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Fire & Ice	By : miladygrimm Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3058 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, All persons, locations, names, and mythos belongs to BioWare and their affiliates. I make NO money for this fanfiction

Chapter List
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“You won’t get into the Templar’s with swings like that.” Fenris’ melodic voice was laden with barely veiled mirth.
Carver swung again and again; his blunted practice blade seemed to just miss the elf. He hated how quickly Fenris moved. Most men who chose to wield the heavier zweihander were big guys with lots of muscle. Slow…but heavy hitters. Like Carver. But Fenris seemed to move like a cat. Every sleek muscle was wrought with underlying strength. He didn’t need all the extra bulk that others did…and that annoyed Carver. Carver had to work daily to have the muscles to lift and swing the blade. Fenris…just did it.
Carver wanted to have at least a fraction of that speed. He hoped it would give him an edge when he started his Templar training next week. So, Fenris had offered to give him a few tips…every day since Rose and the others had left for the Deep Roads Fenris and Carver had met in the wide hall of Danrius’ broken mansion and sparred until Carver couldn’t move; which happened well before Fenris had even broken a sweat.
“I thought you were part of the army…did they teach you to swing a blade or a shovel?”
Fenris was bating him. They both knew it. This knowledge didn’t stop Carver from gritting his teeth and lifting the blade yet again. His arms were shaking. The practice sword felt far heavier than it had this morning. Five hours of waving the damn thing around had made him sweaty, shaky, and annoyed. Still, the force of pride kept him going, even after his body had long since given up.
“Your swings are getting worse, not better. Are you sure you can continue?”
No, Carver was absolutely not sure. He was bleeding in at least two places and he didn’t even want to count the bruises. He’d soaked his tunic through hours ago. He could barely hold the weapon. So no, he wasn’t sure. But it wasn’t going to stop.
Carver never learned.
He charged; swinging with all of what was left of his strength…and hit only the stone of Danarius’ floor. The blade reverberated in his hand sending a shock up his arms. He felt a thwack as Fenris’ blunted sword smacked against his knees, making his legs buckled.
“You have all the grace of a rampaging Buffalo.” Fenris sighed.
Carver rolled over barely clutching the two handed sword. “If you’d hold still for…”
“Why would I do that?” Fenris chuckled. “I’m not covered in bruises. ”
Carver wanted to think of a witty reply but his mind failed him. Instead he kicked Fenris in the ankle and used his sword arm to sweep the elves legs out from under him. His free hand grabbed the other ankle and pulled. The weapon in Fenris’ hand went flying.
The elf landed hard on his back, air whooshed out of his lungs with an audible hiss.
Carver may still be a novice at the sword; but he’d grown up a farmboy. There had been very little for farmboy’s to do in the depth of winter but flirt with girls and wrestled; and Carver had never had much luck with girls.
In an easy practiced movements Carver pinned Fenris’ knee to his chest, rolling the elf into a ball against the floor. Fenris rolled unto his side and clapped his hand against Carver’s ear. Carver saw stars, his grip loosened just enough that Fenris sprang up and pushed until Carver was pinned to the flat space between the two staircases. Fenris gripped Carver’s wrists and pinned them against the wall. Carver shifted his leg between Fenris’s trying to shift the elf to the side. Fenri’s legs tightened and Fenris’ slid forward using his body to keep Carver in place.
“What was that? It wasn’t swordplay. ” Fenris growled.
Carver couldn’t answer. Suddenly he realized that Fenris’ eyes were a delicate moss green bespeckled with silver. His skin looked like living bronze, etched with the vividness with lyrium. For weeks they’d been practicing and only now did he realized how perfectly slim Fenris was. Carver stopped struggling. Fenris’ perfect body held him against the wall and he didn’t want to move. He was aware of how incredibly close they were. Fenris’ groin was pressed against his hip. His fingers itched to touch that silky white hair. How had he never noticed him?
But that wasn’t entirely true. He had noticed. He’d felt angry when his sister had complimented the elf’s body. He’d felt relief when he’d found out that Fenris was staying behind from the Deep Roads as well. He’d noticed…a lot more than he cared to admit. Even now, with that snarl on his elfin lips Carver had to admit that Fenris’ was…beautiful.
In a blur of speed that surprised them both Carver dipped his head and plastered their lips together. It was chaste as far as kisses went. Just a firm press of lips; but it thrilled him more than anything he’d ever felt.
Carver had his hands on a girl or two in the past, but all the spread legs and lifted skirts did not compare to that firm press of lips.
Fenris was still as Carver kissed him. But the lyrium scars shimmered. When Carver finally pulled away Fenris’ eyes were wide with shock. Then the surprise slipped away and was replaced with a coolness that bordered on anger.
Carver felt his stomach sink. He shouldn’t have kissed him.
“Fenris…I…”
Fenris said nothing. He picked up the discarded practice sword and walked out of the debris strewn mansion.
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