Chapter Text
The following days, Dorian kept expecting to find himself hauled off to the dungeons or ordered to get out of Skyhold. At the very least, he was surely due a telling off by Cassandra or the Inquisitor herself. But nothing of the sort happened. People were treating him a little gently, but that was probably due to it being obvious that something had gone terribly wrong in his relationship — a relationship that had been brought unceremoniously into the public eye just in time to end.
Cullen never looked at him. If they walked past each other in the halls, it was like Dorian didn’t exist; yet at the same time, he could feel every other sense and instinct firmly latched onto him, even if Cullen kept his eyes averted.
It felt a bit like being observed by a predator that was waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
That strike never came. Cullen continued to ignore Dorian’s presence, even when the mage was included at the War Table, and Dorian didn’t try to push his way into the spotlight. Evelyn sometimes attempted to pull Dorian aside after such meetings, but he always waved her off with one excuse or another.
It wasn’t really his secret to tell anymore.
He was curious about that. It seemed that Cullen had told no one of the artifact, nor had he made any sort of request for Dorian’s removal. That gave Dorian’s foolish heart reason to hope that maybe there was some minute chance of recovery from this. He doubted Cullen would ever stoop to intimacy again, but Dorian would be delighted to settle for camaraderie over drinks and chess.
But that would never happen, would it? Particularly not in light of what Cullen had, somewhat rightly, accused him of. The way he’d said it, how he’d cut himself off when slipping more than he clearly meant…it seemed Dorian was as bad as the worst mages in Cullen’s memory. And that worst was truly the worst.
He hadn’t known. Dorian could only hope that his impression of Cullen’s experiences with other, terrible mages was a misinterpretation, because if it had been as he sounded…Dorian couldn’t even think on it. Not that he didn’t, he lingered on the words almost constantly: Rape me again? To abuse me like those monsters in—.
But if that were true, then what possible reason was there for Cullen to refrain from demanding Dorian’s removal?
Not being banished meant that Dorian kept catching sight of Cullen on the battlements, at the occasional meal, and sometimes leading drills in the training yard. While this might seem to be a benefit on the surface, it quickly became apparent that it was not.
It all felt designed to mock Dorian. Cullen kept walking the battlements in search of cold, fresh air where Dorian would once arrange them to cross paths just to have the chance to talk to the man. He was still eating, albeit a little less regularly, a reminder both of Dorian’s influence and the unfortunate fact the healthy habit already appeared to be waning. Dorian was incapable of looking away whenever Cullen was getting sweaty in the training yard. How could he possibly ignore the man tossing curls from his face, running a hand through his hair while swallowing down large amounts of water, sometimes fighting barehanded and bare-chested — that was nothing short of cheating. He’d always worn at least a tunic in such exercises before, but now seemed to be showing off as if to taunt Dorian with what he couldn’t have.
Dorian kept finding his feet guiding him through the gardens toward the chess table or to the bridge that led to Cullen’s tower. The worst was one night where he got very drunk at the tavern and tried to stumble up the stairs with the vague idea to take the shortcut to Cullen’s room. Krem had fortunately been keeping an eye on him and intervened, helping Dorian to his nearby room instead to sleep it off.
As the days turned into weeks, Dorian was starting to wish Cullen had just killed him. It would have hurt a lot less.
While it wasn’t like Cullen was truly the only person he had spent time with in the Inquisition, it was painfully apparent that he was the one Dorian wanted to spend all his free time with. This wasn’t even about sex, which was unfortunate as it would have allowed Dorian to function properly and find someone else to fill the void Cullen left behind.
Instead he just…existed. Dorian attended meetings as asked, occasionally shot some firebolts at a training dummy, and stared at pages of dusty old tomes for hours. He played Wicked Grace with a variety of people in the Herald’s Rest almost every night, never losing too much but never winning. Krem was overly kind to him, frequently spending an hour or so keeping him company silently in a corner while the rest of the Inquisition excitedly discussed the future or celebrated the little victories.
