A/N: So when I was sorting out exactly what it is I want to do with this story, I more or less concluded that it could eventually follow the events of the game - obviously with a few changes. Which means she's gonna be looooong if we go down that route, because those events are a long way off yet, and the game isn't exactly small or short. Hope we're all up for that! Considering my update rate at the moment, we'll be here til 2040 if that happens. But hey, I'm having fun.

I'm also very excited for the next few chapters!

It was decided among their team that Josephine and Cassandra would attend the gala with him. Josephine because she had come with him to that very first luncheon and she would be able to successfully rub shoulders with the other guests to potentially find out any prudent information. Cassandra's attendance was for similar reasons - her history with the Seekers made this a worthy cause, her ancestry made her a good guest, and the extra set of eyes and knowledge she offered meant she might pick up on something that neither he nor Josephine would insofar as the Dreadwolf's interest in the Trevelyans was concerned.

It was likely also supposed to be a sign of support, but Cullen felt he'd dread it less if he was the only one going.

Thankfully, he would not be their only focus. No, they would spend the night doing what they could in trying to figure out why exactly the Dreadwolf was so interested in what was going on here - because the Maker knew Cullen had hardly figured it out yet himself. Not unless whoever was behind the pseudonym had a thing for pretty brunettes.

Of course, Cassandra being Cassandra, she had to be convinced that her attendance was truly necessary. Leliana was too known for her roguery to come along, leaving her as the one disgruntled party of Inquisition's senior-most members who would not be part of his party.

Cullen was relieved by that small mercy (for Leliana narrowly outdid Josephine as far as well-meaning advice on his mission was concerned) for approximately five minutes before it was elected that they'd all use his apartment to get ready and brief themselves on the night ahead. That was how he found himself side-by-side with Cassandra, in his bathroom, sharing a mirror as he carefully schooled his hair into obedience.

"I don't wish to overstep," Cassandra said slowly as she busied herself with her own hair - and with the utmost reluctance "But if I may be so bold as to offer a piece of advice."

"Given that it's not a real…" he trailed off, having almost used the word relationship, which he wasn't comfortable with at all "...attachment, I'm not sure it's really overstepping if you decide to pass comment on it."

If it was overstepping, he'd be due a very long and tedious discussion with Leliana and Josephine concerning all of the back-seat driving they were doing on the matter.

"Good. Then I will say what I need to. With respect, Cullen, you are not young."

"Oh? I appreciate those warm words of encouragement."

While he hardly thought of himself as some green recruit, it hadn't much occurred to him to start checking for grey hairs quite yet, either. Although Andraste knew he'd earned them.

"Not that- ugh. You are not a teenager," she clarified.

"Thank the Maker for that," Cullen muttered.

"Nor are you immature. And while the princess may be a handful of years younger than you, I've seen no traces of immaturity in my own, admittedly meagre, dealings with her, nor from any accounts of her behaviour. Indeed, she seems rather collected for one in her position."

She was - in Cullen's own opinion. That and more, frankly, from what he'd seen. But he didn't voice that, and nor did even feel any temptation to begin listing Princess Evelyn's finer qualities, for he didn't want to be misunderstood in seeing them.

"You are both past the age where you fall under the misguided notion that all break-ups must be sour - that there must be animosity there. Her ability to do business with King Alistair shows that on her behalf. Sometimes things simply do not work, but that does not mean there can be no positive takeaways from what was."

The temptation to make some sort of dry comment about the Seeker's sudden desire to talk like a romantic was certainly there, but it was something Cullen quashed. He would have been speaking from his own discomfort - which, judging by Cassandra's scowl as she spoke, was not half so great as hers. She meant well…and the advice she was trying to give wasn't half so infuriating as that which he was getting from every other angle.

"We are alike in the regard that we have little time for the cloak and dagger. Subterfuge in battle, against a real enemy, is one thing, but this…" she paused, and then she sighed "Doing distasteful things for the greater good has always been Leliana's burden to bear, and one she bears with more grace than I, at least, ever might. But this does not have to be terrible. There is no reason why you cannot be a force for good in the princess' life now, and then once we've discovered why it is that the Dreadwolf is interested in her, you can end things amicably. Perhaps even remaining friends, if you so wish. You've said yourself, you do not dislike her. Feelings may be hurt, that is a strong likelihood, but it does not have to be all heartbreak and betrayal. One day you might even be able to look back on one another fondly."

