Cullen tugged on the sash of his formal attire for what felt like the thousandth time. He was grateful to be in something so simple, but hadn't considered it would make him the earliest to the antechamber, and he was bored already. Bored and nervous. Whoever came up with the idea of parties should be locked away for life.

As time went on people slowly drifted in. Bull and Sera had also opted for the red uniforms, the better to not have to come up with anything new. Though in Bull's case, he knew the qunari had wanted to come with a bare chest and little else and had been soundly outvoted. Cole wore a surprisingly stylishly cut jacket over a new shirt, though he was fading in and out so frequently that it was hard to see. He also had a new hat perched on his head, and Cullen coughed as he drew him aside. "About your hat…"

"Josephine said I could not have a hat that looked like a dead scarecrow's. Scarecrows aren't alive, so I wasn't sure which hats would be dead, but the woman with the cart said this one was very fashionable," said Cole. "Isn't it?"

"Yes. But it is a fashionable hat for, well, ladies," said Cullen.

"So Josephine will like it. She's a lady."

"She is," said Varric, walking up behind him. The dwarf looked like he'd come straight from Kirkwall, though most of his shirt hadn't made the journey. His chest looked like an uncut meadow. He saw Cullen staring and laughed. "Flaunt what you've got, Commander. Anyway, kid, I think your hat is great. Just stay away from the receiving line."

Cole didn't seem to hear him. "Varric, why is the hair from your chin on your chest instead?"

A flurry at the door forestalled any answer, as everyone but Leliana and Cassandra finally entered. Josephine and Ellana wore gowns that swept with hardly any effort from their occupants, and Ellana in particular seemed to enjoy swooshing her skirt around as she walked. Solas wore a more formal version of his usual outfit, though his leggings were tight enough that it was a wonder there was any blood flowing to his feet at all. He'd also been forced into shoes, and Cullen grinned as the elf wiggled his feet surreptitiously every few minutes. Blackwall had opted for Grey Warden colors, the better to remind everyone where their loyalties lay, and Vivienne wore a dress with more bare back than any Divine had ever dreamed of showing.

And still she paled to Dorian. Bull laughed as the Tevinter man flourished his way into the room. "I see you and the dwarf have the same tailor, Vint."

"Nah, my guy doesn't work with quite that much leather," said Varric. "But it's a good look."

Dorian smiled cheerfully. He'd chosen all black, with pants that were standard but a fitted shirt that was anything but. It slashed all the way down to his navel without touching, revealing vast expanses of his chest and stomach. And it was sleeveless, cut close enough that his shoulders were well-displayed. The effect was one in which he was clothed quite formally but he looked like he wasn't clothed at all. Dorian's usual goal.

The mage sidled up to him as soon as everyone had exhausted their jokes. "Is this more Tevinter fashion?" asked Cullen. "It's a wonder the Imperium even bothers to make shirts."

"It isn't yet. But it will be, if I have my say," said Dorian, grinning. "Don't tell dear Josephine that, though. I convinced her it was what we all were wearing."

Your funeral, Cullen thought, but he lost focus when he heard loud voices coming down the hall.

"You must be charming." Leliana's voice, commanding and irritated. "Not look like you've been press-ganged into dancing."

"I am very charming, I am told." Cassandra's, even more irritated. "But do not ask me to smile when there is nothing worth smiling at. I will smile only when it is needed."

He grinned, and the rest of the group covered their mouths with their hands to hide the same, but his smile faded when the two women turned the corner. Leliana had on something, probably delicate and dangerous, but he hardly noticed. Cassandra commanded all of his attention. Despite the frustration on her face, she was more beautiful than even his wildest imaginings. Her dress was dark purple, or blue, or some color that he couldn't identify, and it shimmered with small, iridescent stones even when she was motionless. The silky material fit closely to the curves he knew so well, and Cullen could almost feel his hands slipping along the fabric to trace their contours. Instead of a skirt that ballooned out, hers was a column that draped to the ground, with a slit in the side that showed the tone of one of her long, lean legs for anyone to see. They'd done something to mute her scars, and something even more to enhance the crown of her hair, but he saw all of her as she was and as she'd always been.

