished metal mirror leaning against the wall on a ledge. Hair needs attention, too. He still preferred the short style he'd worn during the Blight, but he traveled alone now. He had no one to keep it trimmed. It often grew long enough to braid or tie back. Perhaps I should keep it long. After all these years, I shouldn't worry. No one remembers what Maric or Cailan looked like. I'm just another sell sword.

Once he finished shaving, he washed and then rinsed in the now cool water. More relaxed, he stepped out, dried himself off and put on the loose linen pants and tunic he had brought with him. He combed back his hair, but let it fall loosely to dry. By now, Zevran will have the food set out. I hope Zevran's mission won't require we leave in the morning. A few days of leisure would be welcome.

Alistair rented comfortable, if unobtrusive, rooms in the rear annex of an unremarkable inn on the outskirts of Ansburg. There was a warden post in the city, but living on his own emphasized his independent status and gave him privacy. After so many years of communal living, he treasured these rooms, which belonged to him alone.

Alistair climbed the stairs to the third floor. Zev, as he expected, had their meal laid out on the table under the bookshelves. A small fire crackled in the hearth. It's pleasant to have things taken care by someone else once in a while.

Alistair scanned his room. Somehow, after he became sober, Zevran had managed to find and deliver a crate of his belongings. The bookshelves he'd built held his library, his fine map of Ferelden hung on the opposite wall and his figurines stood on a shelf below the map. He saw no reason to hide his roots. His accent gave him away as soon as he spoke. He spoke fluent Orlesian and had picked up some Antivan over the years, but never lost the accent that proclaimed him as Fereldan.

Alistair based himself in Ansburg and kept these rooms at the Soggy Sock Inn even though most of the work he did was for a free company from Nevarra. Despite its Circle of Magi and Grey Warden Post, Ansburg was a backwater. Most of its trade was agrarian. It sat just north of the Minanter River, off the main trade route between Nevarra and Antiva. People did not just pass through Ansburg. No one visited him here without a reason.

Alistair and Zevran had been friends for eight years. Zevran had been a companion during the Blight. He remained in Ferelden after the final battle, serving the new monarchs by quietly working with General Loghain on security for the monarchs and the state. Given the country's fragility, security threats abounded. He had served Ferelden well.

Unlike Zevran, Alistair left Ferelden once the Blight ended. Barely recovered from the injuries he had suffered in the final battle with the Archdemon, Alistair abandoned Ferelden and his responsibilities. The Archdemon was dead; the Blight ended. He thought he should be dead as well. He couldn't face any more losses. He blamed himself for too many deaths. He believed he was not the best candidate to rule. Anora and Fergus could have children, could live long lives and could rule far better than he. The Hero would be more suited to becoming Warden-Commander.

Zevran found Alistair two years later in Kirkwall, sodden with drink and unable to hold even a dockworker's job for more than a day or two. Zev's friend Isabela, in port in Denerim for a few days, had mentioned the drunken Alistair she had seen in a Kirkwall tavern. She told Zevran he might be the missing prince. Zev hadn't mentioned it to General Loghain or the King and Queen; he only said he needed to leave for a while on a personal matter.

Once he found Alistair at the Hanged Man, he'd taken him to a remote cabin outside of Ansburg and forced him to sober up. It hadn't been a pretty year, drying him out and getting him back in training, but Zev had succeeded. Since then, Alistair had remained in Ansburg, pursuing his life as an independent sell sword for the wardens and the Nevarran merchant house's mercenary company, Hrothgar's Wrath. It was a satisfactory, if solitary, life.

"Ah, shaved, but not shorn. Do you plan to keep those lengthy locks, my friend?"

"I do. At least until I find out what you want, Zev."

"Could it not be just a visit to an old friend?"

"No, it could not. No one ever just visits me, Zev. Not even you."

The elf looked suddenly serious. "They would if you would allow it, Alistair. There are many who would happily visit you or have you visit them."

"I'd just be a disappointment, Zevran. No one enjoys visiting a dead man."

Zev's elbow leaned on the table, two fingers pressed against his lower lip.

"No smart response, then?"

