Note: Warning of cheesy incorporation of a favourite quote of mine that I feel sums up this whole shebang.
A great raucous echoed through Skyhold's vast hallways, revelry from the courtyard filtering in through the archways and windows, coming to meet with the roar of the fortresses' great dining hall. The Inquisition's victory over the attack of their home base had bolstered morale, the various people of station and service to the order celebrating the night away.
Cullen felt a small smile tug at his lips as the sounds permeated his ears, his one hand tugging at his glove in adjustment as he walked. He was making his way to the feast in the dining hall, his mind still reeling from the combined events of the previous day. While he could not deny feeling incredibly sated, the sudden escalation in intimacy with Isabeau's elations had a mixed effect on Cullen. It was past time he had accepted his feelings for the Inquisitor, but a part of him still urged to tread carefully, the possible complications of their desires regrettably gnawing at his overactive mind. A chiding voice that had been a part of Cullen longer than Isabeau stubbornly maintained its hold; he intended to do his best tonight to stifle it.
If he was being truthful, he was looking forward to seeing the lady in the dress he had surreptitiously arranged for her in her absence. At learning Isabeau was sorely lacking in the elegant garments, Cullen had enlisted Josephine's assistance and resources, the Antivan more than up to the task.
"A dress?"
"Yes."
Josephine chuckled softly as she set the ledger in her hand down upon her desk, "I... did not take you for the type, Ser Cullen."
His ears burned at the remark and Cullen anxiously cleared his throat, "Josephine..."
She waved his exasperation away, "Yes, yes. This is for Lady Trevelyan, no? I have seen the writing on the wall, you know? Amongst others... but I suppose I can keep your secret."
Cullen breathed a sigh in relief.
"For a price."
"I... have sufficient gold, if that's what you require."
Josephine shook her head to and fro, quirking a finely groomed eyebrow.
"I want troops. Agree to supply me one more platoon for the Hinterland routes, and I will find you a flying pig, if you so desire it."
"Deal," Cullen said, reaching to shake Montilyet's extended hand; Cullen not needing to let on he had already planned to allot extra men to commercial requirements. She nodded in assent and made for one of the great book cases in her solar. As her fingers glided along the backs of various tomes, she plucked a particularly wide one and returned to set it upon her desk.
"Let's do some shopping, Ser..." she trailed off as she looked up at him, her hand pulling the book open to reveal pages covered in illustrations of various gown designs. "Many of the most popular Orlesian designers are in here. If it is contained within this copy, I should have relatively little difficulty in arranging its delivery."
"Your procurement capabilities never cease to astound, Lady Montilyet," Cullen said appreciatively as he began to flick through the numerous pages. He swallowed deeply as he came across a particularly revealing dress, feeling his face warm as he imagined it on Isabeau, before promptly turning the page.
"I... will require measurements, Cullen."
He licked his finger and thumbed another page, "That won't be a problem, kindly speak to Leliana and she can provide."
Josephine simpered, "Was I the last to be let in on this grand scheme of yours?"
A shy chuckle escaped Cullen's lips, "I meant no offense, Josephine. Truthfully, half of me is about ready to bolt for your door and abandon this frivolity. But... Lady Isabeau, I think, is overdue for a show of appreciation for her tireless efforts."
"That and she's the only Hercinian noblewoman that I know of, whose wardrobe consists strictly of leather and various daggers."
"It... suits her occupation?"
A throaty laugh erupted from Josephine, "Well, your endeavour is well-timed. With the Inquisition's increasing presence in Orlais, our Inquisitor will be called to a ball sooner rather than later. Having the appropriate attire won't hurt."
Cullen was just about to vocally share in Isabeau's disdain for the affairs when suddenly, an idea came to him and he pulled away from the book. "Provided it exists in this catalogue, you can get it?"
"That is correct."
"Only Orlesian?"
Josephine tilted her head in contemplation as she slid the book towards her, flipping to the very back as she skimmed the index contained within.
"Unfortunately, if you're intent on a... Hercinian style, they have precious few designers and I do not think they're available to me."
Cullen smiled to himself as he shook his head.
"What about... Fereldish?"
The same smile still graced his features as reflected on the past event, turning down a corridor before pausing to check himself in a looking glass upon the wall. He had chosen his finest dress armor for the evening's jubilations; his pauldrons and cape were still lined with fur, but instead of bear it was of soft ermine. He still wore his usual burgundy sweater vest but a silken blue tunic beneath replaced the usual red linen. A less imposing, smaller gorget sat underneath the vest upon his collar; the metal engraved with a pair of rampant lions. Cullen reached and attempted to smooth his hair, frowning at his preening before he approached the open doors of the dining hall.
