#halise lavellan

The plan was for Cullen to stay near Halise—something he had no qualms with—and pick up information from the space around her. He could also step in if anyone decided they wanted to hurt her, a position for which he was unspeakably grateful. Leliana and Sera were meant to hover nearby, but in a much more ambient way, listening for anything useful from the people just out of earshot of whoever Halise was talking to. Everyone else fanned out around the room, taking attention off the Inquisition staff and bringing back whatever intel they managed to gather from the crowd.

Leliana and Sera broke away from Cullen just as Halise reached a trio of Orlesians, separated from the rest of the crowd by their air and fashion. The only man, tall and stocky and in his sixties, wore a classic tuxedo, cut in the Orlesian style. One of the women had close-cropped blonde hair styled in a wave atop her head and wore a slim black dress with beige sleeves and accents. The other woman—the Prime Minister if he had to guess—wore a meticulously tailored midnight blue cowl-neck gown, her blonde-gray hair twisted away from her face in a complicated knot. Her aloof expression reminded him of Vivienne’s, though Ms. Valmont’s eyes—such a light shade of blue they were almost white—were at once sharp and dull. She could only be bothered to pay attention to fragments of the goings on around her. A good way to get oneself killed, in Cullen’s opinion.

Vivienne’s smooth voice drew the Orlesians’ attention to her and Halise. “Prime Minister Valmont, may I present Halise Lavellan from the Denerim Branch of the Ferelden District Attorney’s office.” Cullen watched the back of Halise’s head as she gently nodded. Ms. Valmont returned the gesture in kind, raising her hand limply for Halise to grasp. He didn’t need to see her face to know she was clenching her jaw. She hated dead fish handshakes.

“Ah,” the Prime Minister sighed in recognition. “My people tell me they call your office ‘the Inquisition,’ yes?”

“They do, Madame Prime Minister.” Halise’s voice was even, giving only the barest amount of reverence she thought acceptable. This was not her Prime Minister, after all.

“Mm. They also tell me Mayor Theirin has become very…appreciative of your work in service to this city.” Cullen did not like her tone. “We are lucky to be in the presence of someone so diligent.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Celene gestured with an open hand to the irritated looking man beside her. “This is my cousin and Deputy Prime Minister, Gaspard de Chalons.” Then to the woman on her other side. “And this is his sister, my assistant, Florienne de Chalons.”

“It is very nice to meet you all,” Halise replied with another little nod.

The Deputy Prime Minister took up her hand in his, leaning down to brush his lips across her knuckles. How very Orlesian of him. “It is an honor, Ms. Lavellan.”

“The honor is mine, Deputy Prime Minister.”

Cullen’s gaze was trained on Florienne, watching, waiting for the slightest sign of her treachery. But he saw nothing, not even as she outstretched her hand to give Halise another limp handshake. “What a pleasure to be in such venerable company,” the woman cooed.

“You flatter me, Ms. de Chalons. Though I do hope your company won’t be too short-lived, Madame Prime Minister.” Cullen bit back a smile at Halise’s clever warning. He would have to remember to praise her when the night was over.

At those words, Florienne’s façade cracked ever so slightly. Her eyebrow twitched up for a split second while the Prime Minister seemed to cast a wary glance at Halise. “I suppose that will be up to those around me, but I shall endeavor to stay as long as I can.” Had she caught the hint? Did she understand that someone was trying to kill her?

“On that note, I suppose I should take my leave and allow you to mingle with everyone else.” He could hear the soft smile in Halise’s voice as she nodded again and turned to leave.

But Florienne called her back. “Ms. Lavellan, would you do me the honor of accompanying me onto the dance floor? I would ask my brother, but he has a tendency to step on my toes. And I simply abhor the idea of ruining these lovely shoes.”

The fiery tendrils of Halise’s hair flipped over her shoulder when she turned back to face the woman. “I—I’d be delighted, Ms. de Chalons.”

