A/N: I forgot to mention, this fic is named after the song by Florence + the Machine song of the same name - the song is pretty fitting, and it just happens to fit with a lot of the themes here…and I've listened to it a thousand times without getting bored of it, so :)

Cullen stared dispassionately out of the window of the sleek black car that had picked Josephine and himself up from the airport in Starkhaven. When he'd agreed to this farce, he'd hoped that he'd have a good few months to steel himself for what lay ahead - maybe to grow an unappealing beard, or get a terrible haircut. Anything to put the woman off. Alas, only two weeks had passed since his agreement, and here he sat. Either Josephine and Leliana had already put the wheel in motion before consulting him, or they moved with unearthly efficiency.

While, deep down, he knew it would be the latter, his unhappiness at the situation at hand did dwell on the possibility of the former more than he would like. And more than what was good for him. He'd given his word that he'd give this whole charade his real best effort, and so he knew he'd need to stop scowling when they arrived, but that was easier said than done.

Their invitation had been to the Royal Family's Starkhaven base of operations - Corin Castle, named for the hero of the Second Blight. It was the flashiest of their residences, which was saying rather a lot, which Josephine seemed to take as a very good sign. Mostly, Cullen just felt sick. He was having a very difficult time working out exactly what the best outcome would be. Either she would be ghastly and he'd have to spend a good chunk of the foreseeable future trying to appeal to such a woman, or she'd be as lovely as the press would have everybody believe, and he'd become the biggest bastard in all of Thedas for what he was about to do.

The latter was the least likely, he thought, and the most likely would be that she'd be perfectly average, and he'd still feel bad for whatever personality he'd have to construct to appeal to her. If he could at all. A bit of thinking about it brought him to the conclusion that if she was terrible, it would be worse in the short run but a good thing long term. He'd have more of a chance at squaring himself with what he was doing that way. If she was decent? Well, if she was decent the day to day wouldn't be quite so tedious, but he knew it would plague him long after his duty was seen through - all the more depending on how successful he was. There would truly be no winning here, only succeeding. It was rare for Cullen to go into any situation already half-hoping for failure.

A Crown-appointed driver sat in the front of the Rolls-Royce, and Cullen knew the man's presence was the only thing preventing Josephine from raking over rules, ruses, and ploys just one last time for her own peace of mind. Cullen knew it all already - he would hardly go into a situation like this unprepared just because he found it all distasteful. The best thing to do in situations such as these was to remain as close to the truth as possible.

So, as far as anybody else was concerned, he was bringing Josephine with him as a crutch as far as all of the formalities and archaic, absurd rules of the court went. True. She was his friend - debatable at the moment, but typically also true - and they'd met when her family made an impressive, sizable donation to One Day Soon. That one was half true. It wasn't how they'd met, but the donation was real, and perfectly easy to find should anybody see fit to go looking for it.

It was the truest part of the story that he liked least, all in all. He was a man grown, and to bring along a security blanket in the form of a friend who might teach him how to behave was more than slightly embarrassing - especially if he was meant to put on some sort of suave show. It's endearing, Leliana had reassured him, but he wasn't so sure. Endearing was for children mispronouncing big words and puppies that looked chided after destroying a pair of expensive shoes. It wasn't for grown men, and it didn't seem conducive to seduction. Maker's breath, even thinking that word made him cringe down to the bone. But he supposed Leliana was more of an expert on these things than he was, and so he'd have to trust her judgement.

"Now remember," Josephine said - apparently having come to a point in her list that she could actually voice "When you first meet her, it's Your Royal Highness, after which it's-"

"Ma'am as in ham, not ma'am as in palm," he interrupted dully.

"You remembered," she said happily, and he tried his best not to feel patronised.

She'd made it more or less impossible to forget, unless he were especially stupid or forgetful - to an extent that would've made him unfit for his job. All of his jobs. Especially this newest one.

"And Princess Evelyn is used to talking to all kinds of people - most of whom are often tongue-tied, and so if you find yourself nervous I'm sure she'll be able to put you at ease in no ti-"

"I'm not nervous, Josephine."

