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Eowyn would kill Josephine for holding a ball in Haven.
The Chantry was so packed with people —nobles— that she could barely breathe her own air without choking herself with the strong odor of someone else's perfume. She was sure the nobles had bathed themselves in the strongest cologne they could find.
The horrendous mix of smells was making her feel dizzy — or maybe the sensation was due the amount of wine she had drank that night.
When the Ambassador suggested (more like ordered) them to hold a ball with the intention to introduce the Inquisition and its Herald to the world, Eowyn and Cullen had been strongly against the idea.
But to the despair of both, Josephine was a resourceful woman when it came down to negotiations.
She had promised Eowyn the event would be more informal than a ball; a small party with a few dignitaries, not a lavishing festivity.
To the Commander she promised the full liberty to move around, with a free pass out of the event after the Herald had officially declared the beginning of the Inquisition.
However, they soon found out that neither the party could be called small, as also the so expected declaration would be the last event of the evening, both being fooled by Josephine's masterwork.
Indeed, there was nothing shorter than lavishing about the night.
And if on one side Eowyn was a pool of fury for falling into such trap, on the other she was amazed— awestruck, even, by the fact that the small Chantry Hall could accommodate so many people inside.
At the start of the night, the Ambassador had been keeping her company. Mostly to make sure that Eowyn would behave properly, but also to use the opportunity to introduce the Herald to the most important guests who had graced them with their presence at such —as Josephine kept repeating to everyone— humble event.
She would also make sure that Eowyn was able to keep up with the conversation and that she would follow the lessons she had been given about etiquette and proper behavior. Because although the Herald was noble by birth, there was nothing noble about her, for she had spent the great majority of her life locked up in a Circle.
After some successful conversations, Josephine was confident Eowyn was as good as she could get, and with a gentle pat on her shoulder, she left the woman alone to mingle while she would take care of the rest of the arrangements.
The fear of being alone with that sea of beasts —as she imagined the nobles to be— soon crawled up her mind. Things seemed to get worse when a noble approached her.
“It's true what they say: the Herald has the beauty of Andraste herself, as if she had been truly blessed by the Maker,” the man offered her a glass of wine.
Eowyn frowned her brows at him, not only for his audacity of courting her, but also for his offer of a drink.
Her relationship with alcohol was nothing shorter than a soap opera. To put it bluntly, she couldn't drink.
Everyone in her Circle was aware of such fact, and for some reason she thought the Ambassador would also be, but clearly she had been wrong.
That was no good— she couldn't simply refuse the man or run away. She was certain there was some sort of social rule about refusing a drink from a noble whom you were in need of pleasing.
Her eyes ran across the room, looking desperately for help. But the only person her gaze could find was a watchful Commander Cullen leaning against a wall. He was staring at her, curiosity sparkling in his amber eyes.
When their gaze met, he raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if there was something she was in need of.
Maker preserve her, she'd rather soon intoxicate herself with all the alcohol in the room than give him the pleasure of seeing her as a damsel in distress.
And with such stubborn thoughts, Eowyn took the glass from the noble's hand (a little too abruptly for his tastes) and took a long gulp of the drink.
She had to force herself to swallow it down, her act going against her better judgement of not indulging herself to it.
Her pride won, nonetheless.
Then, with the most cordial smile she was capable of, she thanked the man for the compliment and the drink, forcing her voice to sound melodious as she spoke.
A mistake— she soon found out, for the man seemed to read her tone as a flirt, and she had to control her eagerness of freezing him when he diminished the distance between they both and his hand raised to caress her cheek.
“You know, we could run away from this party and indulge ourselves in more… exciting activities,” he whispered to her ear.
Andraste give her strength, because she was about to set the man on fire.
The next moment, however, the man had suddenly stepped back. The tone of fear in his words as he excused himself and hastily fled towards the other side of the room, left her astounished.
What in the Maker's name had just happened?
Eowyn looked around the room, searching for whatever had set horror inside the man, but her eyes only found Cullen, who seemed to be drifting away to his thoughts.
When he noticed her staring at him, his gaze found hers, a neutral expression on his face.
She stuck her tongue out for him and turned away before she could see his reaction.
Her peace didn't last long, she soon found it. For the next two hours proved to be as dreadful as it has already been. Three other nobles had found interest in her. Between their lack of self-awareness as they tried to flirt with her and even seduce her, she had to handle with their endless talks about family crests among politics subjects which she was, in total certainty, not interested.
At least none of them had the audacity of touching her without permission.
Yet that simple fact didn't leave her any less distressed, as Eowyn felt indulged to accept the wine each of the gentlemen thought to be an act of courtesy by bringing it to her.
Her cheeks turned to a deep shade of scarlet after her fourth glass, added to that was a headache that thought it to be a marvelous idea to make her mind its new home.
