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He should have known he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings from their spymaster. Even back at Haven she’d been making subtle remarks when she caught him staring at the Herald during their meetings in the war room. Nothing had come of their flirtations though, neither one making the first move. Even so, it really shouldn’t have taken him by surprise that his name had been the one offered up when the ambassador brought up the subject of dancing to the Inquisitor when they met at the war table.
“Are you certain this is necessary?” Tethiel asks, the elven mage brushing a lock of hair from her face as she looks at Josephine in confusion. Cullen tries not to feel too disappointed by her reaction. After all, he hadn’t really wanted this, right?
“Oh it truly is. No doubt you will be asked to dance and one missed step could reflect poorly on the Inquisition.” the Antivan reassures her.
“Alright, then I leave myself in Commander Cullen’s hands.”
Andraste preserve him.
He’s neck deep in a stack of reports when he hears a tentative knock on his door. Cullen lets out a weary sigh as he stands, crossing the room in quick strides. He opens the door to find Tethiel standing there, clad in the robes her keeper had sent prior to the destruction of Haven.
“I didn’t know what else to wear. It’s the closest thing I have to a dress right now. The seamstress in Val Royeaux is still working on our formal wear for the ball.” She says, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Cullen stares at her blankly for a moment before it clicks.
The lessons. Dancing. With her. Maker’s breath.
“You forgot.” She says, a knowing smile on her face.
“No, of course not. I just didn’t–” he sighs. There’s no point in lying to her. “Alright yes. I’ll admit it. I forgot. It won’t happen again. You have my word.”
Her smile falters a bit at his declaration and he mentally kicks himself for his word choice. Memories of their conversation after they reached Skyhold flood back to the surface and he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances away from her.
“Shall we begin?” He asks suddenly, breaking the awkward tension between them. Tethiel nods, quietly stepping into his office.
“You don’t seem like the dancing type, Commander.” She muses, looking at him in confusion when he chuckles.
“Well to be honest, I don’t particularly care for it. I just happen to know how to do it. Or at least do it well enough to be offered up to teach you.” He says with a shrug.
“Oh.” She replies with a slight frown and Cullen forces himself not to read into it, not wanting to take the note of disappointment in her voice to mean anything more.
He tries to explain the different steps and variations to her, quickly realizing that this is going to be a far more hands on demonstration than he’d originally realized.
“It’s easier to show you what to do.” He says, offering her his hand. She takes it almost instantly, delicate fingers settling on his outstretched palm. He rests his other hand against her shoulder blade, noting the way her tongue darts out to trace over her lips when he stares down at her to judge their positioning. He’s thought about what it would be like to kiss those lips far more often than can be considered appropriate as one of her advisors.
“You need to be closer, Inquisitor.” He manages to husk out when he finally looks away, not recognizing the strained voice as his own. She inches just a bit closer, still shying away just slightly before his hand pulls her flush to him. She lets out an almost inaudible gasp as she locks eyes with him.
Without warning the door to his office swings open and they tear themselves away from each other, glancing over at the door to find Dorian leaning against the frame with a knowing look on his face.
“I need to go…” Tethiel mutters, pushing past the other mage as she flees. Cullen watches her go with a bewildered look on his face, running a hand through his hair.
“So you and the Inquisitor–” Dorian begins before Cullen gives him a steely look.
“We weren’t doing anything.” He says with a groan.
“Ah. And that happens to be the real tragedy here...” The mage quips, turning to leave as Cullen glowers at him.
Leliana gives him a knowing smile as he enters the war room to take his place between her and Josephine at the war table the following morning. Of course she knows. This entire mess is her fault after all. The door swings open and Cullen briefly meets the Inquisitor’s gaze as she enters. She clearly didn’t sleep well and he’s grateful that he wasn’t the only one who had a fitful night. She bites back a yawn as they go over their preparations for the winter palace. They have a little less than two weeks before they have to leave for Halamshiral. Tethiel glances up at him with a look of panic at Josephine’s words.
Regardless of his feelings he needs to make sure she’s ready for this and if that means putting aside his emotions he can very well do that. Or so he hopes.
The other two advisors clear the room shortly, leaving him alone with the Inquisitor. The tension between them is thick, words that have gone unspoken for months hanging over them.
“I’m sorry about last night.” Tethiel says and Cullen looks at her in surprise.
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.” He states matter of factly and he sees the worry leave her face.
“I hope I didn’t make things weird between us.”
“Of course not.” He reassures her, grateful when she drops the line of conversation there.
“Should we go back to my quarters? To practice, I mean...Fenedhis.” She mumbles the last word angrily, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. Cullen forces himself not to grin, relief washing over him once more.
