Work Text:
The ballroom was unbearable.
Not because of the heat (though the massive chandeliers, crowded dance floor, and endless layers of silk certainly didn’t help), but because of the constant attention.
Everywhere Cullen looked, someone was watching him.
Nobles tracked his movements across the ballroom with unsettling interest, eager for conversation, introductions, favors, or simply the novelty of speaking to the Commander of the Inquisition.
Cullen had despised gatherings like this long before the Inquisition. Back in Ferelden, however, people had usually possessed the courtesy to leave him alone eventually. Here, every ambitious noble in Thedas seemed convinced he was fascinating.
Which remained absurd, considering Cullen spent most evenings like this standing near walls, clutching a wine glass and trying not to look as trapped as he felt.
The ballroom glittered obnoxiously with gold and candlelight. Music drifted through the air in soft, elegant waves while servants moved silently between clusters of nobles carrying silver trays of wine.
Every laugh sounded too loud. Every smile too sharp.
Cullen could practically feel the weight of eyes following him every time he crossed the room.
Maker, he hated Orlais.
He was beginning to feel faintly trapped inside his own formalwear. If one more noblewoman attempted to corner him beside a decorative plant, he might simply flee into the Frostbacks and allow the snow to claim him.
More than anything, he wanted to be back at Skyhold. Somewhere quiet. Preferably with Cordelia, and absolutely no nobles within several miles.
Unfortunately, the evening was far from over.
It gave Cullen some small measure of comfort knowing he wasn’t the only one suffering through the evening.
If anything, Cordelia had endured far worse. Since arriving at the ball, nobles had surrounded her relentlessly, eager for dances, conversations, alliances, and more than a few barely disguised marriage proposals delivered beneath polished Orlesian smiles.
Cullen had lost count of how many men had attempted to monopolize her attention already.
The thought irritated him more than it reasonably should have.
Perhaps because every time he looked across the ballroom, someone always seemed to be standing too close to her. Leaning in too comfortably. Smiling too easily at things that should have belonged only to her private amusement.
And yet, through all of it, Cordelia remained impossibly graceful.
The sapphire blue of her gown shimmered beneath the candlelight, rich enough to make the green of her eyes seem almost unreal whenever she glanced up at someone. Silver embroidery curled delicately across the fabric, elegant without becoming ostentatious, while her copper-red curls fell freely over her shoulders in soft waves that caught gold beneath the chandeliers whenever she moved.
It was becoming increasingly difficult not to stare at her across the ballroom like a complete fool.
He kept searching for her without meaning to. In every crowded corner of the ballroom, his gaze drifted instinctively toward her again and again. And every single time she caught him looking, Cullen’s thoughts dissolved completely, he could do nothing but stare appreciatively.
Cordelia would always smile at him. Not the polite, strained smile she offered nobles, or the diplomatic smile worn for Orlais.
But something softer, warmer. Entirely his.
Cullen sighed.
His quiet contemplation was abruptly ruined when another nobleman intercepted him near one of the marble columns.
“So then I told him,” the man continued loudly, already halfway through a story Cullen had stopped listening to several minutes ago, “if the Antivan shipping routes remain unstable, grain prices will inevitably—”
“Mm.”
The nobleman brightened immediately, apparently taking this as enthusiastic encouragement.
Cullen took another polite sip of wine and endured. Across the ballroom, Cordelia caught his eye over the rim of her glass. Even from a distance, he could tell she was trying very hard not to laugh at him.
Traitor. Absolute traitor.
“And naturally,” the nobleman continued, entirely oblivious to Cullen’s slow spiritual demise, “my daughter has taken a particular interest in the Inquisition’s work.”
Of course she had.
Cullen resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“She was just telling me how much she admires strong military leadership.”
Cullen briefly considered throwing himself out the nearest window. “That is… very kind.”
The nobleman laughed heartily and clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to nearly send wine sloshing over the rim of his glass.
Across the ballroom, the Inquisitor’s smile widened in obvious delight at his suffering.