The pain such headache had caused, was able to turn an already hard task (enduring their egocentric conversations), almost impossible. Her already short attention span, boosted by the alcohol and headache, obligated her mind to occasionaly drift away from the moment to plan her escape from that dreadful night.
She was, for once, sure that using the front door would be not only the stupidest idea, but also an impossible one. For she had some certainty that may she ever has the ability to deflect the guards that were protecting the entrance, Josephine had also warned the ones that pratolled outside in case of Eowyn felt bold enough to risk an attempt of running away.
In the middle of one of her reveries, her eyes wandered around the room, soon catching the glimpse of Commander Cullen once again.
He had moved now, leaning against another wall with a drink hanging on his hand.
Eowyn could swear he was slightly closer to her than he was before, which led her to assuming that the man was indeed watching her.
Typical, she thought, of a templar to not trust a mage.
Had he not been so unaware of his own surroundings, she would find pleasure in provoking him with a simple spell. But given the current situation, she let the idea slip by.
There was no need to cause a commotion for a bit of enjoyment, not with the risk of dooming the Inquisition before it even started.
Cullen seemed to be daydreaming as he looked down at something on the ground. She couldn't keep her curiosity in check upon noticing his own reverie, staring at him with such intensity that her gaze could have bored a hole in his armor.
A glance at his glass made she notice that it remained untouched, which only made her even more interested in knowing his thoughts.
If he was there to keep an eye on her, he wasn't doing it correctly. In less than two minutes she was able to think of fifty different ways to make him an utter fool of himself, all she needed was to approach him enough without alerting the man — an easy enough task given his state of giddiness.
Yet she lost her trail of thought when Cullen's eyes diverted to meet hers, without lifting his head.
Her heart throbbed. The glimmering in his amber irises when it met her face made her knees falter.
The fact that such barbarian man —as she imagined him to be— bore more elegance than her, was disconcerting enough. The worst of it all was knowing that he wasn't even trying; he just stood there and looked like the Maker's most beautiful creature.
She bit her lips as she wondered how many women had already approached him that night. A dozen? Twelve?
Her guess was as good as any.
Eowyn didn't like Cullen, that much was no secret, but for all her disgust and displeasure towards the man, she wasn't blind. No— in fact, she could clearly see and agree (of course, without ever admitting such out loud) that he was handsome. Too handsome for his own good. Wherever he went, he attracted a following.
She was sure that he had many secret and not-so-secret admirers.
The new shade of red that found its way into her clevage and up the tip of her ears, had nothing to do with the four glasses she had drank.
Her thoughts were so indomitable that she caught herself wondering if, may he had not have been a templar and she didn't distaste the man so much, she would feel attracted to him.
“Are you feeling well, Herald?” the noble she had been talking to asked as he hesitantly touched her forearm, an attempt to regain her attention.
His sudden touch startled her out of the dangerous trail of thoughts her mind decided to follow.
Eowyn blamed the wine for letting her subjected to such obnoxious thoughts.
“Your cheeks are rather colorful… have you been ingesting too much alcohol, my dear? Maybe I should go get someone.”
She panicked at his words as she traced the direction the noble's eyes were going; her gaze soon finding its way once again to Cullen.
And thank the Maker he wasn't looking at her anymore; she wouldn't be able to endure the humiliation of being subjected to his judgmental gaze upon seeing the crimson red tone her face had now taken.
In an act of self-preservation, she grasped the noble's arm before he could take a single step.
He turned to look at her, his orlesian mask making his expression unreadable.
“Please, monsieur,“ she begged with her peridot eyes as she tried to contain the desperation inside her voice. “There's no need! What good Herald would I be if I kept inflicting my problems upon another? Please, worry not, for it's nothing more than a small indisposition.“
At her words, he paused, staring at her in silence. Eowyn could see his blue eyes as he contemplated his options.
It took him a moment to finally speak.
“I see...“ he let out a sigh. “I understand, milady. But let me at least offer you some water. Maker forgive me if I let you stay in that condition and not do a thing to relieve you from such pains.“
He walked away hastily before she could say anything, leaving her hand hanging in the air as he disappeared in the middle of a crowd.
Her cheeks were burning like fire as she waited for the man to come back.
She could feel the alcohol in her blood going up to her brain as the world started to spin around her and under her feet.
Eowyn fidgeted her fingers against the empty glass of wine she was still holding, hoping the man to arrive soon.
She felt her knees starting to give in as the minutes passed by and there was no sign of the noble anywhere.
Her head hurted as a woman walked by her—the strong fragance of flowers intoxicating Eowyn's nostrils. Suddenly she was feeling every odor in the air; the horrendous mixture of different smells made her nauseous.
She almost cried when she tried to breathe through her lips instead of her nose. The worst decision —she soon found out—, for it felt like she was drinking every smell within each inhalation. The air burning her larynx as it went down through it and towards her lungs.