That was perhaps the biggest lie of his cover story.

"And when you are speaking with her, it would be best if you don't interrupt her like you just have with me. Twice."

Cullen sighed, shifting where he sat - mostly to buy a bit of time so that he could rein in his temper. He'd agreed to do this. That was a simple fact, even if it made everything complicated. His agreement, disdainful though it had been, meant he could no longer grumble about it. What was the point? There had been an opportunity to say no, and he had not done so. Going about what he had to do now, griping all the while, was the coward's way out. The way of doing the morally corrupt thing while trying to shirk off any sense of guilt, as though the whole thing was being done at knifepoint. If he was going to do it, he had to do it properly. That meant no whining.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, and then added for the benefit of the driver "Maybe I am nervous. A lot rides on this meeting."

"Nerves are natural," Josephine nodded "But it's for a good cause."

And there went his stomach for double-speak.

The cars rolled smoothly through a giant, elaborately carved white marble archway and then they were on the grounds of the castle. Cullen's first thought as he looked up at the great, blindingly white structure, was that it was absurd for one family to own such a place. He'd seen it before on television, of course - more often as of late, given that he now had to actually take an interest - but there was no appreciating the sheer scale of the place without seeing it in person. It was mountainous, but devoid of the same magnificent wildness that actual mountains held - everything too symmetrical, too meticulous, too uniform even in its extravagance to have any soul in it.

"Why aren't we stopping?" he questioned.

"Oh, we won't be using the front door."

"Is that…good? Bad?"

His first immediate thought was that it was some kind of insult - they weren't important enough to warrant the front entrance, something of the sort - but he knew that couldn't be right before the thought had fully formed itself into coherency. This was royalty he was dealing with, not a tittering member of the upper-middle classes who had to devise whatever petty slight they could in order to feel powerful. They had no reason to insult him, not given that they wished to work for him, and royals could scarcely afford a scandal given how they relied on public opinion.

"The front door is merely decorative, Cullen. Even the King and Queen themselves use the back entrance.

"Andraste preserve us."

That earned him a warning glare from Josephine, but he met the eye of the driver in the rear-view mirror and Cullen had seen enough soldiers disguise their amusement to know it when he saw it in the man's face before it fell carefully blank again.

They were met at the door - the one at the other end of the absurdly large castle - by a redheaded woman who rattled off all of the same rules Josephine had drilled into him, although with a rehearsed speed and efficiency that told Cullen all he needed to know about how many times she'd done this before. He listened to it all as she led them at a brisk pace up an elaborate curved staircase that gleamed a brilliant white beneath their shoes.

"I'm bringing you to Her Royal Highness, the Princess Evelyn's drawing room. She will join you presently, and after introductions you will all enter the dining room together, joining your company's associates for lunch. You are to refer to the Princess as Her Royal Highness when greeting here, and ma'am thereafter. When she enters, you may wish to bow - if so, do so from the neck - Lady Montilyet, you may give a small curtsey if you wish. When Princess Evelyn approaches, wait until she offers you her hand before extending your own to shake it. When you move to the dining room, wait until she is seated before you do so, and do not eat until she begins. Do you have any questions?"

Was it too late to turn heel and leave?

"No," Josephine answered for the both of them "Thank you, Ms Vallen."

"Good. Please, take a seat. I will return with the Princess presently."

She strode from the room, and Cullen waited a few moments before muttering to Josephine.

"That was not a comfort."

"Employees of the Crown are always much more concerned with the rules and the protocol than the royals themselves. Well, in most cases, at least. But the ones who are really concerned with it tend to be the more minor royals, and Princess Evelyn is not known for being a stickler insofar as the rules are concerned. So long as you're respectful, she won't mind if your bow is rusty. Although I might."

Nobody could say Lady Montilyet was not self aware. But the admission was comforting on one score, at least, for her was certain his bow was very rusty. It felt ridiculous - like an overdramatic nod. Cullen found himself thanking the Maker that he didn't have to curtsey, though, for that seemed infinitely easier to cock up in some way or another.