No, no, no, no, Cullen’s mind screamed. He couldn’t let her go onto the dance floor alone with this conniving woman—this murderess in the making. He took a single step forward, prepared to stop her. Her eyes stopped him in his impulsive tracks. They told him to trust her, that she knew what she was doing, that the woman was a poisoner, that she wouldn’t risk hurting her in the middle of the dance floor.

So he stopped, and watched his love walk toward the rapidly crowding dance floor with an aspiring killer. Halise brushed her fingers across Vivienne’s arm as she passed, handing her golden purse to her and turning the unreadable woman’s gaze toward him. She flicked her eyes from him to Halise’s back, reminding him to follow her. Only vaguely remembering to sip his as yet untouched tumbler of scotch as he walked, he followed them—far enough behind that he wouldn’t be noticed, but just close enough to hear Florianne very intentionally dithering as to her opinion on the décor and the weather. Pointlessness with a purpose.

Cullen followed as far as he could, but when the two women crossed onto the dancefloor it was as if the demarcation on the floor had built up an imperceptible yet impenetrable wall. His slick-soled shoes slipped beneath him as he ground to a halt. There was no way in the Void he’d be stepping past that wall alone. Awkward conspicuousness was not the way to suss Florienne’s plan. He would have to trust Halise’s instincts, a thought that calmed and worried him in the same breath.

It didn’t help that the crowd in the hall had multiplied since his arrival. Finely dressed people packed the space, pushing the chill of adrenaline through his gut. There was danger in that room. He bore the benefit and the burden of that knowledge alongside so few others that it made everyone around him seem lethal. Instinct fought against judgment, memory against sight and sound, prickling at the back of his neck and making his fingers twitch. He could feel himself slipping into panic, even as the string quartet struck up a rather unique version of AC-DC’s “Thunderstruck.” Halise and Florienne began their dance as his breathing began to quicken. His heart raced as their feet brushed across the polished floor in deft steps, their lips and eyes moving markers of some illicit conversation.

The gentle touch of a diminutive hand on the small of his back startled him so badly he almost struck the face of the person it was attached to. Wide brown eyes stared back at him, surrounded by pin straight brunette hair and a warm smile. “Felicity!”

The few weeks that had passed since their parting seemed like a lifetime ago. Even her name seemed foreign as it rolled off his tongue. It was only when Cullen saw the twinge of melancholy in her smile that he realized how short a time it had truly been.

“Hi, Cullen,” she said, doing her damndest to put on a brave face. She looked lovely, despite the sadness tugging at the corners of her eyes. She wore a burgundy dress with meticulous, shimmery silver beading over the torso and a soft skirt. Tiny cutouts at her waist betrayed the open back of the gown—something he might have delighted at in a former life.

“I’ve been trying to decide whether I wanted to come say, ‘hi,’ since I saw you come in with your friends from the office,” she continued, possibly in light of his stunned silence. “I decided it would be better to do it that way than you seeing me and thinking I’m avoiding you. I’m—I’m not avoiding you.” Her body deflated with a sigh. “Aaaand I’m standing here to prove that. Talking. Making an ass of myself. Please start talking so I can shut up because I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

Cullen had never really experienced running into an ex-girlfriend before Halise barreled her way back into his life. That had been a much different experience than this. Perhaps because no one’s life was in imminent danger? Or maybe because he had known her for so much longer? No. No, he understood why it had been so different then. He wasn’t in love when Halise had come back. At least…he had not yet figured out that he had been all along.

But in that moment, standing there looking down at Felicity’s still-dejected face, he felt little beyond shock and an awkward sort of tension. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me. I hadn’t considered that you might be here. Not that you shouldn’t be, but I just wasn’t…expecting you?” He felt his hand doing what it did best, rubbing at the back of his neck in spite of his surroundings.

Felicity’s smile widened, a touch more genuine. “I know. I wouldn’t have expected me at a diplomatic gala either, but I represent a few of the corporate big wigs here in their tax matters. One of the CEOs, Mr. de Chevin, keeps trying to set me up with his son, Michel.”