"None, my friend. We've had this conversation too many times. As long as you stay sober and employed I will thank the Maker and leave you alone."

"But not too alone," Alistair replied spooning some stew onto his plate, then breaking a chunk of bread off the crusty loaf lying on the table.

"I do have a proposal."

Alistair swallowed a mouthful of stew before responding. "I am shocked." His grin let Zevran know he was not as angry as he sounded. "Out with it then. I'll listen and eat while you talk. At least my stew will be hot and yours will cool."

"Dragons have been sighted in the Frostbacks."

Alistair's head jerked up.

"No, not near Haven, although, who knows, this could be a child of the dragon we killed there. Maybe we didn't find all the drakes and dragonlings. At any rate, this is farther south, west of the Hinterlands and close to the Wilds. So far, they have not disturbed much in Ferelden, but there have been reports of dragon hunters, as well. That concerns their majesties. The hunters are either Orlesian or Nevarran and they are on Fereldan soil with no notice or permission.

"How many?"

"Dragons or hunters?"

"Both."

"We think two dragons, at least that's the number that attacked Arl Wulff's troops. Later, a party of hunters from West Hills saw the dragons in the high Frostbacks. The Fereldan hunters were driven off by the dragon hunters, who apparently felt the Fereldans threatened their kill. They numbered at least one mage and six mercenaries. Two Fereldans died in that engagement. Then, some of Arl Wulff's scouts spoke with an Avvar clan who reported similar sightings. Arl Wulff relayed the information to Anora and Fergus. And here I am, seeking out the only Fereldan dragon hunter I know of."

"What about the Warden-Commander?"

"The wardens decline to get involved."

"So, you need a hunter and a warden to ensure it's just a dragon, not an archdemon. Lucky me."

"See, you are far smarter than you give yourself credit for."

"Right. And who else will join us on this small excursion?"

"Three friends. You know them, perhaps. Isabela, Fenris and Varric."

"From Kirkwall. Beautiful. The last they saw of me I was falling down drunk." He sipped his ale. "Two warriors and three rogues. Not a bad combination. No mage? Need lots of healing potions then or a mage." He rubbed his neck. "Dragons, huh?"

"Dragons."

Alistair continued eating. Zevran joined him. They finished their meal in silence and moved to sit before the small hearth. It had rained for the past week. While it was not cold, it was damp and chill. The small fire felt good.

Zev rummaged in his pack and pulled out a bottle of Antivan brandy. Pouring two glasses, he handed one to Alistair.

"Wow, the good stuff. You must really want me along."

"I do."

"How do you propose to get there Zev? I may not be welcome in Ferelden. Particularly so close to the Orlesian border. Surely that has occurred to you."

"Alistair, you have never been banished. Anora and Fergus already agree you should join and lead this mission."

"Lead? Aren't you leading?"

"You will lead. You do it much better than I ever could."

"So, they don't care if I return?"

"No. In fact, they want to see you, if you agree."

"Ah, the catch."

"Alistair, Loghain will have troops in the Hinterlands, for support should we need it. We will meet with them to plan, then head into the mountains."

"Loghain?"

"Loghain."

"Well, you do want my past to come back and haunt me. Planning on raising any ghosts."

Zevran gave his friend a sidelong glance. "No ghosts, Alistair. Only old friends. Anora would like to see you when this is all over."

"So, if I die during this expedition I can avoid that particular meeting? Good to know."

Zev sighed. "Everyone has agreed to this, except you. Will you do it?"

"Let's see, lead a group of independent individuals who know me as a drunk, return to Ferelden, meet people I've avoided for over eight years, hunt dragons and rid Ferelden of invading dragon hunters. Did I miss anything."

Zev chuckled, "No, Alistair, you have grasped every nuance."

He received a sidelong look from the warrior, who shook his head and sighed. "My immediate reaction is, no, but, like a fool, I'm going to say let me sleep on it. There is something horrifically appealing about it. Loghain, Fergus and Anora. I suppose Anora will have the Hero at the meeting too."

"It's possible. I know the Hero would like to see you."

"You might warn them that if I do this, there will be no discussion of the past, unless I bring it up. I'm just a sell sword called Alistair. No last name. No past. Clear?"

