Cullen's bones were aching as the last vestiges of sunlight vanished from the windows. Whatever the women were discussing no longer managed to make an impact, talk of the upcoming visit by some new Orlesian allies swiftly entering one ear and exiting the other. It had nothing to do with him, thank the Maker. He'd make certain to be extra occupied in case anyone decided to try and claim some of his time. It wouldn't be difficult to invent some new training exercises or take a little longer with requisitions and reports than usual to fill his hours.
He briefly rubbed at his neck, willing the tension to abate. If only he could make an excuse to leave the War Room — but what sort of Commander would he be if he excused himself from a War Table meeting and left all the work to the women. Not that he was participating now, but perhaps they would require him for some real strategy before the end of the night.
"Oh, that's a wonderful idea, Josie!" Leliana suddenly exclaimed with a surprising touch of girlish glee that snapped Cullen out of his thoughts.
"Are you certain inviting all the Inner Circle is a good plan?" said Asaara with a nervous smile. "I'm likely to cause enough embarrassment," the Qunari added under her breath.
"You'll be fine!" Leliana countered. "You were most impressive at the Palace, no?"
"Only because I saved their Empress," Asaara pointed out. "Prior to that I was nothing but a barbarian upstart."
"Still, you have a point, Inquisitor," Josephine sighed. "Someone will need to keep Sera preoccupied."
Asaara coughed. "Perhaps send Bull and his Chargers out on patrol as well, just in case. One horned brute is more than enough for a tea party."
"I'll make the appropriate arrangements to keep some of our…rougher people on the sidelines," Leliana agreed. "Besides, we can only have so many in such an event."
Cullen blinked blankly, thoroughly taken aback at the idea that they were taking the time to plan a tea party.
"I agree. We should keep our numbers…oh, no more than equal to our visitors," Josephine chimed in. "That should keep it to an effective level of intimacy, no?"
"Enchanter Vivienne will attend, of course," Leliana suggested. "She will make a positive impression on our Orlesian guests, no doubt."
Cullen's blood ran cold. He'd hoped the references to the Palace and their Orlesian guests were incidental. He subtly pulled one of the reports on the table closer and skimmed it over. It contained a list of guests visiting from Orlais, including a couple members of the Council of Heralds and — to his horror — the Comte who had groped him during the masquerade.
"Add to that Lady Cassandra and Ser Pavus along with the four of us and that should do it," Josephine said brightly.
The four of us. Oh, no, Cullen was not about to attend some tea party with a group of bloody Orlesians, much less this particular gathering.
"With Cullen there to look pretty, I'm sure the others will barely need to do anything," Leliana said with a giggle. "Comtesse Solange was one of those who wrote about her daughters, no?"
Josephine poorly stifled a small laugh. "Oh yes, her daughters." The implication made Cullen shudder. Asaara let out a harsh guffaw before she managed to clap a hand over her mouth, tilting her head toward Cullen in apology.
"I'm afraid I won't be available," Cullen said abruptly.
Leliana lightly slapped his arm. "Oh come now, Commander. We haven't even determined a date."
Cullen gulped, but firmly shook his head. "No. There is far too much to do and you've plenty of people to entertain our guests already."
"Cullen, I understand that this isn't your preferred way to spend an afternoon, but it would be remiss for the Commander of our forces to be excluded," Leliana said more gently.
"Madame de Fer and Ser Pavus will likely steal much of the attention," Josephine offered as consolation.
"Not to mention me," Asaara muttered bitterly. Cullen felt the smallest bit of regret that there was no way to save her from such an event, but that did not mean he wasn't going to save himself.
"Then you hardly need me, do you?" Cullen said stiffly. "I'm certain anyone who inquires after my whereabouts will accept your gracious apologies for my absence, Ambassador." He cleared his throat, attempting to ignore his worsening headache. "Was this the final matter?"
"Well, yes, but—."
"Good. Please excuse me," Cullen said, attempting to keep the irritability in his tone to a minimum as he strode from the room. Asaara made a motion as though to grab his arm, but she let her hand fall back to her side and simply nodded to him in farewell.
He had nearly escaped from the main keep when a friendly voice startled him.
"Commander! What a delightful surprise."
Cullen stopped in the rotunda, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a slow breath before turning to face the approaching Tevinter.
He must have looked quite annoyed for Dorian's pace to falter, but the man smiled warmly at him anyway. "Care for a game of chess before bed? Or before you use a week's supply of candles?" he jested.
"No," Cullen answered shortly, wincing a little at the volume of his refusal. "My apologies, Dorian. Not tonight."
Dorian shrugged lightly, though his gaze was intense as he looked Cullen over almost like he was seeking signs of weakness. Cullen knew better than that, of course; his templar instincts tended to flare hotter when he was tired. "Fair enough. Tomorrow, perhaps?"
"Yes, perhaps," Cullen agreed vaguely as he turned to leave.
"Goodnight, Commander," Dorian said after him just before the door shut behind him.
Cullen paused as he stepped into the cold night, trying to stretch out his neck while taking deep breaths of the crisp air. That had been a touch gruff of him, possibly a little too telling to the Tevinter noble, but he doubted Dorian was offended by the brushoff. It wouldn't be the first time, and Dorian never complained but instead offered a future game or drink that would eventually be accepted.
He didn't really understand why Dorian liked spending time with him, but he didn't question it. As surprising as it seemed, he was grateful the mage was a friend.
Cullen snorted a little as he thought of how much Dorian might actually enjoy a tea party with a group of haughty nobles. Such a gathering would likely be child's play to him, from what Cullen had gleaned about Tevinter from across the chessboard.
Heading toward his tower, Cullen shook away the concern about the blasted tea party. It wouldn't involve him.
Inquisitor Adaar carefully folded up the report. "I see. Yes, I'll certainly keep an eye out when we pass through the Emerald Graves." She reached over the desk to hand it back to Cullen, but didn't release it. "I'll make it quick. I promise."
As she let go of the report, Cullen averted his gaze and nodded his thanks. He didn't especially like knowing the identity of any of the men the Inquisitor needed to kill, and Carroll had been a friend. He reminded himself that, given the red lyrium, the man he knew was already dead. "Thank you, Asaara," he managed quietly.
As that was the last report to discuss, Cullen expected Asaara to leave. However, the Inquisitor remained in the center of his office, arms crossed over her chest as she rolled up onto her toes and back down again. It looked a little startling due to her height, her size making the motion seem bizarrely imposing. He'd known her long enough to easily recognize that she was anxious about something and wanted to talk about it — and that she also didn't feel comfortable bringing it up.
"Was there something else?" Cullen prompted.
Asaara bit her lip, raising onto her toes once more as she worked out the words. "You didn't mean that about the party, did you?" she asked in a rush.
Cullen raised his eyebrows. He dearly hoped she did not mean what he thought she did. "Mean…what about what party?" he pressed when Asaara did not elaborate.