She looked like the night sky as it swirled above him while they slept. She looked like every maiden from every tale, every princess who had ever lived on the pages of a story. And above all, she looked like Cassandra. There could be no one else worth seeing.

He tugged again at his own clothing, keenly aware of how inadequate he was to even stand with her here, much less be anything more.

Eventually Varric whistled into the silence. "Seeker. You're beautiful. This is definitely your night to shine." Like a drop of water breaking a dam, the room suddenly filled with other compliments and words of admiration, even as they all looked sidelong at Cullen. He stayed silent, not trusting himself to speak, while she accepted their praise.

Until Cassandra turned to him, hands twisting together in front of her. "Is it okay?"

As if she needed to ask. But she had, and even with the heavy stone already settling in his stomach he would answer her. "I don't think it would do much to turn a sword away, but for this battlefield it's exactly right," he said in a steady voice.

It didn't make her laugh as he'd hoped, and it actually seemed to make her distress worse, but he couldn't say anything more without it being far too much. If they were alone he would already have her against the wall, but that wasn't something he could say when she was about to smile at all the things that were worth smiling at.

As they partnered off to walk to the ballroom for even more waiting, he clung to Leliana and stared a hole through Dorian, who'd taken Cassandra's arm to preserve the life of everyone else in the room. The Tevinter man was no more interested in her than in a goat, and Cullen still wanted to rip his head off. He was never going to survive this.


Two hours later, he hadn't revised his opinion. Cullen had been ordered to the receiving line, and Alistair had given him a sympathetic smile when he and Elissa had filed through with their retinue. "The best part of this party not being mine is that I don't have to stand here. Maker give you strength," he'd said. "And I'll try to send you some of the little cheeses. They're wonderful."

Dignitaries, nobles and royals were announced with the regularity and speed of arrows finding their targets in a training yard. Cullen tried to pay attention to the names, but they blended together. Even with Josephine at the front whispering them down the line to prepare them, the noise of the ballroom meant they were mangled beyond belief by the time they made it to him. At one point he was certain that they were welcoming someone named Ferg Gulber from Orlais, but he smiled and nodded anyway. He even managed to make a surface representative from Orzammar briefly lose her scowl, no mean feat for the man who'd led the charge against lyrium dependency.

So while he was in social agony, at least he was doing a good job of hiding it. He felt less like a string that was about to snap as the night went on and more wine materialized in his hand.

Darren had just appeared with the promised cheeses from the King, as well as a few words for Dorian about his attire that Cullen hoped fervently were not from the King, when the Nevarran delegation was announced. Cullen swallowed too quickly and spent the first few minutes of the introduction coughing on dairy and wheezing. After his eyes stopped watering, he stared intently at the people lining the top of the staircase.

They all had the same coloring that he associated with Cassandra, the dark hair and eyes with pale skin that seemed almost too smooth to be flesh. But they lacked the spark of life inside that made her so irresistible. None of them would read a romance novel, enraptured to the point of insensibility. Each one was robed and somber, women and men alike, and it was hard to shake the impression that they'd already passed through the Veil without noticing. More to the point, none of the men were particularly handsome, and they certainly weren't virile. Cullen breathed a little more easily. He still lacked their titles and upbringing, but at the very least he could offer Cassandra their missing passion.

Then one more name rang out. "Dmitri Van Markham, Grand Prince of Nevarra, protector of Cumberland and its associated principalities."

Cullen frowned. There'd been no one by that name on the Nevarran lists. And he would know, he'd practically memorized them. Was a Grand Prince better than a normal prince? Judging by Josephine's delighted smile, it certainly was. Leliana, he noticed sourly, seemed much less surprised than he was. But most interestingly of all, Cassandra suddenly looked nervous, like a blow she'd been expecting was finally at hand.

When the man graced the top of the stairs, Cullen's fists clenched in understanding. Against anyone the man would have been handsome and alive, but after the dead, remote demeanors of his companions he seemed brighter than the sun itself. And he was dressed like it, too. He'd forgone robes for a simply cut suit in a black-trimmed orange that should have looked ridiculous but instead was vibrant foreground. He smiled down at them all with the usual superiority of royalty. Dorian murmured appreciatively as the eyes washed over them, but Cullen's fists tightened when the man's gaze lingered on Cassandra for much too long.