The arrival of Princess Evelyn was heralded by the sound of Aveline's voice in the hallway - speaking in intent, serious tones that were all business. A softer, warmer voice replied but the words were lost, too muffled by the door and the thudding footsteps against the fine Antivan rugs that lined the stone floors. When they heard the voices reach the door, Josephine and Cullen simultaneously rose to their feet.

He was stricken then by a painstaking awareness of his entire body - how he stood, the way he was holding his arms, the expression on his face. In the end, as the door began to open, he defaulted quickly to what his time as a soldier taught him, standing with his shoulders squared and one hand clasping the other at the small of his back. The last thought that flitted through his mind was that he dearly hoped his dread could be disguised as plain old everyday nerves, and then the door swung all of the way open and Princess Evelyn strode into the room.

The first thing Cullen noticed were her shoes - shiny nude-coloured heels with pointed toes that looked utterly excruciating to walk in. Then - mercifully quickly - he realised that staring at her feet like some sort of creepy fetishist was not the best first impression to make, and so his eyes moved up, past the finely tailored blindingly white day dress, until he finally met the warm brown gaze of the Marches' princess. As she hit him with a dazzling smile, Cullen realised with a vague sense of horror that he was utterly tongue-tied. But she was beautiful.

Trying to forcibly snap himself out of it, he unclasped his hands from behind his back and stuck one out, realising too late that it was exactly what he'd been told not to do. Well, it was too late now.

"Your Royal Highness," he greeted the moment he found his voice, bowing at the neck for a moment.

At least he'd gotten that part right. To his own eye, anyway - and if he'd gotten some small finicky part wrong, she did not show it, her smile not faltering as she accepted his hand and shook it firmly.

"Mr Rutherford, it's so nice to meet you," she said, squeezing his hand before she let go and he allowed his to drop to his side "I'm Evelyn - oh, and this is Nug."

Nug was a chocolate coloured spaniel that ran in just behind her. Cullen smiled down at the dog, a genuine smile too, and struggled not to laugh at the fact that the princess had seen a need to introduce herself. Royalist or antiroyalist, anybody who could walk into this castle without knowing who she was would be a special kind of ignorant.

"I'm happy to be here, ma'am - and grateful for your interest in my organisation."

"I'm grateful for your organisation, but we'll get to that in a moment," she replied, inclining her head and smiling again at him before she turned to Josephine "Josephine! It's so good to see you again - I was thrilled to learn you'd be accompanying Mr Rutherford."

"Your Royal Highness," Josephine dipped into a seamless curtsey "I'm honoured you remember me, ma'am. You're looking very well."

"Thank you - I'll tell you all of my secrets as far as that goes over lunch," she joked, shaking Josephine's hand too.

"You'll be seated beside Mr Rutherford, ma'am," Aveline reminded her from the doorway.

"Oh of course, silly me. Well, I'll tell you all of my secrets, then," she gave a conspiratorial arch of her eyebrows as she turned back to him "And maybe you'll be good enough to pass them on."

Cullen didn't know what to say in response to that other than to smile and pretend not to feel awkward. He hadn't expected her to be like…this. All right, he hardly thought she'd flounce into the room, spit on his shoes and call his mother a bitch, but he was still taken aback at how normal she was. How nice. How dazzling.

"All right, shall we go through? Josephine, you'll be seated beside Evander, he's the visionary behind any events we throw. Of course, depending on what route we take - if any - we would work entirely with you and whomever you have to throw your own fundraisers, we're here to help, not to steamroll."

With a gesture from the princess, Nug ran through the door at the other end of the room while Princess Evelyn turned and began to lead them into the hallway and through the corridors. Cullen matched her stride, while Josephine fell behind with Aveline.