Cullen stared back at her with all the long-suffering dignity of a man being publicly executed.
She looked entirely unrepentant.
Worse, she looked delighted.
—
Several minutes later, across the ballroom, the Inquisitor found herself only half-listening to an elderly nobleman enthusiastically explaining the history of his family’s vineyards.
Then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted Cullen being intercepted near one of the marble columns by yet another elegantly dressed noblewoman.
The shift in his posture alone gave him away.
As though sensing her attention, Cullen glanced toward her across the ballroom.
The Inquisitor caught the deeply long-suffering look on his face just before he buried it beneath polite composure once more.
Amusement tugged instantly at her mouth.
Traitor, Cullen mouthed silently.
Her smile only widened.
“Commander Cullen,” the woman purred, smiling far too sweetly, “surely you can spare me one dance?”
Cullen wore the same expression he always did at events like these: painfully polite and visibly exhausted.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer, my lady.”
Not entirely a lie. Josephine had eventually bullied him into learning properly, but Cullen had quickly discovered that feigned incompetence discouraged at least half the invitations.
Unfortunately, tonight the strategy was failing spectacularly.
The noblewoman tilted her head slightly. “It’s difficult to believe no one has managed to keep your attention yet, Commander. Surely a man in your position cannot intend to remain unattached forever.”
Maker, give me strength.
Cullen forced something resembling a smile while resisting the urge to flee outright.
“I fear my duties leave little room for such things.”
It was the sort of vague, politely impersonal answer that usually discouraged further interest. Unfortunately, this was Orlais.
“Oh, I imagine even the most dutiful men can be persuaded under the proper circumstances.” Her fingers traced lazily around the stem of her wine glass. “Duty becomes rather flexible with the right incentive.”
The noblewoman lifted her glass slightly, studying him through lowered lashes.
“And surely a man like you cannot intend to remain alone forever.”
Something in Cullen’s patience snapped quietly in half. “I’m afraid I’m already spoken for, my lady.”
She laughed softly, dismissively.
“Oh, Commander,” she murmured, “this is Orlais. Attachments here are rarely so permanent.”
Something unpleasant tightened low in Cullen’s chest.
The woman spoke about attachment as though it were negotiable. Temporary.
As though loyalty could simply be exchanged whenever something more convenient appeared.
The gall of it.
The very idea was absurd.
As if he would ever want to belong to anyone else.
Cullen took another measured sip of wine and fixed his attention firmly on the conversation, resisting the instinctive urge to look across the ballroom toward the one person who had never once treated him as temporary.
And suddenly, more than anything, he felt tired.
Tired of smiling politely through conversations that felt more like transactions. Tired of nobles who treated affection as strategy rather than sincerity. Tired of being perceived first as Commander and only second as a person.
Fortunately, Josephine appeared moments later like a blessing sent directly by the Maker.
“Commander,” she interrupted smoothly, “there you are. I’m afraid I need you for a moment.”
Cullen had never been more grateful for another human being in his life.
The second Josephine guided him away, he exhaled sharply.
“You have my eternal gratitude.”
Josephine smiled sympathetically. “You looked moments away from staging a military coup.”
“I was considering it.”
Laughing softly, she disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Cullen finally free to retreat toward the edge of the ballroom where the Inquisitor waited beside the refreshments table with entirely too much amusement on her face.
The moment he reached her, some of the tension in his chest finally began to loosen.
“Commander! Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked innocently as she passed him another drink.
He accepted it gratefully. “You know I am not.”
After a brief pause, he added: “One man spent twenty minutes describing his horse breeding program in hopes I’d marry his daughter.”
Cordelia blinked. “Well. That’s certainly a new tactic. Were the horses at least impressive?”
“They were considerably more interesting than the conversation.”
That earned a snort from her.
The corner of Cullen’s mouth twitched despite himself, his shoulders easing almost unconsciously. The noise of the ballroom seemed less unbearable standing beside her.
Maker, he had missed her.
