This is my first Dragon Age II fanfic (starting from Act II), it features the two characters Fenris and Anders and their rival-mance (^.-) /adventures through the Free Marches. If you're not a fan of sexy fun times, don't worry, even though the 'fic is rated MA, any "sexy times" can be omitted without any change to the main story/plot. Any fun times and spoilers will be notified before hand! All comments are appreciated! Criticism is welcome! :D
CHAPTER ONE:
"Damn you, abomination! You know nothing!" Fenris yelled, his dark complexion reddening with rage as he stood from his seat to tower over Anders. "'Free the mages' you say! Bah, you say they only resort to blood magic when cornered! You have never been to Tevinter, mages will-"
"This isNOT Tevinter!" Anders interrupted with a shout, also standing up to be face to face with the warrior.
"When all mages are free then it will all be the same. It doesn't matter where!" The elf growled, obviously not in the mood for this continuous argument.
"Ugh, will the both of you give it a rest?" The man who was sitting next to Fenris slammed his Wicked Grace cards on to the table making his mug of whiskey wobble a bit as he rubbed his temples with his other hand trying to fight away the emerging headache that these two were causing. "Let's just finish our game."
Fenris scowled, defining the wrinkles that were already carved into his face, "I'm not in the mood anymore, Hawke." He threw his cards down on the wooden table, glared once more at the mage, then stormed out of the Hanged Man without letting anyone get a word in edgewise.
"I'm not really keen on continuing, either," the apostate said with a forlorn sigh then calmly followed the grumpy elf out of the tavern.
The dusk sky painted the sandy colored buildings of Lowtown with hues of oranges and pinks, making it look more desirable to Darktown than it already was. Anders let out another dreary sigh as he descended the steps left of the Hanged Man. Parchment littered the streets and the poor held out their cupped hands, begging for any type of coin anyone could spare, as the sounds of the Lowtown bazaar resounded through this portion of Kirkwall.
"It is not wise to be... infatuated with such a brutish character," a familiar voice echoed within his mind.
"It's not like I'm going to do anything about it," The mage murmured out loud trying to cease Justice's inane prattling.
Lonely was the walk back to Darktown as Anders was left with naught but his thoughts, Justice kept silent, which was to the mage's pleasure. Yet, this made his mind feel disquiet, he almost wished for a fight to set him at ease.
He trudged down the steps and almost as if the Maker himself had heard Anders' silent wish, a group of muscular rouges emerged from the shadows brandishing blades as wide as the mage's head.
"Andraste's knickerweasels," he silently cursed in his own odd way as he pulled out his lyrium infused staff. He quickly dodged the first attack, jumping backwards, yet the sword sill came severely close to his neck. He clutched the staff in his hand and held it in front of him defensively then used the spirit spell of mind blast. His attackers staggered backwards at the pulse of magic energy just long enough to enact another spell to engulf the area in flames.
The thugs howled out in pain, their searing flesh bubbled under the heat of the fire. Anders watched the flames flicker around them and grinned with a face that says 'I love being a mage.' He was about to release another spell but suddenly he felt cold steel run across the back of his thigh, carving its mark into his flesh. The apostate grunted as he fell to the ground as blood quickly oozed out of the open wound and drenched the back of his trousers. The rogue hovered above the squirming man and kicked him over onto his back then pointed his blade the mage's neck, poised to strike.
He needed to use a spell, any spell, to get his attacker off him. He clenched his eyes tightly, trying to concentrate, yet not thinking clear enough for a spell to manifest.
Blood splattered all over his coat, face and hair, the warm liquid leaving a bright crimson trail on his light colored skin. 'No pain? I'm still alive? There is blood, is it not mine?' His mind spun as he slowly opened his trembling eyes, half expecting to see a blade plunged deep into his chest.
What his eyes beheld was not expected, the outlaw standing above him had a sharp end of a great-sword protruding from his chest, the look of horror sprawled across his face as the lights in his eyes began to dim. The wielder of the great-sword heaved the now dead rogue to the side of the mage and slid the blood painted sword out of the body.
"Ugh, I thought I was saving someone worthwhile," A deep voice sighed as he wiped off the blade with a cloth.
"Fenris?" the mage questioned, baffled that the one person who hated him had come to his rescue. He sat up, the surprised look contorting to a look of pain as the cut on the back of the thigh he had received earlier started to sting from not being tended to.
Fenris looked at the mage, his stern face never softened as he took Anders' arm and pulled him to his feet. "Don't be a weakling," He said coldly, to which the apostate merely shot a disdainful look.
Anders began to brush the dirt off of his coat, ignoring the pain as he stood on his own. "Um," The mage began awkwardly, "Thank you, Fenris."
Fenris slightly grunted in response, trying not to seem interested in what the magic user had to say. In reality, Fenris was very concerned for the apostate. The elf understood that Anders was a valuable companion and part of the party. From this conclusion, he kept up his brooding image, "Instead of thanking me, maybe you should learn to solve your problems on your own-" he stated before a loud interruption caused him to pause.
"Fenris!" A slurred voice called and a drunken Hawke stumbled from the shadows, "What have I told you about trying to kill Anders?" He waved a finger at the elf before poking him in the chest. "Anders is a good boy, not a darkspawn, he may look like one and probably tastes like one too, but we don't know that yet!"
"What are you doing and why are you like this?" Anders face twisted in amused confusion.
Hawke tripped over his words, attempting to explain that Isabela and Varric had challenged him to a drinking contest, which he obvious won. "I was just taking a stroll through beautiful Darktown," he stated, drunkenly hobbling over to a nearby wall and hugging it tightly, "Oh Darktown, with your dangerous streets and deathly pathways, if you can even call them that."
With the idea of Isabela and Varric being at the Hanged Man, Fenris escorted the drunken rogue back to Hightown while Anders hobbled his way back to his small clinic to tend to his wounds.
Thank you for reading my first chapter, please comment or favorite to tell me how I've done! :P
Also, I wish to apologize for my friend's antics with Hawke, she figured it needed some comic relief. It was just too funny to delete. XD