The ball at the Winter Palace was a long night for Cullen. It was more than just the nobles who wouldn't leave him alone, or the tension caused by their mission, or the simple fact that he didn't like parties. He couldn't stop worrying about Aylwen.
Maybe he shouldn't have done. He knew how capable she was, and her ability to adjust to uncomfortable and tense situations had always impressed him. Still, he hadn't been able to control the tightness in his chest that came whenever he saw her moving around the ballroom, or, worse, when he lost sight of her. She looked so young and vulnerable in her red dress uniform, and so small and slight amid the sea of Orlesian nobles. He was half convinced she would be swept away and swallowed up.
But in the end the night was an amazing success. By forcing a compromise between Celene, Gaspard, and Briala, she'd achieved what none of them had thought possible and, though it wasn't the solution he would have chosen, at least now the dreadful evening was over. Now, finally, it was just the two of them on the balcony trying to dance.
Trying being the key word.
"Ow," she said.
"Sorry."
He'd managed to step on her toes again, bringing them to a standstill. When he'd envisioned dancing with her it hadn't been like this. In his mind he'd seen them gliding across the balcony, her light in his arms. Instead he kept treading on her feet and bumping into her.
Cullen frowned and glanced down, as if staring at his shoes would help him get the steps right.
"What am I doing wrong?"
Aylwen squeezed his hand.
"I'm sure most of the blame is mine," she said. "I've never done this before."
He shook his head. It wasn't her fault.
"Shall we try again?" he said. "Remember, follow me. Don't try to lead."
She grinned. "I'll try."
He started to count: "One-two-three. One-two-three." He stepped back, trying to lead her along with him, but they only managed a few counts before their feet tangled again and they were forced to stop. He looked back at her helplessly.
"I told you I wasn't good at this," he said.
"It's fine," she said. She tilted her head, loose curls bobbing. "One more try?"
He nodded. "One more try."
Together, they counted: "One-two-three. One-two-three."
They moved their feet, counting steps out loud all the while. For four or five miraculous measures, they actually managed a decent waltz across the length of the balcony. They didn't exactly glide, but at least they moved in a sort of rhythm, and they came to a stop without anyone's feet getting trod on.
"Well, look at that," she said once they were still. She grinned widely. "We did it."
"More or less."
She wrinkled her nose in mock annoyance. "You're no fun at all."
He was going to make some sort of witty response, but before he could she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. She sighed, settling against him.
"I'm glad you're here, though," she said.
He didn't reply, but he pulled her closer and rested his head on top of hers. He was glad, too. Between their preparations for Halamshiral, and then the ball itself, they'd barely had time to be alone together in recent days.
After a moment, he glanced down and spoke into her hair.
"I'm sorry about the dancing," he said.
She shook with suppressed laughter, and moved so that her cheek was pressed against his chest.
"You need to relax, Cullen," she said. "The dancing was fine."
"Was it?"
"Mm-hm."
Her eyes were closed, her body loose against his own. He almost shivered. Usually he wore armor but now, in his lighter dress uniform, he could vividly feel her warmth, her curves, and her hands resting on his back. His head buzzed and he couldn't seem to heed her advice to relax. There was too much on his mind.
Since the night in his office when she'd panicked and pulled away from him, they'd been much more careful about intimacy. They still hadn't spent the night together—though they'd gotten close a few times—and instead, they kissed and cuddled, took naps together, slowly got more comfortable with the other's touch and presence. Cullen enjoyed it. He knew it was what she needed, and, to be honest, it was probably what he needed too. Most of the time, it was enough.
But sometimes…
"Cullen," she said.
He started, met her eyes. She frowned up at him.
"Are you all right?" she said. "You seem tense."
He half smiled. Just the sight of her pouty expression made a laugh start to build in his chest, brought him back to reality. He hugged her a little closer.
"I'm all right," he said. "It was just a difficult evening."
She clucked her tongue sympathetically and settled her cheek back against his chest. "I know. It's so hard being admired."
He rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me," he said. "I still can't believe you had a good time."
She shifted against him with a sigh. "I did," she said, voice sleepy. "It was exciting…"
He chuckled, shook his head. "You saying that is one of the most terrifying things I've ever heard."
She laughed as well, and nuzzled his chest. "You'd better watch out," she said.
