[FIC] Hand in Hand

[alaterdate]

Title : Hand in Hand [AO3]
Series: Dragon Age
Characters: Fenian Lavellan (Inquisitor)/Dorian Pavus
Rating: General
Word Count: 632
Summary: Cold hands need gloves, or someone else's hand, to warm them.
A/N: Another from the valentine prompt thing I never finished, yay!

Ferelden was much too cold. The nights in the forest in the Marches never even got as cold as it could get in the middle of the day in Ferelden. Fenian sat at one of the rickety desks in the Skyhold library with his hands firmly tucked under his legs. The book on ancient Tevine magic lay flat in front of him. For once, he rued the speed at which he read because all too often he had to pull a hand out from under him, baring it to the cold swirling in the room, and turn the page. It would never stay warm at that rate. If he were a mage he could turn the pages with his mind no doubt. However, that wasn’t the case. No matter the affinity elves had for magic, he simply wasn’t born with the gift—or the curse as some thought of it. Still, he studied it because as the Inquisitor it helped to know just how many ways someone could kill him. A chill came over him and his body shook. The door swung open creating a stronger breeze.

“Andraste, save us!” Dorian’s voice echoed in the room. “How are these southerners still going about business in this frigid temperature?”

He walked to the edge of the desk. Fenian could see that he had his arms crossed underneath the heavy cloak wrapped around him in extra effort to keep warm.

“Hideous weather and hideous fashion.” He sneered and ventured a hand out to ruffle the thick fur lining the edge of Fenian’s jacket. Fenian laughed before breathing a puff of hot air over his hand then turning the page of his book.

“No gloves?” Dorian nearly shouted.

“The only gloves I own are for archery. They’re missing a couple pieces.”

“I’m sure Josephine wouldn’t mind using Inquisition funds to commision you a proper pair if you asked.” He strode around the desk to sit in the chair next to Fenian. “After all, it wouldn’t do to have our Inquisitor turn into a popsicle.”

“Inquisicle.”

Dorian forced a breath out through his nostrils and shook his head a bit. Without further comment on Fenian’s response he pulled the book on the desk toward his side of the table.

“One I gave you.”

Fenian nodded and scooted his chair closer to Dorian so he could still read the book. His hand once again braved the cold to turn the page. “Surprising lack of blood magic. Expected amount of slandering elves.”

“There’s nothing to blood magic, no need to write most of it down. The slander though, should I have struck it out with ink?”

“No, it’s nothing I haven’t already heard.”

Dorian frowned. “Give me your hand.”

Fenian hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing his hand in Dorian’s. What could he possibly want with it? Dorian squeezed it and the heat of it soaked into Fenian’s skin. Was it magic or were mages naturally warm? Mavir was a mage, but he couldn’t remember the last time he held his sister’s hand, or anyone’s for that matter. What kind of magic would he show him with their hands intertwined? Fenian looked at Dorian expectantly. Dorian held his gaze for only a moment then gestured with his chin toward the book.

“I’ll turn the page for you,” he said.

Fenian squeezed Dorian's hand with excitement. “Can you use your magic to do it?”

“I was going to use my hand. My gloved hand. That’s a lot of effort to turn a page you know?”

“At least once.” Fenian pleaded and turned his body so that he could wrap the other hand atop Dorian’s, sandwiching them around the source of heat.

“Wheedling? How unbecoming, my dear Inquisitor.”

The page turned as if all on its own.