He couldn't hear much of the introductions at their end, just bits and pieces, but he did see Josephine's scandalized look when the man bowed over Cassandra's hand. Since Josephine would have only looked pleased if there had been some sort of forward flirtation, Cullen guessed the man had insulted his no-longer-wife in some diplomatically acceptable way. Another thing he would answer for. Along with the smile that Cassandra was giving him now despite it. And the way he didn't let go of her hand until well past a polite length of time.

Cullen never took his eyes off the prince, even while he was absently greeting the rest of the new delegation, and Dmitri smiled when he finally reached the end. "Commander Rutherford. We hear much about you in Nevarra. Including how you once believed you would be worthy of one of Nevarra's most beloved daughters," he said. His accent was a darker version of Cassandra's, and Cullen's mouth tightened as they made their bows. The prince's pale eyes were mocking as he added, "I thought you would be younger."

"Thank you, Your Highness," he said, amazed that his clenched jaw even allowed the words to escape. "Only the best warriors live to be old, after all. Except for those who let the others do the fighting for them. I understand in Nevarra royalty declines the front lines."

Varric coughed loudly beside them, and Dmitri's face darkened. "Indeed," he said. He shifted so that his powerful frame was square with his opponent's, and Cullen was already cataloging his likely weak points as the prince continued, "But in Nevarra our military leaders are not so easily replaceable as in the Inquisition, I imagine. Not so generic."

"I suppose I would have to be in need of replacement to know for sure," answered Cullen. "So we'll have to wait some time to test your theory."

"I look forward to that happy day, Commander." The Nevarran made a quick bow to Dorian with a murmured greeting, then moved back to the head of the line with surprising speed. This time the prince's voice was loud enough to carry down to where Cullen stood, still seething. "Forgive me, Princess Pentaghast. I was intending to wait until your duties were complete, but your charms lead me to be ruder than I intended. May I steal you away from your companions for a time?"

Josephine nodded before Cassandra had a chance to answer. "Of course, Your Highness. We understand that a reunion has already been long overdue. Cassandra would be most pleased to accompany you."

Cassandra looked more terrified than pleased, but she gathered herself together and nodded regally. Dmitri held his arm out to her, and she took it with every sign of pleasure. As they made to leave, Leliana contrived to make Cassandra stumble in such a way that she fell against her escort, and Dmitri caught her adroitly and with far too much enjoyment. She murmured an apology that he waved off, though he used the opportunity to draw her closer to his side. He winked at Cullen as they continued their walk to the ball proper, and only the combined hands of Varric, Dorian and Darren kept Cullen from lunging at him.

"Not the right time, Curly," murmured Varric. "And I thought you were going to let her choose what she wanted."

Varric was right. And she didn't even really want this. This was supposed to be a pose. He watched as she said something to the prince and he smirked in response. She'd better not want him, he thought darkly. And a little muzzily, through the wine. Dmitri swept her to the dance floor with a hand at her waist, and she followed where he led without hesitation.

He must have tensed his arms again because the dwarf said, "Weren't you?" in a meaningful voice.

Cullen tried to get a hold of himself. "Yes. I'm sorry. Thank you." He shook his head. At least the man had already seemed to know how he felt about Cassandra. At least Josephine would have to allow that, even though he'd lost his temper in every possible way.

He jumped when her voice came from behind him. "What did you say to him?"

"Look, I can explain -" he began as he turned around, though he had no idea what he was going to say. He stopped short when he saw her beaming.

"Whatever it was, it worked to perfection. The Prince was most rude to her at the initial meeting - he called her Lady Pentaghast instead of Princess Pentaghast, if you can believe it - but after you spoke he was all politeness. And now look at them," she said. She touched his shoulder. "I know it could not have been easy for you to aid in this, Commander. I thank you for your bravery."