The world started to fade away before her when she couldn't take it anymore— the air not entering her nostris as her hands fell open to her side, letting the glass slip through her fingers in the direction of the ground.
Oh Maker, oh Maker— she panicked even more as she lost control of her body. The sudden heaviness of all her weight pulling her down, her eyes shutting as her ears expected to hear the sound of the glass shattering.
But nothing happened, the only sound audible was the enthusiastic conversation between the nobles when she felt a warmth against her body and she realized she hadn't fallen into darkness.
“Are you alright?“ a voice called, reaching her conscious before it could complete its journey to the Fade.
She grasped for something when she felt a cold sensation against her chest.
“I'm so sorry,“ she apologized as her free hand lifted to her temporal bone, pressing against it in an attempt to diminish the ache she felt hammering her head. Then, she pushed herself away from whoever, or whatever, she was leaning against; almost losing her balance when her dizziness came once more.
Such humiliation! Such shame!
Not only she had embarrassed herself in getting drunk, but had also tormented a dignitary as she fell again towards the person.
Eowyn could already hear the sermon Josephine would be giving her tomorrow.
Her lamentations were soon over upon the repeating of the man's words.
“Are you alright?“ he asked again.
Her eyes widened in a snap as she recognized the voice.
Maker have mercy! Of all of the people she could've fallen over, why it had to be the one she definitely didn't want to embarrass herself in front of?
The problem with Cullen was beyond the simple fact that he was a templar and she was a mage.
Since the first time they met, they didn't get along. Both had opposite personalities, views of life and ideals.
He was hard working, she was carefree. Where one said yes, the other said no. And so many divergences could only lead to constant arguments over even the simplest of things.
She hated the man and was sure he wasn't fond of her either.
And then, to be helped by him…
Her cheeks flushed once again as her chin lifted up and their eyes met. The sight of the amber of his irises lightening up, took away any breath she was still able to inhale.
She feared that the scarlet tone of her face was not due the wine.
It took Eowyn a second to recollect herself from her reverie and notice the fact that his hands were on her; one over her shoulder, while the other held her wrist; keeping her from falling to the ground.
“Shit,” she swore as she snapped his touch off her. “What do you think you are doing?”
His expression of worry disappeared, his brows frowned as his eyes narrowed, but not in angerness, no. He took her wrist again and observed it, his eyes wandering over her showing skin.
His gaze was attentive when he inquired.
“Are you hurt?“ His eyes continued to roll over her body, making her feel vulnerable, as if she was naked before him.
Eowyn released herself from his grasp as she held her arms against her chest, hiding herself from his intrusive gaze.
“I'm fine,” she bittered, hoping he would take the hint and leave her be.
To her surprise, he only got closer as his voice rose.
“Your breath smells alcohol. How many glassed did you have?”
Great! Now he thought she was a drunkard that couldn't control herself.
She shook her head at the thought, raising her hand hastily to her temporal bone as a wave of pain flooded her brain. Her expression turned from anger to confusion at his words, disturbed by his question.
She forced herself to replay the night in her mind.
“Four or five… I guess,” she bit her lips in hesitation. “No more than five, I'm sure,” she then looked up at him, certain of her answer. Her eyes defying whatever anticipated judgements he could've made about her being an alcoholic.
“That's not enough to get someone drunk,” he thought to himself.
At her silence, added to the abrupt turn away of her eyes, he sent her an accusatory look. “What is it?”
She hesitated, not wanting to admit to him she couldn't drink. Surely, for a normal person, four half-empty glasses wouldn't be a big thing, but such wasn't the case to Eowyn, she has never been able to handle alcohol. Even small amounts of the beverage were enough to take her into a cycle of endless headache, nausea and dizziness.
Bitting her underlip, she started, “Well—”
However, before she could conclude her sentence, she stopped, for his gaze made her uncertain of what to say.
Cullen was staring at her with his pupils dilated, there was a expression of realization on his face, like he had just had an epiphany. Like he knew some secret about her.
She watched in silence as the Commander opened his mouth, ready to say something.
“Herald!” was what she heard, but it didn't come from him.
Eowyn turned around to see the same noble she had been previously talking to bringing a glass of water in his hand.
“Ah!” he gasped in ecstasy as he approached her and took notice of Cullen. “I'm glad the Commander had found you! Honestly, I thought you were about to pass out, I got worried about leaving you alone.”
She felt the Commander's gaze over her, which made her fluster, but she didn't dare to face him.
Whatever was the sentiment behind his eyes, she didn't want to know. Instead, she focused on the noble, who extended his arm to her, offering the glass of water he had been holding.
The drink was gladly accepted and dried up as fast as she took it from his hands, giving the empty glass back to the noble, afterwards.