"I…appreciate that," Cullen said, and then added belatedly "Ma'am. The not-steamrolling. Although fundraisers are outside of my realm of knowledge, I won't pretend otherwise. So far we've relied on word of mouth, and driven resources towards those who might need our help rather than those who might fund that help."

He was already becoming more comfortable - this topic was one he knew well, and one he could talk about without feeling like he was adrift with neither an oar nor a compass. If he was to keep the overarching mission in mind, something he would have to do constantly, then this was where he could prove he wasn't some stammering idiot who had no idea what to say or how to act.

The princess considered his words, loose chestnut curls bouncing along with her nods as she listened to him.

"Well that's hardly a bad place for your priorities to lie, is it?" she replied "We can see to it that you get as much or as little help as you desire with the other parts. But don't be afraid to tell us no - any decisions we make will require your stamp of approval before we go ahead with it. If anything we suggest is absolutely ghastly, speak up about it, tell us so, and we'll see what we can do about making it non-ghastly."

"What are your plans, if I might ask?"

He didn't tag the ma'am onto the end of the question, but only because he had no idea how much he had to say it. Was it to be added on to every sentence? Just every so often? The absence didn't spark any sort of fury, although he could have sworn he felt Josephine's eyes burning into the back of his head..

"We've none, yet. Not set in stone. We wouldn't like to make any of those without consulting you first. We do have a blueprint of sorts - the way these things typically go, that we can use as a frame of reference if you'd like - but each charity is different, and each has different needs. It's not a one size fits all kind of business, so treating it as such would only do it a disservice - along with those we wish to help by extension."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," he confessed honestly "And, er, what will the extent of your involvement be, ma'am?"

She smiled "I hope to be as involved as circumstances allow - I understand any scepticism, but I can promise you that I am interested. This isn't some glorified PR stunt for me, and I plan to personally handle whatever matters I can when it comes to helping. You'll be quite sick of the sight of me before this is through."

A quick glance backwards confirmed to him that Aveline was quite occupied chatting with Josephine - likely deliberate on the Antivan's part - and he turned back, forcing out the words before he could talk himself out of it.

"Oh, I'm not sure that's possible," he said, and then tagged on a "Ma'am."

It sounded at least somewhat smooth even to his own ears, past how he cringed at himself and how he could already feel his cheeks turning pink. Had that been too much? Too forward? Sleazy, even? Maker forbid creepy?

His fears were abated when she responded with a low laugh and a shake of her head, as though he was teasing her. It just seemed prudent to put a hint of a suggestion in early - to plant a seed that this mightn't be solely a business relationship before he was firmly locked into that category and it was all too late. He wouldn't hammer it home, he'd be nothing but friendly for the rest of the lunch, but it seemed a good start.

And, lecherous as it felt to think it, flirting with her wasn't exactly difficult. Not any more difficult than these matters tended to be for Cullen, anyway, who had never had things such as these come naturally to him. She was beautiful - more beautiful in person even in the endless photographs of her that the press liked to roll out. He'd never considered himself the sort to be taken in by such things, but he found himself keeping a steely control of when he looked at her and for how long so that he would not find himself staring like a fool. Thankfully, the walls were jam-packed with all manner of portraits that he could pretend to find interesting instead.

Worse still, it was beginning to appear that she was perfectly nice. Warm, even. Which only made her more beautiful still. Of course, he wasn't a fool. He'd lived long enough to know that anybody could uphold a ruse for the few minutes they'd been in one another's company, and somebody in her position would be well practised in doing so for much longer amounts of time if the occasion called. Maybe it was an act. Hopefully it was an act - at least to some extent. Then he might get out of this without feeling like the biggest bastard in Thedas.

A/N: Writing Cullen trying to act naturally and all my brain is throwing at me is that IT Crowd meme - "Look normal. Look more normal, more normal."

I love the aspect of Cullen's character in Inquisition where he's a wee bit shy and awkward and bashful at first - adorably - but the more certain he is that it's reciprocated, the more confident he gets - swoonily. Of course, the first bit would make this mission of his an absolute nightmare, so I feel like I owe him an apology lolol.

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