She cast a glance over her shoulder and Cullen’s eyes followed hers, coming to rest on a reasonably handsome but obviously Orlesian blonde man. He was talking to a few older men, but raised his glass to her when his gaze wandered over. Cullen looked back at her, almost missing the little smirk she gave to this Michel. Good.

“He likes to joke that I’ll have to give his company free counsel if I marry his son.” She sounded amused enough about it herself. A little sigh left her nose as she settled herself and looked out onto the dancefloor. “How about you and Halise? Did you ask her?”

Cullen cleared his throat. This was…an uncomfortable topic to discuss with a former girlfriend. With that much he’d had experience. “I—Um—I did.”

Felicity eyed him expectantly. “And?”

“You were right.” He watched Halise dancing with Florienne, noting her firm stare and hard set jaw as the latter spoke. Something wasn’t right.

A sardonic laugh puffed out of Felicity. “Little victories,” she mused under her breath.

Before Cullen could excuse himself, the music wound into its conclusion with a flourish. Some of the couples on the dancefloor stayed close, waiting for the next song to start. Others, like Florienne and Halise, nodded to one another and parted ways. Halise’s eyes darted about for a moment as she searched for Cullen, a small kind of relief dropping her shoulders and elongating her neck when she spotted him. She watched him, unblinking and laser focused as she walked over.

He felt the air move around him when she reached him—ever the spring breeze, even when her green eyes reminded him she was a tempest. “Cullen,” she murmured breathlessly, “this is bad. She said sh—Felicity!”

“Hi, Halise.” Felicity gave a somewhat terse smile and flicker of her fingers.

“I—Uh—How are you?” Halise’s posture had gone stiff, her shoulders pushed back in a way that looked almost painful. Her dancer’s posture. Trained into her like combat was trained into him.

“I’m fine. I’m glad to see you’re doing alright after that nasty business a few weeks ago.”

“Ah. Yeah, turns out getting stabbed in the hand isn’t as bad as things can get.” Halise smiled and shrugged, still tense.

Felicity hummed her acknowledgment. “I can only imagine.” A pregnant pause filled the air until she spoke again. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. It sounds like you have something to talk about. It was—uh—good to see you both again. Have a nice evening.”

Without another word, she dropped her head, turned on her heel, and walked away. Cullen watched Halise’s eyes follow the brunette, confusion and possibly a little hurt furrowing her brow. She probably didn’t realize she was chewing on the inside of her lip. His curiosity about where Felicity had wandered off to was nothing compared to his desire to watch Halise’s plush lips. Vibrant red lipstick accentuated their softness and the little curve of the lower one as she worried the flesh on the inside of her mouth—the hot, wet, perfect inside of her mouth. His hands balled into fists at his sides to stop him from tasting her in front of everybody. When her eyes turned back to meet his, he swallowed thickly, praying that the muscles in his throat would push down his lust. Stave it off for a few more hours.

“That was weird,” she said. “Anyway, Florienne got my hint to Celene a little louder and clearer than I’d hoped. She told me I was too late. She said that ‘it’ was already out there. I’m assuming the ‘it’ is the poison. When I asked her why, she told me to look at my case files for the answer.”

“Corypheus,” Cullen spat. How was it that everything wrong in their lives came back to him? Influence on the streets, in Tevinter, in the FBI, and now the Orlesian government? Was he really so important?

Halise nodded. “Coryphy-fuck. Vivienne still has my purse and my phone. You need to text everyone and tell them to watch the servers. Look for the signs of red lyrium use. Anyone with bloodshot eyes or sores needs whatever is in their hand ‘accidentally’ knocked out of it. We’re about to be the clumsiest group of attorneys Ferelden’s ever seen.”

He couldn’t help the small smile that crept up his lips while he pulled his phone from his pocket and set up the mass text. Halise moved to his side to watch him key in the message. He gave the briefest version of the story he could, and only sent it once he had her nod of approval. A few little dings, quacks, and crickets sounded off softly amid the din of the crowd, almost comforting in their mundaneness.