She tutted disapprovingly with a shake of her head. "The cursed masked tea party, of course," Asaara said with just as much venom as Cullen felt for the idea.
"Oh, that," he grumbled as he set aside the report. "Don't tell me Josephine is making you wear a mask?"
Asaara laughed. "If she asks, I'll paint on some vitaar but I'm not donning one of those garish monstrosities, not even for —." She cut herself off, a blush touching the silvery skin of her cheeks. "I wouldn't want to be mistaken for a noble," she said with a shy chuckle.
"Oh, no one would ever," Cullen replied smoothly. Asaara's eyes flashed with a faint touch of offense before Cullen added, "You aren't remotely conceited enough."
Asaara grinned. "Neither are you." She sighed, her smile fading. "But really, you should come."
He scoffed with disbelief. Surely she understood at least some of the myriad of reasons Cullen was most certainly not going to attend. "I'm not going to waste valuable time on simpering foreigners who have nothing to offer but tangled webs to their own benefit," Cullen replied, quite persuasively in his opinion.
Asaara took a deep breath, lowering her eyes down at his desk before she spoke. "This is our first official meeting with any noble Orlesians since the Winter Palace, and we ought to appear united and civil to make the most advantageous impression. They have been introduced to you as our Commander, and will make careful note of your absence and might use it as cause to—to…negatively affect us," she trailed off with a small wince before looking back at Cullen.
Cullen bit the inside of his cheek, more than a touch amused by what was clearly an attempted recitation from memory. "Josephine said all that, did she?" he dared tease.
Asaara rolled her eyes. "She might have mentioned something like it, yeah," she admitted. "But I do agree — with what I understand of it, anyway. And I would like you to come."
Cullen shut his eyes, rubbing his temple briefly before bluntly asking, "Is that an order, Inquisitor?"
Asaara frowned, bright blue eyes glinting as she glared at him. He waited her out, steadily looking back to see if she was willing to make it such. Petty, perhaps, but she knew full well he would comply should she order it. "No, Cullen, of course not," Asaara said finally. "I do wish you would come, but I certainly won't make it an order. I remember how much you hated the Winter Palace." Her eyes narrowed slightly, the unspoken addition perfectly clear. As much as I did.
"Thank you, Asaara," Cullen replied graciously. "I don't mean to cause any difficulties, but considering…well, I'm more likely to spark an incident than be a welcome addition." He shuddered, the memory of that one noble's hand suddenly far too clear. "Especially with that Comte coming along."
Asaara winced. "I—I understand," she said. "I'll try to smooth things over with Josephine. You might want to plan to do the same."
Cullen nodded. "I appreciate it. And yes, I'll keep that in mind."
Asaara bent in a short bow before leaving him to his stack of reports.
Cullen did not regularly visit the Herald's Rest, but after the day he'd been having, and knowing that it was one of the last before he'd be constantly avoiding Orlesians, he thought he could spare the time for a respite. People eyed him curiously as he entered, but promptly went back to their cups. No one greeted him, especially not the taciturn barkeeper, but Cullen did not expect nor want anything different. This was the realm for those under his command, not so much his. Sometimes Asaara or Dorian would join him, or rarely the Iron Bull, but he hadn't seen any of them as he scanned the room and anticipated a quiet drink.
Therefore he was shocked when someone slammed down a mug across from him. He looked up at the elven woman with no small amount of bewilderment. "Did you need something, Sera?" he managed despite his surprise. He wasn't sure he'd ever actually spoken to her before.
"What's this about you playing hooky on this snooty party?" Sera challenged, not sitting down but instead glaring at him in a way that surprisingly reminded Cullen of being chastised by his mother.
"Excuse me?"
Sera rolled her eyes in such a similar manner to Asaara that Cullen wildly wondered which one had learned it from the other. "Josie's hoity-toity tea party for our esteemed guests," she explained as she indelicately plopped down in the seat opposite him. "You're actually invited and not going?"
"I…no, I am not." Cullen squinted suspiciously at the elf. "Why do you sound like you want to go?"
"Pfft. Like I'd miss an opportunity to mess with their priggish heads?" She took a deep drink, leaving a bit of a foamy mustache over her lip. "It'd make Inky smile and Josie could clean up whatever mess I make so all's good."
That didn't sound particularly all's good in Cullen's opinion. Sera's brand of chaos would certainly cause a headache for Josephine — although perhaps she was right in that such interference might put a smile on Asaara's face. Whether the resulting damage control would be worth such a thing was another matter entirely.
"Be that as it may, I have my reasons to decline."
Sera wrinkled her nose like he'd said something disgusting. "I knew you had something up your ass, but didn't think it was your own prick." And then she took another drink as if she'd merely commented on the weather.
"I-I beg your pardon?" Cullen replied, sputtering slightly in his confusion.
Sera looked almost as confused as he felt. "I didn't take you as a self-centered tit, is all," she said finally.
Cullen gaped at her, almost too surprised to feel offended. Almost. "It has nothing to do with me. Or you for that matter," he said, accidentally slamming his drink down a bit too hard on the table and sloshing a little over the rim. "Buttering up Orlesians is our Ambassador's territory."
"And your territory is at Inky's side, isn't it?" Sera snapped back. "She counts on your support."
"She has —."
"She needs your support in this," Sera cut over him.
Cullen shook his head. "If she needed it, she knows I'll be there if she…." He trailed off a touch awkwardly, realizing that she had asked him for it.
"If she orders you? Not her style and you know it."
Actually, Cullen knew she would order it if she truly saw it necessary. She hadn't hesitated when she ordered him not to take lyrium, after all.
But as she hadn't made this an order, she must be confident enough to allow him to remain on the sidelines. And, unlike Sera, Asaara was more acutely aware of why Cullen might want to avoid this particular gathering. Sera was working off hearsay and rumors about the event, as far as he knew.
"I have apologized to her," Cullen said carefully. "If you see fit to take the matter further, you should talk to Asaara yourself."
Sera stuck out her tongue at him before getting to her feet. "How do you think I know you turned her down?" She didn't wait for an answer before heading up the stairs to the upper floors.
Cullen sighed heavily as he leaned back in his seat. This whole thing was becoming a much bigger deal than it ought to be. Josephine and Leliana were experts at their craft, and with the rest of the group joining them Asaara was hardly alone.
It wasn't a problem, and he certainly wasn't being a self-centered tit.
Cullen rubbed his temple as he took another, deep drink. He needed to finish the drink quickly before the migraine truly set in.
Cullen didn't see who left the package on his desk, but he was more than a touch wary of opening it when he saw the attached note: Do you prefer these with or without ~~almonds~~? NUTS!
The majority of the text was clearly Josephine's handwriting. The second hand he didn't recognize, but something about the hastily crossed out almonds with the sloppy addition and the accompanying smear of what he sincerely hoped was jam, he suspected Sera. If she got a hold of this…he wasn't sure what to expect when he opened the box.