"So I must be dazzling enough to entice her to fall for me, but not so charming that she wants me around on a permanent basis once my duty is done?" he snorted.

"I said I would offer you advice, not that it would be easy to follow," she replied "All I mean is that you might come out of this with a new friend. A good friend, if you are lucky."

Cullen hummed, and then he sighed, discarding the pomade he'd been using to tame his curls onto the sleek black countertop. It would be a miracle if he emerged from this without enough guilt to last several lifetimes over. But no amount of tedious self-flagellation on that score would change anything, nor help it, so he left it unsaid.

"I would point out," Cassandra added "That it was hardly all that long ago that you'd scoff at the idea of friendship with such a woman."

They were mercifully saved from any discussion of that fact by Josephine bustling into the room. The Antivan was a vision in purple silk, her thick silky hair tumbling loose down her back that was left bare by the garment. Cassandra's dress of dark navy blue was far more understated, and Cullen had never been more pleased that any suit was good enough so long as it was deemed suitably expensive and well-fitting by his oh-so-helpful colleagues.

"King Alistair's presence tonight may muddle things," Josephine said.

She spoke like the words were just a natural continuation of whatever had been going on in her mind as she'd commandeered his bedroom to change.

"Had he not requested an invitation, the order of arrival would have been simple - ending with you, and then the princess, in order of seniority. Now, however, It shall be you, then King Alistair, then Princess Evelyn."

"Should it not be me, then Evel- the princess, then him?" Cullen asked "His title outranks hers."

"Ah, but we are on Marcher soil. Anywhere else and it would have been where you said, especially in Ferelden, but seeing as we are in her territory, it is not quite so simple. Were he so inclined, King Alistair could put up a bit of a fuss over it, but…well. I doubt he will. Although, given his rank, she will still need to curtsy to him when they greet one another, and she shall need to greet him before any other."

Cullen scoffed and muttered what may have been an exasperated 'ridiculous' beneath his breath. How much good could the upper crust all get done if they weren't so busy memorising a ridiculous list of rules that would no doubt change and become more convoluted and ridiculous depending on the weather, the time of day, and the position of the stars.

Either Josephine misunderstood his ire, or simply wished to change the subject from it, for she continued.

"Now, this is not an insult, and so it does not reflect on your progress - Princess Evelyn has no control over these matters. In fact, given their history, it would fuel a political nightmare if she tried to flout the rules and put King Alistair before you."

"I know," Cullen said.

"You do?"

He'd do his best not to take her surprise as a comment on his competence. Not least because he hadn't come to that conclusion entirely on his own.

"Yes. She…phoned me. Last night. To make sure I was aware of it. If anything, she seemed rather displeased at the prospect of King Alistair's presence taking the spotlight away from my efforts. Although I'll hardly lose sleep over that."

If the King of Ferelden's presence meant that only ten photographs from the night would feature Cullen himself, rather than fifty or sixty, he'd consider the whole thing a boon. And if he and Evelyn used this encounter as an opportunity to rekindle what they once had? To ruin this absurd task of Cullen's, through no fault or failing of his own? Well, even better.

When he looked to Josephine, he worried that his hope had shown on his face, for she regarded him with wide, surprised eyes.

"She called you? Personally?"

"Either that, or someone in her household does a remarkable impression of her."

He was still recovering from what could only be described as the absolute bollocking he got from the three women when they discovered a full twenty-four hours had gone by after their date, and he had not yet texted the princess to wax poetic over what a grand time he'd had. The last thing he wanted to do following the phone call was get in touch with them so they might dissect every word choice by either party - and act like it was the end of the world if he couldn't recall whether she said "goodbye" or just "bye" in parting.

But then he caught wind of Josephine's stunned expression, and that gave him pause.

"It must be protocol," he said slowly "To avoid giving offence. Surely."

"Perhaps," she replied "It certainly would be, had Aveline been the one to call you. Or someone else from her office, for that matter. But the princess called you. Personally."

"She's considerate," Cullen replied "It's a trait she's built a brand on. It means nothing."

"The Trevelyans cling to protocol as a liferaft in the times they've found themselves in," Josephine disagreed archly "And that was not quite protocol."

In response, he could only give a huff that made him sound remarkably like Cassandra.

To say that Evelyn's nerves were shot wouldn't be particularly true. Hanged, drawn, and quartered might've been more apt. They always were, before nights like this. Not so much with events, but…well. Events that he would be at. And even then, not so much because of his presence in itself, but because of the microscope it wedged her beneath - with room to neither breathe nor flinch without it being dissected for months, or years, to come.