"Any time," he said dully. Dorian chuckled as the ambassador went back to her post. Cullen growled, "Please tell me we're done."

"Not even close, Commander," said the mage as he delicately ate another small cheese. "Not even close."


The rest of the ball was a blur of color and sound with one fixed and unchanging point - Dmitri and Cassandra, together. The man monopolized her all evening, and she seemed more than happy to allow it. They talked and danced and strolled around the room like they'd known each other for years. Cullen stalked the perimeter with unwavering eyes, stopping only to talk to those who signaled him in conversations that seemed to always be the same.

No, he didn't dance. Yes, it was difficult to make the decisions of command. Yes, he was proud of his soldiers. No, he had no plans to move back to Ferelden.

Yes, the Inquisitor is just as delightful as she looks. She's very pleased you could attend this evening. Speak to her directly, if you wish. She enjoys meeting people. The Inquisition certainly was an interesting blend of people. Yes, the ball was very lovely. He would recommend the little cheeses.

Only when he registered that someone had asked him about his favorite sexual position did his fog lift enough to take in the person in front of him. He groaned. "Hello, Hawke."

"You didn't answer my question!" she said, grinning wickedly. "And it's Viscountess Hawke again, or hadn't you heard?"

"I'd heard that was the plan. Congratulations," he said, looking past her to where Cassandra was gesturing vigorously with a piece of fruit. What was she doing? Some kind of fighting demonstration? Telling a joke? It was hard to tell with her.

Hawke snapped her fingers in his face. "Honestly, you should just go and fight him for her. Give us a little entertainment," she said. "Even better if you both take your shirts off."

Varric joined them with a smile. "I thought Dorian and I already had that well in hand, Hawke."

"You can never have too many sculpted chests on display," she said firmly. "But don't tell Fenris I said that."

"Yeah, where is Broody? I thought he'd be very excited to meet the Imperium's contingent."

"Too excited. He was pointedly not invited." Hawke shrugged with a grin. "He's wandering around the camps scouting the magisters' weaknesses so we can ambush them on their way back to Tevinter."

Cullen tore his eyes back to her. "Hawke," he said forbiddingly.

"Just seeing if you were paying attention, sweet Cullen. No, he's in Kirkwall manning my new fort while I look around the old family home. Or elfing it. Whatever."

"Don't call me that," he said.

Hawke grinned. "But you are so sweet, in love and pining with that chiseled jaw and wounded puppy eyes. It's making the women here quite jealous. I've already heard several of them talking about ways to get you to look at them that way. Some of them have been very inventive, and they're all looking for an edge, so if I could get an answer to my question about your favorite sexual position I'll have something good to barter with in the powder room."

He didn't answer, only glared at the two figures now settling in to another dance. Hawke pouted. "No? Ah Cullen. So loyal. So steadfast. So very sexy. I'm amazed Cassandra's been able to keep herself away from you tonight."

"She seems to be managing," said Cullen. He tried to remember the story. "She's clearly moved on to better things."

"If you say so. I'll leave you to your prowling," said Hawke. "Maker, I envy her tonight. Jealous sex is the best sex of all, especially with a strong man. So rough and controlling." She fluttered a fan across her face coquettishly. "Varric, make sure you tell me all the details later."

The dwarf followed when she left, much to Cullen's relief. He was jealous, so jealous he was practically sweating it through his pores, and the hell of it was he knew it was only making things worse. Dmitri was attentive and plying at all times, but whenever he caught Cullen's eye he added a little extra to his game, another kiss to her hand or a blinding smile that would leave anyone weak in the knees. Cassandra always had a glass of wine in her hand, and while Cullen knew she would never allow herself to get drunk, there was no question her movements were more deliberate and her color higher than it usually was. She was having a romantic evening with a charming prince, and the prince was twisting the blade of it directly into Cullen's gut.

Dmitri looked over at that moment and leaned to whisper something into his lady's ear. Cullen was sure he could smell the delicate soap that rose off of her skin, and he clenched his fists once more. Cassandra laughed lightly and swatted the Nevarran's shoulder while they danced. The prince looked smug as he shot another glance at him.