She smiled at him softly. “You look miserable.”
“I am miserable.”
“My poor Commander,” she murmured sympathetically. “And yet you’ve been here less than an hour.”
Cullen sighed heavily. “It feels like I’ve been here for six years.”
She laughed again while Cullen dragged a tired hand down his face. “Why do nobles speak as though every conversation is a negotiation?”
“Because usually it is.”
“One woman asked how much land I expect to inherit. Another spent ten uninterrupted minutes complimenting my hair.”
Cordelia gasped dramatically. “How horrifying. Did she compose poetry about it too?”
“She compared the color to ‘sunlit chestnuts.’”
The noise the Inquisitor made hovered somewhere between sympathy and outright laughter.
Another cluster of nobles glanced in Cullen’s direction from across the ballroom.
He visibly stiffened, while the Inquisitor looked dangerously entertained.
“Commander,” she murmured, “you are far too handsome for your own good. You may genuinely require a bodyguard.”
Cullen nearly choked on his wine.
“Inquisitor,” he said under his breath, sounding scandalized.
She smiled serenely into her glass.
A faint flush crept steadily across his cheeks as he glanced around the ballroom, suddenly looking even more uncomfortable now that she had said it aloud.
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“Well, yes.”
“You are meant to defend me from Orlesian nobility, not encourage them.”
She smirked. “Oh, I’ll save you.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“My hero,” he muttered, the fondness in his voice ruining any chance the words had of sounding sarcastic.
Warmth spread instantly through her chest.
Then Cullen spotted another noblewoman making her way toward him through the crowd with terrifying determination. The life drained visibly from his face.
The reaction did not escape Cordelia’s attention.
Cullen sighed heavily as the woman approached, carrying herself with the confidence of someone who had never once been denied anything in her life.
“Commander Cullen,” she greeted warmly.
“My lady.”
The Inquisitor watched him slip effortlessly back into the painfully formal tone he used whenever he was internally suffering.
“I had hoped I might finally succeed in stealing a dance from you this evening.”
Cullen offered her a polite but strained smile. “I fear you overestimate my abilities.”
The Inquisitor nearly snorted into her drink.
The woman laughed lightly. “Surely the Commander of the Inquisition cannot be afraid of a simple dance. I would have thought a man in your position entirely beyond such hesitation.”
Cordelia felt annoyance flicker sharply through her chest.
Did the woman truly believe provoking him would make him concede?
Before Cullen could answer, the Inquisitor drifted smoothly to his side, close enough for her shoulder to brush lightly against his arm.
“I’m afraid you may be out of luck,” she said pleasantly. “I have already stolen the Commander for the evening.”
The noblewoman stilled immediately, visibly blanching at the sight of the Inquisitor standing beside him.
Cullen turned toward Cordelia, momentarily caught off guard.
The Inquisitor simply took another slow sip of wine.
A beat later, understanding crossed the woman’s face.
“Oh.”
Beside her, Cullen looked down very briefly, very obviously trying not to smile.
The noblewoman recovered quickly enough to offer them both a stiff farewell before retreating back into the crowd.
The second she disappeared, Cullen exhaled dramatically.
Cordelia giggled.
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“Oh, immensely.”
“You were supposed to help me. You’re a terrible ally.”
Cordelia gasped in dramatic offense. “I am an excellent ally, I’ll have you know.”
“Mm. A terrifying one.”
“Is that not precisely the sort of ally you want at your side?” she murmured. “One willing to defend your honor when necessary?”
A distinctly mischievous look crossed her face as she stepped closer into his space.
“Surely every commander deserves someone willing to be a little possessive on his behalf.”
The words were playful. The reaction they pulled from Cullen was not.
Heat climbed rapidly into his face as she stepped closer, his composure unraveling with deeply embarrassing ease beneath the warmth in her voice.
Maker help him.
Before he could gather himself properly, her hand slid lightly down the front of his coat.
Cullen swallowed hard. “You practically threatened the poor woman with your tone alone.”