But she wasn't without comfort, for seeing Cullen again was something she was surprised to find she was rather looking forward to. Nor was she unused to facing nights like this one - for it was far from the first time events had necessitated a reunion such as this…although it was the first time Alistair himself had pushed for it. Evelyn had her suspicions as to why he'd done so, and if she was right it would mean a media circus of the like only matched by that which had surrounded them when they were still together.

Back then, however, they'd been Ali and Eve. Nothing more…or so they'd naively convinced themselves. Tonight they'd be King Alistair and Princess Evelyn. They weren't meeting, not really, they were simply playing their parts in the same room.

And the rigmarole that went into getting ready for something like this more than helped her raise up the ol' facade in time for when it would be most needed. No less than two hair stylists were at work behind her, one carefully sculpting her hair into loose curls and the other spraying it to within an inch of its life so it would remain that way all night. Only one makeup artist was at work on her face, dabbing gold glitter at her eyelids, but she suspected that was because there simply wasn't the room for a fourth person to huddle around the chair in which she sat. Two more stylists, however, were in the dressing room - some ways behind her, inspecting and readying the gown she'd be wearing.

To say that it sparkled would be a drastic understatement. She wouldn't be able to so much as breathe when she was wearing it without the fabric catching the light and glimmering away - it was a wonder that the designer had managed to craft it into something tasteful and elegant when it could have so easily looked gaudy.

When she was younger, she might have resented all of the eyes in the room, preventing her from showing her nerves even in the run-up to when they would be the worst, but now she just viewed it as good practise.

Aveline's signature knock - comprising of four sharp individual knocks - sounded

"The cars have picked up Mr Rutherford and his guests. King Alistair will arrive after them. With travel time taken into account, we should leave ten minutes after the King of Ferelden departs for the hall if we wish to arrive in good time. I trust you'll be ready by then, ma'am?"

"What do you think?" Evelyn eyed the chief make-up artist with a cheeky glimmer in her eye "Can you have me presentable by then?"

The girl was new - and very young - which resulted in a nervousness that outweighed Evelyn's, and showed itself far more regardless of how many cheerful jokes Evelyn cracked, or how normal she tried to be. She breathed a laugh, and stuttered nervously for a moment, before the stylist (a dresser who had been in her employ more or less since she'd hit adulthood) took pity and answered for her.

"We'll be ready by then, Aveline. Barring any disasters."

"Touch wood," Evelyn said drily.

The make-up artist smiled nervously…and then tapped the wood of the vanity behind her. Apparently the jokes were doing the trick after all. It was also a bit of an unfortunate fact that being in the presence of those who were more nervous than her had a distinctly calming effect. Not because she took any pleasure in witnessing it, but because it drove her to hold herself together with just a touch more determination.

And alright, while the make-up artist might not be present at the event, Cullen would be - and he made no great secret of how much he did not relish these sorts of things. Evelyn found it very endearing, and the thought of it brought a little smile to her face. He hardly seemed the type to work himself up into a tizzy over it, at most he'd likely bristle a little, but if she pretended to herself that her being cool and collected would ease the discomfort placed on him, it might bolster her courage.

That was a line of thinking that she pursued into her dress, her perilously high heels, through the halls, and into the car that waited for her at the private entranceway. The one out of sight of photographers and onlookers in general. The nerves were ridiculous, that was what she kept telling herself? She'd been through a number of similar enough events with Alis- with King Alistair that she no longer kept a precise count in her head. So much so that their teams had managing the whole thing down to an art. A warm greeting, followed less than a minute of 'breezy' small-talk during which they would both appear entirely unaware of the ship's worth of rigging going on behind the scenes of the whole production (she was better at that part than he was). Anything shorter would appear cold, and anything longer would suggest too much of a willingness to stay in the conversation.

After that, they could do as they pleased - as much as they could ever do as they pleased - until it was time for the dance. Not any dance, either. A very specific dance, to a very specific song, chosen specifically by their team so as not to have any suggestive elements to it. The whole thing was so very managed. Perhaps that was why she already felt nauseous. Or it might've had something to do with the fact that this whole charade would have to take place in front of Cullen - a good man, who she was actually beginning to like. Still, the first time she'd had to do this, she'd actually vomited before the event. This time she had not. Progress.

Then again, she mused as she watched the city lights flit past the tinted window, the night was still young.

A/N: Tumblr - esta-elavaris

IG - miotasach