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Imryll made her way up the stairs of the infirmary as quietly as possible. She cursed herself for not changing into her lighter boots after she’d gotten bandaged up. There was certainly enough time while she waited for infirmary to clear up of all the scuffed up troops from the Shrine of Dumat.
She could hear faint talking, Vivienne’s voice the clearest. Yes, that’s it, she’d come here to see Vivienne, she lied to herself.
But she knew the real reason, she wouldn’t have stood outside and waited until everyone had left if –
“Darling, there you are,” Vivienne said, as she exited the main room, surprising her. It was strange to see Vivienne dressed so plainly. But then, she knew that keeping her fine silks blood-free was probably more important than keeping up appearance.
“Here I am,” Imryll replied. She quickly rolled through her practiced excuses: “I wanted to ask you about something,” “I think my arm is still sore,”
Before she could choose one, Vivienne said “He’s still in there.”
Imryll felt heat rush to her face. They both knew who “he” was.
“He’s insistent he’s fine when he’d taken the worst blow out of all of us,” Vivienne continued, “Perhaps you could convince him to rest. At least today.”
Before Imryll could open her mouth to give an excuse, Vivienne shot her a smile. A smile that said “Don’t lie, darling. I know why you’re here.”
Despite her halfway-healed scars and plain cotton tunic spotted with dried anesthetic, she still carried that air of prominence about her. She didn’t need lace and silks to keep up an appearance.
“I do hope you’re feeling better. You were roughed up a bit as well,” she continued, before turning to walk down the stairs.
Imryll sighed and walked slowly towards the main room, making sure her footsteps were silent. She peeked at the threshold, revealing a mostly empty room, except for of course, him.
Cullen.
He sat at a cot, looking haggard. Imryll could see from his open shirt that most of his torso had been wrapped in bandages. His curls were falling out of the pomade (perhaps Dorian had overhyped its ability to stay on through battle), three shades paler than he usually was. The cuts on his face had mostly faded, except for the larger ones. Vivienne’s doing, she assumed. He was stiff, flinching as the surgeon repositioned his bandages.
“Will this be longer?” he asked.
“You must be joking,” the surgeon said, “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted.
That was a lie. He took a breath – a shaky one. Imryll could see the dark blue of the bruise peeking from the top of the bandages.
“You can hardly move, Commander,” she said, “I suggest you stay here overnight for further check-ups. Lord Pavus said you took quite the blow.”
Cullen took another struggled breath.
“I managed to fight off the next hoard of Red Templars after getting knocked down,” he explained, “And there’s work to do.”
The surgeon rolled her eyes.
It’d been the adrenaline and Imryll knew that. Cullen was unyielding, but not invincible. The Red Templar horrors stood at least a foot taller than him and Vivienne’s repulsion field only kept so many away. Cullen had shielded her from a Red Templar shadow when one of the horrors rammed into him. He’d flown at least 20 feet back, accompanied by the concerning sound of a crack.
By the time it was all over, he nearly doubled over when they reached camp. She remembered helping Vivienne hold him up, and him squeezing her hand.
“Lady Cassandra told me you’d be difficult,” the surgeon said, “I insist you stay here.”
“There’s a stack of reports on my desk, Jim said –“
“Commander,” the surgeon interrupted sternly, “You can barely sit up.”
“I can,” Cullen lied, attempting to straighten his back, only to be followed by a pained grunt.
Imryll flinched, digging her nail into the wooden frame of the threshold.
The surgeon helped steady him and said “Doesn’t mean you should.”
Cullen steadied himself, only to double over again, followed by a hiss. A red stain began to form on his bandages.
“Andraste’s tits, I think your stitches came loose,” the surgeon said.
Cullen let out a weak sigh and let himself lie down on the cot, defeated.
“I told you Madame De Fer should’ve done your stitches,” the surgeon chastised, “Calvin has shaky hands and has only ever stitched up livestock.”
Cullen wiped sweat from his forehead and groaned.
“The others needed the attention more.”
The surgeon rolled her eyes again.
“When they hauled you in here, you were half unconscious, your face blue and green.”
Cullen let out another hiss of pain, as the red stain on his bandages grew.
Imryll let out a quiet gasp as her knee betrayed her, accidentally bumping into the door, letting out a thump.
“Inquisitor,” the surgeon exclaimed, looking up.
She caught Cullen attempting to raise his head and look.
Imryll felt her heart thud.
“Is there anything you need?” the surgeon asked, as she carefully unwrapped Cullen’s bandages.
Imryll caught Cullen’s eyes. There was relief at her presence, and something she couldn’t read. Perhaps it mirrored the anxiousness she felt under his gaze. Or perhaps it was wishful thinking.
She broke their gaze as she turned to the surgeon.
“I…uh,” she began, realizing there was no good excuse as to why she’d been standing there.
“I wanted to see if the Commander was all right,” she continued, trying to sound like it was protocol.
The surgeon chuckled.
“He would be if he listened to all of us and rested. Unfortunately, his stitches weren’t done too well.”
Imryll looked at Cullen again. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she entered the room.
“A-are you all right?” she managed. She wiped her sweaty palms on her trousers.
He took a deep breath, and she wondered if it was because of pain or…
“Y-yes,” he stuttered. But his gritted teeth meant something else.
“He isn’t,” the surgeon said exasperatedly, “I have to re-do his stitches, actually. If you don’t mind Inquisitor, could you stay with him and make sure he doesn’t fall unconscious or return to his post? Because I fear either could happen.”
Imryll’s stomach churned.
Fenedhis.