There was nothing suspicious about the contents on their own. They seemed to be a batch of those sugar cookies Josephine had sent him for his birthday, but with some containing nuts and some not. Nothing odd about that.
He squinted suspiciously at the altered note. Sera surely wouldn't do anything to actually hurt him, right? Of course he was still assuming it was Sera at all.
It would be safest to simply toss them, but Josephine would be expecting some sort of answer.
Maybe he should ask her about them. Just in case.
"Oh, Commander!" Josephine greeted as soon as he entered. "What an excellent surprise. Did you like the cookies?" she asked as she got to her feet, hands clasped eagerly while awaiting some reply.
"I, uh…." Cullen trailed off, thrown off by the enthusiastic greeting. "I haven't tried them."
Josephine's smile wavered, just barely. "Oh? I thought you liked these. You aren't allergic to almonds, are you?"
"No, no, nothing like that," he dismissed hurriedly, holding out the note as he approached her desk. "I was…a touch worried that perhaps…?" It seemed a stupid thought now, but Josephine had previously shown concerns about Sera and the impact she had on their appearance before. She would understand.
"Oh, Sera," Josephine sighed, which seemed to validate Cullen's worries at once. "Hand those over, I'll take a look." She scanned the contents of the box, her dark eyes slowly examining every bit of the box. Finally, she took out one of the almond cookies and took a small taste. "They are excellent, Commander. I think I can say with some certainty that she has not touched them."
Cullen breathed a sigh of relief.
"I do wonder why she — oh!" Josephine pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle an adorable giggle.
"Why she…?" Cullen prompted, a tad annoyed to miss whatever joke was apparently plain enough to Josephine while evading him.
She shook her head at once, although her eyes were still twinkling with mirth. "It's nothing. A stupid joke. Assuming I understand her intent, of course." Josephine handed back the box. "Please, just let me know your preference by tomorrow."
"By…tomorrow?" Cullen replied dubiously.
Josephine nodded. "In time for the cooks to prepare some for…well, the party," she finished quietly.
Cullen barely restrained his urge to roll his eyes. Asaara must be rubbing off on him. "Josephine, this is…that is a lovely thought. I think the Orlesians will prefer the nuts."
"But you haven't tried them!" Josephine protested.
"This isn't for me," Cullen said as evenly as possible. "My plans have not changed, Josephine."
He immediately regretted his cool tone when it seemed all the ambassador's joy drained from her face. "Oh. I had hoped…well, if you're too busy…perhaps I should recruit an assistant to aid you."
"I have plenty."
"Not enough if you cannot take a single afternoon away from your office. I have been negligent of your needs, Commander, but I'll —."
"Josephine, there's no need —," Cullen tried to dismiss.
"It isn't a problem, Commander," Josephine insisted, already taking out a quill pen and parchment to make a note.
"Josephine," Cullen tried to protest again, but Josephine kept pressing onward.
"Our coffers will be able to take the pain of another salary for such services, not to worry."
"Ambassador —."
"We will get you the best, of course."
"Please, will you —."
"I cannot believe I didn't think of it sooner; please accept my sincerest apologies."
Again Cullen tried to interrupt her, but she continued as if he wasn't even there. Why was no one taking him seriously on this? It wasn't like it mattered, he just wanted to be left out of the stupid proceeding.
"Would you prefer one of our officers or shall I open the pool to include —."
"I'm not going to your fucking tea party!"
Josephine froze, an ink blot slowly forming where she continued to hold the pen to her half-scrawled note. Her face was utterly blank, almost like she hadn't heard him at all but somehow the silence was more terrible than any retort or glare she might have given him for his rudeness.
Cullen was breathing heavily, his face hot and anger simmering under the surface even as he felt the dreadful cold wave of realization of what he'd just said. No, not said: shouted. Cullen had to apologize, but he couldn't manage another word, or perhaps didn't dare try for one in case it was just as callous.
"Oh," Josephine finally replied before she carefully set the note aside. "I must apologize again, Commander. I didn't mean to push."
She didn't look his way. She was smiling softly, but there was absolutely no warmth in it.
"Josephine, I'm —."
"I'll be certain to save you some of the cookies," she said airily. "I know they're a favorite."
"I didn't mean —."
"If it can wait, I have to get back to work, Commander," she said, entirely sweet and yet shockingly cold. "Another time, please."
"Josephine," Cullen tried again, and this time she didn't say anything at all, instead tugging a different parchment in front of her and starting to write out some reply. "Josephine," he pleaded quietly. She continued to ignore him, and he finally backed out of the room with the box of cookies in hand.
Cullen didn't immediately return to his tower, instead lingering in the small archway that led down to the undercroft as he tried to sort out why he was feeling so guilty and why Josephine was still taking this whole thing too damn seriously.
In retrospect, Cullen should not have been surprised to wake to an ominous shadow lurking in the corner of his bedroom.
But with all fairness, he had just awoken from a nightmare and no harm was done by his hastily thrown dagger as the Spymaster calmly watched it miss her by inches.
"Cullen."
"Maker's breath, Leliana," Cullen groaned, rubbing his eyes as the woman stood from where she had been lounging on his trunk of spare clothing. "I could have killed you."
"No," Leliana said calmly as she walked over. "I thought it might be good for us to have a private talk."
Cullen squinted up at her, the low light of rising dawn still a bit too harsh on his eyes so soon after waking. "If it was so urgent, you could have woken me. What is it?"
He felt oddly nervous when Leliana promptly sat down beside him. He was abruptly very aware of his state of undress, with only some loose smalls covering him beneath the blankets. He cleared his throat as he tried to tug the blankets a little higher, but at the same time Leliana leaned closer to him with a hand between them, her fingers clenching at the cloth as if to intentionally keep him uncovered and uncomfortable.
"What is it, Leliana?" Cullen asked again, blushing a little. He was embarrassed about being caught so off guard, of course. Maybe a touch nervous because of that dagger at her waist that was pressing entirely incidentally into his thigh. Possibly anxious at being almost nude with a woman whose eyes were currently so cold they could have frozen him to the bone. If he was flushed, it was a perfectly reasonable reaction.
Leliana still wasn't answering him, and she wasn't blinking either. It felt like staring at one of those statues of Andraste, but worse — at least most statues gave some appearance of warmth rather than pure judgement.
Cullen coughed a little, using it as an excuse to cover part of his face — as if the sham of a shield provided any protection. "You broke into my room," he pointed out. "Why?"
"Why do you think?"
It didn't take long to remember his uncouth outburst the previous day. Oh yes, Cullen supposed he did deserve this. "I…I am sorry about that. I was tired, more so than I realized. I'll apologize to her, I promise."
Leliana shook her head. "Not enough."
