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Slow Burning Dreamer	By : Breathing2nd Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3692 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-1
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-Nine
- 10-Ten
- 11-Eleven
- 12-Twelve
- 13-Thirteen
- 14-Fourteen
- 15-Fifteen
- 16-Sixteen
- 17-Seventeen
- 11
- 12
- 13
"Oh, you simply must introduce me to your seamstress!”
“Yes, please tell us, where did you get this dress made?”
“I had an elven seamstress once, dreadful business.”
Isala had made the mistake Dorian had warned her about. In her daze she’d let the swarm of posh nobility surround her until she had no way out. The party was in full swing. The candles had barely begun to burn down and yet it felt like an eternity had already passed.
The Inquisitor smiled politely, but it was forced. She smoothed her gloved hands down the front of her gown and glanced around, hoping someone would step out of the Fade and help her escape.
“Um, yes, well, you’ll have to ask Madame De Fer, she’s the mastermind behind the gown I’m afraid.” Isala smiled weakly and tilted her head toward the Court Enchantress. Vivienne caught the nod easily and smiled at the throng of chattering nobility surrounding the Inquisitor. Isala prayed to her Creators that the Knight-Enchanter would make her way over and wrangle in the conversation.
“Your Worship.” Krem’s voice was a welcomed balm to the trite aristocracy that was slowly smothering her. The Inquisitor whirled around in a swish of fabric and jewels, greeting her favorite member of the Chargers with a broad, if not relieved, smile.
He looked especially handsome in the new finery and the sharp angles of the dragon mask complimented his jawline perfectly.
“I noticed your glass was empty, Your Worship.” He stated matter-of-factly. He wasn’t wrong. The crystal glass nestled in her gloved palms had long since been drained. “Could I fetch you another?” He offered, and Isala wasted no time in leaping toward the out.
“Oh thank you, Krem! I’ll come with you.” She turned and smiled at the masked nobility. “Please excuse us.” She said, sliding her hand through Krem’s offered arm.
The elven mage breathed a sigh of immense relief as she let the Tevinter lead her away. She gave his arm a little squeeze and tilted her eyes toward him as they maneuvered through the crowd.
“You’re a lifesaver, Krem.”
“Don’t mention it. It is your birthday after all. You shouldn’t have to entertain anyone if you don’t want to.” He was leading her out toward the main doors and she breathed deeply of the fresh, night air wafting in from the large opening.
“Good luck convincing Vivienne or Josephine of that.” She murmured as they passed through the massive archway. “Are we going somewhere?” She realized they’d stepped out of the Great Hall and the Inquisitor paused. Krem’s arm relaxed a little as he inclined his head in the direction of the tavern down in the courtyard. Isala blinked a few times and a sly smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “Last time I checked, the party was back there.” She glanced back at the busy ballroom.
Krem had the grace to almost blush. Almost. “Afraid you’ve been misinformed, Your Worship.”
The elven mage allowed the mock surprise to raise her delicate brows, shifting the mask ever-so-slightly. “Have I?”
Krem nodded and smiled. “Chief had the Chargers set something up for you over at the Herald’s Rest. Master Tethras and Warden Blackwall are supposed to be heading over as well.”
She couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Krem echoed her widening smile and leaned in to whisper in her elongated ear. “There may be cake involved.”
The Inquisitor allowed herself to actually chuckle. The idea that her companions had orchestrated both events for her was heartwarming. Even if a grand gala wasn’t what she wanted, she knew that Josephine and the others meant well by it. That Bull and some of the others would sneak her out of the fancy ball to have a rousting evening of drinks, cake and merriment down at the tavern warmed her heart even more.
There was just one thing missing…
Isala sighed. She’d been peeking over the heads of snobs and fair-weather allies all evening, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone she was certain would stand out against the rest. She hadn’t expected to see Solas and the solitary dance they’d shared had left her a little out of sorts. Still, there was one component missing from the evening that should have made it more bearable. One person that would have turned what felt like more of an obligation into something almost whimsical, almost magical.
Cullen.
The sight of him stilled her breath as her toes edged out onto the first step leading down and to the courtyard. Her arm slid out from Krem’s as her body inched closer to taking the first step down. He was standing at the base of the stone staircase. He wasn’t looking at her, hadn’t seen her yet, but to her, he was unmistakable.
There was no gleam of hard edged armor across his chest, only the twinkle of gold buttons and buckles. His shoulders and neck were unadorned by the coif of fur that usually framed it. The colors were still dark, and under the torches and moonlight, Isala couldn’t be certain if the coat and trousers were black or deep brown. She was betting on the latter, however.
The coat was almost military in fashion, but held some element of regality in the embroidery swirling around the double breasted buttons and across the shoulders. She could see that it was left open just past his waist to flow out behind him like a short duster. A style that made him seem more roguish that his usual buttoned-up mantle. There were a series of sashes pulled taught around his trim waist in colors that complimented his tawny hair and warm brown eyes. Shades of deepest red and gold. Choices that made her even more certain that the color of his coat had to be a rich, dark brown. She imagined the leather of his boots and gloves were similar. Like those of a bear from the Hinterlands.
He turned toward her at last, mask clasped between his large hands. She could make out the shape of it, even in the sparse light. The lion facade was distinct and looked expertly crafted from hard leather, gold and bronze. Though he wasn’t wearing it yet, Isala could imagine just how perfect it would complement everything about him. She smiled wide beneath her own delicate mask, feeling heat rush up her neck and into her face like a flame burning beneath her skin.
Cullen looked stunned, bordering on startled. It was a look that tightened something low in the body of the Inquisitor. A look that said she’d taken his breath away. That she’d stolen all thoughts from his mind save for ones of her. A look of wonderment, amazement and utter bewitchment. A look that slowly shifted into a soft smile as he took a step toward her, his boot planted firmly on the first step up just as Isala took the first step down.
Her smile only broadened as she took a second and third step toward the human who looked so much like a prince from some shemlen fairytale. She could hear the slithering of her skirts and bustle behind her as she slowly descended the steps, her nearly bare feet making almost no sound at all as she padded down the stone.
Cullen was poised to take another step toward her when a voice called out to him from across the courtyard. It turned the Commander’s head away from the Inquisitor and halted his advance up the staircase. Isala paused, following the path of the voice to a lone soldier racing across the grass. The recruit paused and saluted his Commander before hastily delivering a report. Isala couldn’t make out every word but she did catch something about a former Templar recruit and withdrawal and lyrium. It seemed quite urgent and quite dire for the Inquisition Commander to see to the issue.
Cullen spared the elven mage another brief look. His expression was apologetic, his eyes filled with longing, the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes for the struggle that was silently waging inside his mind. She watched as his lips mouthed the words “Forgive me.” And she wasn’t sure if they’d been spoken aloud or not, but they’d been said never-the-less.
The Commander made short work of those few steps he’d taken and joined his messenger in a sudden jog toward the barracks. Isala hadn’t realized she’d taken several more steps down until Krem’s hand on her shoulder whirled her around.
She didn’t like the look in the Tevene’s eyes. It wasn’t quite pity, but it was something entirely too close to it. Isala swallowed hard and fought to compose her face, forgetting it was half hidden behind a mask. She cleared her throat so it would be even when she spoke.
“You said something about cake?” She hedged and Krem nudged her gently at the shoulder as he offered his arm once more.
“And lots of Antivan brandy.” He added.
- 11
- 12
- 13
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Slow Burning Dreamer