“Lead the way, Inquisitor.”
“You don’t have to keep calling me Inquisitor, you know.” She sighs, rolling her eyes at the formality.
“As you wish, In–I mean, Tethiel.” He corrects himself, savoring the way the syllables roll off his tongue.
The initial awkwardness fades quickly once they get to her chambers. Cullen distracts her with stories as he positions her body against his, pointing out the correct height at which she should hold her arms. He can feel her warm fingers in his hand, even through the leather of his gloves.
“Now arch your back, just slightly. You need to angle yourself away from me.” He instructs, making small adjustments.
“Perfect.” He says softly as he surveys her stance.
A smile forms on her face at the compliment and Cullen clears his throat as he re-focuses his attention to the task at hand. She picks up the basic closed change easily enough, feet moving gracefully opposite his own as they repeat it over and over until he’s certain she’s ready to move on.
“Should we stop?” He asks, not wanting to push her to try and learn too much in one day.
“No!” She protests, flushing at her own eagerness. “I mean, I think I’m ready for the next part.”
Cullen chuckles, grasping her hand in his once more.
“This is ridiculous.” Tethiel groans, as she steps on Cullen’s foot again. “I give up. We’re going to fail. Dread wolf take whoever invented this fucking dance!”
“That would be the Orlesians.” He offers.
“Of course it was them. With their damned masks and their damned Game.” She scoffs, sitting on the floor of her room with a huff.
“We can pick this up again tomorrow, Inquisitor. I promise you that we’ll get it.” He says and he can see her running his words through her head with scrutiny before nodding in agreement.
“Alright. Tomorrow morning…” She agrees.
When she greets him the next morning her hair is still damp, furling slightly around her face and shoulders as she smiles at him. In the soft, early morning light she looks ethereal. The slightly coppery tint of her hair shines in the sun and he can smell the lightly fragranced soap she used earlier.
“Ready?” She asks and he nods wordlessly, offering her his hand. Cullen forces himself to ignore the alluring scent of her, instead focusing on correcting her footwork. Over and over he corrects her until she executes the sequence of steps flawlessly, or near enough so. Each pass has her leg pressed against his own, feet gliding across the floor. On the final turn he pulls her to him, wanting nothing more than to capture her lips between his own. Reluctantly he pulls back, nodding at her.
“Very good. I’m certain that our Lady Ambassador would approve.” Cullen states, noticing her hand still clasped in his own. He drops it hastily, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“I have to go to Val Royeaux tomorrow for one last fitting before the ball but we can practice when I return...if you’d like, that is.” Tethiel offers, looking at him with eager eyes.
“I’d like that, Inquisitor.” He says with a slight smile.
“Teth…” She replies with a shake of her head, smiling as she closes the door behind him.
“Well well. Our dear Inquisitor really cleans up nicely, doesn’t she?” Dorian says, surveying her as she stands in front of the mirror in the silver and white gown.
“The miracles that fashion can work, my darling.” Vivienne replies, glancing over the outfit with a critical eye. “This will do quite nicely. You’ll certainly be making a statement when you arrive.”
Tethiel smiles, half afraid to touch the delicately designed dress.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She says, gazing in awe at her reflection. Reluctantly she gives in and takes off the dress and slips back into her tunic and leggings.
She’s already looking forward to returning to Skyhold and showing her dress to Cullen.
It’s a dreary day when the Inquisitor finally returns to Skyhold. It’s cold and dismal as he steps out onto the battlements, rain coming down in cold droplets as he watches her approach. He’s missed her he realizes with a start when he sees her hop down from her horse, the hood of her cloak pulled up against the wind and rain. She hands the reins off to master Dennet, making a beeline towards the stairs. Quickly he ducks back into his office and she knocks moments later.
“Inquisitor, you’ve returned?” He asks evenly, ushering her inside.
“I saw you, on the battlements. Were you waiting for me, Commander?” She teases breathlessly, water cascading down to pool on the floor of his office.
Maker’s breath.
Cullen flushes, nervously running a hand along the hilt of his sword.
“Waiting for you? Why would–Andraste preserve me. Yes, I was waiting for you.” He admits, savoring her lilting laughter.
“Can you meet me in my room in a few hours? We only have a few days left and I’d like to practice…” She asks, tugging her lower lip between her teeth.
“Yes.” He replies quickly, perhaps far more quickly than he should.
“For what it’s worth, I thought of you while I was away.” she says before slipping from his office.
For once Cullen lets himself indulge in the foolish hope that they could ever be more, more than just Inquisitor Lavellan and Commander Cullen.
