The follow-up to Would You Mind?

Save A Dance?

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Unlike many Fereldens, Cullen couldn't have cared about Orlais one way or another. Before joining the Inquisition, the empire that neighbored his homeland was of little concern as Templars had no real political agendas outside of their Circles. However, never in his life did Cullen think that he would be standing in the opulent elegance of the Winter Palace all so that the Inquisition could save Orlais. And what Cullen very quickly realized he could do without were the Orlesians.

Honestly, Cullen couldn't begin to understand these people, the airs they put on that fit them like a well-worn cloak, the masks that were meant to hide more than faces. Not to mention The Game – political and personal gambits all played within hidden smiles and quiet murmurs, where something as simple as what color someone wore could be interpreted a thousand different ways, leading to even more conclusions and possible weaknesses.

The whole thing was absolutely exhausting.

Cullen sighed, tugging at the color of his dress uniform and to say that he was uncomfortable would have been an understatement. The press of the crowd in the vestibule made him feel acutely claustrophobic, especially since he had practically been violated on his way through all the people. He found himself wishing for the familiar weight of his armor, a hard, tangible barrier between him and all the people. He tried not to show how anxious he felt being surrounded by so many people, all of them strangers, all of them hiding daggers in their smiles, their predatory gazes like a physical weight as they looked at him.

Maker help me, he thought, pulling down the front of the uniform. I should have had this jacket let out.

"Commander!"

Cullen turned, his gaze focusing on Vivienne as she artfully moved through the crowd toward him, the gold skirt of her dress floating out around her, the bright metallic color a stark, yet stunning, contrast against her dark skin. Seeing her like this, Cullen had no doubt that the former Arcane Advisor was entirely in her element. He almost envied that Vivienne was so at ease here.

"Why ever are you still out here, my dear?"

"I'm waiting for the Inquisitor," he told her. Cullen wanted to catch her before she entered the viper's nest. He had planned to inform her of their troops' positions within and without the palace walls, and assure her that they would all be ready at her order. He had also wanted to warn her that, from what he had been overhearing, Beau's reputation as "The Rebel Trevelyan" already preceded her, even in Orlais.

"I see," Vivienne cooed, her full lips working into smile. And was it just him, or was there something shining in her dark eyes? "I'm sure our dear Inquisitor is on her way, I wouldn't worry too much, darling. For the moment, however, you're needed in the ballroom as they're preparing to announce us."

"Without the Inquisitor?"

"Without the Grand Duke as well, I think you'll note," the mage replied. "Come now, poor Josephine is worrying herself into a panic, and Empress Celene doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Cullen rolled his neck, sighing when the joints gave a satisfying crack before he followed after Vivienne. But that relief immediately drained from him as they crossed the threshold into the ballroom. Maker, there were so many people and the idea that he would be among them, adrift amid the sea of silk skirts and glided masks made him feel short of breath. More than anything Cullen found himself wishing Beau was there beside him because she would have seen his deep, shuddering breath for what it was. She had become utterly unwavering in her friendship toward him, a sturdy pillar for Cullen to lean on, and always fiercely concerned about what he wanted.

This doesn't have to be about the Inquisition, Cullen. Is this what you want? The last thing I want is for you to feel like you're being used again.

And he had so very nearly ruined it. Cullen still didn't know what he had been thinking the day Beau had asked him to help her with the back of her dress. He had skipped three of their chess games before he had regained his dignity enough to join her again. To his infinite relief, the Inquisitor seemed content to leave the matter be, which comforted him greatly because the last thing he wanted was to lose her friendship or respect. Though in the weeks that had followed there were times when Cullen had caught Beau watching him, her gaze lingering on him as though she were trying to work out a particularly difficult puzzle.

Cullen tried not to cringe when the court crier hollered out his name, wondering why exactly Josephine felt the need to give the man his full name. No one had called Cullen by his full name since before he left for training, even if Mia had written it in letters when she was particularly angry with him. He crossed the dance floor hearing the crier introduce Beau's party members, and if Cullen thought his full name was embarrassing, it was nothing compared to Cassandra "Get On With It" Pentaghast.

"Finally, Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons," the crier continued, and Cullen glanced over his shoulder as the Duke descended to cross the ballroom. "Accompanying him, Lady Inquisitor Isabeau Analiese Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick."

Cullen heard someone gasp, and the quiet murmuring of the ballroom seemed to crescendo around him. His eyebrows arched up when he turned and found Beau crossing the ballroom with confident, languid abandon, each sway of her narrow hips moving aside the slit in her skirt that came up dangerously high on her left thigh. Her dress was the color of red wine, embroidered in gold and Cullen thought that it suited her much more than the white dress Josephine had originally picked out for her. And where every other woman in the room could have hidden two full grown men underneath their skirts, Beau's dress hugged her svelte figure, flaring out slightly at her knees. But perhaps what everyone was staring at was the fact that Beau's dress only had one shoulder, asymmetrically laying across her chest, with only one long sleeve, leaving her opposite arm and shoulder entirely bare.

If she were nervous, Beau didn't show it as she came to a stop beside Gaspard, arching out her arm and artfully executing a low bow to Celene.

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Beau found him some time later, swaying toward him with a smile as the crowd seemed to part for her without thought. Even here, entirely out of her element and surrounded by nobles who would love nothing more than to bring her down a few pegs, Beau's presence commanded attention and authority. It made him proud to know that this was the woman that he had helped choose to be their Inquisitor.

She was just a few feet from him when a nobleman stepped into her path. Cullen's chest felt tight with some unnamed emotion as he watched the interaction because, from the man's body language, it was not difficult to determine what he wanted from her. He watched Beau give a polite refusal and move to go around him when the man's hand grabbed her arm. Cullen's jaw tensed, he felt the crescents of his nails biting into his palms as he saw Beau's mouth press into a narrow line and her eyes take on an intensity he'd only ever seen in battle. But just as Cullen was moving to assist her, the man released her and walked away.