Evelyn was staying in Skyhold as they prepared for the Winter Palace masquerade and there was no time for any expeditions, so the distractions of fighting for his life or complaining about the muddy walks were unavailable. Evelyn kept trying to catch him alone, but Dorian refused to be trapped in a situation where he might need to explain some of what had happened with the Commander. She would need to be satisfied by his false smiles and flippant responses casting blame everywhere aside from where it really landed — firmly on himself.
Dorian was hardly even cognizant of the fact he was going to the masquerade. He’d been fitted with a monstrous uniform, of course, one that burned his retinas and was adorned with a clashing blue sash. Dorian did not bother protesting it. Josephine surely picked this bizarre fashion for a reason, and he didn’t have the heart to start any arguments, not even one over such a drastic faux pas.
The ride to Halamshiral was as long and boring as Dorian expected. Krem had somehow managed an invitation and was keeping at his side, a buffer in the carriage between Dorian and anyone who might prod him with questions. Some small part of Dorian wondered if the man had gone to Josephine with this exact goal in mind.
He really should thank him.
Dorian had managed to avoid a fair amount of the inner circle the whole journey, which is how he was stupidly startled when Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, Commander of the forces of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall was announced. Dorian pushed a little forward in the crowd to better watch him approach the empress.
He probably shouldn’t have. The uniform that looked so appalling on Dorian looked perfect on Cullen. The gold accents matched his hair and the fiery glint of his eyes, the glaring red instead appearing regal on him, and the high boots were enough to make Dorian gulp.
Then Dorian swore he felt Cullen’s eyes flash over to glare at him with all the hatred a templar from Kirkwall could muster, and so he slipped backward and disappeared into the crowd.
They had designated spots to keep an eye on after their introduction, and Dorian wondered if Evelyn had maneuvered him into one of the gardens specifically to keep him far away from the Commander. Dorian supposed that was probably wise. There was enough drama unfolding this evening without whatever might occur from Cullen and Dorian crossing swords.
In one manner or another, whispered an instinctive purr in his head. Dorian grimaced. That was a terrible joke.
He sent a surreptitious gust of wind through a nearby tree, shaking apart a few leaves to mar the perfect hairstyles and ruin the drinks of a few nobles who had been suspiciously watching the Inquisitor as she leaned very not-casually against the trellis. With the nobles briefly distracted by the attack of nature, Evelyn swiftly climbed up to the upper level.
“Hey, Dorian!” a perky voice said from just over his shoulder.
Dorian jumped, wine sloshing from his glass and onto his wrist. “Sera!” he hissed, trying to minimize the damage covertly enough to keep from drawing attention.
“Sorry, thought you heard me,” Sera said lightly. “Look, Leli wants a word. She’s in the ballroom.”
“What word does she want?” Dorian asked somewhat irritably. In truth he felt more anxious than anything. If he went to the ballroom, he’d likely catch another sight of Cullen. Of course he yearned for the opportunity to see the Commander all formal and pampered, but dreaded how it would make him feel. Sera looked a little guilty, and Dorian groaned. “Don’t tell me,” he said, a conversation coming to mind that he had been technically present for but hadn’t given any additional thought.
Leliana had accosted him in his little reading nook, looming rather threateningly over his chair as she told him how he had to be civil with Cullen. The rumors about the templar and the Tevinter were intriguing and caught romantic attention, but now they were morphing into scandals that could do harm to the Inquisition’s reputation. It was all expected, and Dorian simply allowed the chastisem*nt to wash over him until given an opening to respond.
Dorian had pointed out that he knew full well how to be a gentleman and had no intention of being an embarrassment in front of the entire Orlesian court, instead pointing her toward the Commander and suggesting that she give him this lecture.
“I have already spoken to him,” she had said.
“Yeah, it has something to do with Cully-Wully,” Sera admitted. “Sorry.”
Dorian mouthed the bizarre moniker with a little shudder. “Of course. Thank you, Sera.”
Dragging his feet a little like a sullen teenager, Dorian wondered if this was a call for aid or a warning about some misstep he’d made. He supposed shoving to the front of the crowd to watch the man cross the room might have been a mistake, but surely it wasn’t drastic enough to cause any harm that would draw Leliana’s attention.