At his entrance, a roar of cheering exploded around him, Cullen dipping his head in thanks; likewise feeling a sense of pride for the various men and women seated amongst the rows of tables. He strode down the middle, noting a great space had been left open where people now danced, a troupe of bards filling the expansive hall with singing and music. Sitting at the main table at the head of the hall was Isabeau and her various advisors, companions and diplomats. He noted Bann Teagan's presence as the older man leaned to talk into Isabeau's ear beside him, the Inquisitor smiling at him before turning to find Cullen.
His breath caught as she stood. The cotehardie from their first night of rebellion together had been simple and beautiful in its own right, but what she wore now had Cullen poignantly recalling his own Fereldish ancestry. Her ashen hair was down for once, its wavy tresses tamed and held from her face by a delicate silver diadem carved with vines and leaves. Fine, sable fur lined the gown's long sleeves, its collar sinking down low upon Isabeau's chest, exposing the swell of her breasts. Its colour was a rich, Brecilian green; the bodice criss-crossed with dark brown leather laces framed with more fur. Carved medallions of silver hung about her hips and led the eye down to the fur-trimmed trail that followed behind her steps. A delicate chain of silver hung around her neck, a multifaceted ruby glinting in the light of the hall where it sat atop her breasts.
When she paused before him, he went to one knee and kissed her hand, rising to her onslaught of chuckles over his chivalry. He smiled warmly at her as they hooked their arms together and made their way for the table, Cullen tilting his head down to her ear as they sat before the various dishes of food before them.
"You are beautiful."
Isabeau took a sip from her goblet, "My Knight is kind to say so... and apparently has great taste when it comes to gowns."
Cullen felt his chest tighten in pride, a heat coming to his cheeks. "I am glad."
They smiled contentedly at each other before digging in to the food before them, Cullen finding the honeyed ham particularly tasty. He was on a second helping of it when Isabeau had risen from her seat at his side, watching as she skipped to the dance floor, her skirts held up in her hands. She and Sera spun and leapt about, Isabeau's gown billowing out magnificently around her with each turn of her arm, only stopping to drink from a tankard or goblet. Cullen laughed with the rest as Sera took the opportunity to dash under the billowing skirts, Isabeau crying out in mock indignation. Soon Dorian, Bull and Varric joined the pair, all five placing arms about each other to sway back and forth as they sung the words in unison with the bard's song. Varric didn't seem to mind being lifted into the air by Bull, Isabeau teasingly pointing and laughing as the dwarf's feet dangled to the tune.
"She is a force, that one."
Turning his head, Cullen smiled his welcome as Leliana came to sit beside him, "Yes, she is..."
"It is good to see her relax, the weight of the world is upon that one's shoulders," Leliana said softly, her hand plucking pieces of baked apple pie to her mouth. Cullen hummed his agreement and turned to watch again just as Isabeau and Dorian leapt upon a table, their feet moving in a flurry of outlandish dance steps as the men and women around them clapped.
"You must be good to her, Cullen."
"I beg your pardon?"
When he turned to face Leliana he saw she was already striding from the table, making her way through the crowd and out one of the halls many side doors. Chewing at his lip, Cullen chose to disregard Leliana's customarily cryptic behaviour. Isabeau having vacated the table top, Dorian now joined by a rather handsome young soldier, she made her way back to where Cullen remained seated. She panted slightly, her chest red from her excitements, as she threw herself back into her chair.
"Maker, but it's a sin what that man can do with his feet."
Cullen chuckled, "You seemed to keep up."
"I looked bloody mad, thank the Maker nearly everyone in here is pissed out of their minds," She near inhaled the piece of roast auroch she had cut from the trencher in front of her, chewing quickly before washing it down with wine. "They've earned it, though. I meant what I said, Cullen; I'm so used to having a small party at my back. Your efficiency today was much appreciated."
"If we had the numbers, I would see you face every battle the same way."
Isabeau enthusiastically knocked back her goblet, a dribble of wine spilling down her chin. Cullen reached and gently wiped it away, warmed by her exuberance, as she went heartily back to her food. She swallowed down a rather large portion of potatoes.
"In time. On a somewhat heavier note; I had my meeting with Solas."
Eyebrows perked questioningly, Cullen finished his sip of wine.
"And?"
"I'm afraid patience is the virtue he preached. I didn't exactly come away from it with answers, if that's what you were hoping," she replied almost miserably, her shoulders slumping.
Cullen frowned, "He doesn't know what it is?"
"Oh, he thinks he knows the source. I just don't fit in his comfortably established equations and it's burning his ass, I think," Isabeau said thoughtfully, tugging at the piece of beard in her hand with her teeth.
"Then... he doesn't think it's the same thing?"