"Crystal, my friend. Same rules as always."

Alistair stood. "You can use the other bedroom, as always." He grinned. "I keep it cleaned and organized. I think the cot is clear of armor. If not, pile what's there neatly on the floor. I'm going to bed."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Zev woke, he heard Alistair already up in the common room. He dressed in trousers and tunic and went out to join him.

"Breakfast." Alistair mumbled, through a mouthful of bread and cheese. "I even ordered that kahve drink you favor."

"Ah, how kind of you my warden. I hope you slept well. No darkspawn dreams to trouble you."

"No darkspawn dreams, no."

"Other dreams?"

"No memorable dreams, Zev. Just thinking. You know I haven't been near Ferelden in eight years."

"Yes, we are all well aware of that, my friend. Although I know you disbelieve it, you have been missed by many friends."

Alistair, stared at him for a long time. Zevran kept silent.

"I'll go, but only to the Frostbacks. If anyone feels the need to see me, they'll have to come to the Hinterlands."

Zev smiled. "Queen Anora anticipated your response. She offers a compromise. You will have to sail to and from Ferelden. She proposes we all meet in Higheverport once the mission is complete. She thought you might want to avoid Denerim. And the route to Honnleath is far shorter from Highever."

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose and fell silent. Finally, he said, "How does she think Higheverport or anywhere in Highever would be better?" He sighed and sipped his tea. "So I must see them on arrival?"

"No. On our return, as I said. When we arrive, however, the Teyrna will see that we are fully equipped. Anything we need, including mounts."

"In for a silver, in for a sovereign I suppose. I must be insane to do this. Why am I doing this Zev?"

"Because I asked nicely, my friend?"

"Fine. When do we start?"

"The dragons will not go away; nor will the foreign hunters. However, it would be best to wait for warmer weather in the south. The King and General Loghain will march to the Hinterlands at the end of Guardian. We should not dally, but you can spend a few days recovering from your last adventure."

"And plan for the next."

"Plan? Ah, yes, maps and so forth. I did bring some. Loghain thought you might want them. And a letter from him summarizing what he knows. I forgot to mention that, did I?"

"Forgot? Unlikely. So, you weren't to give them to me until I agreed?"

"Something like that, my hero."

Alistair's eyes narrowed. "The Hero is the Warden-Commander, remember? I'm just the guy who herded everyone along, then disappeared when too many of them died and I lived. As I recall, I tripped on my way to delivering the final blow and the Hero had to do it."

"You would have lived had you delivered the blow. Instead, the Hero delivered the blow and lived. Both of you suffered near mortal wounds.

"I should have delivered the blow. I should have saved... It should have been me."

So, that wound still festers?"

"That wound will always fester. Now let's drop the subject and never call me a hero again."

"As you command, my warden."

Alistair scowled, but took the maps and letter, while Zevran sat down to enjoy his meal and kahve.

Alistair looked up from the maps.

"Are you friends expecting us? Does Isabela still have a ship? Can we use it? Is she still in Kirkwall?"

"Yes, yes named Another Siren's Call, yes and yes," Zevran replied. "She left Kirkwall for a while after she lost the first ship, but she and Fenris return periodically. They remain in touch with Varric."

"Can you get a message to your friends and have them meet us in Ostwick? We can find Another Siren's Call in the harbor I would think, once we arrive."

"Ostwick?"

"I think we should ride to Ostwick from here. It will provide the shortest, most direct route for us and confuse any observers in Kirkwall." Alistair noticed Zevran frowning. "I've no doubt the three of them are watched, Zev. The templars and Seekers still search for the Champion and the Mage."

Zevran nodded. "You're probably right. A wise move."

Alistair continued, "We can disappear into the central Marches and watch for followers should there be any. The ride to Ostwick skirts the steepest of the Vinmarks through an easy pass. Besides, I have no desire to visit Kirkwall."

"Excellent plan. You have not lost your touch, my leader."

"Once in Highever, we'll gather supplies and then ride south. We should be on our way two days after landing. Isabela's ship should be safe there while we're gone. We can see the Teyrna on our return."