The Inquisitor placed a scandalized hand against her chest. “I was perfectly pleasant.”
That earned a quiet huff of laughter from him.
Warmth softened the lingering exhaustion in Cullen’s expression as he looked at her properly again.
“Well,” he admitted dryly, “I felt remarkably safe. Truly, you have my eternal thanks.”
Her smile widened immediately. “Ah. Gratitude at last.”
Cullen’s composure faltered almost at once beneath the look she gave him. “There is no reason for you to look so smug.”
“You’re my partner. I’m allowed to be smug.”
A faint flush spread across Cullen’s cheeks.
It should not still affect him this much. And yet somehow, it always did.
There was something about the quiet certainty with which she claimed him that continued to catch him off guard, even now.
The Inquisitor never hid him away, never softened the truth into something vague or politically convenient. If anything, she seemed almost determined to make it known exactly who she returned to at the end of every evening.
The thought settled warm and dangerously deep beneath Cullen’s ribs.
Because after years of feeling like little more than a title, a duty, a weapon pointed wherever people required him, there was still something almost unreal about being chosen so openly.
So proudly.
He understood the feeling all too well.
Because every time he entered a room with her on his arm, some quiet, possessive part of him wanted everyone present to know that she had chosen him too — that she was his, and that she belonged beside him.
The thought struck hard enough to nearly derail him entirely.
Cullen cleared his throat and looked pointedly away. Unfortunately, the faint pink still lingering across his cheeks betrayed him completely.
The Inquisitor noticed at once, amusement softening into something gentler.
“You’re blushing again, Commander.”
"You're terrible."
A smile lingered at the corner of her mouth as she stepped slightly closer.
“And yet you continue to adore me.”
Before she could say anything else, Cullen’s hand settled instinctively against the small of her back.
The touch was subtle, steady, almost risky considering their surroundings.
But it sent warmth rushing through her chest all the same.
His gaze settled properly on her then, the exhaustion and irritation from earlier fading quietly from his expression beneath something softer.
“I do appreciate the rescues,” he admitted quietly.
His thumb shifted almost absently against the fabric at her back.
“Though,” he added, voice lower now, “I think I simply prefer having you nearby.”
The warmth in his voice lingered embarrassingly longer than it should have.
Maker.
It was deeply unfair how easily he could throw her off balance without even trying.
Cordelia cleared her throat softly and looked away toward the dance floor before he could notice how affected she suddenly felt.
“Still,” she said lightly, “you could always dance with them once or twice. It might stop them from staring at you like you’re the last man in Thedas.”
Cullen shuddered at the thought. “That sounds significantly worse.”
“You hate dancing that much?”
Cullen made a face. “It is not the dancing itself,” Cullen informed her. “I enjoy dancing with you. I simply dislike being observed like some sort of prize horse.”
“That’s unfortunate,” she mused. “Considering half the ballroom has been staring at you since we arrived.”
Cullen looked genuinely distressed by the information. “I despise Orlais.”
She laughed again and reached up to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from his collar.
“You’re doing very well, Commander.”
“I would rather be leading troops through a blizzard.”
“Oh? And miss all this?”
She gestured vaguely toward the ballroom: the glittering chandeliers, masks, politics, and aggressively decorative architecture.
Cullen looked around once before deadpanning: “I believe I would survive the loss.”
The Inquisitor laughed softly, and Cullen looked quietly amused in response.
He opened his mouth to say something else when two very small figures approached through the crowd.
Two little girls, no older than seven or eight, dressed in elaborate noble gowns that looked far too heavy for children. One of them had an enormous blue ribbon in her hair.
They stopped directly in front of Cullen with the grave seriousness of people undertaking an important diplomatic mission.
“Ser Cullen?” the smaller one asked timidly.
Every trace of exhaustion disappeared from his face. The tension eased from his shoulders, and the careful politeness he had worn all evening gave way to something unexpectedly tender.
It was terribly sweet to witness.
“Yes?” he asked quietly.
The warmth in his voice made something ache painfully in her chest.
