A/N: This ball (ha!) of fluff takes place about a year after DAI and my other two stories, "Fondest, Blindest, Weakest" and "Clasping of Hands," but it can be read on its own. Thank you so much for reading, I'm so happy you're here!

Chapter One: Countless Suitors Invited

Cullen looked out the carriage window.

"Cullen, relax," the Inquisitor said.

He looked back guiltily. "I was just taking in the view."

"No, you were looking to see if we were being followed. For the fourth time in ten minutes."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be so obvious."

"You were even worse yesterday," Blackwall said. "Perhaps by the time we get to Halamshiral, you'll be worn down to normal."

The Inquisitor laughed. Cullen said, "How are all of you so calm about this? The previous ball was a tactical nightmare."

"It was also probably the most fun I had last year," the Inquisitor said. "Exposing the villainous Duke Gaspard, dancing with the traitorous Grand Duchess Florianne… I doubt things will be half as exciting tomorrow."

"The Inquisition still has enemies. Many oppose our efforts to aid the people and rebuild what Corypheus destroyed. The ball would be a perfect opportunity for someone to strike at us while we're gathered."

"I suppose we could turn around. But here I thought you couldn't wait to see Cassandra again," the Inquisitor said, smiling.

Cullen felt his face grow warm. "I just meant that we need to stay vigilant. Anything can happen at an event like this."

"I should hope so!" the Inquisitor said. "Leliana and Josephine say that most of these parties are terribly dull. We're going to be stuck for hours with a large company of nobles who want nothing more than to show off their fancy clothes and gossip behind pillars. Nothing is going to happen."

"Maker's balls!" Varric yelled, looking up from the parchment he'd been busily filling with his surprisingly elegant, looping handwriting.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch that," Blackwall said. "Could you repeat that louder?"

Ignoring him, Varric said, "Haven't any of you heard of the law of narrative causality? The surest way to land in shit is to say that it's not going to happen."

The Inquisitor chuckled. "How would you prefer the story to go?"

"I get mobbed by my adoring fans, you meet a prince and live happily ever after, Curly and the Seeker distract each other enough that they finally get off our backs…"

Cullen felt his face grow even hotter. "Cassandra and I have duties to perform. We are not going to distract each other."

"Hey, remember what I just said about the law of narrative causality?" Varric winked. "Besides, a ball at the Winter Palace sounds kind of romantic. I hear Cassandra likes that kind of thing."

"And," the Inquisitor chimed in, "Leliana and Josephine have been taking her shopping in Orlais. I'm sure you'll manage to be a little bit distracted."

Cullen looked away, defeated. He realized that for the duration of their conversation, he really had forgotten to be anxious about the Inquisitor's safety. Cassandra was distracting him already, and she wasn't even here. With her in front of him, he wouldn't have a chance.

They stopped at an inn that evening. After supper, Blackwall and Varric went off to check on the horses, while Cullen and the Inquisitor sat by the fireside, reading. Varric had asked them look over the chapter he'd written, but as absorbing as it was, Cullen could tell that the Inquisitor's mind was elsewhere. After a moment, he said lightly, "So, are you hoping to meet a prince?"

She sighed, dropping the cavalier front she'd put on earlier in the carriage. "I expect I will, whether I want to or not. Josephine's probably rounded them up by the dozen, along with most of the other bachelors in Thedas. Does everyone know that's the real reason why we're going this year?"

"Probably not," Cullen said. "You would have been expected to attend, in any case. But to answer your question, I don't believe Josephine's efforts have escaped Blackwall's attention."

She sighed again. "Has he said anything to you?" she asked timidly.

"I don't think he's said anything to anyone. He wouldn't be Blackwall if he had."

Immediately Cullen winced at his words, but the Inquisitior broke into a lopsided grin.

"He lied to all of us about his identity," she said. "I liked him then. He gave himself up to save another man's life, then I saved his. I like him still. Am I simply playing into his hands again?

Cullen, who'd been less willing to overlook Blackwall's deception, even as he liked the man, said awkwardly, "Love is a little like that sometimes."

She laughed ruefully. "Always wondering if you've made terrible mistakes?

"That's just life," he said. "Love is staying with the same people through it all."

She looked down at Varric's pages in her lap. "We've never said a word about it. I think we're both rather confused. He wasn't what I was expecting," she said in a small voice.

"He probably wasn't expecting you either," Cullen said, trying to be fair. "No one expects the leader of an Inquisition."

She made a face. "No one except for every suitor who will be at the Winter Palace. Oh, that's not what bothers me. Blackwall and I aren't anything, why shouldn't I meet a few other blokes? And Josephine's trying so hard to help me. She thinks I must marry, that I must want to marry. She's like a mother who won't rest until she's cleared all her daughters out of the house."