Cullen didn't look at the dagger, but it wasn't an easy accomplishment. "I swear, I didn't mean offense. Once I explain —."
"There isn't anything to explain, Cullen." Leliana sighed, releasing the blankets and leaning back. "Words don't mean anything. You're coming to the tea party."
"No," Cullen replied at once. "I most certainly am not." He did not back down even as Leliana's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I've a mountain of work, and as I think I've already proven, I would only be a cause of embarrassment."
There, that should convince her. It was true, wasn't it? Couldn't have the Commander of the Inquisition's forces yelling and swearing at their annoying guests, after all.
Leliana glared at him for a long moment before finally getting to her feet. "You are going."
And as if that somehow overrode his own decision in the matter, she descended down the ladder and exited his office.
Cullen lay back on the pillows, exhaling slowly as his heart kept trying to beat out of his chest.
Everyone was truly taking this bloody thing entirely too far.
"Check."
Cullen blinked bewilderedly as he refocused his drifting attention on the board. He should have been two moves from checkmating his opponent, and his king hadn't been in danger at all.
Wait…where was his queenside knight?
When he raised his eyes to look across the table, the mischievous twinkle in his chess partner's eyes was more than enough to determine what had happened. "Dorian," Cullen said quietly and just a touch threateningly.
The mage huffed a laugh, arms crossed over his chest. "Something wrong, Commander?"
Cullen held out his hand expectantly. "Dorian," he repeated, curling his fingers toward himself in a hand it over motion. "Give it to me."
Dorian arched an eyebrow. "Is that a proposition, Commander?"
Cullen immediately felt the heat rising up his neck, but didn't waver as he again motioned for Dorian to hand over the stolen chess piece.
Dorian beamed, grey eyes glittering with laughter. "I admit, I didn't expect this from you. Please, allow me a moment," he added with a dramatic gesture to fan his face as if overheated. "The shock, you know."
Cullen closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. "Dorian, please."
"I'm perfectly willing to give you whatever you like, Commander." Instead of the smooth, carved statuette, he was surprised to feel the soft, warm touch of fingers drifting over his palm. Dorian's voice dropped low and sultry as he added, "You've but to ask."
It wasn't the first time Dorian had pulled such a suggestive joke. It wasn't even the first time Cullen had felt those talented fingers caressing him. It was the first time Cullen had neglected to wear his gloves in such an event, the touch of skin on skin far more intimate than he was prepared for as he jerked away, almost tilting over his chair in his haste to retreat.
Dorian looked a touch surprised, though his smile was practiced enough not to falter. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said gently. "Forgive me for saying so, but your mind doesn't appear to be on the game."
"So you thought stealing my knight was a way to regain my attention?" Cullen replied, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand still tingling from Dorian's touch.
Dorian ran his tongue between his lips, slowly and distractingly. "Your knight. Yes, of course, I'm such a naughty mage, I must have if you say so." Dorian's grin brightened as he added, "Perhaps you ought to search me."
This was laying it on thick, even for Dorian — although considering how hot Cullen's neck felt under his hand, it was also effective.
"Not all mages are terrible cheats," Cullen countered. "I'd like to see you win without such tricks."
Dorian gasped theatrically. "I don't cheat, Commander."
"I'm afraid I don't know the Tevene word for it," Cullen muttered irritably, looking over the board and trying to see if there was a way to flip the script. Without resorting to cheating.
"It's not my fault you don't understand Tevinter rules," Dorian said dismissively. "Fereldan dog that you are."
Cullen shot a glare over the table as he moved a pawn to protect his king, but did not otherwise rise to the bait.
Dorian smoothed out his mustache before swiftly moving his cleric. "Check," he proudly proclaimed again.
Cullen frowned severely, as clerics did not get to hop pieces like a knight. "Dorian," he said warningly. It was unusual for him to cheat so…openly. Normally he hid it behind flashy gestures and witty flirtations, or took advantage when Cullen was distracted.
Dorian smiled under the attention. "You might prefer to succumb to my inevitable victory, Commander."
"And why would I do that?" Cullen inquired as he made his move, wondering if Dorian would catch onto the trap he was laying in time to prevent it.
"Only that those masked fops you're so dead set on avoiding are meant to arrive any time now." Dorian didn't take time to consider his move. "Check."
Cullen again protected his king, also placing his castle in the perfect location for his trap. "Fair point. But I've plenty of business to keep me occupied."
"You could be doing that work now, you know," Dorian said, his brow furrowing as he failed to see an easy way to put Cullen in check once more. "But I understand your avoidance of Josephine's party. Tea is lovely and all, but it wouldn't really do to drag a muddy dog to the table with guests of such sophistication."
Cullen exhaled sharply at the insult, but Dorian didn't let up.
"Bowing out gracefully for the Inquisition's image is most kind on your part, Commander. I commend you for your self-awareness."
Cullen almost set down his remaining knight in the wrong square. "I beg your pardon?"
"No need to beg," Dorian said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Unless you want to, that is," he added under his breath with a small wink as he shifted his castle.
Cullen cleared his throat to cover his sharp intake of breath. "Not every member of the Inquisition needs to be present," he pointed out, leaning forward to shift a pawn dangerously close to Dorian's king. "Asaara will be the center of attention, and with a peacock at the same table the Orlesians won't pay the others any mind."
Dorian looked up just in time to miss Cullen's move, his jaw dropping with indignation. "Commander!"
Cullen merely smirked as he leaned back comfortably in his chair. It was a rare delight to see Dorian so off-balance.
The mage chuckled a little under his breath. "Careful, the dog bites," he hissed under his breath as he moved a pawn. "As I said, good on you for knowing when to recuse yourself. Asaara has enough on her plate — no need to add the worries of keeping you to heel."
Cullen's lips held firm in a smirk as he leaned forward, though he did not make his move quite yet. "You think I don't know what you're doing?"
Dorian blinked, a feigned expression of confusion twisting his mouth. "Unless I've fallen unconscious without my knowledge, I believe I'm playing chess with the dog lord of our armies."
Cullen allowed a low laugh at that. "This little reversal isn't going to make me change my mind," he said as he reached for his kingside knight. "So tell Leliana or Asaara or whoever egged you into doing this that your charms are not nearly as impressive as you previously believed." With that, he released his piece and leaned back, smirking a touch wider. "Checkmate."
Dorian's wide eyes shifted from Cullen down to the board, then back up with apparent disbelief. Cullen shrugged, entirely and deservedly smug as he got to his feet.
"Enjoy your squawking. I'm sure the Orlesians will love it."
Cullen did a fair job avoiding the Inquisition's unfortunate guests up through the afternoon of the actual party. During the time in which all of the nobles would be occupied, Cullen had organized some sparring practice with a few of the less experienced recruits to prepare them for hand to hand combat. He could make it go on as long as necessary to prove his absence worthwhile, and it wasn't as if anyone would try to drag him to the party while he was drenched in sweat.