Before either girl could continue, a mortified-looking noblewoman hurried after them through the crowd.
“Girls,” she said quickly, clearly horrified, “do not disturb the Commander.”
The two children immediately shrank back slightly.
“We only wanted to ask something,” the older girl mumbled.
Cullen’s expression softened further almost instantly.
“No,” he said at once, looking toward their mother before crouching slightly so he was no longer towering over the girls. “You are not disturbing me.”
The woman blinked in surprise.
The little girl fiddled nervously with the ribbon at her waist.
“Our mother says you’re the most important knight here,” she explained solemnly.
Cordelia had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.
Was it a bad time to mention that technically, he wasn’t a knight?
“And…” the smaller girl continued carefully, “we wanted to ask if you would dance with us.”
Cullen blinked once. “Oh,” he said intelligently.
Their mother looked increasingly apologetic. “I am so sorry, Commander, they did not mean to impose—”
“No,” Cullen interrupted immediately.
Something impossibly gentle settled into his expression.
“No,” he repeated more softly. “I would be honored.”
The girls brightened instantly. “Really?”
Cullen smiled then, soft and genuine enough that Cordelia felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. “Of course.”
With complete seriousness, Cullen offered each of them an arm as though escorting distinguished noblewomen instead of children barely tall enough to reach his elbows.
“A knight should never refuse a lady’s request.”
Behind them, their mother looked momentarily stunned. Then something in her expression softened completely.
The careful social politeness she had worn earlier faded into something far more genuine as she watched Cullen slow his pace automatically to match the girls’ smaller steps.
“That is very kind of you, Commander,” she said quietly.
Cullen glanced back over his shoulder, already looking faintly overwhelmed by the entire situation.
“It’s no trouble at all,” he assured her politely.
The music shifted into a slower dance just as Cullen reached the center of the floor.
The girls looked up at him expectantly.
And Cullen, unfortunately, realized half the ballroom was now watching.
A few nobles had already paused mid-conversation, openly observing the Commander of the Inquisition being escorted onto the dance floor by two determined children.
The smaller girl seemed to notice Cullen’s discomfort immediately.
“We can stop if you want—”
“No,” Cullen said at once, far too quickly.
Then, softer this time: “No. I’m all right.”
He carefully took their hands.
“All right,” he said solemnly. “First rule of dancing: if someone steps on your foot, pretend it didn’t happen.”
The girls burst immediately into laughter.
Even their mother laughed softly under her breath.
And then Cullen began to lead them through the dance.
Cordelia already knew he danced beautifully. She had learned that herself long ago, discovered that beneath all the armor, discipline, and rigid control was someone unexpectedly graceful.
But this was different, he wasn’t performing court etiquette because diplomacy required it.
This was Cullen trying to make two children feel comfortable.
He adjusted every movement instinctively to match them, slowing the steps without making it obvious, guiding them gently whenever they grew confused. When one of the girls missed a turn entirely and nearly collided with him, Cullen caught her carefully before she could stumble.
“I’m sorry!” she gasped. “I did it wrong!”
“It’s quite all right, my lady,” Cullen assured her. “There’s plenty of time to learn. Besides, that was a very advanced maneuver.”
Near the edge of the dance floor, their mother pressed a hand lightly against her mouth, visibly trying not to laugh.
“I warned you they’d trample him,” she murmured to another nearby noblewoman, though the fondness in her expression made it clear she was thoroughly charmed by the entire scene.
Cullen steadied the little girl automatically, one hand gentle at her elbow while guiding her carefully back into place with patient ease.
The sight did something deeply unfortunate to the Inquisitor’s ability to think clearly.
For one moment, she could suddenly picture it far too easily. A quieter life somewhere far away from politics and war.
A home filled with warmth instead of strategy meetings and soldiers, laughter echoing through rooms that belonged only to them.
Cullen standing exactly like that in the middle of it all, soft-spoken, patient, smiling in that rare, unguarded way he never seemed fully aware of.
