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"Excuse me," Ariadne says, smoothly sliding herself between him and...Caterina, was it? Or Lorraine? He can barely breathe, not to mention keep the names of all his masked...admirers straight.
She rests her left hand on his right shoulder, pressing her body tightly against his. With a kiss to his cheek, she disguises a whisper, "play along."
He returns the greeting with a kiss to her own cheek and gratefully snakes his arm around her waist, already feeling the others start to retreat from him in her presence. She makes idle conversation with the women, pretending to care about the ball and the dresses - oh yes mine was made specifically for the ball, isn't the stitching divine? The Inquisition has a dwarf tailor who can work miracles with embroidery, I absolutely must give you his name - and who arrived on whose arm.
Cullen tries not look too outwardly relieved as Ariadne clearly stakes her claim on him. A brush of her fingers across his arm, a sideways glance and crooked smile, a subtly forceful bite in her tone when Caterina-Maybe-Lorraine treads too close to flirting again, and she builds their romance in moments with only a few touches.
In her heels, she’s a bit taller than he is and towers over the others; instead of a slight slouch like usual, she stands up straight, shoulders rolled back and confident. Talking now about the food and the delightful earthiness of Ferelden mushrooms this year, she settles her arm around his back and clasps his hand under the table, out of sight of the ladies. Gently, she rubs her thumb in small circles against his palm, a slow pattern that he gradually mimics with his breath, calming down.
"It's been lovely, my dears, but I really must steal my commander away from you. He's needed on Inquisition business, I'm sure you understand." She smiles, never parting her lips, and steps away from the table.
She drops her arm away before they can see. He may not be an expert player, but he knows enough to know when it’s his move. He shifts his arm up, loosely circled around her shoulders, and leads her to the balcony doors. Knowing that the vultures are still watching, he brushes his thumb across the bare skin of Ariadne's upper arm, and opens the door for her. He lifts his arm from her shoulders, gesturing for her to go first. With one hand, she lifts two champagne flutes from a passing servant’s tray and steps outside.
The balcony is blissfully empty and Cullen sinks down onto a stone bench in the corner, resting his head in his hands. Her heels click across the tiled balcony floor and she sits next to him, placing her open palm on his lower back.
“Thank you,” he says shakily.
“You’re welcome,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.”
“Have some water,” she passes him one of the flutes.
He stares at it. “I thought this was champagne.” He sniffs it experimentally, confirming that it’s only water before he takes a sip.
“Josephine has agents in the kitchens, all drinks on the left side of the trays have no alcohol.”
At Josephine’s name, Cullen stiffens. “Everyone’s going to think that you and I…” he stops.
“No one in all of Orlais is dumb enough to try to undo your belt while they think you’re sleeping with the Herald of Andraste. Josephine and Leliana will have it sorted before we’re back at Skyhold. Besides, I’m so distraught from having to choose between you and Josie that I might need to collect myself in any number of empty rooms I’m not supposed to be in.” She flutters her lashes in an overexaggerated imitation.
He stares at her for a moment. A small smile breaks through the haze of his mind and he shakes his head, finishing his water.
For a few minutes, they sit in silence, him just breathing carefully and her soothingly rubbing his back. Her palm is pleasantly warm through his jacket and though he knows the warmth is magic, it’s comforting.
“It is...an inconvenient night for memories,” he says. He’d been holding on with his fingertips as it was, before the horde of admiring noble ladies descended upon him. Ariadne sighs next to him and moves a little closer, shifting into a sideways hug. Not for the first time, he’s relieved that he never needs to voice more than that with her: she understands.
“Thank you, Ari,” he covers her hand with his and squeezes gently.
Her earrings tinkle as she leans in to kiss his temple. “Any time.” She finishes her own flute of water and sets the empty glass beside her. “We should probably get back before Leliana sends a search party.”
He nods, reluctantly agreeing, and presses his palms to his thighs before he stands. He turns and offers her his hand. “How do you walk in those shoes?” he asks, once she’s standing and steady.
“Practice,” she says, hooking her arm through his. “And a devastatingly handsome best friend to lean on.”
“You flatter me, my lady,” he teases back, his thoughts finally light enough to add to her scheme. “But I happen to know your heart belongs to another.”
“As does yours,” she grins. She pauses just outside the door. “We’ve been gone, what, fifteen minutes?”
“Perhaps.”
Ariadne bites her lip, thinking. “That should be long enough. Are we engaged yet, do you think?”
“And you are with child,” he says, not missing a beat. He settles his hand atop hers. “We’re very happy,” he can’t quite mimic the Orlesian affectation the way Ariadne can, but it’s close enough and bad enough that they both start to laugh.
The door opens in front of them. “There you are,” Dorian says, “we’ve been looking all over. What’s this I hear about you two being married with a son running around Skyhold?”
“Cullen was having trouble with some suitors,” Ariadne explains. “I fought them off for you.”
“Well, you have my eternal gratitude for that, but maybe we could get back to the business of stopping an assassination?” He opens the door, gesturing for them to re-enter the ballroom.
Cullen hesitates at the door, spying Caterina-Maybe-Lorraine standing at the railing with a woman he doesn’t recognize, but Ariadne squeezes his arm in encouragement. He takes a deep breath and follows Ariadne and Dorian, at last feeling steady enough to face the rest of the evening.