Written in response to a tumblr ask prompt:based on Dorian and Cole's conversation about the Winter Palace and dancing. Cole says it's hard because you have to, "Listen to your feet as well as everything else." Pre WP quest, Trev is giving Cole dancing lessons bc none of the other ladies are comfortable enough. She gets her feet stepped on SO many times that she has to stop. Cullen breaks in to show Cole how it's done (Cullen is awesome, btw) and we get some awesome mind reading from spirit friend.
I hope you like it!
The tables and benches of Skyhold's great hall had been pushed against the wall to make a proper dance floor. They didn't have a full accompaniment of musicians, but there was enough talent between Cullen's recruits and Leliana's agents to scrape together a string quartet. Dance lessons had been Josephine's idea, but Elena agreed wholeheartedly—she couldn't very much ask her companions to go to the Winter Palace only to embarrass themselves in front of the entire Orlesian Court with a lack of basic dance skills. That was just plain inconsiderate.
Luckily for them, or, perhaps, unluckily, dancing was the only one of her mother's etiquette lessons Elena had pursued with any real passion. She found the intricate steps almost as much fun as planning her moves of the battlefield. And much to Josephine's surprise, Elena had volunteered to lead the lessons when the issue was raised at a council meeting.
Everyone had partnered off—Bull and Sera, Blackwall and Josephine, Dorian and Cassandra, Leliana partnered with Solas, as there were too many men and not enough women. Varric had begged off—"dwarves don't dance!" and Vivienne already knew how. Cullen was no doubt hiding in his office—"templars don't go to balls. I do not have time for this frivolity." That left Elena with Cole, who looked even more nervous than usual.
It probably didn't help that none of the girls milling around the keep could be persuaded to be his partner. Elena would have much preferred to watch everyone from the side, but she didn't want the young man to feel bad. She understood why some people found him a bit unsettling, but Elena had adopted Varric's attitude: Cole was a person, and he deserved to be treated as such.
"Dancing is hard; you have to listen to your feet, along with everything else," he muttered.
"Don't worry, Cole. Think of it like fighting—you have to move in just the right place at just the right time," she encouraged, taking a step towards him and guiding his hand to her waist.
She had forgotten how tall he was—it was easy, really, considering that he spent most of his time hunched over, tying to be as inconspicuous as possible. But really, he was nearly as tall as Cullen or Dorian.
The music started and slowly, they began to move. It was simple box step waltz, and she had already showed them the steps individually earlier that morning; now it was time to try it with partners. She tried not to wince as Cole's booted foot came down hard on her toes.
"Sorry!" he exclaimed.
"It's okay," she offered him a smile. "Just remember, I'm leading us now, but the man leads usually."
"Right," he nodded, stepping forward more forcefully and once again on her foot.
As they spun around the room, Elena tried to watch the others to see how they were fairing. Bull had picked up Sera and was swinging her around, her bare feet flailing in the air. Dorian and Cassandra were going through the steps perfectly, though they both looked stiffer than corpses. Another turn and Cole's heel clipped the side of her toes. Elena bit her lip, trying not to cry out. At the front of the hall, leaning against the doorway, she could just make out Cullen's blond curls and fur mantle, for once without the glint of armor. She grimaced, partially in annoyance at the Commander's non-participation and partially because her feet were pinched under Cole's boot again.
"I can feel the sharpness, and you're trying to be nice," Cole started.
"Don't worry about it, you're still learning," Elena mumbled, embarrassed that he could sense her discomfort.
"He wants to be here, you know."
"Huh?" Elena asked, head shooting up to search Cole's face.
"It's hard though. Because then they'll see. All these people, I mean."
"See what?" She asked, intrigued.
"You. Bathed in light and fire. Beautiful. Holy. The way he sees you."
Heat rose to her cheeks at his words and she opened her mouth to ask him who in the Maker's name he was talking about, when he pinched the toes of both feet to the floor. She yelped, unable to silence her reactions, and stumbled. Cole held her up, but everyone in the hall turned to look at them.
"Sorry, I just…I need a moment," she exclaimed, limping over to a nearby bench, at the front of the hall. She waived to the rest of the dancers, "carry on! I'll just observe for a minute."
Cole hovered next to her anxiously, apologizing profusely and trying to bring her water.
"It's alright," she sighed, propping her ankle against one knee and rubbing her toes. "We'll try again in a few minutes. I just need a break."
"I don't think I should. Listening to feet is harder than it looks."
"Perhaps you just need to watch first," came a confident rumble from the doorway.
Elena looked up to see Cullen push himself off of the archway. He stalked towards her, golden eyes intent on her own. He held out his hand, a crooked smile on his lips.
"Let's show them how it's done, Inquisitor."
Despite the butterflies in her stomach, Elena cocked an eyebrow, "I thought templars didn't go to balls?"
"In case you hadn't noticed, my lady, I'm no longer a templar," his usually tired eyes were alight with warmth as he brought her hand to his lips.
With a gentle tug, Cullen pulled her up. She felt tiny next to him— with fingers spread, his hand took up nearly all of the small of her back, and her own hand looked almost like a child's in his palm. He towered over her, tall and broad where she was short and slight. Tilting her head up, she smiled. Truth be told, she had hoped he would sweep her onto the dance floor, and she had been not a little disappointed to learn he found the entire idea of a ball, not to mention dancing, ridiculous. Though she tried to keep her feelings guarded, Elena had been nurturing quite the infatuation with him. There was something about his demeanor, the set of his jaw, perhaps, that sent her heart fluttering. And it didn't help that though he barked orders to his troops and nearly everyone else in Skyhold, he always spoke softly to her.