When he started feeling a touch overheated from the exertion, he removed his shirt without thinking and was startled by a decidedly appreciative and lecherous whistle. Cullen also didn't have the presence of mind to entirely ignore it, mistakenly turning to look at the source.
A masked man gave him the smallest of waves from where he lounged in the shadow of the smithy.
Cullen was already red from his physical efforts, but swore he felt himself turn downright scarlet as he realized he recognized the design on the man's mask.
It was him. That fucking Comte who had fawned over him and remained obnoxiously at his side for nearly the entire damn masquerade. The man who had somehow thought it his right to pinch Cullen's bottom.
Turning back to the group of soldiers, Cullen tried to regain his footing and continue the lesson. He found he couldn't remember what he had been planning, especially not when he heard that dreadful voice chiming in the air.
"Commander, give your tired men a rest. Come, refresh yourself!"
Cullen saw more than one recruit appear hopeful and he used that as an excuse to carry on with the exercise once more. "Again!" he barked, setting his glare on the poor youth who groaned in response.
Cullen stood on the sidelines this time, wiping sweat from his brow and trying to ignore the man that kept calling out to him.
"Commander, come share in one of these charmingly rustic…ales, I think it is called?"
Maker's breath, Cullen wasn't sure how much longer he could ignore the man without causing an incident.
"Quite the marvel to watch, isn't he?"
Cullen's neck cracked painfully when he whirled about at the familiar voice. His jaw dropped with horrified astonishment when he saw that Dorian had joined the Comte in that offered drink. The mage held up his cup in a sort of salute when he saw Cullen gaping at him.
Whatever the Comte said in reply was too quiet to reach the sparring circle, but Dorian's smile broadened. "Oh, yes. Entirely understandable," the mage said just loudly enough for Cullen to catch. Cullen's stomach twisted, a wave of anxiety managing to chill him to the bone despite the sun and the sparring. Dorian said nothing to clarify what he was referring to, but the way he ran his tongue over his lower lip seemed telling enough.
Cullen turned away, trying and failing to regain his focus. He could feel the pair watching him — though why Dorian was encouraging the blighted noble….
But why weren't they both at the tea party?
It took one of his captains whispering a plea for their soldiers' sake for Cullen to finally relent. It was surely far too late to be expected to make an appearance, judging by the darkening sky. He cast some general, but earnest praise on his men as he went to grab his shirt again, only to find it gone.
And hanging over the arm of the Comte.
If Cullen strangled the man, Josephine would never forgive him. He wondered if that was enough to stop him from giving the man a sound thrashing should he proceed to violate him again.
Dorian's lips were curved in a smile, his eyes dancing merrily as Cullen approached them. Cullen held out a hand for his shirt.
Instead of handing it over, the noble took Cullen's hand and bowed his head, almost as if planting a kiss to the back of it. Cullen shuddered a little despite the noble's soft gloves and mask that spared him from a more personal touch, but said, "Thank you for holding onto that, but I'll need my clothing back now," before tugging his hand away. He knew his tone showed absolutely no gratitude, but surely he could not be expected to do more.
"Time to get cleaned up for tea, I believe?" Dorian suggested. "Thank goodness you're finally done with work today — I'll let our Ambassador know, shall I?"
Cullen's eyes widened, grabbing at Dorian's wrist without thinking. "Pardon?" Cullen breathed, desperately hoping he had misheard.
"We wouldn't want pleasure to interfere with your duties!" the Comte answered for Dorian. "I insisted, once Ser Pavus let me know your whereabouts. For which I am eminently grateful," he added in an undertone, dark eyes glinting as they clearly drank in Cullen's bared torso.
Cullen's eyes narrowed at Dorian, who looked positively delighted in the face of Cullen's ire. "You're too kind, my friend," Dorian told the Comte. "I only learned our Commander's plans from our fiery seneschal shortly before we met."
Fucking Leliana. Cullen had deliberately set up multiple exercises and sent contradicting missives to keep her from knowing exactly what he was doing until he was doing it. But even with her finding out, he didn't suspect that she would have the party postponed until it was nearly nightfall.
"I'm not — didn't — I—." Cullen tried to clear his throat. "My apologies, but I'm afraid I am unable to attend."
"We can wait for your bath," Dorian suggested lightly.
"Certainly! In fact," the Comte said as he finally handed back Cullen's shirt. "I was thinking a quick wash would be most refreshing. I'll join you."
Cullen could have dropped dead from the bolt of terror that declaration sent through him. He half-wished he did. "Dorian, did the Ambassador, perhaps, neglect to show our guests their private bath?"
The Comte waved the question away. "I am not so prude that I cannot use the commons. Lead on!"
Cullen's grip on Dorian's wrist must have been excruciatingly painful by this point, but the mage still smiled amiably when Cullen desperately met his gaze.
At first, Cullen feared Dorian did not understand his desperate need for rescue — or, perhaps, that he was gleaning perverse pleasure from that fact — but then Dorian's gaze softened a touch. Anything, Cullen pleaded silently. He would even go to the blasted tea party if he had to, but he would not bathe in this man's presence.
Then hope seemed to be stripped from him when Dorian deftly twisted his wrist from Cullen's grasp — only for bewilderment to overcome him instead when Dorian's fingers entwined with his own. Dorian tilted his head in a tiny nod as he squeezed Cullen's hand before he looked back to the Comte.
"Actually, I'm afraid it's Cullen who's a bit prudish," Dorian said with an apologetic smile. "Shocking for a Fereldan, I know," he added with a light laugh. "After that whole beautiful display rolling in the mud," he added under his breath, his free hand briefly brushing fondly over Cullen's admittedly dirty shoulder. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the tea party for more of his attentions."
With that, Dorian pulled Cullen by the hand, not toward the baths or Cullen's tower, but instead in the direction of the main keep.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the Comte, Cullen leaned over to hiss, "What are you doing? I do need a bath. Not to mention a change of clothes."
Dorian shook his head slightly to silence him before quietly requesting a nearby agent to fetch Cullen's formal uniform.
"My…Dorian, I'm not—."
Dorian rolled his eyes and harshly tugged Cullen toward the gardens, then up the stairs to where some of the Inner Circle had private quarters.
"Dorian —."
The feeling of magic trickling up his arm and around his spine was thoroughly alarming. More worrying was how easily Dorian shaped it to his will, managing to tug Cullen close before any templar instinct could put up a defense — and then the magic was gone, and Cullen found himself standing toe to toe with the mage pressed against the wall. Dorian's hand was still wrapped around his, but above his head as if Cullen had used it to pin him.
Cullen blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the rising urge to attack when he knew this was his friend while simultaneously working out what, precisely, Dorian had done.
A few scandalized whispers alerted Cullen to the fact that a group of those Orlesian guests were lingering in the nearby shadows. And they were whispering about — Maker, the words he caught were utterly indecent.
