The Heart of a Dragon (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Dancing

Ren made her way back into the ballroom, finding that Florianne was promenading toward Celene on Gaspard's arm. Waving Cullen away, promising to fill him in later, Ren boldly approached the front of the ballroom, enjoying the stunned expression on Florianne's face.

"I believe we have time for that last dance after all, Your Grace," she said, ignoring the shocked whispers at her boldness. The whispers would grow more shocked in a few minutes.

Florianne didn't lack for courage; she kept up the front of her innocence for as long as she could, but Ren had marshaled her evidence, and in the face of it, not even Gaspard or Celene herself stepped forward to defend the Grand Duchesse.

In a final moment of desperation, Florianne attacked Ren, trying to rake her nails down Ren's face, but Ren had a lot more close combat experience than Florianne, and her dagger easily found a home between the former Grand Duchesse's ribs. There were gasps, but they were more titillated than upset. A snap of Celene's fingers, and armed men appeared, taking the body away. The music had resumed before the blood was entirely mopped up.

The Empress, grateful for Ren's work in unmasking Florianne's intentions, brought Ren into the peace talks, which resulted in Briala being restored to Celene's good graces—and possibly her bed, if Ren was reading the looks between the two women correctly—and Gaspard being exiled. Ren regretted the necessity, having rather liked Gaspard, but ousting the Empress seemed to threaten the same troubles that allowing the Empress to be killed might have. She didn't want to leave Corypheus any openings.

The assembled nobility cheered her, and Celene promised Orlesian aid in the fight against Corypheus. Unbeknownst to Ren, Celene also promised Morrigan's aid as liaison to the Inquisition. Ren wasn't sure how she felt about that. All in all, she was really too tired to think too deeply about it. Morrigan's impact on the Inquisition could best be considered back in Skyhold.

Having delivered the news with about as much enthusiasm as Ren had felt on receiving it, Morrigan left her alone on the balcony, looking up into the starry night sky, enjoying a brief moment of peace in which no one was watching her.

But she wasn't alone for long. At least the heavy steps that echoed behind her were ones she recognized as belonging to the only person she really wanted to see right now.

"They ran out of that cheese dip," the Iron Bull said. "I asked for more, and they gave me this look, the assholes."

"Dorian said the ham tasted of despair."

The Iron Bull gave that one some thought. "I wouldn't know; not sure I've ever tasted despair."

"Lucky you."

As soon as he came within arm's reach, she turned toward him, putting her arms tightly around him and pressing her face into his jacket. The Iron Bull looked at her for a moment, the red head lying on his chest, and then his arms closed around her, holding her to him. They had never done this before, this simple embrace. It felt surprisingly good.

The jacket was still so new it smelled of raw wool and the dye that had been used on it. Much as she liked the look of it on him, Ren missed the scent of him, smoke and leather and salt. But how good it felt to be safe here in his arms, to know for one small moment the rest of the world was looking after itself.

"You did good tonight, boss."

"Thank you." She pulled back, looking up at him. "Does that mean I deserve a reward?"

The words were lightly spoken, but the look in her eyes was anything but light. The Iron Bull could see the weariness in her, the need for comfort and reassurance, and he hoped she was about to ask for something he could give. "Such as?"

"Will you kiss me, Iron Bull?" Ren thought she understood why he hadn't so far, and certainly she could have found a way to initiate a kiss ... but she wanted it to come from him.

He rubbed his thumb lightly over her full lips. He had avoided this so far because he was afraid of losing himself in the intimacy of a kiss ... but he no longer feared that. He had lost his heart in her already; he wanted to lose himself entirely in her, to let the world narrow around them to nothing but mouth on mouth and skin on skin. But not here. "Later," he promised, hearing the huskiness in his own voice. "Back in Skyhold."

"What's wrong with now?"

He smiled. "Because if I start now, the next person who comes out here is going to find you on that railing with your uniform around your ankles and me buried in you as deep as I can go."

Ren was glad for his arms around her, because her knees went weak at the image, the sound of his voice as he painted it for her, and the look in his eye. "Would that really be so bad?"

"Not afraid I'd drop you?"

"Never."

Chuckling, he said, "I think you have railings back in Skyhold."

"I do. I suppose I can wait until then." She let go of him with a sigh. "If I have to."

"Good. Besides, you promised me a dance, and it sounds like the music finally has enough of a beat for it." He held his arm out, in as courtly a gesture as she had ever seen in a ballroom. Perhaps it should have surprised her, coming from him, but there were so many sides to him—as many facets as a diamond, she thought.

Ren took his arm, smiling up at him, remembering the eagerness in his voice when she had asked him to dance earlier. "I've been looking forward to it all night," she assured him.

She withdrew her arm from his as they left the balcony, and his big hand dropped to the small of her back. She had felt his touch there before, but something about the subtle intimacy of it now, in the middle of the Winter Palace ... Ren wasn't sure she was going to make it all the way back to Skyhold.

The dance floor was humming. Late at night, the stately dances meant for show gave way to heavier drum beats and more lively country dances, and Ren gladly took her place on the floor.

She was not at all surprised that the Iron Bull could dance, and dance well. She had expected it, in fact. It was such fun to be whirled and spun around the dance floor, to come close to him one moment and then be twirled away the next. It was almost worth the events that had led up to it.

It was an effort to let him go at the end of the dance, to turn to Dorian, and then to be partnered by Josephine, and Leliana, and several Orlesians, before it was safe to find herself in the Iron Bull's arms again. Cullen didn't dance; nor did Varric. Both of them stood aside and watched. Even Leliana's best attempts at enticing him didn't move Cullen, and Ren wondered about the two of them anew. Perhaps Cullen saved all his moves for his office, she thought.

But it didn't matter, because the rhythm of the drums was in her blood, and the Iron Bull was in her arms, and it was the most fun she had had in a long time.