A/N: Cullen braids Finley's hair. Fluff.
...-...
"I feel like you're doing it wrong," Finley muttered, sitting up a little bit straighter. The movement made Cullen's fingers slide through her hair, and that sent a tingling sensation down her spine and all through her.
With a sigh, he leaned to the side so that he could catch her eye. "I grew up with two sisters. I know how to braid hair."
"Two sisters you admit you haven't seen in twenty years." Finley argued, turning a little, though he caught her around the waist and pulled her back to him. "So unless you've just recently taken to keeping your hair short enough that it can't be braided, I have my doubts."
Cullen took in a deep through his nose, and then pulled her closer again, pushing her hair to one side and lightly nipping her neck. Before Finley realized it, she'd leaned back against him, head resting on his shoulder as he pressed kissed against her throat and jaw. "You know, if you doubt me so much, we could send for those ladies who were supposed to help you with this."
Rather than answer, Finley simply groaned and curled closer to him. He was patient, waiting until she'd resigned herself that someone was going to be doing her hair, because apparently her methods were unacceptable—and Josephine was having people work with her now so that she could 'break her habit' of picking at her hair when she was nervous before having to go in front of the Orlesian court.
For one of the few times in her life, she had a minimal number of tangles in her hair, mostly because she'd been tricked into sitting down and having it brushed this morning. When she'd attempted to insist that she could do it herself, somehow the conversation had turned to how adorable she was when she was with Cullen, and then how adorable Cullen was in general—she couldn't really argue there, especially when she thought of him flustered—and then before she'd known it, Josephine was telling the ladies assisting them not to let Finley run because she had a meeting with a Denerim ambassador, and they'd already gotten through a third of her hair.
While she understood that Halamshiral required formal attire and looking 'pristine', she didn't see what the big deal was. She'd gotten prettied up for Denerim and they hadn't made such a big deal of it. And that was for both a king and a queen, not just one empress.
She seemed to be the only one who thought numbers mattered in this, however.
Cullen's fingers brushed against her scalp as he continued, so slowly, with the braid he was working into her hair. Something called an Orlesian braid, that started up higher on the head than the braids Finley usually did from the nape of her neck.
"How does a Ferelden even know an Orlesian braid, anyway?" She found herself picking at her shirt, as her hair was off limits. "Seems like treason to me."
His hands slid out of her hair. "Do you want me to stop?"
While she wouldn't admit it to most, she actually did like it when Cullen played with her hair. And the more she teased him, the longer he took. He likely did have other things to do, though, and it was selfish to waste his time like this. The fact that he'd taken any time for her should have been enough.
"No…" she mumbled, finally glancing back at him.
Reaching forward, he cupped a hand against her cheek and kissed her, long and slow. When he finally pulled away, he couldn't help a grin. "Then stop fussing, and let me braid your hair."