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Objectively, Cullen knew a ball was a more diplomatic idea than a friendly brawl and certainly more than an assassination, no matter how subtle it was. But he couldn’t be entirely objective, not when a ball meant having dignitaries around Skyhold - dignitaries that would come with valets, family, no doubt friends they would drag along with them even though they were not invited. Not when a ball meant having to deal with all those insufferable nobles who, a few months ago, saw them as opportunists at best and traitors at worst.
Not when a ball meant being hassled by men and women for a dance.
So, no, Cullen couldn’t possibly be objective despite Josephine’s logical arguments, and he couldn’t help his groan when Aodren admitted – although very reluctantly – that hosting a ball at Skyhold was certainly the most reasonable thing to do to promote the Inquisition at the moment. Cullen’s only hope was that the ball wouldn’t sound appealing to too many people. Skyhold was lost in the middle of mountains and covered with snow; surely it would make them think twice.
Unfortunately, not a week after the official announcement of the reception, Josephine was already drowning under dozens of letters sent by lords from all around Orlais and Ferelden to confirm they would be delighted to brave the cold weather to attend the party. Delighted. Freaking Orlesians.
The preparations were quickly made, due to their Ambassador’s amazing skills. The cooks worked almost non-stop to plan the dishes, order the ingredients and bake everything; the courtyards were entirely cleaned, as well as the buildings. Flags were hanged, flowers were ordered – to sum it up, Skyhold was plunged into a terrifying and spinning frenzy. Understandably, Josephine was growing more and more nervous as the day approached despite her smiles, and even Leliana seemed to consider trying to reason with her would end up in blood – more likely her own.
So, yeah, they all carefully stayed away from Josephine Montilyet's wrath and nodded respectfully when she said something, especially if that something was about clothing and hairstyle. Luckily, the Inquisition official outfit they used at the Winter Palace seemed to do, so Cullen didn't have to think about how to dress. Most of them would wear it, anyway. Vivienne had her own attire, no doubt as elegant and sophisticated as ever, and both Josephine and Dorian would certainly wear something of their own too.
As for the Inquisitor... He actually had no idea what Aodren had planned to wear. He knew him enough to notice the sparkle in his eyes when he had asked him about it, but his lover hadn't answered.
Cullen remembered all too well the heated talk between Aodren and Josephine about his outfit for the Winter Palace. The evening had been a torture for the Inquisitor, between clothes he didn’t like and shoes that hurt his feet - not to mention the political intricacies he had to endure that night. Cullen hoped that for this ball, at least, Aodren would be able to feel more at ease.
The only thing he knew was that Josephine would be in charge of his hair. It had been a few months, by now, that their Ambassador and their Herald met for those hairstyling sessions. If at first Cullen had been surprised, he had quickly admitted that no matter what Josephine tried, it suited Aodren, bringing his face out and accentuating the silk-like texture of his hair. It was quite amusing to see him with impressive hairstyles while he was wearing his riding pants and scraping manure, but also very endearing. He had no doubt whatever Josephine would do with Aodren’s hair for the ball would be perfect.
Guests began to arrive a day or two before the big event. As Cullen had expected, they were more of them than planned, which meant more people to greet officially and false smiles to share. Luckily for him, people were more interested to talk to the Inquisitor than his Commander. Poor Aodren was clearly outnumbered and there was no doubt he would have preferred to be surrounded by rage demons rather than nobles if the few horrified looks they managed to share were any clue.
It was logical for the Inquisitor to be the centre of attention. What Cullen hadn’t expected though, was for so many people to show such personal interest in his lover. If Cullen hated being the recipient of this kind of displays – the Winter Palace had truly put his mind to the test – watching young lordlings press smooth kisses on Aodren’s hand made him angry.
The problem was that Aodren and him were not officially together. Sure, their friends and comrades knew about them, and there were rumours about a love affair between them, but nothing official. So, officially, people were free to court him if they wanted to, no matter how much Cullen’s blood was boiling at this sight.