Beau took a moment, breathed a heavy sigh and then suddenly it was as if the whole encounter hadn't happened. Her eyes sought him out once again, and her pink lips stretched into a smile as she approached him.

"Josephine's not around here, is she?" Beau wondered as she leaned against the high table he'd been occupying.

He wanted, desperately, to ask her about the man, but refrained. "No, I don't believe so, why?"

She rolled her eyes, adjusting the gold ring in her nose with her index finger. "I think she's going to follow me around for the entire ball! I swear I haven't been able to speak to anyone without her appearing. I think she's worried I'm going to embarrass myself, but I think I've done well so far, and the dress worked perfectly!"

The dress worked perfectly?

"What do you mean?" Cullen asked, feeling his eyebrows press together.

Beau's expression lit up, mischief lighting her eyes as a secret smile crept its way across her face, and scrunched the tattoo around her eye. "I'm sure you recall that Josephine wasn't too thrilled when I demanded that we find another dress for me. Well, I thought it was high time I took Vivienne up on her offer of taking me to see her seamstress in Val Royeaux. Being Andraste's Herald, they were going to expect the Inquisition to truss me up like Andraste, so I suggested we go in the opposite direction," she explained, clearly pleased with herself. "We used what they would expect from us to our advantage, threw the court off balance a little."

"Of course," he answered with a fair amount of sarcasm. "You've only just left yourself incredibly open to a dagger."

At that, Beau laughed, bringing up her left arm and anchoring her elbow on the table between them. "See this?" she asked him, pointing to the intricate piece of jewelry she wore there, meant to draw even more attention to the unearthly green flickering beneath her skin. It was gilded in gold with a ring secured around her middle finger, where it spider-webbed down the back of her hand like a metal golve in a complicated curling design, inlaid with diamonds and pearls, and finally clasped around her wrist.

"Dagna," Beau supplied, turning over her wrist to reveal the rune of protection that had been etched into the metal. "Anyone willing to test her enchantments is more than welcome to try."

Cullen felt himself grin at her. However frustrated he could become with her, there was no denying that Beau was brilliant.

Cullen wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful, wanted to be bold enough to brush away the strand of hair that had come loose from the elaborate up-do that left her elegant neck exposed. He was certain that any number of people had already lavished Beau with compliments, and all he would do is stumble over his words as usual. No matter how Cullen planned it out, there was apparently a disconnect somewhere between his mind and his mouth that left his statements a jumbled, embarrassing mess.

And so he didn't, contenting himself instead with watching Beau smile absently as she observed the bustle of the party around them. He found himself distracted by the lines of her collarbones, the way they shifted beneath her skin as she moved. It was hauntingly familiar to the feeling he'd had that day in her quarters. Cullen wanted to reach out, run his fingertips along where they winged out and curved into her shoulders…

She turned back toward him suddenly, thankfully breaking the spell before Cullen did something unforgivable. Beau hunched her shoulders nearer to him as her eyes darted around them. "Who are all these people, by the way? They don't seem too thrilled to see me standing here with you."

He nearly groaned. With Beau so near to him, and him so attuned to her, Cullen had almost forgotten about them. Almost.

"I have no idea," he admitted, "but they won't leave me alone."

What Cullen didn't tell her was that the small crowd of admirers he had gained set his teeth on edge. He'd shut down around them, being only as polite as required, needing to remind himself constantly that they were people, not demons. But still, they elicited the same reaction. The predatory purrs in their voices set his hair on end, the burning desire in their eyes made sweat bead at his hairline. He felt the constant, cloying need to flee, to be as far away from them as humanly possible, and once again found himself wishing for his armor as a barrier.

"You're not enjoying the attention?"

"Hardly," Cullen scoffed. And he had wanted to explain it to her, but he couldn't, unable to smother the idea that Beau might think less of him for it, even though he knew she never would. Why would she, when she had listened to him tell her about his withdrawal, about what happened at Kinloch Hold and the Gallows with nothing but understanding in her eyes?

"Well," Beau continued seeming to pick up on his discomfort with the topic, "it seems that I have a need to get into the library here pretty soon, though I admit I have no idea how I'm going accomplish that considering the lock on the door made a mockery of my lock-picks."

"… You have lock-picks hidden somewhere in that dress?" he wondered, incredulous.

Beau smirked, arched an eyebrow at him. "You'd be surprised what I could fit in this dress, Commander," she teased lightly, then burst out laughing a moment later when his blush betrayed him. "Anyway, I should go before Josie comes hunting for me, but I hope you'll save a dance for me?"

He answered without thought, a short, diplomatic, "No. Thank you."

It took him a moment to register the shock that widened Beau's eyes, and shamed him a moment later when he saw the hurt. But it was gone nearly as quickly as it appeared as Beau turned her nose up at him, and replied, "Well then. Your loss, Commander."

"What? No! That's not what I… I hadn't meant –" Cullen stammered, realized quickly that he was making an even bigger fool of himself and tried again. "Maker's Breath. I've answered that question so many times, I've started rejecting it automatically," he sighed. "I'm not one for dancing. The Templars never attended balls."

To his surprise, Beau chuckled. "Cullen, it's fine, really. I'm sure I can get Bull to dance with me at least once – give these nobles something to really talk about," she said, throwing in a wink that made his ears feel hot.

Cullen recognized it for what it was – an attempt at deflection with humor. He cursed himself as Beau walked away because she must think that he found her abhorrent when, in fact, that exact opposite was true.

Aww. Poor Cullen, lol.

Review?

-Kay