"So you will see everyone?"

"I said the Teyrna, but yes, if I must. Get it over with. Perhaps no one will bother me again."

Zevran grinned. "Of course, you wouldn't want that."

Alistair frowned.

"Please, continue with your planning." Zevran took his kahve and settled in a chair by the hearth. "I'll let you have use of the table for your maps and notes."

"Kind of you seeing as it's my table. You do know, Zev, that this is what I do. I plan and lead missions. I'm good at it."

"I know, my dear Alistair, I just enjoy watching you," Zevran purred. Alistair felt his cheeks heat up. Damn elf. How can he make a simple sentence sound lascivious? "Happy to oblige. Maker forbid you should get bored."

"Do I detect a slight flush, my handsome warden."

"Perhaps. You just need to decide if its embarrassment or anger." Alistair growled back.

Zev laughed. "As you know planning has never been my strong suit. Now, killing…killing and lovemaking. Killing and lovemaking and witty retorts. Those I am better at. Perhaps we can have a witty retort contest. Or massage, I am very good-"

"-no." Alistair turned back to his maps, shaking his head and trying not to laugh. "We leave in five days. I need to have my weapons and armor repaired and sharpened. I'll get supplies from my usual sources here in Ansburg. When you send the courier to your friends in Kirkwall, suggest they get their supplies in Ostwick, not Kirkwall."

"At you order, my leader." Zevran smiled and then grew serious. "It will be good to travel with you again. It's been too long, my friend."

Alistair almost grinned, "It will be Zev, but I must admit, I'm glad our other companions will be strangers. I don't look for reminders of times past."

Ostwick === 9:39 Dragon Guardian

The two travelers left Ansburg before sunrise heading south for Markham and then Ostwick on the Waking Sea. From Ostwick, Higheverport should be an easy four or five day sail. Alistair hoped the courier had reached Kirkwall and that Another Siren's Call would be in Ostwick when they arrived. Not wanting further delays, Zev and Alistair rode quickly and hard. Once in Ostwick, they should be able to leave with Isabela on the next tide.

Alistair recalled meeting Fenris and Varric during his two years in Kirkwall. When he first arrived in Kirkwall, he had gone with the Champion on some missions when an extra warrior was needed. Those years, however, formed a hazy blur. He winced at the impression he probably made on the two men. Isabela he remembered Isabela from Denerim during the Blight. She had invited Alistair to join in a threesome much to the amusement of his other companions. He had joined in, but found book knowledge, gleaned from the Art of Passionate Love, did not equate to practical knowledge. Nor did it ensure lack of embarrassment when presented with unconventional sexual practices. Well, unconventional to a monastery schooled warden at least. He chuckled. At least the past years had provided him with more…hands on experience.

Ostwick's huge double walls did not provide a welcoming face to travelers. Always wary, after a Qunari invasion many decades before, the Ostwick town guard stood vigilant at Ostwick's North and South Gates. To Zevran's surprise, he and Alistair passed through the North Gate easily using the credentials Alistair carried from Hrothgar's Wrath. The two friends quickly sold their horses and headed to the docks. Alistair, used to plans going awry, was surprised to find Another Siren's Call safely anchored just off the quay. A whistle to the ship's watch from Zevran caused the mate to dispatch a lighter to bring them on board. Even more surprising, their three new companions were on board as well.

Fenris stood off to the side as Alistair and Zevran boarded. Varric greeted them.

"Daffodil, good to see you again."

'Daffodil?" Alistair's eyebrows raised, but a smirk threatened to crack the serious set of his lips.

Zevran chuckled. "The dwarf has a nickname for all his friends."

"...but Daffodil?"

"A bit obvious, perhaps, given his hair, but it has other meanings." Varric said. "Strength, fortitude, brashness - it sometimes blooms in the snow and its blooms last, they don't disappear in a day."

"And," Zevran added, "in addition to…long lasting fortitude, the daffodil is irresistible to the bee, just as I am…and we both make such sweet…honey."

"Right. Well fortunate I'm not a bee then," Alistair said without blushing. He turned to Varric. "I'm Alistair by the way, but you probably figured that out already."