The night before the ball, once they were both safe in Cullen’s quarters, he didn’t let go of his lover for a single minute. He usually wasn’t the clinging type, but the insistence of these people made his self-control run thin and he needed Aodren in his arms. And apparently, Aodren needed that too, since he didn’t complain once.
“I can’t wait for it to be over,” Aodren sighed, his head resting on Cullen’s chest. “Tomorrow night will be a disaster.”
“Why do you say that?”
Aodren’s low grumble wasn’t intelligible at first, but he eventually lifted his head, a downcast look on his face.
“They all have already planned to ask for a dance. I’m not looking forward to it. They all wear expensive perfumes that give me headaches and I really don’t want to pretend I’m interested in whatever they have to say.”
Cullen tried to keep his expression neutral, or at least sympathetic, but the chuckle that suddenly shook Aodren’s shoulders proved he wasn’t a good actor at all and that his annoyance was completely visible.
“Well, you’re the Inquisitor,” he replied. “You could send them all to jail. We could finally get rid of them thanks to you.”
“Josie would never forgive me,” Aodren snorted. “But I’ll keep the idea in mind.”
And then, in the blink of an eye, the dreadful evening was upon them. For the fraction of a second, Cullen considered not going, faking a sudden and quite convenient illness that would vanish the very next day. But nobody would buy it, and more importantly, he could not let Aodren alone to face an entire celebration by himself.
(Technically, he knew Aodren wouldn’t be completely alone, but Cullen was his partner.)
He got dressed, styled his hair, put on a brave face and a fake smile, then headed towards Skyhold’s hall.
There was already an impressive crowd in there, between the guests, the musicians and the servants. The music was more of a background noise than anything for now, the musicians no doubt waiting for the party to truly began to demonstrate their skill. He spotted Josephine, welcoming everyone as the incredible host she was. Leliana was lurking nearby, keeping an eye on their ambassador and anyone that seemed a tiny bit suspicious – which meant a lot of people, actually. As he walked in, Cullen greeted Blackwall, Solas, Dorian; Vivienne was already talking with a couple, and there was no sign of Sera. It was perhaps for the best. Varric and The Iron Bull were in a corner, and a sudden flash of silver made him squint. Were they betting something?
There was no sign of Aodren either, and that was a bit more worrying. He hoped no Marquis of Duchess intercepted him on his way here.
“Cullen.”
Cassandra’s formal greeting drew his attention to her; at last, someone he could stay close to for the evening. He enjoyed the others’ company, of course, but Cassandra and he had an easy friendship and a mutual understanding. Just by looking at her, he knew she was as annoyed as he was.
“Have you seen the Inquisitor?” he asked her directly.
“No, but Josephine was with him a moment ago,” she answered.
“He’s never late,” he grumbled.
“Don’t worry, darling.” Vivienne joined them, her lips curved upwards in a delicate and knowing smile. “I told him to be fashionably late, as our guests would expect. He should arrive soon.”
As if on cue, a whisper suddenly rose from the crowd and all heads turned to look at the hall’s entrance. The music slowly came to a stop, and the voice of the page announcing the arrivals echoed through the room:
“Lord Inquisitor Aodren Lavellan, Herald of Andraste!”
Cullen’s first thought was that Aodren would absolutely hate being introduced like this. The second one died right away as soon as he set his eyes on his lover.
There had always been something almost ethereal about his lover, from the teal of his eyes to his pale and silky hair, from the way he walked to the way he could revive dying plants. As Aodren had told him once, magic was part of him, of who he was. It was so easy to forget it, because his lover had always been simple, friendly and helping. He didn’t care for luxury, he didn’t care for standing out. But as much as Aodren had no interest in all this, he had also learnt how to take advantage of it. Vivienne, Dorian and Josephine had made sure he understood how useful it could be, and considering how no one could look away, he had been taught well.