A cursed flush was already rising up his neck as Cullen realized their audience was shocked and intrigued because it appeared like the half-dressed Commander had suddenly pinned a member of the Inner Circle to the wall, so close he could taste that ale on Dorian's breath, as if to….
"I'll give you whatever you like, Commander," Dorian said in a whisper just loud enough to carry to their observers. "In private."
Cullen immediately stepped away, feeling almost faint from the rush of blood flooding his cheeks.
Despite the myriad of worries twisting at his gut, the most pertinent concern was getting out of sight — which was how he swiftly ended up in Dorian's room.
Dorian put some sort of spell over the door with a small wave of his hand, then turned to Cullen. "You really have to make everything as complicated as possible, don't you?" Dorian chastised, a hand on one hip as he glared. "Stubborn dog," he lamented before walking over to his private tub and starting to prepare a bath.
Cullen wasn't sure how to respond to that. He hardly thought he deserved the insult any more than the glare. "I…I didn't…?"
"Too late now. Word will spread that the Commander is cavorting with the Tevinter. Josephine has probably already swooned in shock."
"Dorian…."
"But considering the way that Comte was watching you, I suspect you won't mind that rumor reaching him, will you?" Dorian added as he heated the water with some more magic.
Cullen watched in silence until Dorian stepped back and motioned dramatically to the bath like some sort of stage performer.
"An Orlesian-free bath, as desired," he announced. His grey eyes slowly dragged Cullen over from head to foot. "Kaffas, you really took that muddy dog comment to heart, didn't you? Perhaps I should have been clearer — it wasn't a suggestion." Dorian stepped up to him and tugged the shirt away. "If you could remove your filthy clothing carefully, I would appreciate it. Don't want mud all over the carpets — unlike some."
Cullen gave a short nod, though he didn't make a move to undress.
Dorian carefully set the shirt on a chair before ambling over to his dresser and sifting through some small bottles. "Amber might suit you. Or sandalwood, but I used that today so we'd smell alike. I suppose we're causing enough scandal that it won't matter — do you have a preference?" he asked as he turned around, holding up two bottles of whatever in the world he was talking about. When Cullen didn't manage a reply, Dorian rolled his eyes. "Right. What does a dog care?" With that, Dorian selected one for Cullen and put some of the scented oil in the bath.
Cullen was still staring blankly, the increasing absurdity of the situation doing nothing to calm his nerves. He should probably thank Dorian for his rescue and for the bath. Yes, he should have said something like that already.
"Thank you, Dorian," Cullen managed. Dorian's aggravated expression softened somewhat as he smiled. Cullen carefully removed his boots, wincing as some dried mud flaked off and onto the carpet.
"Shall I leave you to it?" Dorian offered. "If anyone seems suspicious that I've left you alone here it can be explained away by your prudishness. Except any of the men who've seen you in the baths before, I suppose," Dorian mused. "That's a fair point. I should probably stay." His smile was a touch more teasing now. "You understand."
Cullen was blushing again, wasn't he? But Dorian was right after all, and it wasn't like Cullen usually cared who caught a glimpse in the bath. There wasn't much to look at anyway, save the old scars that sometimes caught the eye of new recruits. His men quickly learned to ignore those.
Before Cullen could figure out how to respond, Dorian chuckled and wandered over to his bookshelf, taking out a volume and settling down on the bed, laying on one side to face away from the bath.
Cullen slowly peeled off his trousers and smalls, anxiously watching Dorian out of the corner of his eye. It felt strange, despite his being used to the general lack of privacy afforded in the common baths. Something about being in Dorian's private quarters, and the only one stripping down, made him feel intensely vulnerable.
Dorian kept his focus on his book until Cullen had sunk into the surprisingly hot water of the bath. Dorian arched an eyebrow as he rolled over to face Cullen, leaving the book behind. "Is that Comte the reason you didn't want to go to the party?" Dorian asked.
Cullen knew Dorian couldn't see much of anything from his vantage point, but that didn't stop his heart from racing under his attention. "Yes," he answered shortly as he scrubbed the dirt from his legs.
Dorian nodded solemnly. "Yes, I'm not surprised. I knew you had admirers from Halamshiral but the things he said were…a little shocking, I admit."
Cullen flushed from head to foot while the possibilities of what might shock Dorian raced through his mind. "Ah. Yes. I…he's very forward."
"That's an understatement," Dorian muttered. "Look, it'll be a touch of hearsay for now: we can still deny it. I understand that this sort of deception might make you uncomfortable."
Dorian wasn't wrong. Cullen had not quite wrapped his mind around the idea, and did not really know how to feign such affection — in public, no less.
"I'll leave it up to you," Dorian continued. "At the party…we can keep up the ruse. I don't mind playing the role."
Cullen felt like he should decline, but that would require courage he didn't have. Rinsing some soap from his shoulder, he considered how it would be far easier for him to pretend to be in an intimate relationship with Dorian than to stave off that fucking Comte.
Especially as it seemed the bloody tea party was unavoidable.
"I…yes. I would be grateful."
Dorian grinned beautifully at that. "I shall aspire to be the perfect besotted paramour for our illustrious Commander." He rested his chin on his hand as he beamed at whatever naughty ideas were whirling about behind those sparkling eyes.
"Just enough to ward off the Comte," Cullen clarified, the words coming out somewhat shaky as he wondered exactly what Dorian thought he had permission to do to him.
"Oh, I wouldn't dare impugn your honor, Commander," Dorian dismissed, his tongue rolling sensually over the title in a way that made Cullen's heart skip a beat.
Cullen had the feeling he was going to live to regret this.
Cullen jumped when Dorian's fingers brushed over the back of his hand. "Shame to hide such strong fingers," Dorian mused, taking Cullen by the hand and examining the leather. "You do realize you ought not to wear them, yes?"
With a grimace, Cullen reclaimed his hand before tugging off the gloves. "You are unfortunately correct."
"Unfortunately?" Dorian parroted as they made their way to Josephine's office, where an elegant tea party should already be in full swing. "There's a lot I can do with a hand," Dorian said as he brought Cullen's hand up to his lips, pressing the lightest kiss to the back of it.
"Dorian," Cullen hissed with surprise, looking around for any observers.
Dorian softly groaned. "Commander, I might need to do more than that."
"You won't have to. The Comte will back off when he sees I'm taken," Cullen insisted, futilely fighting his rising flush.
"Or, more likely, he'll see it as a challenge."
"What?" Cullen gasped, tugging Dorian to a halt with the hand still holding onto him. "Then what's the point?"
Dorian fought the evident urge to roll his eyes. "At first. He'll seek to learn more about our relationship, probably press to see how serious it might be. With any of that, I suspect you might want to try honesty in order to avoid that particular expression of terror, among other things," Dorian said with a little motion to Cullen's face. "He'll certainly wonder why we didn't dance at the masquerade together. Easiest way to answer that is to make this more recent." Dorian hummed in thought while distractedly straightening Cullen's jacket. "Yes, that's it. We only discovered our mutual affections afterward, when Adamant briefly ripped us apart."