"I think he's just not very concerned. He's never truly saw my mark as a bad thing, has he? If it's not exposure to red lyrium, it is Fade related, so I'm sure he'll figure it out. For now, I'm to revel in my super powers," She danced her hands at the words, stopping to smile stupidly at Cullen. "If he's not worried; I'm not worried... and you're definitely not allowed to worry."
"Yes, my lady," he said with exaggerated obedience, smiling as she went to playfully smack his arm. The bards started to play an even livelier song then, the great floor before their table crowded with people.
"Good. Now, come have a dance with me."
When he hesitated, she put her hands on her hips, "Oh no, you don't get to drag me to a tavern for a dance to sappy love songs and deny me now."
Shit.
"I curse my pitiful lack of foresight," he quipped as he bolstered his resolve and stood, taking her arm in his. Cullen sent a silent prayer to the Maker as he threw himself into the dance, amazed he even recalled most of the steps; though he stumbled occasionally. Isabeau's feet were agile and quick however, and the hall was so crowded with other dancers, Cullen felt himself relax and laugh in their revelry.
There was a tap at his shoulder and he turned to find Solas, the elf gracefully bowing before taking Isabeau into his arms. Cullen stepped back and clapped with the others as the crowd surrounded the pair in a Circle. Solas moved with incredible ability, blurring from the tempo he dominated the dance with. Cullen assumed it was Elvhen as he took in the other stunned faces around him, amazed Isabeau was able to mimic and keep pace. As the fiddle seemed to lock on a building rhythm, Solas spun Isabeau over and over; Isabeau sent reeling towards Cullen as Solas released suddenly at the breaking of the chorus. Cullen caught her in his arms, her own hooking around his neck before they nearly toppled over with laughter and panting.
A hand went to Isabeau's stomach as she caught her breath, "Ohh, friends... I confess it may be my bed time." Her hand went to her forehead and rubbed it, Cullen noting her unfocused eyes, her cheeks stained red.
Maker's breath, but she is drunk.
Josephine moved to help Isabeau when Cullen kindly waved her away, "I will handle it, Josephine."
"Oh he'll handle it alright," Isabeau slurred suddenly, Cullen reddening deeply as he noted Varric looked downright disappointed the words had not been his. As the others chuckled, Cullen cleared his throat and adjusted his support of Isabeau, the others giving way as he and the inebriated Inquisitor made their way out of the hall and to her quarters. Isabeau burst out laughing when they stumbled at one point, slurring apologies as Cullen patiently readjusted her.
Once in her bedchambers, he assisted in undressing her, Isabeau's silliness now muted as he tugged at the laces of her bodice. She pet at the ermine on his shoulders as he pulled the gown down from her shoulders and arms, the garment pooling at their feet. Cullen guided Isabeau to the mattress before turning to pick up the crumpled gown, laying it gently across an armchair's back. When he turned, he found Isabeau was already curled up atop the coverlets with her eyes closed.
With a gentle smile tugging at his lips, he reached and gently plucked the diadem from about her forehead, placing it on the stand nearby. His fingers returned to brush waves of her tresses from her face while his other hand carefully began to shimmy the sheets and coverlet from beneath her. As he managed to free them from her weight and place them over her, he made to leave, a moan from Isabeau giving him pause.
"Stay, Cullen. Please?"
"As you wish," he whispered, beginning to work at his own attire. Once the last of his clothes joined Isabeau's on the armchair, he crawled in with her, his arm coming to wrap around her as he spooned her. He buried his face into the softness of her hair, enjoying her scent as she laid into his embrace.
A soft sigh escaped Isabeau's lips, "Do... you ever feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"A moment of panic over this? Over us?"
Cullen chewed on her question, trying to slow his heart as it began to pound in his chest, "May I be frank with the lady?"
Isabeau groaned, "Stop calling me that... and yes, frank away."
"Occasionally... yes, I feel a sense of trepidation. I worry at our stations, I worry at our responsibilities and I worry what compromising those could mean for the Inquisition," He paused as he felt her stiffen at the words, gently repositioning himself and rolling her over to face him. At the sight of her pained features, Cullen came to realize it was likely Isabeau held just as many anxieties he did, if not more.
"Then why?" she whispered, entwining her fingers in his.
He searched her eyes as he carefully considered his next words, "Pride... first told me it was impossible. Experience then called it... risky. Worse of all, reason made it seem pointless," he pulled their connected hands to his mouth, brushing her knuckles with his lips before kissing them. "My heart though... whispered 'give it a try'."
Tears streamed down Isabeau's face as she buried herself into his chest, Cullen squeezing her tightly as they lay in the silence and her muffled sniffling. When she raised her head again, she tilted her neck to kiss him softly, a fond smile upon her lips.
"Just so."