Children laughing somewhere nearby while an overly excited mabari endured being lovingly climbed on by toddlers, Cullen standing in the middle of it all looking impossibly content.
The other little girl stared up at him with open admiration.
“You’re really good at this, Ser.”
Cullen looked genuinely uncertain. “I am?”
“Yes! Mama says most men only stomp around.”
Cullen’s mouth twitched into a real smile. “Well. Your mother may not be entirely wrong.”
The girls giggled again.
Halfway through the dance, one of them launched into an enthusiastic story about her family’s puppy, entirely abandoning any attempt to follow the music.
“He chewed through my father’s boots!”
“A fearsome beast indeed,” Cullen said. The fondness in his expression was so effortless that the girls seemed to adore him instantly for it.
The little girl beamed up at him as though he were the greatest knight in all Thedas.
Near the edge of the ballroom, every soft, patient gesture from Cullen seemed to undo the Inquisitor a little further.
Something in her chest melted, she had not realized he would be this good with children.
Patient. Gentle.
So naturally attentive to every little thing they said that it seemed entirely instinctive.
Even their mother had gone strangely quiet now, watching Cullen with an expression that hovered somewhere between surprise and unmistakable fondness.
Cordelia could hardly blame her.
She leaned back lightly against the wall behind her, watching him with helpless affection.
At one point the smaller child completely lost track of the steps and stepped directly onto Cullen’s foot with all her weight.
He did not so much as flinch.
“Oh no!” she gasped, horrified.
Behind them, their mother winced sympathetically.
Cullen immediately shook his head. “No, no, that was entirely my fault.”
The little girl blinked up at him. “It was?”
“Mm,” he agreed gravely, guiding her gently back into the next step. “Terrible tactical positioning on my part.”
The child dissolved into relieved giggles almost instantly.
The Inquisitor sighed.
This man was too sweet.
There was something devastating about watching Cullen speak to children as though they mattered. As though they deserved patience and gentleness and kindness without condition.
After a while, Cullen noticed her staring.
Halfway through turning one of the girls beneath his arm, his gaze flicked toward the edge of the ballroom and landed on her immediately.
The smile on his face softened the moment he caught her watching. Cullen looked quietly amused by that.
Ah.
There was the Commander again.
He finished the dance properly first, bowing solemnly to both girls while they dissolved into delighted laughter and messy curtsies.
“Thank you, Ser Cullen!”
“The honor was mine, ladies.”
As the girls scampered happily back through the crowd, their mother caught each of them by the hand. She paused before disappearing fully back into the crowd, offering Cullen a small, genuinely grateful smile.
“Thank you, Commander,” she said softly. “You made their entire evening.”
Cullen recovered just enough to offer her a polite bow.
“The pleasure was entirely mine,” he assured her.
The woman smiled warmly while the girls clung impatiently to her skirts.
“You are raising very courteous young ladies,” Cullen added, with complete sincerity. “They will grow into remarkable women.”
The mother looked momentarily caught off guard by the earnestness of it. Something visibly softened in her expression. “You are very kind to say so, Commander.”
One of the girls beamed proudly at Cullen as though he had personally knighted her.
Unfortunately, the surrounding nobles seemed to find the entire exchange unbearably charming.
The soft applause spread a little further through the ballroom.
Cullen’s expression grew faintly more alarmed.
Cordelia nearly choked on her wine.
With the quiet urgency of a man fleeing an active battlefield, he made a direct retreat toward her.
By the time he stopped in front of her, faint amusement had already begun tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his obvious suffering.
“Something the matter, Inquisitor?”
“I was observing.”
“Mhm.”
She took a very deliberate sip of wine before sighing softly.
“You do realize,” she said, “that after that display, the noblewomen are going to be even more determined.”
Cullen’s expression fell immediately. “Oh, Maker.”
“Now half the ballroom is probably imagining you as a devoted husband and father.”
And he would be, she thought suddenly, with dangerous certainty.