Two amplified bumps reverberated through the hall, drawing everyone’s attention to the person at the microphone stand near the string quartet. Mayor Theirin scanned the room, a charismatic grin planted on his face as everyone turned toward him. Cullen only knew the man by reputation and what he’d heard from his colleagues. Eternally bathed in scandal as he was, he did seem like he knew what was best for Denerim. He had, after all, been hounding the DA about the gang problem plaguing the city, which led to the creation of Cullen, Halise, and Sera’s taskforce. The one that brought Halise back to him. Perhaps I should send him a fruit basket for that, Cullen considered, however briefly.

Several event workers wheeled a massive black grand piano in, and the Mayor, satisfied he had everyone’s attention, began to speak. “Hello and good evening citizens and friends of Denerim!” His arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture while he paused for applause. Cullen clapped with no particular enthusiasm.

“Thank you all for joining me here this evening. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves thus far. Incidentally, if you didn’t get the chance to try the hors d’oeuvres prepared by Denerim’s own Orlesian-Ferelden bistro, The Blooming Rose, don’t worry. They’re furiously preparing dinner in the kitchen as we speak. In fact, I’m fairly certain if we’re all quiet enough we can hear Chef Lusine terrorizing her sous chefs.” A gentle wave of laughter rolled through the room.

“But,” he continued, “I have no intention of allowing things to get quite that quiet. In honor of our esteemed guests Prime Minister Valmont and Prime Minister Mac Tyr, who I’m told should be arriving shortly, we’ve arranged for some special entertainment for the evening. Hence this rather conspicuous piano.” Another hum of soft laughter.

“Our musical guest tonight is the child of an Orlesian mother and a Ferelden father.” He really was laying that theme on rather thick. “She’s won three Crystal Grace awards for classical music, and she’s seen fit to grace us with her presence tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Maryden Halewell!”

“Ooh ooh ooooooh! I love her music!” Halise exclaimed before joining the rest of the crowd in applause. She clapped and grinned wildly, giving in to the excitement bubbling through her with two little hops.

Cullen smiled as he watched her. Exhilaration and ebullience replaced her anxiety in a flash, all of her trepidation over the evening and Corypheus melting away. She was a glorious thing to behold. All brilliance and joy.

He almost didn’t see Mayor Theirin stride over to them as the applause died down. The same personable smile still rested on his face. But his eyes no longer scanned the room. Instead, they were locked on Halise. He watched her glee with the same attentiveness Cullen had, his teeth more visible with every purposeful step toward her.

Cullen’s blood was up. Surely, he must have been imagining things. Why would the Mayor target a gang prosecutor as the object of his next scandal? Why wouldn’t he choose someone more high profile? But they were at his gala at his invitation. She had been whisked away for his photo op before she’d even been allowed to exit her limousine. Maker’s breath, he was after her! No more fruit basket.

“Halise,” he said, drawing her eyes to him as he held out his hand, “would you do me the honor of joining me for this dance?”

She looked bewildered for a moment, lips parted, eyes darting back and forth between the Mayor and Cullen. “Um.” She paused for what seemed like an eternity. “Okay.”

What?!

*****

Halise let Alistair take her hand for the second time that night and lead her onto the dancefloor. She wasn’t exactly in any position to refuse him. They were at a very public event, he was a very public figure, and he was very in touch with her boss. She had little doubt he knew all that, and she’d have admired his tactics had he not used them to get her into one more compromising position. Mythal’s mercy, what the tabloids were going to say for the next week.

Having reached the center of the floor, the Mayor pulled her in close. His right hand came to rest on her waist while Maryden played the first long notes of one of Halise’s favorite songs in her catalogue. The distance he left between their bodies wasn’t exactly respectable. “Thank you for agreeing to dance with me.”

Her eyebrow arched against her better judgment. “You’re welcome? You knew I couldn’t refuse, though. Not if I have a brain in my head and like my job.”

His grin turned a bit smug. “Oh come now, do I seem vindictive to you?” Halise cocked her head with a squint. “Come on. This job has so few perks. Just let me have this little win.”