He surveyed the room as he carefully maneuvered through the crowd. Vivienne might have escaped his notice if not for the clashing outfit she surely despised as much as Dorian did, as she had donned a glittering mask studded with sapphires and diamonds. Dorian thought it a touch gaudy, but if anyone knew how to impart the desired perception in this crowd it was certainly Vivienne. He tilted his head to her in greeting as he walked by, now seeking out the unmasked members of the Inquisition. Josephine was nearby as well, in intense conversation with another young woman. Dorian grabbed a glass of wine from a passing servant, taking a deep, steadying drink.
Just in time apparently.
Dorian was still looking over the rim of the glass when he caught sight of Cullen.
The Commander was surrounded by nobles, many of whom seemed to be vying for his attention. Dorian wasn’t at all surprised by that. Cullen looked especially becoming in such a uniform, and the military-inspired garb helped to excuse how stiffly he stood. Someone must have helped him with his hair, with the curls just a touch out of place in a fashion that was clearly by design.
Cullen was, to put it mildly, utterly breathtaking. In any other circ*mstances, surely Dorian would be among the group begging his favor, trying to seduce him to go somewhere private.
But this wasn’t any other situation, and Dorian was left firmly rooted to the spot.
Cullen was watching him.
Weeks without so much as a glance, not a word cast his way, and suddenly Dorian was overwhelmed by that beautiful, intense gaze.
Cullen didn’t flinch at being caught, continuing to stare at Dorian intently while ignoring the crowd around him.
It was almost like a dare.
Dorian delicately wiped a droplet of wine from his lip before he started in Cullen’s direction. To continue his loop around the ballroom he would have to pass the man anyway, and Leliana had said that they should seem civil at the very least to stave off unwelcome rumors.
Besides, Cullen had dared him. Dorian wasn’t one to back down from such a challenge.
The gaggle of admirers started elbowing each other and whispering before falling silent, and one by one the masked nobles turned to watch Dorian’s approach. They were clearly waiting for sparks to fly, to see some consequence of whatever explosive tale they’d been told of how the romance between the Tevinter and the templar had soured. Cullen shifted a little at Dorian’s approach, finally showing some nerves as he momentarily averted his gaze.
“Good evening!” Dorian greeted cheerfully. “Enjoying the festivities, Commander?”
Cullen hesitated the briefest second before replying, “It is quite the party.” A few of the people around them seemed to nod their agreement, entirely missing the obvious lack of confirmation of any enjoyment.
Some part of himself that was enjoying this environment, a part Dorian decided he firmly hated, managed to make him say, “I do hope you’re saving room for me on your dance card.”
Cullen’s throat bobbed, his eyes widening slightly. Dorian was very careful to keep his smile as steady as possible. This interaction was being closely watched, and with Cullen liable to wear his thoughts on his face at least Dorian needed to keep his cool. Dorian’s eyes slipped away, toward where a familiar redhead was motioning for him to come over.
“I’m afraid I’m keeping you away from all your new friends,” Dorian said with a glance about the crowd that remained pressed in around Cullen. “See you soon, Commander,” he added with a nod before going to Leliana’s side.
“Is trying to provoke him in front of everyone really the wisest move?” Leliana asked as soon as Dorian joined her.
“I wasn’t provoking him,” Dorian hissed back after chugging the remainder of his wine. “I was greeting him, pretending everything is all right.” Dorian winced. That had been a telling slip. “As requested.”
Leliana exhaled sharply through her nose. “I’d ask that you do it carefully.” Dorian reached to take another glass of wine from a passing servant when Leliana took his hand to stop him. “I need you to watch him. Sober.”
Dorian barely kept from gaping at her. “You want me to watch him?” He arched an eyebrow. “That’s an easy task,” he commented lightly, leaning against the wall and looking in Cullen’s direction.
One of the noblemen had a hand resting so low on Cullen’s back that he may as well have been two fingers deep in his ass. That was clearly what the noble wanted.
It was rather surprising that Cullen wasn’t moving away or telling the man off. Surely he didn’t like the touch.
Dorian cleared his throat, looking away just as Cullen turned his head as if to look at him. “You seem to be watching him already. What need do you have for me?”