Cullen looked down toward his feet as the memory resurfaced. What an awful battle it was with so much death at every turn, all made worse when the news about the Inquisitor and her party passed along to him. It had been horrifying, gut-wrenching, when he found out that Dorian, along with Asaara and a few others, had fallen. Apparently they had been in the Fade, but he hadn't known that. Cullen, along with most everyone else, had believed them all dead.
The relief when Dorian stumbled out that rift had been overwhelming. That was a feeling to cling to, if Cullen wanted to make this seem real. He could handle that.
"You can embellish as desired, but I think that loathing from our first meeting, the slow shift to allies then chess partners, all that, makes for a story any Orlesian romantic would believe," Dorian continued, seeming to talk to himself more than Cullen. "I think we just might pull this off, Commander."
"You should probably call me Cullen, then."
Dorian's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. "One more thing," Dorian said. "If it comes to public displays of affection, do try not to smite me, all right? It felt damn close earlier."
"You used magic on me," Cullen muttered bitterly.
"Just…keep the templar-ness to a minimum, yes?"
Cullen scoffed, but knew Dorian was right. Blushing like a virgin was one thing, but acting like Dorian was a serpent he expected to bite at any moment was certain to convince no one.
"You can do this, Cullen," Dorian assured him quietly as he pushed open Josephine's door.
The next few minutes were entirely a blur. Josephine had leapt to her feet so hastily she knocked over her teacup when she saw who had arrived. Asaara had risen as well, though she didn't join the Ambassador and Spymaster in rushing over to him. The Comte was there too of course, and Cullen felt his eyes like daggers but refused to look at him — not that he really could manage the focus in the first place with how Josephine was happily thanking him for coming.
Finally Leliana guided the two over to the table, which was covered in a tablecloth Cullen would have sworn was inlaid with actual gold and covered with various plates of bite sized food. The hors d'oeuvres were so foreign to him he wasn't entirely sure what any of it actually was, aside from the almond cookies dusted with a hint of sugar.
Dorian was guided into a seat next to Josephine near the fireplace, while Leliana pulled Cullen —.
Oh, damn her.
The assigned seating put Cullen at Asaara's right hand, which seemed perfectly reasonable until the horrifying realization that the Comte was seated on Cullen's right.
"My friend! I'm delighted you were able to join us," the Comte purred, taking it upon himself to pour Cullen a cup of tea before he'd even found the courage to sit down. "Is that the same uniform as at the Palace? I suppose you don't have use for many such outfits — but I admit it is a favorite," he said, voice low as he leaned back in his chair a touch, his eyes noticeably going straight for Cullen's arse.
Cullen sat down as swiftly as possible after that.
There wasn't much of anything Dorian could do from across the table short of making some ridiculous and overbearing declaration of claim on Cullen. If rumors had reached the Comte already, they had done nothing to lessen his lecherous desire. Cullen kept finding his hand suddenly pinned under the Comte's, his feet further and further in Asaara's space as the man kept brushing boots against his feet and ankles, his posture awkward as he leaned away at the same time as the Comte leaned in to whisper conspiratorially into his ear.
Cullen accidentally kicked Asaara in his attempt to create some sort of distance between himself and the Comte. She jerked a little, a small splash of tea escaping her cup. Cullen tried to mouth an apology as subtly as possible as her foot curiously trailed up his boot. Her brow was knitted as she seemed bewildered to find his legs so far from where they would be expected, but then she glanced at the Comte.
Asaara nodded and got to her feet. Cullen wasn't sure what he had hoped she would do, but he felt a touch betrayed when the woman moved around the opposite side of the table. She leaned down next to Josephine and whispered something to her.
Josephine looked a little surprised, but Dorian grinned before he pushed his chair backward and rose to his feet. He bowed, all formal and gentlemanly, before pushing the chair back in for Asaara as she sat in his place. Asaara's cheeks were ever-so-slightly flushed as she met Cullen's eyes and gave him a little wink.
Two nugs, one stone, Cullen thought distractedly as he tried to maneuver his arm away from the Comte, who was practically leaning on top of Cullen with how purposefully he was invading Cullen's space.
"Don't try the ham," Dorian advised nonsensically as he sat beside Cullen in Asaara's vacated seat. "It's got some sort of smelly cheese wrapped in it that's sure to stay on your tongue for days." Dorian leaned closer, draping an arm over the back of Cullen's chair like it was entirely natural. "Those cookies are delicious, though. Josephine said they were a favorite?" Dorian held one up close to Cullen's lips. "I shouldn't be surprised. You do have good taste."
Dorian's eyebrows barely raised in a subtle hint; but no, Cullen couldn't eat the small dessert without taking Dorian's fingers into his mouth as well, and that idea was just — oh no, he was going red again.
Cullen quickly snatched the cookie from Dorian and ate it like a normal person, absentmindedly licking the dusting of sugar from his thumb before catching the Comte's entranced eyes watching him do it. He coughed a little as he wiped his fingers on the cloth napkin instead.
A hand shifted onto his right knee, squeezing lightly and it took all of Cullen's self-control not to intentionally crush the Comte's hand into the table.
"Ser Pavus, as a Tevinter, you must have some intriguing perspectives on the south," the Comte said as if his fingers weren't slowly edging further up Cullen's leg.
Dorian, blissfully unaware of the invading touch, busied himself with preparing another cup of tea. "I would say so. Was there something in particular you wanted to hear?"
The Comte hummed, his fingers way too far up Cullen's thigh and Cullen was now wishing he had jerked his knee into the table as instinct had prodded him. When he tried to regain some territory with a hand in his lap, the Comte took it as an invitation and tried to curl their fingers together.
"Templars. As a mage, especially, you must clash with them. Like your Commander."
Dorian paused for the briefest moment midway through mixing in a cube of sugar. "I have thoughts. Like little jewels. But clashing? Not in the manner you imply," Dorian said with an overly sweet smile. "However, I dare say experiences with my Commander leave me a tad biased." Dorian dropped an obvious wink at Cullen before making what was strangely like a giggle. "Did Cullen tell you about when we met?" The Comte must have made some indication to the negative before Dorian added, "Darling, tell him your first thought when you saw me."
Cullen couldn't help it. He gaped, the term of endearment echoing around his otherwise blank mind while panic climbed like ice up his back. Once he managed to process Dorian's suggestion, he was utterly baffled by the intent. He'd thought horrible things when he first saw Dorian, including some immediate fantasies about how he would bring the mage to heel and possibly kill him. It wasn't remotely like that now, but it remained a stain on his soul.
"No need to be embarrassed," Dorian said with a light laugh. "He thought about how he would crush this snake under his boot," Dorian told him. "What a wonderful night it was when he finally did," Dorian purred in Cullen's ear.