“Would you mind?” she asked, looking at him.
“Not at all,” he said quickly, as his hands found his hair, brushing them away from his face.
The surgeon stood up and said something she couldn’t remember as she watched Cullen move to leave space for her on the cot.
She felt her legs shaking as she sat beside him. She heard him whisper a thank you, placing his hand over her’s for a quick moment.
Calloused and warm.
She looked at him as he struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. The stitch job had been bad, it was lopsided, the threads knotted into each other. She wondered how it’d held up for all these hours. She winced as the blood trickled out.
Cullen reached for the cloth and wash basin, sucking in a breath.
“I got it,” she said, reaching over and fetching it from the stand beside him.
Before he could take it from her, she dipped the cloth into the warm water and pressed it against the cut, gently washing the blood off his skin.
“You don’t have to –“
“It’s okay. I want to.”
Imryll felt her face redden at her own words.
Cullen propped himself up. He shivered as the water touched his wound.
“How bad does it hurt?” she asked as she rinsed the cloth. “Tell me how bad it really hurts,” she added before he could answer.
He studied her face for a minute before replying with “Very bad.”
She absentmindedly brushed stray curls from his forehead, not realizing what she’d done until she saw pink tinge his cheeks.
They looked at each other as another moment of quiet passed between them. The sun from the window lit up his eyes.
Honey. Copper. Amber. Some fancy color from Solas’s paint set.
Imryll blinked and took a breath.
“I uh…would you mind if I used healing magic on you? I’m not very good, and it won’t get rid of it…but it could alleviate some of the pain.”
“You don’t have to,” he said again. “I’ve taken enough of your time.”
“I want to,” she replied again, more confidence in her voice. “And you haven’t. You must heal, if not it’ll get worse.”
“I can’t be in here useless while everyone goes on with their jobs.”
Imryll picked up a clean cloth and pressed it against his wound, wiping the blood away.
“You’re not being useless. You were injured. Almost gravely.”
She took the cloth again and applied pressure, making sure it stopped the bleeding.
“I have to endure. What if something happens? What if something happens to you –“
Imryll saw something flash in his eyes as he groaned, fists clutching onto the sheets. His breathing turned pained again.
“Cullen,” Imryll said softly, “Let me make it better.”
He began to respond before the pain wracked through his body again, making him cry out. She caught his hands shake.
Her heart sank. It was unbearable to watch, almost as bad as the worst of his withdrawals. If she could, she’d find a way to take away all the pain.
“Please. You’re no use dead,” she began, her voice cracking.
“The Inquisition needs you. I need you.”
He slowly looked up at her, breathing heavily. The small nicks and scars on his face from earlier had almost all gone, the miracle of Vivienne’s balm. But the larger one remained, strewn across his cheek.
“A-all right,” he replied, catching the glazed look of her eyes.
Imryll removed the cloth and gently pressed her hands against his chest, making sure to cover most of the bruise and the wound. She let the healing spell surge through, slow and in intervals, like Vivienne had taught her. She felt Cullen’s muscles relax with each surge.
Suddenly, his face softened, almost not believing what had happened – that she’d done that for him. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth from the relief and she couldn’t help but return it.
Then, he was breathing normally, if not with a slightly faster heartbeat.
Although, if she admitted, her heartbeat was just as fast.
The blue on his chest had faded slightly. Maybe she wasn’t as terrible at healing magic as she believed to be.
“Thank you,” he said. He moved his hand as if he wanted to touch her face but hesitated.
Then his eyes caught her’s.
“I’m here for you. Whatever you want. Whatever you need,” she replied.
He nodded, their eyes still locked. Then, his eyes fell down to her lips, looking like they were making a silent wish. She felt as if she’d stopped breathing.
“What…I want…,” he said, almost in a whisper.
Then her eyes caught his lips. They were slightly parted, inviting…she knew…
Then his face was right in front of her’s.
Her eyes flew shut as she leaned in to meet him.
His lips were chapped and warm, probably from the healing spell. But they were gone as soon as they were there.
“I’m sorry, I…”
She opened her eyes to see his red face, quickly filling with regret.
Her heart thudded so fast she felt like it could rip out of her chest. The world fell silent.
Now or never.
“Don’t be.”
She leaned in and pressed her lips against his again, only taking a moment for him to return it. She felt herself sigh at the fullness of his kiss.
Cullen kissed with his whole body, with purpose. It was slow and achingly sweet, enough to let her melt against him, but gently as to not irritate the wound.
Hungry and soft. Desperate but controlled.
She felt his hands pull her closer by the small of her back as she let her hands rest on his arms. They broke apart for a second, letting out a quick breath before their lips crashed together again.
“Imryll,” he muttered against her lips, sending a chill up her spine.
She slid her hands up his face, her thumb stroking the scar on his cheek as his hand rose to softly comb through her hair.
She tilted her head as the kiss deepened, and his other hand traveled up and down her back. His thumb traced her spine through the thick cotton of her shirt.
So that’s what it felt like to have his hands on her.
A soft “mmm,” escaped her lips. She could get lost right now, if he wanted to, but it would be foolish, considering everything.
They didn’t even hear the footsteps nearing the door.
“Oh, Maker!”
The sound jolted them apart, revealing a stunned and red-faced Cassandra at the doorway.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Cassandra spat, as she quickly turned. “The s-surgeon wanted me to t-tell the C-Commander that she’s on h-her way. And she’s s-sorry she’s taking a while.”
They both stared at her, wordless, as she nearly ran out the door, mumbling something in Nevarran.