“We should inform Lady Montiliyet of your indisposition, milady,“ he said as he turned around to start walking. “I'm sure it would be imprudent to let you keep indulging yourself instead of resting.“
Maker, no — she couldn't let him get to the Ambassador.
She knew if Josephine got the knowledge about Eowyn's situation, she would dismiss the party at an instant— which would be nothing shorter than a scandal.
Oh! The insufferable gossips such behavior would cause! The deception when the nobles concluded that the Herald was nothing more than a shameless drunkward!
The dizziness augmented at such thoughts. There was no point in trying to follow the man just for her to pass out before reaching him.
Her eyes quickly found its way to Cullen, who seemed to be expressionless about the whole situation. Without thinking, she took his hand and squeezed it, her act making him look down at her.
Eowyn ignored the skipping of her heart when his gaze met hers. Despair was written all over her face when she moved her lips and pronnounced, soundlessly:
“Help me.”
Cullen was, in the next instant, reaching for the man. His military march diminishing the distance between them before the noble made his way to Josephine. He took the noble's forearm, his grip tight enough to obligate the man to stop.
By the Commander's frowned brows and tense muscles, added to the fact that she could see his coronary vein jumping through his neck, she thought him to be threatening the noble.
Yet the conversation took a more amiable turn when she saw the two exchanging pleasentries before Cullen set himself in motion, coming back to her.
He casted her a observating glance when there was less than a foot of distance betweem them. She didn't say a single word until he spoke first.
“I need to take you out of here.“
“I can't leave,” she looked at the door to Haven. “Josephine tipped the guards. If they see me trying to escape, they will call her.”
“I'm aware of that,” his eyes wandered around the room.
Indeed, every door inside the Hall was being protected by a pair of guards.
Cullen suddenly regretted letting Josephine take care of his men that night— the woman didn't joke during a job.
“Andraste preserve me,“ he cursed under his breath before taking Eowyn's hand and leading her towards the darkest corner he could find, away from public eyes.
She felt her heart throbbing against her chest when his gauntleted hands took her gloved ones.
They walked through some groups of nobles, trying to not attract too much attention as they got behind a pillar.
He pushed her gently against the wall, leaving her under the darkest shadow as he leaned himself over her body.
Eowyn was breathless, the only thought that formed inside her mind was swearing words directed towards the alcohol in her veins when she felt the urge to touch his cheeks. The soft odor of coffee coming from him was a pleasing contrast to the extravagant smells that battled around the room. And intoxicating at the same time.
She almost forgot her surroundings when he leaned closer and his lips brushed her earlobe.
Maker, the sudden heat that invaded her body—
“Listen to me,” he whispered against her ear, his tone husky as she felt his minty breath tickling her bare neck. The sensation giving her goose bumps.
“Varric told me about your ‘thing’ with alcohol. He has a plan to take you away from the nobles,“ he pulled himself away to make sure she was listening to his words. Leaning back after Eowyn nodded.
“Someone will create a commotion and I'll distract the guards so you can have enough time to reach the War Room without being noticed.“
“What about Josephine?“
“Varric will keep her busy for the time being.“
Saying that, Cullen took a step back, removing his cloak from his back and using it as a hood to cover Eowyn's face.
“Don't take it off until you're in the War Room. And be careful to not meet anyone's gaze until then, do you understand?”
With a quick nod —that made her head hurt— she complied.
Under normal circumstances, Eowyn would've fidgeted about his commands. Not that night, though, for the alcohol was fogging her mind, making it impossible for her to think straight.
At least that's what she was trying to convince herself. However, the truth was much simple: it was his fault. The intensity with which his amber eyes gazed at her left her breathless. That, and the huskiness of his voice against her ear, which left her skin burning where his breath tickled.
Her reverie ended as soon as the sharp sound of glass shattering echoed inside the room, making Cullen move away, sheathing his sword as he marched.
That was the signal, then, she thought as her feet guided her to the nearest shadow. Eowyn walked next to the walls, holding the cloak tight against her head as she passed by some weary nobles. She could hear Josephine's frantic voice as she crossed the Hall, her ears also taking notice of Cullen ordering the guards to follow him towards the prison (where the sound had come from, apparently).
The chaos that took over the room was overwhelming, she pitied the pair of soldiers that tried to contain the exasperated nobles.
At some point, Eowyn felt a hand taking hers and leading the way.
The suddenness of it all almost made her blew her cover, but before she could panic, a familiar voice calmed her nerves down.
It was Varric, she recognized. He was wearing a hood (a proper one, not somethign like a cloak) over his head as he guided her. They soon rwached the door to the War Room, Varric dropping her hand as he took a key off his hood's pocket and used it to unlock the door, opening ajar— but enough to Eowyn slip through.
“Go, Cinnamon,“ he pushed her when she hesitated, locking the door as soon as she was inside.
