#also aisling does get angry it just takes a lot of orlesians or people insulting her friends

[greypetrel]

[GUIDE] from the prompt list for Aisling and Cullen :)

Was this an excuse to delve right into Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts? YES. (Thank you it is probably my favourite quest in the game, with the Arbor Wilds. :3 )

  [ GUIDE ]:          in the process of guiding the receiver through a crowded place, the sender’s hand protectively grazes against the small of their back (from this list, ask some more if you'd like!)

***

“Pardon me.”

It came in a snap, in the same clipped tone Aisling -no, the Inquisitor now- used when he and Leliana couldn’t stop fighting in the War Room and she wanted to stop them. The tone that wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I am sorry to interrupt, but I need my Commander for a moment, there’s an urgent matter of security to discuss.”

She explained, calm but firm. Except, no one in the small crowd that gathered around him and had followed him everywhere he had tried to hide moved. There was some giggle from one of the ladies, a huff from the Comte that just- he couldn’t focus on much of anything now, occupied to keep his breath steady and present at all and totally frozen in place.

“In private, if you please. Now if you would excuse us…”

And just like that, he felt her resting a hand on his back, somewhere in the middle, the other gently resting on the closer elbow, and delicately but firmly pushing him away from his spot.

He followed her, glance trained before him but not really looking at anything, the crowd was too thick and he felt all eyes on him and his heart was bearing in his eardrums loud, too loud-

She pushed on his elbow, turning them steeply on the right.

“It’s ok. It’s ok, we’re out. We’re alone, breathe.”

She coaxed him, voice turned tender and soft as after another turn on the right she finally stopped, guiding them to lean against a wall. The air was fresh, a gentle breeze caressing his skin as he relaxed and let the panic subside. First he felt the breeze, and then her hand on his back, rubbing circles on the Velvet of his uniform.

After a minute or two, without any other word, his breathe came easier and more regular, and the beating sound of his heart subsided a little, vision clearing.

They were in a balcony, in a nook protected from view illuminated just by the moonlight and the faint light coming from the door. She was still touching him, looking up at him to check whether he was good or not. She smiled when she saw recognition.

“There you are.”

“T-that’s my line.”

“There we are, then.” She giggles. “Better?”

“I-” He shook his head, breath coming up in a huff before he admitted it. There was indeed just them, the Ambassador away from who knew what at this point. “Yes, thank you.”

She just nodded, with a smile still a little filled with worry, but didn’t interrupt the contact. It’s been hours since the Ball started, and it was gonna get dragged for hours still. He didn’t even notice her slipping back into the Ballroom, honestly: last he saw her, she was checking on him, curious about the people that were crowding him. She had asked him to dance, shily and probing, and he didn’t think she would have gotten back after he told her no a little too brashly, and she all but scampered away, masking her embarrassment with a smile and an excuse to need to slip into the library anyway.

“You shouldn’t have done it.”

“Did you mind it? I…” She snorted through her nose, face crinkling in a pout. “…I’m sorry, I didn’t want to intrude but when I saw that disgusting Comte groping you, I-”

Josephine had made a point in the last months to express her worry about how much the Inquisitor wore her heart on her sleeve and was like an open book. Training her to mask and to put up a face for the Winter Palace has been the most difficult thing. She’s been great until five minutes ago, not even flinching when people called her Rabbit or questioned everything about her in her earshot, from her role to her dress to the tattoos on her face -left bare and open by a complicated game of braids Leliana had made. In that momen, as most often when it came to her, he felt just grateful for her being so easy to read and open in her feelings.It was soothing and it was relatable, and it made all that easier opening up with her, if she was the first to show vulnerability. So, he just moved his hand to cover hers, still on his elbow, squeezing down.

“I didn’t. You should not have bothered for me, tho, they treated you far worse…”

She snorted, shrugging it off without looking at him. Her right hand on his back stopped on his track, meanwhile, without her really realising it, resting on the small of his back.

“I expected the insults, and I can take them, I’m used to it. Touching without consent, when it’s clear that there’s none and the other person’s not at ease, tho?”

It was rhetoric, and as she ended it, she blinked once, realising exactly where her hand was resting and that she didn’t really asked for consent either.

“As if I’m any better, anyway, I’m really sorry, tell me if you don’t-” She started to ramble, instantly taking her hand away and stepping on the side, cheeks flushing red.

“No!” He just blurted, turning after her, to face her, and slipping hands to grab both her wrists. “No, wait. I- Ah, I don’t mind it. From you.”

He fumbled, just a little, slowly bringing her hands -her wrists where little in his hands- behind him, to place not one but both where one was before, on the small of his back. He had to slip closer, taking one step further, and there, in a palace full of scheming Orlesians, an assassin on the loose and still too many clues to retrieve, it felt stolen and too intimate than it actually was. And all the dearest for the context.

“You can touch me anytime. I like it, if it’s you.”

She looked up, bashfully, and smiled at him, nodding to signal she heard. Still blushing, the tip of her ears deliciously flushed. Without an invitation, she stepped a little forward in a hug, squeezing him and sighing, contented. He circled her shoulders with his arms, resting his chin on top of her head, very delicately so not to ruin the complex hairdo.

“Likewise… And thank you. I am sorry you're being treated so bad.”

“I should be the one to thank you, really.”

“I hate it, here.”

“Me too.”

They were allowed just some brief moments, before someone was heard from inside asking for the Inquisitor and, with a muffled heavy groan in Cullen’s chest, she reluctantly had to break the hug. Still staying there for a moment, hands still on the small of his back and looking up.

“Well, the Servant’s Quarters won’t explore themselves, unfortunately…”

“You’d better go, before Dorian drinks too much and Cassandra punches someone.”

“Wish me luck?”

He snorts, slipping a hand to play with his lucky coin, which she had insisted on having mounted as a necklace and was wearing at her neck, just a band of blue ribbon to tie it at her neck. He turned it twice in his hand, before bending down and pecking a kiss on her lips.

“Some more can’t hurt, Lucky. Be careful.”

“You too, feel free to tell them I’ll be right back to zap their butts if they bother you again, ok?”

“I’d love to see it.”