Work Text:
It's late and the tavern is bustling. Busy, but not as busy as it used to be at the height of things. It's loud, too loud, not the loud of those hurting in need of help-- that loud was uncomfortable, but it was where he could help and eventually sooth, silence. No, this loud is the Iron Bull's booming laugh, slurred from sloshing liquid tankards, Sera's screeches of joy at her silly antics, Josephine's joyous giggles when she's victorious.
They're playing Wicked Grace again and Cole wants to join, but it's too loud with the tavern full. It grates against his ears and scratches at his skull. People could be quiet inside, but they're all loud tonight, inside and out, and he cannot simply cover his ears to block it all. He disappears. He's sure they barely noticed him anyways.
He walks the ramparts silently and stops at his favorite spot. It's the top of one of the towers, the tower the Inquisitor renovated, here he can see down into the gardens where people go to find peace, a little place that reminds many of home. He likes it there, too. It's usually quiet and the people there have the small hurts, the little hurts that are often drown out by the louder, bigger ones.
He can see most of the courtyard splayed out down below, only the farthest corner- where the merchants and stables are- is out of view and if he turns around can see the vast snowy surroundings. He can even see the balcony of the Inquisitor's room, where she's leaning on the railing, staring out. She does that a lot these days, during the day it's like she is a second sun baring down bright beams of hope onto everyone, but at night she is like the brightest star, a beacon of bittersweet sorrow.
"You should go to the tavern with the others," he's sitting on the railing of her balcony, a few feet away from her, gently rocking back and forth.
She only jumps a little bit, she's gotten used his appearances, welcomes them. She sighs, pushes herself off the railing, turns so she's leaning back against it. "I'm really not feeling up to dealing with everyone tonight."
"You like the music there, the songs, the singing, the strum of the pick, plucking the strings. Heart rings with the rhythm."
She breaths out a small laugh. "Yes, but I feel like dancing and I don't feel like being laughed at tonight."
Cole tilts his head, looks up at her, confused. "Why would they laugh? You're good at dancing."
"Just the ones Josie taught me for the ball. They're not really suited for tavern dancing. Plus they require a partner." She scrunches her nose and sticks out her tongue. "Aside from that... Have you seen me trying to dance? Dancing does not come naturally to me, despite what sort of things you hear about elves."
He bows his head, continues rocking back and forth. "Drunken dancing, dragging feet. Laughter burns and brings you down, bright blush as you stop and sit. Feeling foolish, faltering; a failure. Don't let them know the laughter hurts, you think, swallowing embarrassment with bitter beer. Smile, laugh along, blame the drinks..."
"Cole..."
"I'll dance with you." She's taken aback at the decisiveness in his tone. He slips off the railing and shuffles his feet, fiddling with the fraying hem of his cuff. "I'm not very good at it, but I will try."
"Okay..." she's not expecting the offer, but it's not unwelcome. "I can show you one of the dances Josie taught me." She steps back through the door and into the open space of her room, motioning for him to follow. The night's chill is chased away by the crackling fire. There's an open bottle of wine on the edge of her desk scattered with reports and paperwork, quill dipped and forgotten in an abandoned ink well. "Now... stand facing me."
He does. Far outside arm's reach.
She steps forward to compensate for the gap, steps again into his space, her head meets resistance from the brim of his hat. "Your hat, ser," laughter punctuates her mock-Orlesian accent.
He takes it off, hands it to her. She walks in the over-dramatic fashion that the women of the court with their large poofy skirts do. The hat is placed carefully at the foot of her bed and she spins, curtsies before returning to her previous spot in front of him. She smiles at him, large and genuine, a way she hasn't smiled in a while.
She guides his hands into place, one on her waist, the other clasping hers. Her hands are strong and sturdy despite their small, delicate appearance.
The steps are easy when they're slow and guided by her voice. Despite his dexterity in combat he has trouble everywhere else, tripping over uneven cobblestones and catching his feet on his own shoelaces. It's easier to flit about and help like a spirit would, but his friends, the ones that remember and want him to be real, don't like it.
When she finishes another repetition of the steps she stills. "Ready to try it at tempo?"
"Yes. I think."
She hums the tune, starts abruptly. It's a lot faster and he's racing to keep up, staring down at her feet, flowing with practiced ease and his feet faltering, fumbling. It's hard to listen and feel and think and remember all at the same time.
Her hand leaves his bicep, trails up to his chin to gently coax his head up. "Look at me, not at your feet." He does, even though he's afraid he'll mess up worse when not looking. It's like being thrown into a fight blindfolded and told to succeed on faith.
He meets her eyes. It's like the Winter Palace again, how she danced with the bad person and then danced with him. "Strong hand on your waist, steady steps, leading with ease. How does he know the steps so well? Thoughts swept away as he spins you around and pulls you close. Comfort after crawling and clawing through the palace. Head rests on his chest, hear his heartbeat, loud and reassuring, relaxing..."
He's following the steps without realizing it.
"It's not polite to look into peoples' minds when you're dancing, Cole," she teases, resumes humming the tune.
His eyes are focused on the now again and his steps stutter. "Sorry." He isn't quite sure where they are in the dance anymore and looks down at their feet again.
"Cole..." her voice light, but like a warning. Right, he's not supposed to look at his feet.
He steps on her toes, feet are wrapped but toes still exposed. He sees her expression twitch, it probably hurt... "Had worse, feet through the forest, light and fast and following. Familiar path, but faster than usual. Rush and tell them, hunters on the way... Watch the water, he yells back, but you can barely hear. First step splashing the water, the next slipping on the stone, splitting the skin..."
"Cole."
He lets out a frustrated sound, pulling away from her. "It's too hard. There's too much to do at once!" He turns away, ready to disappear down back to the tower, or the tavern maybe.
She touches his arm lightly, coaxes him to turn around. "It's okay. You did fine when we practiced, so..." Her arms lift back into position. "Let's try again."