Chapter Text
It was evening, a week or two since the march on Adamant. All hands were preparing for Winter Palace, now that they had secured their invitation from Duke Gaspard. Cullen, however, was no expert in the Game which Orlesian nobility reveled in, and he was very vehemently trying to avoid any sort of discussion with Josephine about decorum and nobles and lineage. He was, instead, on his way to the Inquisitor’s quarters to deliver a report on the current status of Warden forces assimilating and collaborating with the Inquisition.
He stopped at the door beside the Inquisitor’s throne. The last streaks of daylight came in past the mountains and scattered through the stained-glass window. He took in a sharp breath, more nervous than he had ever been.
Ever since discovering her shivering in the cold after the battle of Haven, he had felt something deep within him start to stir. He insisted on carrying her back in his arms. If it weren’t for his steadfast determination to get her back to warmth and safety, he would have been tripping over himself from staring at her face, the same prayer running through his mind.
Maker, bless her, please protect her. Do not let my failure be the cause of her death.
Watching her awaken at the camp at Haven, he could not help but sing along to Mother Giselle’s hymns, so thankful to whatever higher powers had saved and protected the Inquisitor that night, when he had not. And her face when they next spoke, how she looked so thankful that he was the one who had made it out. He swore himself to this cause, not just for the sake of Thedas, but for her. He would not give her any less than everything he had.
But that feeling of protection and care began to spread from his will to his heart, and every time he looked at her he would notice something new. How beautiful the color of her eyes were, how she carried herself with such grace, the small dimple on her left cheek that only showed itself when she smiled. And when she smiled, despite everything going on in this dark world, he truly believed she was a blessing sent by the Maker. And even the times, especially the times, when she was relaxed and casual, when she let a sarcastic comment slide or when she was joking around with Dorian, or Sera, or Bull, or Varric.
But not him. He was far too serious, and nervous, and any time they spoke was usually in the War Room.
Except for when he was drowning in work, and she had returned from her latest expedition, no longer armored and bloody, but clean and in her casual wear. And she always came to his office to speak to him. How relieved he was, how…excited he became. He was giddy at the thought of her opening that door, asking once more: “Is there anything I should know?”
You should know I care for you. You should know I adore you. You should know I…
“Commander?”
The door before him was wide open now, the evening light now painting streams of color upon the gentle face of his Inquisitor. His Inquisitor.
“Inquisitor, I-…Report ready for you, Sir. Ma’am. Your Worship…I….” Maker take him.
“Right, the aftermath of Adamant. Will you come up? I’ll take the report at my desk in my quarters, if you don’t mind.”
“I, of course…” Cullen swallowed hard. He had never seen her quarters, he was fully prepared to sneak in without her knowing and leave the report on her desk if she weren’t present. But to be invited up to them was something he had only dreamt of. He tried to subdue the many thoughts now racing in his head, tried to quiet the beating of his fervent heart.
They began climbing the stairs up to her room when she spoke.
“I appreciated your help and coordination during the battles at Adamant. Your skills on the battlefield are such a relief to have with me on those expeditions. You should accompany me more often.” She turned to him and smiled, but quickly looked away before he could say anything. “Forgive me, that’s not an order of course. I know you’re incredibly busy organizing our forces across Thedas. Please, pay it no mind.”
They entered her room and Cullen felt like a nervous child. His grimace quickly turned to surprise when he found a party of people in the room with them. Dorian, Vivienne, Josephine, and Leliana were gathered around several mannequins clothed in beautiful dresses.
“Oh, Inquisitor, you’ve brought another set of eyes, thank goodness. We are still struggling to decide.” Josephine said, motioning to Cullen. “Perhaps the Commander can gift us with his thoughts.”
“Well, I appreciate that my opinion is so valued in this discussion,” the Inquisitor chimed in sarcastically.
“Please, Darling, you know how hard my tailors have been working to prepare these for us. We need to be careful how we present in court, especially you. You are representing the entire Inquisition, of course.” Vivienne reminded her.
“Yes, yes, I am aware.” Cullen’s jaw nearly dropped as the Inquisitor began removing button by button her coat, then her shoes. The ladies were inadvertently blocking his view as she removed her pants and they tied some petticoats around the waist of her stays, but Cullen was nervously trying to take his eyes from her body.
