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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 7: Varric

The Hanged Man, Kirkwall === 9:45 Dragon

I will admit it. The ease with which the Avvars accepted us surprised me. The Prince had a charm that put others at ease, even when they sensed his templar powers. Zevran had his own unique charm, which he added to the mix. The diversity of our small group did not hurt either. It was not just that we were mages, elves, dwarves and humans, but that we were powerful, imposing, specialized ones. Even Hawke's odd assortment could not rival the Prince's. A Grey Warden with templar skills, a lyrium infused elven warrior, shape-shifting mages, a pirate, an assassin lover and a storyteller.

The Avvar village had a certain rustic charm. The roughly build wattle-and-daub shelters surrounded a central area. They houses, I guess you could call them, varied in size, but all were longer than they were wide, so perhaps long houses. Smoke rose from a central roof hole in most of the buildings. Several of the larger ones had chimneys at one end. One mid-sized shelter stood away from the rest with its back to the cliff.

Above the isolated house, cave openings pocked the cliff face. Smoked curled up in front of several of the caves. Ladders hung from the entrances providing access to and from the ground below. Clearly, a refuge in times of danger as the ladders could be hoisted up denying entrance to any attacker. Well, any attacker that was not a flying lizard.

The Avvar clan went about their lives in front of the long houses or in the central area, where a large fire burned. The men and woman pursued their crafts while their children played or helped, depending on their age. The villagers engaged in weaving, spinning, smithing and woodcrafts. At the eastern edge of the village, where the canyon opened up, hides stretched across frames, drying. The Avvars would need to trade for very few items.

The shaman, a handsome women of middle years, told us a fascinating story of shape shifters and ice towers. I was anxious to hear what tales our little birds would tell on their return. This whole shape shifting thing would seem quite useful, were it not for the dragons. Paragons! Mages shifting into dragons. If I had not heard the Champions story of Sundermount and the witch, I would think the shaman crazy.

As we waited for the mages to return, I decided I would plan to return one day, should the clan allow it. I could find many stories here to entrance the people of the more settled lands to the north. I suspected the shaman alone could fill several books.

Now, after the upheavals of the past six years, time in the solitude of a mountain retreat appeals. Ferelden remains intact and mostly stable. Travel there will be better than elsewhere in Thedas. Maybe Fenris and Isabela might be persuaded to return as well. We can recall old times, discover new tales and drink to the Prince wherever he may be.

But I digress. The story of the Prince and the Frozen Dragons is not over.