Varric grinned hefting his crossbow. "Met you before in the Hanged Man, although you look healthier now. Varric Tethras and this is Bianca."

"Right. I'm used to being introduced to mabari, but this is my first acquaintance with a cross-bow."

Varric frowned.

"A beautiful and totally unique cross-bow I might add. Don't want to rile the cross-bow or its owner."

"Good recovery, Prince."

Alistair silence froze everyone.

"And you may not want to rile the sell-sword," he finally replied. Alistair turned on his heel and walked over the captain. "Isabela, good to see you again. Perhaps you or your mate can tell me where to stow this gear?"

"You remember our meeting, sweet thing?"

"I do and I expect we won't mention it again."

"Fair enough, warden." She regarded him, her eyes narrowed. "Is it alright to address you as warden?"

"Acceptable, although I prefer simply Alistair." He turned to Fenris. "By process of elimination, you must be Fenris. I remember you from Kirkwall." He held out his hand.

Fenris regarded him thoughtfully, then took the offered hand. "You know your mind, I see."

"Most of the time."

"The dwarf's not all bad." Isabela said. "Perhaps you should give him a second chance. Sometimes he pushes it too much."

"Look, I'm tired. I'd just like to settle into whatever quarters you have for us and get underway on the next tide. And to be clear, I know Zevran asked you all to join this...adventure, but I'm the leader. If any of you have an issue with that, say so now."

"I think, warden, I'm going to like you," Isabela smiled. "You've grown up quite nicely."

Fenris frowned and Alistair chuckled looking between the two. "No worries, Fenris, I'm no threat.

"That's when I do worry." Fenris looked him over and then almost smiled. "Isabela can't resist a challenge."

"I can, I assure you. Now about those quarters."

"Mardek," Isabela yelled to her mate. "Show the Warden and Zevran to their quarters." She spoke again to Alistair, "You have your own bunks. Not spacious, but private. Well, as long as you keep the door between them closed." She smirked. "We'll be underway with the tide."

Alistair and Zev followed Mardek.

Isabela turned to Varric. "What were you thinking? I told you he would react to being called Prince."

"Wanted to see how much, Rivaini. He is a prince, after all. Must admit, I wondered if he had ulterior motives for returning to Ferelden."

"You think he wants to rebel against the king and queen?" Fenris asked, surprised. "I can't imagine Zevran supporting that. He works for them, afterall."

"Friends betray friends every day, Fenris."

"You sound like you don't like him."

"Indifferent, really. I'll back off...for now." Varric looked out over the harbor thoughtfully. "He's definitely not the man we knew in Kirkwall. He might live up to the reputation he's developed in Ansburg. I can almost see this man leading Ferelden against the Blight. Warden works. I'll just call him that."

"Probably a good idea. You wouldn't want to try to swim home from the middle of the Waking Sea, kitten." Isabela grabbed Fenris. "We have some time before the tide turns. Let's get away from the dwarf for a while."

Varric chuckled as she and Fenris headed for Isabela's cabin..

A/N: How the Soggy Sock got its name:

In my career as first enchanter of the Circle of Ansburg, I have lost 208 socks of various and sundry description. Utterly. Without a trace. Ser Mallorick, the templar who supervises the Circle's laundry rooms, assures me that this is a common natural phenomenon.

Hogwash, I say! It is physically impossible for an article of the material world to vanish completely and leave no signs of its passage. The only rational explanation, therefore, must be that the disappearances are magical in origin. This, I hope, will be the definitive treatise on the subject.

I set upon my research with the following premise: Since it is a well-known fact that objects of worldly origin cannot travel between places on Thedas without crossing the intervening distance, then socks must originate in the Fade itself. They are emanations of some spirit projected into the waking world and whimsically recalled when the spirit desires.

I therefore devised a plan to observe my socks over a period of eight months; I hid within a sock-blind so that I might catch them unawares—both in the physical realm and in the Fade—and hopefully witness their natural behavior firsthand.

—From The Interplay of Spirits in the Common Laundry Room, by First Enchanter Luidweg of Ansburg