Tethiel startles at the knock on her door, letting her feet fall from their perch on her desk as she pushes the plush chair back. Quickly she pads across the room, ushering Cullen inside. Automatically she reaches for his hand, relishing the feel of supple leather against the palm of her hand. He glances down at her with a smile, hand resting on her shoulder with familiarity.
“If someone had told me before that I’d be getting dance lessons from the leader of the Inquisition’s army I probably would have laughed in their faces…” Tethiel says with a giggle as he counts their steps. Slowly they slip into an almost silence, the steps flowing more naturally as Cullen hums some nameless tune.
He reaches the end of the song, dipping Tethiel low in his arms before slowly bringing her back up flush against him. Stormy blue eyes meet his own amber as her plush lips part. She’s close enough that he can smell that scent he’s come to associate with her, elfroot and flowers.
There’s a brief hitch in her breath and then he’s crashing his lips to hers, cupping her face gently as she melts against him. It takes her mind a second to catch up but when she does she returns his kiss with just as much fervor, trailing her tongue along the scar running through his lip.
He breaks the kiss first, panting as they separate. They look at each other, neither one of them sure what to say.
“I’m sorry.” Cullen stammers, letting his hands fall from her face as he glances nervously at Tethiel.
“You don’t regret it, do you?” She asks and he curses inwardly at the look of uncertainty slowly making it’s way onto her face.
“No, not at all! Maker’s breath, I’ve wanted to do that for months…” He admits, both to himself and to her.
“Why didn’t you?” She asks, looking at him curiously.
“You’re the Inquisitor, we’re at war...and well, it seemed too much to ask.” Cullen confesses, cupping her cheek in his palm.
“I’m glad you finally did.” Tethiel whispers before slanting her lips over his own once more, the urgency from before giving way to a more tender meeting.
Cullen finds himself unable to keep the smile off his face as Tethiel enters the war room the following morning.
“Inquisitor! We were–” he begins before the Spymaster cuts him off.
“Eagerly awaiting your presence. Some of us more than others…” the red headed archer teases and Cullen can feel his face heat up.
“I wasn’t– I mean I was…we have work to do.” He stammers, staring at the war table with sudden interest.
“Of course.” Leliana says, tossing a knowing glance Tethiel’s way.
The date of the peace talks is fast approaching and after they leave the war room Tethiel pulls him aside, asking for one more run through of her lessons. He eagerly agrees to meet her in an hour.
Back in her quarters Tethiel slips on the gown with Dorian’s help, letting it drape over her form. The designs remind her of Vallaslin, or maybe the way frost looks on the surface of a frozen lake. The dove grey chiffon floats down ethereally, dipping in to hug the contour of her waist lacework parting along the vee of her breasts to display a tantalizing expanse of curves. Dorian chuckles as he surveys their handiwork.
“Your strapping ex-Templar won’t know what hit him.” He decrees, watching her secure her hair with the small crystal comb Vivienne had insisted she get.
Cullen raps a gloved hand on the door to her quarters, shifting from one foot to the other as he waits for her. When Tethiel opens the door he simply stares at her, jaw dropping as he takes in the sight of her.
This is what she’s wearing to the peace talks?
“Maker’s breath...you look beautiful Tethiel.” He declares softly, still looking at her in awe. She blushes, cheeks tinging pink as she shyly meets his gaze.
“Shall we dance, Commander Cullen?” Tethiel asks, giving him a flirty smile as she lets him into the room. Cullen tugs off his gloves before offering her hand.
“Of course, my Lady.” He says, unable to take his eyes from her as he rests his palm against the warm skin of her shoulder blade, the other clasping hers. Effortlessly she assumes their starting position, back arched and head angled away. Cullen stubbornly forces his eyes away from the tantalizing view offered up by the deep vee of the gown’s neckline.
He begins to hum, the same wordless tune as before. His eyes inevitably are drawn back to the curve of his partner’s neck, roaming down further until she lets out an airy laugh.
“My eyes are up here, Commander.” She teases, losing track of her count on the next turn. Cullen winces as the heel of her shoe presses into the toe of his boot and Tethiel apologizes profusely as they sort themselves out.
Their second attempt is much smoother, both of them maintaining their focus long enough to complete the waltz without further injury.
They dance until her feet are begging for relief and even then she’s reluctant for it all to end.
Cullen bids her goodnight, pressing his lips to her hand before slipping from her quarters.
“Where does a knife ear learn to dance like that?” One of the nobility whispers as Tethiel makes her way off the dance floor following her waltz with the Duchess.
If only they knew...