A shiver ran down his spine again at the touch, and at the tone of her voice. But it wasn't just him. He noticed then that she was trembling slightly as well, her hands tightening along his back. He moved a hand to rub her shoulder, as if to warm her.
"Ayly?" he said. "Are you cold?"
She shook her head, tilted her head up toward his.
"No," she said. "I'm just… I…"
He saw the flutter of her throat as she swallowed, gaze settling on his lips. As if magnetically drawn toward him, she stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.
He closed his eyes and he bent forward so that he could reach her more easily. He let out a rush of air as he sank into the sensation of kissing her, letting the world fall away around them. His hand came up to cup her face, tilting her chin toward him.
Her lips moved faster, parted to allow him in. He groaned as he let his tongue pass through her lips, again when she tugged at his lower lip with her teeth. He pulled her as close to him as he could, running hands over her hair, down her body. Fire filled him at the feel of her soft breasts pressing against his chest and her palms splayed across his back. At her sighs.
Cullen moaned into her mouth. He ached for her, wanted to scoop her up and carry her to bed, memorize her curves and her smooth skin. Even the thin fabric of his uniform felt like too much of a barrier.
Panting, she pulled back from the kiss, still pressed tightly against him. He could feel the rhythm of her breathing, mixed with his own.
"Do you..." Her voice was faint. She cleared her throat. "Do you, um…"
A hand squeezed his heart, but before she could finish her sentence a voice came from behind them.
"Oh! Excuse me."
They practically leapt apart. He turned, face hot, to see Josephine standing in the doorway to the ballroom, hand over her mouth and looking almost as embarrassed as he felt.
"I'm—I'm terribly sorry," she said again. "Commander, Leliana wanted to go over security arrangements for tomorrow. If you don't mind…?"
He cleared his throat, straightened his uniform. "Yes, of course," he said. He glanced back at Aylwen, who rubbed her arm and stared self-consciously at the floor. "Just… give me a moment."
Josephine nodded, and, with an apologetic smile at the Inquisitor, made a quick exit.
Cullen turned back to Aylwen. Even in the dim light, he could see how red she was. He took her hand with a sigh, held it close to his face.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"It's all right," she said, meeting his eyes. "Duty calls."
She actually did look all right. In spite of her blush, a warm smile lit her face and she seemed more relaxed than she had in months. It was more than he could say. He couldn't shake the disappointment, leaden, in his stomach.
Perhaps she noticed, because she leaned forward to place her other hand, gently, on his chest.
"Maybe we can continue this back at Skyhold." She looked around. "Where there's more privacy."
He chuckled. "Comparatively more," he said.
Aylwen laughed softly, then sighed. She splayed her other palm against his, studying his much larger hand.
"But, think of it," she said.
"Think of what?"
"Of all the time we'll have," she said. "We've ended the civil war. Gotten one step closer to beating Corypheus." She looked up, grinned. "We might actually make it home alive."
Cullen frowned, the heat that had filled him suddenly replaced by a sliver of ice. Home…
He shook his head, and tried to push the feeling away.
"Yes," he said. "I suppose you're right."
Aylwen smiled wider, closed her eyes, and rose on her tiptoes to plant one last, lingering kiss on his lips. If she noticed his distraction she didn't say anything.
She sank back to the ground, a blissful look on her face, and let her hand slip slowly from his.
"Will you and Leliana need my help?" she said.
"I don't think so," he said. "You ought to get some rest. You've done more than enough for tonight."
She sighed again, a playful smile tugging at her mouth. "I wouldn't say that," she said. She let her eyes run suggestively over the curve of his uniform, before settling back on his face. "But sleep would be nice… If I can manage it."
His mouth went dry at her words, and at the expression on her face, but before he could even respond she backed toward the doorway and, with a toss of her head, disappeared into the ballroom.
Cullen stood alone on the balcony, heart still pounding, half from excitement and half from the troubling thoughts still echoing in his head. We might actually make it home alive…
He turned and strode toward the ballroom to look for Leliana, still distracted by the throbbing of his lips, the memory of Aylwen's body against his, and by a new fear that wouldn't go away. He suspected he wouldn't be sleeping tonight either.
I know a lot of people mod/headcanon out the silly Inquisition dress uniforms, but I sort of like them. They add so much to the painfully awkward nature of the Winter Palace experience.
The next entry in this series will be the last in the intimacy issues arc. You know what that means! :D