“I can certainly watch, but for a reasonable excuse to rescue him from his herd of suitors, you are best equipped.” Oh dear. Dorian did not think he was brave enough to swoop in and save Cullen from his following. “You graciously laid the board already,” Leliana added with a small smile.
“I what?” Dorian prompted when Leliana didn’t explain.
“A dance. Cullen is nearing the end of his tolerance of such attention, and may need an excuse for a swift exit. Taking him to the floor for a private dance would be reasonable.”
Dorian was about to protest the foolishness of the idea — as if Cullen would even agree, and if he did, it was unlikely Cullen could pretend he and Dorian were still involved — but then Josephine appeared beside them, breathlessly asking for Leliana to come with her, and off they went without another word.
So Dorian resumed his position against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Cullen.
Leliana was right, wasn’t she? The man looked nearly at the end of his rope. His smile couldn’t even be called such anymore, his face flushed with a combination of embarrassment and anger, and that one pushy nobleman had his hand cupping Cullen’s shapely buttocks.
No wait, worse than that — as Dorian watched, the nobleman’s fingers quite clearly tightened to pinch Cullen’s ass.
Then Dorian caught it. Cullen’s lip curled into a snarl, tugging at that scar over his lip, his eyes flashed with deadly intent, and he made a small motion with his wrist that Dorian very much hoped was not an indication that Cullen had a weapon stashed up his sleeve.
Dorian didn’t waste any time approaching the crowd once more. “Pardon me, but I simply must claim a moment with you, Commander,” Dorian announced.
Cullen appeared too startled by Dorian’s abrupt interruption to quite grasp what he was saying. He stepped away from the groping nobleman in favor of coming to Dorian’s side all the same. “What is it, Dorian?” he asked rather stiffly.
Dorian quite nearly gasped, the sound of his name on Cullen’s tongue affecting him far more than he’d thought it could. “I believe you owe me a dance,” Dorian said with a charming smile, motioning for Cullen to walk with him. The Commander flinched away when Dorian automatically moved to put a guiding hand to his back. Dorian immediately dropped the hand, lowering his voice as he added, “I’m the rescue party.”
Cullen exhaled through his nose, almost snorting with amusem*nt. “That man can’t keep his hands off me,” he murmured irritably.
“I fear that doesn’t give you leave to attack the Comte in the middle of the Empress’ ball,” Dorian replied, trying to keep his tone understanding. “Even Josephine probably wouldn’t be able to smooth that over.”
Cullen growled softly. “No one should think themselves allowed to just touch whomever they —.” Cullen cut off, his eyes slipping over to Dorian. The mage pretended he hadn’t been wilting under the obvious criticism. “Anyway, thank you for that. Perhaps I can hide in the hall for a time, let the crowd disperse.”
Dorian’s incredibly stupid heart sank with disappointment. “Oh. Yes, I suppose you could try that.”
But Cullen didn’t go. He stood beside Dorian between the dance floor and the door leading from the ballroom for a long moment before suddenly turning toward him. “But I believe they are expecting to see a dance.” Cullen took Dorian’s gloved hand and bent in a slight bow. “If you’ll do me the honor, Ser Pavus?” Cullen asked, probably parroting some lesson he’d had with Josephine prior to this occasion.
Dorian couldn’t care less where the words came from. He was too focused on the hand holding his. They were both wearing gloves, so it was impossible to really feel anything but…it was something.
“Dorian,” Cullen prompted, his voice low. It was too easy for Dorian to trick himself into finding the tone warm.
“I’d be delighted, Commander,” Dorian accepted breathlessly, dearly hoping his foolish emotions weren’t too visible in his shaky smile or watery eyes.
Dorian had assumed he would lead such a dance, but was surprised when Cullen took that role. At first Dorian was a bit concerned, as surely Cullen didn’t have the background to manage it without causing a collision or tripping over his feet, but Dorian was quickly amazed by how solid Cullen was in his steps.
It wasn’t smooth like an engrained skill, but even the somewhat jarring motions could be excused as a passable showing, for a Fereldan.
Cullen did not talk to him, but he did look at him, intently. Dorian was instead the one to first trip over his own foot, so off-balance he was to be captured by that biting stare.