At last, she was free.
The room was dark as the void, but with a quick motion of Eowyn's hands, all the candles went alive, illuminating the place with its flame. Although it was a simple spell, the use of magic made a wave of pain pulsate inside her head, letting her aware of her imprudence.
“Shit,” she swore as she dragged her feet towards the War Table, using its surface as support while she contoured the object. She pleaded to the Maker that her legs didn't falter and that the madly spinning world wasn't successful in its attempts to pull her down to the ground.
As she reached the opposite side of the table, Eowyn sat down on the floor, soon recognizing the spot as the Commander's usual standing point during their daily meetings.
She arranged her dress' skirt then, in hopes that the fabric wouldn't give her away to whoever entered the room.
Taking Cullen's fur cloak off her head and using it to cover her body, Eowyn leaned over her legs as took the heels she had been wearing off. Her feet finally able to take a breath.
She proceeded to massage them, the callouses the shoes had made hurted.
That had been her first time wearing heels, and she could only hope the experience would not to be repeated.
Eowyn was tall, almost as tall as the Commander, and due her height, she had never felt the need of wearing anything other than flat shoes.
She would've continued to do so had Leliana not insisted on her wearing the damned pair.
And Maker, the pain—! She cursed whoever had created such uncomfortable and dreadful footwear.
Eowyn was grateful when the sound of heavy footsteps and clanging metal coming from the door dismissed the obnoxious thoughts off her mind. She listened as the noise got louder, until it suddenly stopped by her side.
“Commander,” she greeted him without lifting her gaze, keeping her attention to her feet, instead.
Cullen was surprised she recognized him before he could say something.
“May I sit?“ he petitioned, pointing at the spot beside her. His inquiry being met with an affirmative nod.
He then sat down, just where he had pointed at, watching her with an attentive gaze when he was on the floor.
“Can I do it?” he inquired as he motioned her feet.
Eowyn's eyes widened as she stared at him with utter incredulity on her face. Cullen's offer of massaging her feet was unexpected and unlikely, her gaze held so much stupor that who saw it might think he had asked her to take her clothes off.
Her gaze was so intense that he blushed, not sure if he had offended her somehow.
After a whole minute her face softened, Eowyn nodded as he took her feet on his lap and runned his glauntleted hands over her calloused skin.
“Everything's back to normal,“ Cullen said upon being asked about the situation in the Hall. “Josephine is still a little unnerving about what happened, even though I was able to calm her down a bit.”
“She will frantic all over when she realizes that I've escaped…“
He swallowed dry at her words.
Despite his actions, he couldn't say he felt comfortable about lying to the Ambassador, much less about the consequences such lie might bring.
Fearing not having any good comment about the subject, the Commander stood silently as he kept massaging her. He watched her movements from the corner of his eyes, raising his voice again when noticed that it was the fourth time Eowyn took her hand to her temporal bone.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sick,” she said simply, clearly not compelled to talk about her welfare, and he obliged, not expecting her to speak again for some time. “You said it was Varric's idea, how did it come to be?“
He stared at her for a moment, not sure if it was his story to tell.
After adjusting his stance, Cullen decided to take on the opportunity to talk.
“He approached me before the party started, told me about the alcohol,” he paused before taking a deep breath and continuing. “He was worried about you.”
Eowyn shrank under his cloak. She hadn't told anyone about that, not even Varric. Guess she should've known better than escape the dwarf's observant eyes.
When she didn't comment on the sentence, he retook his voice.
“I've been watching you during the whole night,” Cullen paused when she frowned at him. He choke when he realised the possible intepretations of his words.
“I mean— it was only a obligation, I wasn't following you because I wanted to. Er… not that I didn't want to— no, It was just that—” he brushed his nape as he kept stumbling over his breath.
The anxiety he felt, together with the urge of correcting himself, made him sloppy.
“You're beautiful tonight.”
Eowyn's reaction was imediate: her brow arched, making Cullen the embodment of panic and embarrassment; that was definetely not what he inteded to say.
“Maker's breath!” he felt frustration crawl upon him as a flush colored his cheeks.
Her peridot eyes widened with each sound that came off his lips, but herself was as silent as a grave.
Cullen couldn't thank the Maker enough when the sound of Josephine's became audible from the other side of the door.
He pushed Eowyn's feet away, gently, before rushing himself to stand up.
His hands soon took the nearest report he could find, and as he heard the door being unlocked, he diverted his gaze to the paper in hand, pretending to hear it as Josephine stepped inside.
“Commander—!” by tone of her voice, it was clear she wasn't expecting to find him —or anyone— in the War Room.
His gaze raised from the document to meet the Ambassador's eyes, giving her a short bow as a greeting.