Dorian approached him and patted him on the shoulder. “So, I take it the Inquisitor brought you up here to ask your advice on fashion?” He smirked at Cullen.
“I just have a report to give…nothing more.”
“Of course, just a report.” Dorian returned to her side as the others began dressing her with the gown from the first mannequin.
The Inquisitor looked over to the Commander, his eyes unable to rip away from her, and she blushed, looking away shyly. “Commander, I believe there was a report about the Adamant forces you’d like to give. If you’d rather, I can schedule this fitting business for another time so we can review your work.” She suggested.
“No, Inquisitor, we have put this off for weeks. If we do not settle this soon, we will have to send you to Hilamshiral in nothing but your stays.” Leliana reminded her strictly. A smirk appeared on her face, however, as she threw a sly glance to Cullen.
Cullen himself blushed at the thought, while the Inquisitor only seemed to smirk at Leliana, not seeing the redness on his cheeks. “Cullen, please, if you’d like me to throw this party out for a few minutes, I will oblige.”
“No,” Cullen ordered. Everyone looked from the Inquisitor to stare at him, his voice loud and commanding. “I mean…Leliana is right. You are very busy, and we shouldn’t put this off too much, the Winter Palace is approaching quickly.”
The Inquisitor smiled at him, and he felt his heart skip a beat. “Alright then, Commander, as you wish. Your report then.”
Cullen feverishly remembered his papers and began flipping though them, trying to find the report. “Scouts returning from Adamant have gathered the following reports on the status of the Wardens, as well as the prisoner, Erimond…”
Cullen continued his nervous report, stealing glances at the Inquisitor as she began to dress. She was listening intently, but would break their gaze every time they met eyes.
They were dressing the Inquisitor in a lavish ballgown, with a corset that bound her from chest down to her hips, and layers of skirts bellowing out from below it like a flower. The sleeves, which fell just below her shoulders, were long and loose, in contrast to the tight-fitting bodice that accentuated every curve of her body. Cullen was sweating visibly now, trying to find a way to dab his forehead without anyone noticing. Dorian and the rest of the party were already exchanging looks, however.
“Inquisitor, you look lovely. Right, Commander?” Dorian asked, interrupting Cullen’s droning report.
“What? Of course she looks lovely. She always does.” He said without hesitation. Dorian and Leliana struggled to hold back a chuckle. “I…Inquisitor, the dress looks lovely on you. I imagine it is not very comfortable, though.” Cullen added.
“You’d be right, Commander, I can hardly breathe.” The Inquisitor said, looking straight into his eyes. He hoped deep down she wasn’t talking about the tight bodice, but he refused to let himself think such nonsense.
“Please, Vivienne, get me out of this thing. I’ll be wearing the same formal uniform as everyone else accompanying me, that’s final. These dresses are beautiful, but I certainly don’t feel right in something so lovely. It doesn’t suit me.” Vivienne and Leliana began undoing the laces at her back.
“Whatever do you mean?” Cullen asked, despite himself. “You’re far more beautiful than any gown you could be wearing.”
Everyone gaped at the Commander. If he could gape at himself, he would. He tried to salvage what little dignity he had left.
“I mean, of course not, I mean...you look much better in your armor. The dress doesn't suit you at all. I..." Cullen was stumbling over his words, and the listening party around the Inquisitor were furrowing their brows at him. "Forgive me, Inquisitor, that was certainly out of line. Please excuse me.” He saluted her, before turning toward the door.
“Wait, Commander,” he heard her say, in the most gentle voice he had ever heard. His heart sank in anticipation. He had given himself away, and he could not imagine what kind of sad, sympathetic rejection she had to offer him. He knew she would be gentle and kind, but he couldn’t stand the thought of hearing her say anything of the sort.
“Another time, Inquisitor.”
Cullen excused himself from her quarters, not turning to look at any of them, quickly hurrying down the steps and back towards his own chambers. He passed the room where Solas sat at his desk and turned hurriedly, bounding up the steps and through his door. A pair of scouts were waiting in the room for him. “Commander, a report for you sir!”
“Leave it!” Cullen commanded, and the two scouts hurried out the door behind him, apologizing on their way out.
Cullen hurriedly climbed the ladder from his office to his bed chamber. He removed his mantle, his boots, the sword strapped at his hip, his chest plate and armor. He stripped it all off until he was left in his shirt and trousers, and he collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily.
She did look lovely, she really did.