Cullen sighed, suddenly weary. This was foolish. Cassandra was a person, not a game, and none of Cullen's behavior was any credit to her. He fell into the rhythm of social conversation inside his own head. Yes, I love her. Yes, I want to be the one in her arms. Yes, yes yes. But no, it's not the time. No, it's not the place. No, I'm not the man.

But he couldn't give up watching her. She was his twinkling starlight in the middle of the crowd.


Another few blurred conversations later Ellana was at his side. "Dance with me, Commander."

"I don't dance," he said automatically.

"That wasn't a request. I'm the Inquisitor. Dance with me."

He made a face as she led him to the floor. "Isn't my night bad enough already?" he asked, only half-joking. Fortunately she was leading them away from the other pair. He looked around sharply. "Won't Solas hate this?"

"Maybe," she said evenly. "But they're my legs."

Cullen winced and apologized. She shrugged and settled him into a simple dancing position. She barely hit his chest, and her gown felt strange under his fingers, but he did the best he could with his posture. At least she looked herself again. Travel agreed with her. Color lived in her cheeks, and her smile was less like a paper mask stretched over a face. There was even the sparkle of humor that he'd missed in her illness.

He didn't know much about the art of dancing, but he at least stayed off of her feet as they slowly turned. "So why have I been called into service for the Inquisition now?" he asked.

"Mostly because we can't throw a ball where our Commander doesn't enjoy himself for even a second," she said. "It would hardly count as a ball. But also because I wanted to talk to you."

He waited while a knot of dancers worked their way around them, then looked at her expectantly. "You know Cassandra isn't enjoying this either, right?" she asked. "She wants to be with you."

"She seems okay without me," he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

Ellana huffed. "She's supposed to. We asked her to. She's following orders, being charming, opening up Nevarra for us." Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "I grant you that the prince has been… overwhelmingly attentive, but Cassandra is doing exactly what we need her to do. Stop taking your anger at my orders out on her."

"I'm not. I wasn't," he said. It was almost true. Until this evening, he'd worried he wouldn't measure up to a true suitor, but it had been a distant fear, like the fear of an avalanche at the Hold. Possible, always lurking, but not pressing around him every minute. He could push it aside and live. Now the reality was in front of him, the snow was falling, and there was nothing he could do but pray. He bowed his head and released his terror to Ellana in the softest whisper. "What if she falls in love with him?"

"Don't be an idiot."

He jerked back, stung. She clearly thought it was impossible for Cassandra to love someone else. Maybe it was. But Ellana didn't know what Cassandra looked like when she read about balls like this, where the handsome stranger met the beautiful woman and fell violently in love. Where he carried her off into the night with gentle words and sensuous touches. Skyhold only knew she had a weakness for stories. Cullen knew that she wanted to live one. And he hadn't given it to her, not in the least.

They were quiet for awhile, until Ellana said softly, "Don't fall apart for this. Please. I couldn't bear it."

"If that's true, why ask us to do it?" Well, ask her. He hadn't been given much choice. "You think there's no risk of us breaking, but there is. There always is. If it's so painful, even for you, surely there was another way."

"You won't break," she said. "She loves you. You're the one she wants."

Always the optimist. He didn't feel as sure of that as he had that morning. "I just wish I knew why it was so important," he sighed.

Ellana bit her lip and stilled their movements. "Cullen," she began, but his attention was caught by the sound of bright laughter piercing the room like a sword. A laugh he knew all too well, one he'd coaxed out of her only after painstaking, backbreaking effort. A laugh that meant she was truly, wonderfully, completely at peace.

The crowd became a theater curtain, parting to show Cassandra doubled up in mirth, clinging to Dmitri's broad shoulders to steady her as she shook. But it was no play, and they were no actors on a stage. Color rode high and bright on her cheeks, and her face held no more terror or nerves, only happiness. The only small, bitter comfort was that he didn't yet see any love for this man, this charming stranger who was so many things Cullen couldn't be. But the night was still young and the romance was palpable. It was only a matter of time.

He shook Ellana away from him. "I can't do this," he said. He whirled on his heel and strode to the nearest balcony before either of them could see his face.