"Perhaps she's just bringing in suitors so she can keep the best ones for herself," Cullen teased.

"She's welcome to them. I just wish she wouldn't rush me in the process."

"You don't have to feel rushed. You're still very young."

"And a lot younger than Blackwall, I know," the Inquisitor said dully. "Well, I suppose I should let Josephine have her fun. Who else is she going to play matchmaker to? Cassandra married you, Leliana has taken vows…"

"Chantry vows?"

"Something like that. Josephine wasn't very specific."

"I see," Cullen said neutrally. He knew Josephine hadn't been specific because she didn't know that Leliana had in fact exchanged vows – wedding vows – with none other than the Hero of Ferelden. That was eight years ago, just as Leliana joined Justinia as her Left Hand. Cassandra had performed the ceremony. There were no witnesses, and with Justinia gone, Cullen was certain that he and Cassandra were the only people who knew.

The Inquisitor went on, half to herself, "Maybe I'm just not ready. When will I know when I'm ready?"

"When you stop asking that," Cullen said, smiling. "You'll know. For tomorrow night, just try to enjoy yourself. And I'll try not to worry so much."

They arrived in Orlais early the morning of the ball, but there was much to be done. Josephine met them and rushed the Inquisitor off to her dressmakers. Varric went to have lunch with his Orlesian publishers, leaving Cullen and Blackwall to head to the tailors' together. Their formal attire was waiting for them there – Josephine having sent their measurements ahead – but they still had to be fitted and fussed over for hours. Orlesian custom dictated that they should pass the time sipping tea, eating little morsels of confectionary, and chatting in the front parlor, where a large window ensured that they were on display to all passing in the street. Several other men were in the parlor there already, talking excitedly about meeting the Inquisitor. Blackwall sat in a corner, moodily working his way through a bowl of pink sugared almonds. He made such a gloomy picture that Cullen almost had to laugh. The man was more than capable of hiding his emotions when he wanted to. Perhaps, Cullen thought, he no longer wanted to conceal his true feelings.

"So we're to have different outfits this year," Cullen said casually, when the other men had left. "You know, it was the Inquisitor's idea that we should all dress identically the last time, so we looked like allies. Or a very odd company of dancers."

"It was a good idea," Blackwall said at once.

"She'd appreciate knowing that. You've always been keen to lend her your support," Cullen said encouragingly. When Blackwall refused to take the bait, he said, "She's told me that she's quite fond of you."

At this, Blackwall stuffed an entire handful of sugared almonds into his mouth and looked away. He was saved from further conversation by another group of men entering the shop, but Cullen resolved to have another talk with him at the next opportunity. He wondered if Cassandra was also having to go around giving relationship advice. Anyone brave enough to ask her would get excellent counsel. He'd learned everything he knew from her, after all.

Thinking of Cassandra made him smile, even as he ached to see her again. Since helping to defeat Corypheus almost a year ago, the two of them had remained with the Inquisition, reducing their duties in order to pursue their own work at the same time. Both of them left Skyhold frequently, she to rebuild the Seekers of Truth, he to oversee their soldiers' relief efforts. But more often than not, they were able to travel together. It had been a while since she'd been gone without him, and he missed her terribly.

All afternoon and into the evening, his thoughts strayed to her no matter how often he chided himself. Before he knew it, he was with the other three again, headed up the path to the Winter Palace. The line stretched far into the night, as each carriage's occupants were announced and fawned over with great fanfare. Only Varric looked completely at ease in his circumstances and formal attire. Blackwall was fidgety, while Cullen kept touching his side to feel for a sword that wasn't there. The Inquisitor was the worst of all. She kept trying to run her hands through her hair and, finding it arranged in delicate coils atop her head, swearing loudly because she wasn't supposed to touch it. She was rather dauntingly dressed dressed in an elaborate silvery ball gown decked out in diamonds, or something like them. Her skirt's girth actually exceeded the width of the carriage, forcing both her and Varric seated beside her to keep very still.

"I can't move. My ass is numb," she complained, as their carriage lurched forward and came to a stop again, without really bringing them any closer to the gates.

"Keep saying things like that and even Ruffles won't be able to get you hitched to anyone," Varric said cheerfully.

Blackwall opened his mouth and closed it again. The Inquisitor said fiercely, "Good. Maybe I don't want to be hitched to anyone."

Cullen felt a pang of alarm. He'd come around to feeling sympathetic towards Blackwall. Maybe that was why getting fitted for clothes had to be so onerous – out of battle, people needed some other trial to bond them together. "Of course you don't want to be with just anyone," he said soothingly. "That doesn't mean that you can't consider anyone at all."

Varric, catching Cullen's eye, said, "Curly's right. Sometimes the right person is just under your nose." Blackwall, who was sitting directly across from the Inquisitor, coughed. "You know. Old friends, traveling companions. Handsome dwarves," he added, after Cullen gave him a warning look.