He was glorious. His sleeveless top was drawing attention to the lean but defined muscles of his bare shoulders and arms, and the teal fabric used to tailored it was embroidered with silver threads, matching both his eyes and the tattoos inked on his skin. The high-waist pants and the leather belt resting on his hips left no imagination about the slender curves of his legs, the clothes fitting his body like a second skin. He was walking bare feet, with leather straps covering his calves and the top of his feet. Another wave of whispers rose from the crowd when the guests eventually realised the Inquisitor was indeed wearing a Dalish outfit.
The closer Aodren came, the better Cullen could see the details of his makeup, and his heart started beating faster. His lover had put more kohl around his eyes than he usually did and there was no doubt he was wearing a light touch of gloss on his lips, its colour of a delicate raspberry shade. His hair was falling on his shoulders in a waterfall of silken locks and braids adorned with silver pearls. Cullen had no idea how nor when Josephine had managed to spare enough time to style Aodren’s hair so beautifully considering the amount of work she had overseen for the evening. A wave of affection warmed Cullen when he noticed his lucky coin was sitting next to Aodren's quartz pendant, both necklaces proudly displayed on Aodren's chest, right above his heart. He remembered how touched he had been when Aodren had decided to wear it around his neck rather than keeping it in a pouch, proving he was his and no one else’s. Of all the people he could have chosen, Aodren had fallen in love with him.
Aodren walked past him, glancing at Cullen discreetly and giving him a tiny but loving smile. Cullen returned it quickly before his lover was too far to see it, and the short exchange actually made him feel better.
That was until he heard two noblemen behind him, barely muffling their voices.
“Oh, mon cher, this is an invitation to be wooed if I see one.”
Cullen stiffened and gritted his teeth, somehow managing to stay still. The statement was answered with a laugh that sounded nothing but hypocritical.
“Nicholas, you have no chance.”
“Why that, pray tell?”
“Because I will ask for a dance first, and the Inquisitor will see no-one but me once I do.”
Cullen clenched his jaw so hard he actually felt his teeth grind. He would not allow this to happen, not as long as there was a breath of life within him.
Even though he was still listening to the two men, he saw Aodren had reached the Inquisitor’s throne at the end of the hall. He began speaking, greeting the guests with a speech Josephine had certainly written, eliciting polite nods and applause. Cullen’s body moved before he thought about it, and in a corner of his mind, he vaguely noticed Cassandra call his name. He would apologize to her later, once the ball would be over and Skyhold empty of all those people. He cut through the crowd with long strides, his attention entirely focused on his lover. Cullen arrived at the front row at the same time Aodren finished talking, drawing his lover’s attention to him. He stepped forward and bowed in front of him. Knowing everybody’s gaze was now fixed on them made him shiver, but he couldn’t – wouldn’t – back out.
“Inquisitor.” His heartbeat was pounding loudly in his ears as he spoke. “Would you do me the honour of your first dance?” he asked,
He lifted his head to meet Aodren’s eyes, finding them wide open with surprise. A fond smile quickly stretched Aodren’s lips, softening his face and replacing the carefully neutral expression he had been wearing so far.
“Of course, Commander.”
Before anyone could say anything about proper etiquette or another kind of nonsense, Aodren took his outstretched hand, whispers rising once again in the room. People might have fewer gossips to bring back home than after the failure of the assassination attempt on Empress Celene, but they sure would have something to talk about.
Cullen led Aodren in the middle of the room, the crowd making room for them by mutual agreement. The musicians began playing, the violins filling the hall with a slow but warm melody. Cullen placed his free hand on Aodren’s hip in a possessive grip, initiating their first move - and then there was no one else but them.
“My, my, Commander,” Aodren teased in a low voice. “That was quite unexpected.”
“But not unwanted, I hope?” Cullen replied in the same tone, though slightly worried he had overdone it.
“Never,” his lover smiled. “Cullen?”
“Hm?”
“Were you jealous?”
Cullen kept quiet but, apparently, his lack of answer was eloquent enough. Aodren chuckled, his eyes sparkling with delight.
“Because if you were, I would find it quite endearing,” he added, his voice soft.