Unlike the man Dorian had come to know so well, Cullen was managing a proper mask. It wasn’t perfect, as it didn’t deflect or imply anything different than whatever he was thinking, but it did keep Dorian in the dark. He had no idea what the Commander was feeling just now.
Was he grinding his teeth as he waited to be able to get away from the mage? The tight grasp capturing Dorian’s hand seemed to counter that. Was he furious, now remembering how Dorian had violated him far worse than that noble? Probably, and maybe that’s why his other hand was slipping so low on Dorian’s waist. Cullen might be trying to make a point. It wasn’t as though Dorian was in any position to fend Cullen off should he make advances or take liberties of any sort.
Not that Dorian would want to deflect any such thing from Cullen.
Dorian couldn’t stand the silence; he couldn’t stand that glare that seemed more suited for an interrogation, peering straight into him in search of whatever villain Cullen believed him to be. He knew it was never going to work, even without the stupid artifact, but he wanted his Commander back. At the very least, he wanted Cullen to understand that the attacks had not been intentional.
He supposed what he really wanted was Cullen’s forgiveness.
But Dorian was a wicked man entirely incapable of staving off temptation. “These uniforms are atrocious, you know,” he said suddenly.
Cullen’s lips parted, cracking the mask a little in his surprise.
“I imagine I appear rather like a half-plucked, sunburnt peaco*ck,” Dorian jested. His heart leapt at the tiny grin of amusem*nt that briefly tugged on Cullen’s scar. “Which is entirely unfair,” Dorian added.
Cullen appeared a touch irritated when Dorian didn’t complete the thought without prompting. “Unfair?” Cullen finally repeated, the word seeming to be ripped from his throat.
Which meant this was a mistake, but that was never enough to stop Dorian. “To look like a beast while dancing with a prince.”
At first, Cullen merely frowned. The song had ended just as he apparently picked up on the compliment, a familiar flush creeping up his neck as he trod on someone’s foot behind him. He barely managed a passable apology before entirely focusing on Dorian, appearing to search him for the truth of it.
“The uniform suits you, Commander,” Dorian assured him quietly, preparing to take a bow before leaving to drink far too much in some uncrowded corner of the palace.
But Cullen swept that plan out from under him, bowing first and even lifting Dorian’s hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over the back.
Despite the gloves, Dorian swore he felt that kiss burn his skin.
And then Cullen finally granted him a smile before the man turned to leave the dance floor and exit the ballroom.
Dorian hardly had the presence of mind to leave the floor himself. He went to the nearest servant and grabbed another drink, ducking into the first shadowy corner he could find. Unfortunately it was near a pair of young women who were quite clearly discussing the Inquisition’s Commander.
“So the Fereldan can dance.”
“Evidently not with you.”
“I’m not one to give up so easily. That is a man in clear need of a woman.”
The other woman giggled. “I’m not sure he needs a woman at all. The foreign mage might be pretty, but even you can see he’s got very different parts.”
The first woman gasped sharply. “Yvonne!”
Dorian shut his eyes as he took a deep drink and tried to block out the noise around him. His heart was already concocting some elaborate meaning behind it all. The tight hold of his hand, the fingers slipping a touch too low, the gentle kiss that had to hold more meaning than Cullen being a polite gentleman.
At the same time, Dorian was well aware that he was reading far too deeply into all of it. The grip, the slip of the hand, even the bow were all simply consequences of Cullen having some quick dance lessons before arriving at the Palace. Josephine or perhaps Leliana had taught him enough to get by.
The kiss on his hand, however…that certainly wasn’t a requirement.
Perhaps they had discussed how likely it was he would need to dance with Dorian sometime that night, and advised he show a bit of affection to chase away the worst of the rumors. Yes, that was probably it. Cullen wasn’t suddenly, just now in front of everyone, showing Dorian the first signs of fondness since the day he’d learned about the artifact.
Except that Cullen had previously indulged in such an unexpected, public display of affection before.
Dorian shook his head to force that thought away. He knew better.
He f*cking knew better.
When Sera popped by to say that Evelyn was looking for him, Dorian was eminently grateful for the distraction.