A short chuckle rose in her throat as a violinist joined in the tune, setting the pace for their dance to begin. Alistair led confidently, his experience evidencing itself in his unflinching gaze. Watching one’s partner instead of the floor was a sign of a dancer who knew what he was doing. He’d probably had sufficient occasion to learn given the volume of formal affairs he hosted and attended every year.

“I’m sure there are plenty of perks. At least that’s what the gossip rags say.”

He smirked and spun her away from him. When he tugged her back she heard a tray clatter to the ground, dropping glass and cutlery to the floor. Maybe someone had found their poison delivery person.

“They call them ‘rags’ for a reason, Halise.”

“Oh? To hear them tell it you’ve bedded every celebrity in Denerim,” she said with a smirk of her own. She wanted to venture further—to know more. If he was going to put her in the same position as all those women, she figured she might as well ask him for the truth while she could. “So? Have you?”

“Have I what? Have I…ever licked a lamppost in winter?” He over enunciated each word, drawing laughter from both of them until she gave him a benignly baleful look.

“You know what I mean.” Their bodies turned seamlessly with the music. Halise took his momentary pause to revel in the tune. She’d dreamt of dancing to several of Maryden’s songs, and this one was near the top of the list.

Alistair’s expression shifted, sincerity and something like sadness creeping into the corners of his eyes. “No, I haven’t. Not one. Truth be told, until recently, it hasn’t even been something I’ve thought about. Not since Zoe.”

Zoe Amell. His FBI fiancé. The media lauded her as a hero after she stopped a small terrorist cell calling themselves “The Blight” from vaporizing half of the east wing of the Denerim Mall. The story circulated for weeks, telling how she and only a couple other Wardens gunned down a dozen men before getting to the one with the bomb strapped to himself. Warden Amell threw herself at the bomber, hurling them over the glass rails of the third story to the ground below and killing them both.

“I’m sorry,” Halise murmured. “I hadn’t meant to dredge up painful memories. I was just curious.”

The carefree façade slipped back up his face. A mask he wore to hide his pain away. “Well, Halise, so am I. Now I get to ask a question. Are you married?”

“What?”

“Are you married, Halise?” He was suddenly very serious.

She felt guilty for having asked him such an invasive question the moment she had to answer his. “No, not yet. But I am…already taken.”

“Still single, then?” Alistair’s brows lifted.

“No. Taken.” It was her turn to over enunciate.

The Mayor laughed—“hearty” and “robust” were the words that came to mind to describe the sound. Like soup or cheese. “I’m joking! Maker’s breath, Halise, you should have seen your face!” A hot flush rolled up her cheeks. “I know you’re taken. The dashing gentleman you’ve been sidled up to all evening turned white as a sheet when you agreed to dance with me.”

Halise sighed in spite of the smile working its way up her lips. “Cullen Rutherford. Decorated Templar veteran, magna cum laude at South Reach Law, and my partner on your gang taskforce.” She withdrew her hand from his shoulder to poke him in the chest, emboldened by their shared candor. Another tray clanged to the floor somewhere in the large hall.

“Oh, don’t tell me I’m the reason you two are together. By the Mabari, I just keep shooting myself in the foot!” He rolled his eyes in his exaggerated dismay, twirling her away and back again as the string quartet surged with Maryden’s piano in their final crescendo.

“Don’t blame yourself. I’m inclined to think it was fate that we ended up back together.”

Curiosity widened his eyes. “Back together? As in, you were together before?”

“Mmhmm.” She nodded. “We met in law school and dated for about a year and a half. Long distance.”

“Aaand?” he asked.

“Aaand it ended. Fizzled, really.” This line of inquiry was fast becoming a wet blanket on what had been an enjoyable dance.

“But you’re back together. So whatever it was won’t happen again?”

“Fenedhis, I certainly hope not.” Halise let her eyes do her pleading, begging him not to ask her any more questions. The reasons she and Cullen fell apart and the memories thereof brought her nothing but pain. Indeed, she did pray some nights it wouldn’t happen again, though control over that was lost to her.