Josephine was a mess — a few strands of hair had escaped her always so impeccable bun. Her dress had some unnatural folds at its sides, like she had been pressing the fabric with frantic hands. He could even swear he saw a drop of sweat coming down her forehead, and that was saying much about her state— he had never seen her sweating before.
She took a moment to recover her breath (making him wonder if she had been running around) and her composure. Her hands rolling over the skirt of her dress, smoothing the folds as he stared at her.
There was a hint of anger in her voice when she inquired the reason for him to be standing there instead the party.
Cullen froze, only then remembering that she had not only demanded the Herald's presence at the event, but also his.
He brushed the back of his neck, his anxiety growing inside his brain as he thought of an excuse to give her. But before he could decide on anything, Josephine sighed.
“No matter,” she dismissed the question with a wave of her hand.
She then proceeded to rearrange her bun before speaking again— this time to inquire him about the subject he had been expecting to be inquired about.
“Have you seen the Herald? I can't find her anywhere.”
The question, even though bore no surprise to him, made Cullen falter.
Lying to Josephine, whom had despair written all over her face, wouldn't be a pleasant experience.
The fact he had been against the idea of throwing a ball at Haven, didn't matter. He was aware of how seriously Josephine took her job; she wasn't doing it for her own amusement, but rather the Inquisition's benefits, and that was something he greatly appreciated.
Of course— Cullen could simply tell her the truth and relieve the Ambassador from her angst. And he couldn't say that the thought hadn't crossed his mind.
However, he was sure that dragging Eowyn back to the party would only lead to disaster. He wouldn't want to have Josephine explaining to the nobles how the Herald of Andraste ended up drunk and spilled her guts over the most important dignitary in the room.
“I'm sorry,” he began, mostly due his lie. “I can't say that I have.”
Although he avoided her gaze, he could see Josephine's expression withering down from the corner of his eyes.
“I see…” she recomposed herself and projected a smile on her face, a smile that Cullen knew that bore no happiness; and such knowledge didn't help the attempt of keeping himself steady.
She bowed, taking a step back as she spoke, “Well, I must continue my search, then… have a good night, Commander.”
He returned the bow as Josephine gave him a nonchalant smile and turned around to leave; closing the door behind her as she returned to the Hall.
Cullen exhaled a sigh he didn't know he was holding. Only when he felt his muscles relax that he noticed how tense he had been.
“Are you alright?” Eowyn inquired as she pulled the hem of his breeches, hoping the act made him look at her.
At the sight of his expression of skepcticism over the hint of worry in her voice, she let go of his hem.
“From the little I know about you, I don't think you like to lie. For that, I'm sorry.”
The stress of the whole situation, added to the headache that he developed, made him annoyed. Such feeling caused much distress, and it was without thinking that he arched his eyebrow at her and needled her bitterly.
“You're being incredibly agreeable to someone who had publicly denounced me.”
He regretted his words as soon as they took form, and the widening of her eyes didn't do him any favors.
What are you doing, Rutherford? You're giving the woman a hard time just because you're frustrated with yourself!
Cullen wanted to slap himself, but he just brushed his neck instead, flushing in shame as he stuttered.
“I didn't mean to—“
“It's alright, I understand.“
Her face was expresionless when he glanced at her. The uncertainty of her reaction made him sigh.
“Even so,“ he started as his gaze went down to the ground. “That was unkind of me, and for that I beg your pardon.“
He was still brushing his hair as he casted another quick glance at her, the silence he received as an answer was killing him.
Anyone who became acquainted with them could easily say that, although they seemed to be complete opposites, they both were equally stubborn and prideful.
The two had been shaped by their past: Eowyn's rebellious spirit due to the majority of her life being spent in the confinement of the Circle, while Cullen's pride and dutifulness due the many years of devotion to the Order.
And such were their nature, supplied by their personalities, that it was a constant battle between them, one never feeling intimidated by the other, nor indulged to give in,
But there were no fights to be fought that night.
Cullen knew that, and had hoped desperately for them to find a common ground.
Yet his words seemed to destroy any chance of peace between the two.
He sighed again as he put the report down on the table, proceeding to sit on the ground next to her, but not as close as before, for Cullen was sure that she wouldn't forgive him for what he had said.
How could her? Before he had awkwardly complimented her, even!
He received his confirmmation when she handled, without even casting him a glance, his fur cloak back. With a heavy heart he took it.
There was tension in the air as the silence perpetued around them.
He could see Eowyn from the corner of his eyes. He observed as she shrank her legs and hugged them, resting her chin over her knees as her mind seemed to trail some distressful thoughts— or at least was what he imagined her to be doing, for he had seen the sadness on her face when she stared down at the ground.
Cullen bit his lips, wondering if she was still feeling indisposed.
Eowyn was remembering about the day she was taken as a prisioner by Cassandra. Everything happened so fast since then— the Mark, being accused of killing the Divine, the Breach…
It was hard to believe that a whole month had passed since.