The Comte's grip tightened slightly around Cullen's trapped hand.
"I don't believe we had the pleasure of meeting at the Winter Palace, Ser Pavus."
As the two had clearly met in the time since, Cullen was momentarily confused by the statement. Then he realized what the Comte hadn't said: I was with him all night, and where were you? Cullen felt the tiniest bit calmer at the realization that Dorian had so accurately predicted where the man would push.
"He was rather busy helping to end the civil war," Cullen suggested quietly. It felt like he was defending Dorian from the man now, which was ridiculous. It also didn't really answer the implied question. "Why didn't you ask me to dance?" Cullen asked as he turned to Dorian, hoping the mage had a good explanation since Cullen clearly didn't have the imagination for this sort of thing.
Dorian stared back, grey eyes reflecting a surprising touch of panic. Cullen bit the inside of his lip, clamping down on his nerves. Dorian was clever, this was his idea, and surely he could think of a believable response. Dorian averted his eyes, swallowing hard before saying, "I'd been watching you turn down every aspiring partner all night." His eyes hesitantly lifted back to Cullen's face. "As long as I didn't ask, you hadn't rejected me."
Something about Dorian's gaze seemed to set Cullen's heart racing when it should have been getting back to normal. That sounded like an entirely possible and even romantic answer. And Cullen had been right to trust in Dorian's wiles; the reasoning, the delivery, the expression on his face — it all felt true.
"I would have said yes." The words came bizarrely naturally to him in a way lies generally did not. Cullen's stomach flipped when the corner of Dorian's mouth pulled into a shy grin. It was…too believable.
Which was, apparently, believable enough as the Comte disentangled his hand and retreated from Cullen's lap. "My apologies, Commander. I did not realize your affair was so…romantic," he said, still too close to Cullen as he whispered in his ear.
"My—." Cullen barely stopped himself in time, but the Comte seemed to glean some sort of question from it.
"I only heard on the journey here, but was incorrectly informed that it was just physical." He patted Cullen on the knee. "Although, if you would be interested in a ménage à trois…?" the Comte added hopefully.
Cullen didn't even know what that meant, but shook his head. "Uh…sorry."
The Comte waved off the apology. "Bah, sorry, nothing to be sorry for! I had fun in the pursuit but was never going to win the race. It happens."
Cullen could hardly believe it when the discussion turned downright normal. The Comte no longer touched him — much, anyway, as it seemed his shoulder was seen as fair game — and the man truly seemed intrigued by tales of Tevinter that Dorian was happy to embellish. At least, Cullen assumed the story about flying cows over the capital wasn't strictly true.
Cullen was relieved as the party went on without incident; that is, until the Comte proceeded to call for a toast. He said some flowery things about it being proof of character to keep living in adversity, not letting war define who they were, and other useless platitudes. Then he held up his cup in Cullen and Dorian's direction, saluting them with a wish of luck and stamina.
Asaara barely grabbed Josephine's cup in midair when the Ambassador dropped it, the Qunari grinning at the pair with some amusement. Leliana unhelpfully echoed the well wishes before taking a drink.
Cullen was never going to be pale again after this.
The remainder of the Orlesian visit was surprisingly uneventful. The Comte still tried to claim time with Cullen whenever the opportunity arose and would let his eyes linger, but even when Dorian wasn't around he respectfully kept his distance aside from small, indulging touches on the arm or elbow.
The most awkward series of events did not have anything to do with the Orlesians at all. Josephine, Asaara, Cassandra, and the Iron Bull all stole a private word with him in the following days.
Josephine started with an apology for forcing him to attend the tea party. As she explained, she had not realized just how aggressive the Comte would dare to be. Once Cullen assured her that he wasn't angry at her (not now, anyway), she brightened and inquired about when he and Dorian had "finally" gotten together. He awkwardly corrected her on the misconception, finding himself distracted during the conversation with curiosity about what she meant by finally.
Cullen was a little bewildered when he had to similarly explain to Asaara that he and Dorian were not an item after all. She eventually claimed to accept the truth of it, but her smile was more than a little mischievous.
Cassandra seemed concerned that Dorian might be using him and was relieved to learn it was a farce.
The Iron Bull, like Asaara, didn't appear to believe him but didn't push.
Without the threat of sexual assault lingering over him, Cullen willingly joined the others at dinner, freely walked the ramparts, and met up with Dorian in the garden for chess. Due to their audience, their interactions were unusual, but not uncomfortable. Dorian would sometimes put a hand on his lower back when they walked together, or take Cullen's hand and kiss the back in farewell, or linger at the periphery of conversations with the playful desire to steal Cullen away.
The rumors about them grew more shocking by the day, including everything from Dorian having Cullen in thrall to them already being secretly married. The Inner Circle (mostly) knew better, but it would be an awkward time when the two stopped pretending to be in love. Cullen had gotten so used to sharing long, meaningful stares and secret little smiles — though he supposed those weren't strictly romantic. It wasn't all that unusual for them.
When it came time for their guests to leave, Cullen voluntarily joined the Inner Circle in wishing them well on their journey. The Comte bowed low and kissed Cullen's hand, whispering an offer for if Cullen grew bored of his lover, and then they were all off.
Once all Orlesians were out of sight, Cullen and Dorian had to endure teasing jibes about their fake relationship, finally culminating in Dorian bowing absurdly low and asking if Cullen would give him the honor of a stroll. Cullen allowed Dorian to take him by the hand and lead him away from the laughter.
It wasn't until they'd managed to walk halfway around the castle and to the outside of his tower that Cullen realized he'd never let go.
Before he could attempt to pull away and apologize, Dorian gently removed Cullen's leather glove. He met Cullen's eyes fleetingly before tucking the glove under a belt at his waist, then lifted the hand closer to his face.
"It was a pleasure being your partner," Dorian said softly, hot breath brushing against Cullen's skin.
Cullen shivered, trying to work up the courage to say something similar in response and to thank Dorian for doing this for him.
Then Dorian bowed as if to kiss the back of Cullen's hand again, all posh and gentlemanly, before suddenly turning over Cullen's hand and instead pressing a warm kiss against Cullen's palm.
Cullen's heart was busy hammering in his throat as Dorian slowly pulled away, giving him a slightly lopsided smile. "Goodnight, Cullen." Dorian didn't linger, striding briskly toward the keep and almost looking back at Cullen over his shoulder.
Cullen stared down at his hand, his palm strangely tingly as if Dorian's lips had left some remnant of magic behind. Even without the lyrium he would have known it wasn't really magic.
It was rapidly getting colder, his bare fingers especially protesting until Cullen ducked into the relative warmth of his tower. He took off one glove, only to stare at his hand again, smiling to himself.
Dorian had taken the other. What a perfect excuse to go find him tomorrow.