The song wound down around them, as did the other couples that had joined them on the floor. Everyone slowed with the final notes of piano, their solitudinous din echoing through the large room in a way that sounded so different from their identical brethren at the beginning of the tune. The introduction and subsequent loss of the full-bodied quartet made the singular tones sound lonely.

Alistair held onto her while the other couples parted. The sadness that had tainted his expression moments before crept back into his eyes as he sighed, his soft smile not doing enough to outweigh it. “And so ends the best part of my evening.”

Halise let the corners of her mouth quirk up. “I’m flattered, but, you know, there are a lot of women here tonight. One or two of them might actually be un-shallow. Maybe even genuinely interested in Alistair instead of the Mayor. So don’t count them out just yet.”

Her words seemed to banish some of his latent sorrow as his grin spread wider. “Still an optimist even after being stabbed and blown up.” He released her waist, stepping back as he held her hand. “Denerim is lucky to have you. Almost as lucky as Mr. Rutherford.” He bowed over her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Her cheeks flushed hot at the sensation. “I wish you both well. And please try not to get yourself killed. I would hate for him to become a kindred spirit.”

With that, he turned away and left her there. Left her with her heart aching for him. Left her with a new kind of fear she hadn’t considered before. It would devastate Cullen if she died. Sure, it would devastate her case and the community, too, but he would be destroyed. She had to be more careful from then on. She couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Cullen like Zoe left Alistair, with misery and pain lingering in his every fiber for years. She couldn’t do that to Cullen.

Halise had gotten a bit turned around in her dance, and she had to search for Cullen for a moment before her eyes landed on him again. He stood stark still in the same spot she’d left him. His fists were balled up tight at his sides, his skin white and taught against the bones of his knuckles. His jaw was set in a hard line, his eyes boring into her as she walked back over to him. He looked furious.

Before she could open her mouth, his hand shot out from his side to clamp down on her wrist. His grip was hard. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to pull her along when he pivoted away and started off through the crowd.

“Cullen,” she hissed, desperate not to draw any more attention to them than he already had. He marched on, ignoring her repeated entreaties while he pulled her to some unknown destination.

She heard another tray clang to the floor, closer than the last two. A polite Antivan accent apologized profusely, a few other voices mingling and shuffling in to help somewhere out of Halise’s view. How many red lyrium addicts were working this event?

Cullen still dragged her behind him. The crowd began to thin around them until almost no one was left. They rounded a corner into a short, empty hallway, the only two doors both labeled with unisex bathroom signs. With his forearm, he slammed open the door to their left to reveal a semi-small bathroom with one toilet, one sink, and one paper towel dispenser. He spun around to lock the door behind them, tugging Halise so fast she nearly tripped over her skirt as she rounded his body.

The feeling of the cold ceramic of the black and white tiles on the wall nipping at her skin was the first thing she had time to process. Cullen held her there while his lips and teeth worked at her neck and ear, his hands squeezing her waist and breast through her stiff bodice. He sighed into her ear.

Her body’s primal response sawed breath in and out of her lungs and made her legs quiver. But her mind battered her consciousness to the forefront after a few short moments. “Cu—” He cut her off with a bite to her shoulder that drew out a whimpering mewl. She struggled once more against the instincts that screamed at her to let him take her against that icy ceramic wall, to let her billowing skirt ruck up around her waist, to let her glittery shoes dangle from her toes until ecstasy made them tumble to the floor.

The haze of his scent and his touch and his tongue on the column of her throat fogged her mind too heavily. A brief ray of clarity came when he moved to cover her mouth with his. Lipstick. She couldn’t let her lipstick get everywhere. Vivienne still had her purse with the stuff inside, and if they both left that bathroom with red stains all over their faces, they’d look like the cat that got the canary.

Her fingers stopped his lips from reaching hers, narrowly avoiding disaster. “Cullen,” she breathed, “stop. We can’t do this now. As much as both of us want to.”