With lazy movements, she took the glove off her left hand and tossed it aside. She extended her arm forward, opening her palm as the Fade-green light of the Mark reflected in her eyes.
Her frontal teeth carved her underlip as she stared at the green thing. She had learned from her life in the Circle to fear the unknown, and that was exactly what the unknown looked like.
She feared it, hated it.
There was no saying of its origins, nor its original purpose. The only knowledge she or anyone else bore was that it could close the rifts.
Sometimes it itched, sometimes there was pain, but most of the time the Mark was just there, projecting its light into its surroundings.
Eowyn was so distracted she didn't notice Cullen approaching her— not until his gauntleted hand reached out for her, and he closed his fingers over her Marked palm.
Her eyes widened at the act, casting a quick glance at him. Only to find out he wasn't looking at her.
Cullen had his own gaze diverted to the other side, afraid of her reaction over his boldness.
The coldness of his pauldrons against her bare shoulder sent a chill down Eowyn's spine as she moved herself to get closer to him. His body stiffening when her hand squeezed his, yet he controlled himself to not turn to look at her.
His hesitation made Eowyn whiter and wither as she got the sense he was somehow upset with her, that he blamed her for having to lie to Josephine.
Insecurity clinging to her, she immediately pulled her hand away from his, increasing also the distance between them when her body moved away, their shoulders no longer brushing against one another's.
However, before she was out of his reach, Cullen leaned towards her and grasped her wrist tightly. His free hand covering the blush on his face as he beseeched.
“Don't,“ his voice cracked.
She complied, returning to be close to him. She caressed the back of his hand as she leaned against his shoulder.
After a moment or two of silence, Eowyn rose her voice as she played with the fingers of the hand she was holding.
“I can still feel a headache, and although I can't say much about my dizziness, the nausea is gone.”
Her words answered his unspoken question, making Cullen raise his face, which he had been hidding in her hair since she was back to his side. He stared at her profile, contemplating the sound of her voice as he did so.
He then pulled his hand back, feeling the weight of his chest when she turned to look at him with a disappointed gaze. Before she could say anything, however, he passed his arm behind her back and rested his palm on her waist, pulling her body even closer.
Eowyn would never admit it, but there was some comfort in being next to him. She felt warm and safe. Protected, even.
And the feelings weren't one-sided — Cullen could say the same about being next to her.
Little nugs sniffled inside her stomach and her body became rigid his hand rose from her waist to her forearm, his caress ruffling the hair on her bare skin.
His movements were delicate as he drew small circles over her arm, being careful for his armor to not hurt her.
It didn't take long for the Fade to take her in its arms, Cullen following soon after her Marked hand clenched his free one.
A soft swing of her body, added to the chilly wind coming down the Frostback Mountains, made Eowyn slowly lift her eyelids. The delicious and familiar scent of coffee and cocoa making her body lazy.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up,” she heard a husky voice speaking in front of her. “How are you feeling?”
As she recognized the sound, Eowyn blinked twice, letting the reality pour itself over her as her surroundings started to focus in her periherical vision.
She was being piggybacked by the Commander— to where she could only assume to be her room.
“I— what happened?” her thoughts were still foggy inside her mind, and though all her symptons had vanished, she could still feel traces of alcohol in her system.
“Nothing much, the party is over so I'm taking you back to your room.”
“Oh—” she gasped.
When Cullen inquired her about her welfare, she told him how much better she was feeling, but not hiding the fact that she could still taste the lingering bits of wine in her body.
To her surprise, Cullen denied her request of putting her down, saying that any unnecessary effort could make her symptons come back at her. For her misfortune, Eowyn wasn't capable of making a counterargument.
Not inclined to incite a bitterness between them, she thought better than pursue the matter any further, inquiring, instead, about the rest of the evening — about the span of time she had been sleeping.
Eowyn soon leanerd that although her disappearance had caused some initial commotion, Josephine and Leliana were able to quickly control it. The noble that had helpened her had been essential on containing the whole situation, as his explanation of the events gave Josephine time to avoided a bigger crisis.
Cullen chuckled as he remembered the Ambassador's anger face when she marched into the War Room, but he soon swallowed his grin down his throat upon remembering about the long and exhausting sermon he was obligated to hear.
He was only saved when the mention of Eowyn made Josephine falter, the angerness soon giving place to concern as she questioned him about her welfare.
“It wasn't her fault,” Eowyn bit her underlip upon hearing about the guilt Josephine felt when Cullen had told her about the alcohol.
“It wasn't,” he agreed. “But she said she wants to apologize to you anyway.”
A significant chiller breeze whished down the mountains, making Eowyn tighten her grasp over his collarbone in an attempt to feel more of his body's heat.