Blackwall and the Inquisitor both broke into oddly similar, strained laughter, going quiet at the same time. An awkward silence descended. "Varric, why don't you read us the latest chapter from your book?" Cullen said in desperation.

"Uh, maybe not such a good idea."

"Go on, Varric," Blackwall and the Inquisitor said together.

That was so bad that Varric immediately reached under his seat for his pile of papers. Looking flustered, he began, "The Knight-Captain sighed, her ample bosom heaving as she shivered under – "

"Maker's breath," Cullen blurted out. "Isn't there anything else?"

"I can skip ahead to the end of the chapter," Varric said quickly. He shuffled his papers, and Cullen noticed that the last page ended midsentence. He hadn't finished it. "Here we go," Varric said, with forced enthusiasm. "The Knight-Captain, along with, uh, the Knight-Captain-in-Training, thought they had cleaned up the rough streets of Hightown. Little did they know that, um, the previous Knight-Captain was behind it all…"

What followed was a muddled account of no fewer than seven Knight-Captains, one of whom was thought to be dead, one of whom was actually undead, and two of whom were revealed to be posing as each other."The end," Varric said abruptly as they finally pulled up to the main entrance, actually giving the Inquisitor a push from behind when she struggled to fit through the carriage door.

There were cries of admiration, especially from the Orlesians. "Ah, the Inquisitor! She is like the moon and the stars!" a voice called out shrilly. "Dipped in silver, bathed in the radiant mists of twilight…"

Behind him, Blackwall made a strained noise. Cullen almost turned around to console him, but then his eyes fell on a vision that made him stop in his tracks.

Cassandra was standing beside the Inquisitor, looking far from pleased to be at another ball. But she turned and saw him then, and smiled.

Her neck and shoulders were bare. Cullen instantly longed to run his hands over every line and curve he could see. He slowly let his gaze drop lower. She wore a dress of shining gold that started teasingly at the very edge of her shoulders, tapering in around her slender waist. The gold tulle skirt stretched all the way to the floor, and words failed him completely when it came to describing the way it moved when she walked, hips swaying beguilingly. As much as he loved seeing her in armor, he'd always dreamed about what she'd look like in a dress. His imagination had fallen far, far short of what he was seeing now.

He was only aware that he'd moved towards her when he found himself right by her side. Up close, she was almost too dazzling to look at. There was gold braided through her hair, too, and in the deepening twilight it winked at him beguilingly. He bowed, raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Just the slightest touch of her skin sent heat flooding through his body. Her lips were dark red, very much like the shade that her cheeks flushed when she was ready for him, begging for him… Now, in this moment, he would have begged her to let him give her anything she wanted.

"You are here," she said, smiling. "One good thing has happened tonight."

"Cassandra," he breathed. "Sweet merciful Maker. It's been so long since I've seen you."

She let out a low chuckle. "Cullen, it has been four days."

"Exactly," he said feelingly. "It's going to be so difficult not to keep you all to myself."

"You know I have to stay by her side," she said, nodding towards the Inquisitor. "Even if this is the last thing I thought I'd ever be doing. Custom dictates that a married woman needs to act as her chaperone. I would not be here otherwise." She made a disgusted noise. "I have to try to look respectable."

He leaned closer towards her. "Is that so? Then why am I having so many obscene thoughts of you?"

She blushed, delightfully. They'd been married almost a year, and he felt proud that he could make her blush as easily as she did during their earliest days together. "Cullen," she said warningly.

The frown hadn't left her face. Even so, Cullen imagined sweeping her up in his arms and tucking her into the carriage. Shutting the door, and not having to care for another instant where they were, and what they were supposed to be doing… He actually had his hands around her waist before she discreetly slipped them off. "Not the dress, please. Maker knows how many more hours it needs to stay in place."

He held her hands. "You sure I can't change your mind?"

She pulled back and looked away. "We are beginning to hold up the line."

He suppressed a sigh. "This is going to be a very long evening."

"That much is certain," she said grimly. "I have had to attend a great many of such functions in Navarra, and with Justinia. Absolutely nothing happens. Except…"

Resting one hand on his shoulder, she kissed him on the cheek.

"Once in a while, if you are lucky, you find yourself in very appealing company."

With that, she turned and walked briskly back to the Inquisitor, dispersing the small crowd that had gathered so the other woman could go inside. Cullen watched her weakly. He couldn't look away.

"Narrative causality," Varric said, suddenly beside him. "Gets you every time."

"I can live with that," Cullen said, as he and Varric followed Cassandra into the Winter Palace.

A/N: I owe a debt here to OrilliaOrange for invoking the dangers of narrative causality in "Suite Romance"!

If you could spare a moment to comment, I'd love to hear from you! Thanks again, and enjoy!