Cullen looked genuinely distressed. “Wonderful. Now they are going to think I’m approachable.”
“Commander Cullen Rutherford,” she mused, “adored by children and beloved by noblewomen alike. What a terrible burden to bear.”
He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I should have stayed at Skyhold.
That made her laugh outright. Still smiling, she reached up automatically to straighten the collar of his coat where one of the girls had accidentally tugged it crooked during the dance.
“I didn’t realize you were so good with children.”
Cullen looked momentarily disarmed by that
“Neither did I,” he admitted quietly.
Then his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary.
“Though,” he added carefully, “I think you found the entire thing a bit too interesting.”
She felt warmth creeping on her neck. “I have absolutely no idea what you mean.”
“No?”
The effort not to smile was visibly failing.
She cleared her throat. “You are being extremely presumptuous right now,”
“And yet,” he said softly, “you are blushing.”
Heat climbed immediately into her cheeks. He looked far too pleased with himself for noticing.
His gaze flicked briefly toward the children disappearing into the crowd before returning to her face.
“Picturing something for the future, Inquisitor?”
He said the words lightly, teasingly almost, but the implication beneath them felt dangerously sincere.
A life where they were not the Inquisitor or the Commander.
Just Cordelia and Cullen.
Something ordinary and entirely their own.
The thought settled warm and aching somewhere deep in her chest.
She could have argued. Deflected. Teased him back.
Instead, she found herself holding his gaze. “Perhaps I was,” she admitted softly.
The smug amusement faded from Cullen’s face as something more vulnerable settled there instead.
Cullen forgot about the ballroom entirely. The noise faded into something distant and indistinct beneath the sudden rush of warmth low in his chest.
A future.
The possibility should have unsettled him.
For most of his life, Cullen had never looked much further ahead than survival. One battle. One order. One disaster at a time. The future had always felt uncertain at best and impossible at worst, something fragile enough to disappear the moment he allowed himself to want it too badly.
But this arrived with startling clarity.
Not grand halls or titles. Not the Inquisition. Not duty. Not war tables and sleepless nights.
Not survival stretched endlessly from one crisis to the next.
A life where the sound of raised voices did not immediately mean danger. Where evenings were spent beside a fire instead of war tables. Where the people he loved were safe and sound.
A quieter life. Muddy boots left by the door. Dogs tearing through the halls. Children laughing somewhere in the distance.
Warmth instead of survival. Peace instead of vigilance.
And her.
Always her.
Standing beside him in the middle of it all, close enough for him to reach without thinking.
Peaceful.
Happy.
His.
The thought hit hard enough that Cullen had to glance away briefly, exhaling quietly through his nose as though trying to steady himself.
Maker.
When he finally looked back at her, something in his chest felt dangerously soft.
“Perhaps,” he admitted quietly, “I was too.”
For one suspended moment, neither of them spoke.
The noise of the ballroom seemed strangely distant beneath the quiet understanding settling between them.
Then—
“Ser Cullen!”
The smaller girl came darting back through the crowd before either of them could recover properly, clutching something tightly in both hands.
Cullen blinked once, visibly pulled out of whatever dangerous emotional territory they had nearly wandered into.
“Yes?”
The little girl held up a slightly crushed flower triumphantly.
“This is for you!”
Cullen looked genuinely startled by the gesture.
“You are giving this to me?” he asked carefully, as though confirming he had understood correctly.
The little girl nodded enthusiastically. “We wanted to thank you for dancing with us.”
Cullen looked unexpectedly affected by that.
Very gently, he accepted the slightly crushed flower from her small hands as though it were something genuinely precious.
“Then I should be the one thanking you,” he said warmly. “You were both excellent dancing partners.”
The girls brightened instantly.
“And this,” Cullen added, lifting the flower slightly with careful seriousness, “is a very thoughtful gift.”
The smaller girl giggled proudly.
“I shall take very good care of it,” he promised.
The children looked utterly delighted by this response.
Behind him, Cordelia was beginning to suspect the evening might actually kill her outright.