The fur cloak Cullen had covered her with, although warm, proved to not be enough to protect her against the chilly temperature, especially with the amount of bare skin her silk dress provided.
But she was more concerned, however, about him. Not only the wind, but also the falling snow made the already foul weather harsher. And even knowing the Commander wore heavy armor, she couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't trying to hide his shivering.
Eowyn was aware that his pride would never let him admit any discomfort he might be feeling, so instead of inquiring him about it, she decided to talk about something else.
“Cullen,” she called; the word stopping him on his path.
That was the first time since they had met that she said his name. The suddenness of the act caught him off guard, making his heart skip several beats in the process. He was only too grateful she couldn't see the scarlet tone that colored his cheeks.
When he hummed for her to go on, she continued.
“Thank you,” she said in a honeyed whisper against his earlobe.
The air of her warm breath tickled his sensitive neck, and Cullen couldn't bring himself to say anything as he felt nugs on his stomach.
Maker— he thought he was done with the blushing for the night, but apparently he was wrong.
Whereas his silence was due his shyness, Eowyn wasn't aware. For when he didn't speak, she faltered— the embarrassment, mixed with regret, soon took over her thoughts, making her loosen her grip on him.
Feeling her hands starting to let go, Cullen stopped to adjust her weight on his back, tightening his own hold around her thighs.
Eowyn relax upon feeling his touch. She then rested her cheeks against his scalp, letting his smooth hair caress her skin.
“You took care of me,” she whispered to herself, not expecting him to hear her words, much less for him to respond.
“And I would've done it again anytime.”
Cullen's words made her rose her head; her peridot eyes staring the back of his head as she contemplated the moment. Without thinking, she called his name again, then continued when she thought him to be paying attention.
“Can you promise me something?” her voice was a little raspy when the words took form between her lips.
He paused, briefly, in a sign that he was listening, resuming his pace as soon as the first word became sound.
“Promise me that no matter what happens, you will never let me fall.”
There was a subtle silence between them as the Commander tried to make sense of her request. Surely, she wasn't talking about literally letting her fall— there was no reason to, for they were almost reaching her cabin.
His mind drifted away as he still couldn't think of what to say, but this time he tightened his hold on her, fearing his silence to be misinterpreted once again.
To his surprise, Eowyn reacted to his movements; burying her head on his clavicle and ghosting over his neck with her lips — the sensation not only sent a chill down his spine, but also ruffled every hair on his body.
He couldn't say whether her actions were due the effects of the alcohol or of her own freewill.
Her breath was so close to his face that he could feel the scent of cinnamon, wood and vanilla invading his nostrils.
It was a rustic smell; a little sweet, but without being overwhelming, and it felt familiar.
For some reason Cullen thought about his younger days in the farm with his family, playing with wooden swords in the rain as his parents called him back home.
Ah— the smell of the cookies his mother made everytime the foul weather hindered him and his siblings from playing outside — he could feel it, the taste of vanilla inside his mouth as he stuffed himself with such treats.
His mind continued to trail off as he remembered of his eagerness as he tried to convince his family of letting him join the Order.
Then, the memory took a dark turn as thoughts of his time in the Circle flooded his mind— what once was a dream so easily twisted into his greatest nightmare.
Cullen snapped back to reality upon hearing the soft whisper of Eowyn's voice calling out his name.
“Sorry,“ he said, still a little harassed by his abstraction. “I was... thinking,“ he added, resuming his walk shortly after.
“Is everything alright?”
He hesitated at her question, frowning as he found it hard to give her an answer. So instead of using words, he forced out a grin and squeezed her thigh.
Yet Eowyn didn't seem to be satisfied wit his response.
“Cullen—” she called him one last time, the hint of concern in her voice ruffling his hair.
Maker, may he ever succumb to lyrium withdraw, may he be too weak to break the chains that still imprisoned him.
But at that night, at that moment, he would supplicate, beg, beseech that, whatever was to be his fate, may that moment never be corrupted.
“I promise you, Eowyn Trevelyan,“ he took a deep breath before continuing. “I promise you that, no matter what happens, I will never, ever, let you fall. I promise you that even when you don't want me to, I will be there to catch you. And I promise, with all my dignity as the Commander of the Inquisition that, even at the face of the greatest cliff, even when there's only a finger keeping you from descending into abyss, I won't, under no circumstance, let go of your hand.“
He knew that only he would remember the words that he had said with such confident that he would never be able to repeat.
And Maker forgive him, but he didn't care— he was content with holding the memory of such insufferable night and its forgotten promise close to his chest.
If only he knew how the crimson tone of her cheeks scattered around her face, coloring even her freckles—
If only he knew how much his words warmed her inside—
When Eowyn spoke again, it was only with the best projection of grattitude that she tightened her grip on his collarbone and conjured the most melodious voice she was capable of.
“Thank you.“