The ravenous lust that filled his autumnal eyes drained out like water, replaced by a sudden self-awareness. Her fingertips lingered against his lips as he pulled away, falling only once some space had been put between their bodies.

“I—I’m so sorry. You’re right, this is neither the time nor the place for this. I only—I just felt…” Cullen’s voice trailed off, his eyes dropping to the black and white ceramic floor that merged seamlessly into the wall against which Halise’s back still rested.

“You were jealous,” she filled in. He looked back up to her with an angry sort of sheepishness that knit his brows together and left his gaze uncertain. “It’s alright. I’ve told you before, it’s alright.”

“It is not, ‘alright,’” he said, disdain tinging his tone. “It was inappropriate. It could have cost Celene her life.” He shook his head, rueful about his own feelings.

“Pfft, no it couldn’t have. You’ve heard as many trays hit the floor as I have, I’m sure. Our friends have that covered.” Halise let her hand rest against his jaw. “Besides, you have nothing to be jealous about. The Mayor knew you and I are together. He asked about you.”

Cullen’s answering expression became more angry than bashful. “He knew? And he still asked you to dance? What a fop—inviting scandal by asking a beautiful woman to dance with him despite knowing she is taken.”

A short laugh puffed out of Halise’s nose. “You sound like Sera.” He glared at her. “He’s not a fop. I’ve apparently become a little bit famous myself. He asked me to dance because it was prerequisite. I’d bet he’s dancing with someone else right now. Plus, we mostly talked about Warden Zoe Amell.”

“His fiancé? The one that died stopping The Blight?” Hope spread across his features.

“Yeah. He’s had a hard time moving on. He asked me…” She stopped, unsure whether she would worry Cullen further by repeating what Alistair said. With a sigh, she forged on. “He asked me not to get myself killed because he’d hate for you to be a kindred spirit.”

Cullen stood up straighter—stiffer. Thoughtfulness and concern settled on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a loud knock on the bathroom door. It was authoritative, but the hand that knocked was small from the sound of it. Halise and Cullen both looked toward the noise.

“Ey! Zip it up and fix your panties! We found the prat!” Sera’s shrill voice penetrated through the thick wood.

Halise ran to the door, tugging it fruitlessly before moving to unlock it and trying again. “You got him? Where is he?” Her head darted around in the empty hallway.

Sera tilted her head to look past Halise into the bathroom. “Pfft. You two button up fast.” Halise glowered down at the blonde elf. “Alright, alright. Bull’s got him in the kitchen. Arse dropped a glass. ‘Bout melted the floor. Your friend, the Mayor, saw it. Got his frigging goons with him in the kitchen, too.”

Without another thought, Halise grabbed a handful of her skirt and bolted out the door. She ran around the edge of the crowd, looking back twice to ensure Cullen and Sera were still with her. Propriety be damned. She was putting someone in jail.

She burst through the swinging kitchen door behind a waiter with an empty tray. Catching sight of Bull’s horns from the doorway, she passed through the room, barely missing some of the sous chefs and waiters still buzzing away with the food. Iron Bull, Alistair, and four of his security personnel stood around one little man with greasy hair, red eyes, and a sleeve that had been forced up his arm to reveal a swarm of red sores.

“You’ve read this guy his rights, Bull? I need to ask him some questions and I want this admissible.”

“I did, Boss.” She could always tell when he was winking at her, even with just one eye.

“You understood your rights?” she asked the junkie. He nodded. “Good. Listen, I’ll cut you a deal if you tell me what happened.”

He sneered. “Prez said to come here in a uniform and listen to the gal with the wavy hair.” From the way he spoke, she could tell he was a Red Templar. He gestured with the arm Bull wasn’t holding, making a swirling motion over his head.

“Florienne?”

“Yeah, her. She handed me a cup, said to wait. So I waited. Then she snapped her fingers at me—at me—and told me to bring out the special champagne she set aside. Said it plain as day. So I came back here, grabbed the cup, and took it out. Then some dwarf with a ponytail knocked the tray out of my hand and the shite sizzled on the floor. I didn’t know what was in there. I thought we was just s’posed to be extra nice to her or sumfin’. Didn’t know nuffin’.” He smirked, knowing they couldn’t use that to charge him with anything.