"Well, Commander, shall we?" she prodded, acutely aware that the other dancers had stopped and all eyes were on them.
Cullen grinned, and nodded to the musicians. In time with the music, he pulled her forward, swirling around the room. A natural-borne commander, he led her body through the fluid motions so well, she almost didn't need to know the steps herself.
"Where did you learn to dance so well?" She murmured, as they swung around the room.
Cullen gave her that lopsided grin again and spun her out, arms twirling above their heads, "a gentleman never reveals his secrets, my lady."
She thanked Andraste that his arms were firm around her, because she feared her legs couldn't support her anymore, weak as she was from the feeling of his hands on her body, the nearness of him. At the last turn around the room, Cullen pressed his hand firmly against her back, and for a brief moment their bodies were flush against each other. She could feel his hard muscles, taut under her sinuous curves. And then she was being dipped back, his other hand cradling her neck as she held onto his shoulders. Elena's mouth made an oh of surprise, but she trusted him not to drop her as her legs slid between his, their hips pressed together. Bending her back up, Cullen stepped away, and bowed over her hand, his lips hovering just above her knuckles.
"Thank you, my lady Herald," he murmured, brushing a soft kiss over her skin, "it was truly a pleasure."
She suppressed the shiver that ran down her spine at his words and smiled, though she was sure her cheeks were flushed, "the pleasure was all mine, Commander."
The room burst into applause, drowning out her words for all but his ears. Surely he must know; surely he was teasing her. Even if—Maker! Even if he did know, why would he return her feelings? She must seem just a silly girl to him—young and foolish with her blushes and moon-maddened looks. Hardly worth the time of a seasoned warrior and commander, certainly. And yet…yet the earnest look in his eyes made her heart flutter. She squeezed his fingers in a futile attempt to keep him from pulling away, but he was already across the hall and to the door by the time the other dancers took their position and Cole stood before her.
"I think I understand now," the boy said, taking her hand. "It's not about feet."
Still in a bit of a daze, Elena let Cole lead her through the steps.
"What do you mean?" she murmured, eyes searching for a sign of Cullen as they spun.
"I watched and I listened. Dancing: it's hearts and blood, thump, thump, thump so hard it hurts and Maker, please, let me hold her just this once. Sunlight glinting off her hair. Fire, she walks in starlight and sunlight, bright and shining. How can I hold her when she is not of this world?"
Elena's gaze snapped back to her dancing partner and she stopped dead in her tracks, causing Dorian and Cassandra to run into them.
"Sorry! Excuse us!" She yelled, pulling Cole by the hand into the garden courtyard.
"Who did you hear that from?" She panted, barely allowing herself to believe it could have been—no, she didn't even want to think it, to give herself that hope. It could have been anyone watching.
"He's in the Chantry. He prays to her, but it's your face that comes to mind."
At his words, Elena tore across the garden, scatting nobles as she went. Her heart was pounding in her throat as she reached the Chantry door, desperate hands scrambling to rip it open.
"Andraste, give me the strength to endure. She's holy, your chosen, but I can't…I am only a man—"
The door slammed behind her and Cullen whirled around from where he knelt at Andraste's feet.
"Inquisitor!" He stammered, standing.
It might have been the candle light but it looked as if a warm flush burned on his cheeks.
"Don't," she pleaded, making her way towards him, until she stood with only inches between them. "Don't call me that. Not after…Maker's breath, not after whatever that was."
She could feel the uncertainty radiating off of him, and not for the first time she wished she could read his thoughts. Cole's words had made it clear what he felt. But, was he worried that giving in to the feelings they had been dancing around for the better part of a year would somehow compromise them? Compromise the Inquisition? Was he afraid he'd hurt her? That she would hurt him?
He was so close to her though, all she had to do was reach up and—
She cupped his cheek, her thumb rubbing over his skin. Cullen closed his eyes, and covered her hand with his, pressing it into his cheek and inhaling sharply, the tip of his nose turned to the inside of her wrist.
"Elena," he whispered, a sweet secret thing only for him.
"Put your hands on me, Cullen. Please, touch me."
His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, closing the few inches between them. Elena rested her free arm against his chest. Cullen's heart hammered underneath her fingertips and his warm breath fanned across her cheek as she tipped her face up to his. His brows were creased, warm eyes dark with worry, as if his body was acting contrary to his will.
"I've tried so hard—" he started, his voice thick with emotion. "You're the Herald of Andraste, the chosen of the Maker. I'm not worth—"
His words were swallowed as her lips swiftly met his. Cullen's hand moved from his cheek to tangle in her hair as she pressed the soft curves of her body into his taut frame. His lips soon yielded to her touch, her gentle coaxing, until they parted, and she darted her tongue between them, seeking his own.
She pulled away, slowly, nipping at his bottom lip.
"Hush, you foolish man. You are more worthy than anyone I have ever met." She kissed him again, just a soft peck against the upturned corner of his mouth. "And I'm not holy. I'm just a woman and I'm asking you, Cullen Rutherford, to hold me, to touch me, to make me yours."
His grin was full and bright, alighting to his eyes in the glow of the Chantry's candles. Lowering his face, Cullen kissed her again, deep and scorching.
Dorian stepped into the garden, eyes easily locating the spirit-boy as he sat on the railing, long legs swinging.
"So?"
"I think I helped. He's locked the door, or at least, he was thinking about locking the door."
"Good man," Dorian cheered, clapping Cole on the shoulder.
It had been his idea to give Cullen dancing lessons, but Cole had been brilliant at nudging things along.
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