But they could use it against Florienne. Halise turned to Alistair. “Mayor Theirin, would you be comfortable having your people coordinate with Prime Minister Valmont’s security team to apprehend Florienne de Chalons until Denerim PD arrives to take her into custody?”

He beamed at her, the excitement of the moment too much for him to bear with a stone face. “Absolutely. Gentlemen.” He looked to his security guards. “You heard Ms. Lavellan. Contact Prime Minister Valmont’s security personnel and take her assistant into custody.” Three of the men hopped to, leaving one behind with their charge. “And we’ll be sure to have this man escorted off the premises.”

“Thank you.” Halise smiled, cognizant as she was of Cullen watching her.

“No, thank you. And I beg of you all, please try to enjoy the rest of your evening. This nasty business is well in hand, and I’d hate for you to lose the opportunity to dance with your partner, Mr. Rutherford.” Alistair looked over Halise’s shoulder at Cullen, and her eyes followed.

Cullen stood tall—a soldier’s posture—eyes locked with the Mayor’s in a war of gazes. Unblinking, he replied, “Thank you, Mayor Theirin, for all your assistance tonight.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” The cheek in Alistair’s tone brought a furious blush up Halise’s face.

“Okay, Cullen,” she said, sweeping past a chortling Sera to get to him, “I think the Mayor is right. We should try and enjoy ourselves for the rest of the night.”

Cullen laced his fingers with hers, still staring at Alistair, and followed her back out of the kitchen door. Sera and Bull stayed behind with the Red Templar, undoubtedly with more questions to ask him than were appropriate in the presence of the two prosecutors. Halise ran her thumb across Cullen’s knuckles in a vain attempt to soothe him.

“I wish he hadn’t said that,” he grumbled.

“I know. I’m sorry about that. It was too far and—”

“Not that.” His eyes had softened considerably by the time he looked at her. “What he said about dancing.”

“About dancing?” Her brows lifted.

He sighed, disappointment dropping his shoulders. “I’d been planning to ask you all evening, but now that he said that I’m afraid you’ll just think I only came up with it because of him.”

“You want to dance with me?” Her fingertips landed on her chest, incredulity overtaking her voice. “I thought you didn’t like dancing.”

“I don’t. But I wanted the chance to finally make it up to you.” A gentle smile curved his lips. He lifted his hand to graze her neck, his touch a thing of delicate grace. It would have surprised her had she not known him so well. So often he’d treated her like a priceless treasure to be handled with only the utmost care.

Halise smiled back at him. “Well, I’d still be happy to let you.”

Her favorite song of Maryden’s happened to be starting as Cullen led her out onto the dancefloor. Synthetic, ethereal sounds played over the speakers before Maryden began to play. Cullen and Halise swayed slowly, at first, but he found his footing as the tempo rose with the addition of the string quartet. It wasn’t long before they were spinning around the dancefloor, their bodies moving in a cool, smooth unison. They flowed like water together, smiling and laughing and never taking their eyes off each other. His hand had started at her side, but slipped behind her back after only a few steps, pressing her to him. Her hand had started at his shoulder, though she’d wrapped her arm around his neck well before the song ended. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to speak.

Halise had loved to dance since she was a little girl, but it never felt like this. It always felt natural, but it never felt like breathing.

As the song ended, she realized she wanted to hold him, to keep him close to her, to touch him. She couldn’t do that at the gala. Pulling Cullen down and herself up, she let her cheek rest against his and whispered, “I’m going to find Vivienne and get my purse back. Wait for me by the door. I want you to finish what you started.”

His low growl was all the answer she needed.

*****

Notes: Phew!!! That was a long one! I hope you didn't mind, but I'd promised myself I would wrap up the gala in this chapter. I also hope it was consistent throughout, since I wrote it sporadically over a month.