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The evening was slowly turning into a night as she skipped the steps to Cullen’s office. Normally she wouldn’t have visited him at such a late hour but she knew he had a lot of work to do and would most likely still be up, going through papers in the candle-lit room. As much as she appreciated having her inner circle consist of hard working, devoted people, she didn’t approve of Cullen sacrificing sleep for the sake of a few more checked reports. He always looked a little exhausted which she assumed was only partly due to staying up too late. She had begun to consider that maybe he was trying to avoid sleep, not wanting to face the lyrium withdrawal infused nightmares of events he’d rather forget. She would need to ask him about it but not this night.
Much to her surprise Cullen wasn’t in his office when she arrived there. The candles on his table were lit, papers scattered like he had just been going through them, ink bottle not properly closed and pen not cleaned after use. Maybe he had just left and intended to be back very shortly? It wasn’t like Cullen to leave his ink to dry and candles to burn unwatched. She tried to peek up the ladders and listen carefully for any signs of her commander having gone up. Nothing. Or had she heard a muffled groan? From behind the door leading to the battlements on the other side of the office?
She made her way across the room and carefully opened the door. Sure enough Cullen was there. And he wasn’t looking well at all. Even in the dark of the early night she could easily see how pale he was, the sheen of sweat on his face and the slight flush on his cheeks. He was sitting instead of standing, arms resting on his knees and hands buried in his hair.
“Cullen?” Her voice was low and gentle as she spoke but he still jumped in surprise. His eyes turned to her and she could see the pain reflected on them. “What’s wrong?” she asked even though she knew the answer.
“I… Headache.” Cullen said after a contemplative silence. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to voice the cause of it. He didn’t need to tell her what else was aching, what all else he was feeling. She had never seen him at such a bad moment but she still knew.
“Do you need anything?” she asked him. Cullen responded with a small shake of his head, obviously not wanting to move too much, before swiping his face with a hand, leaving it pressed against his eyes.
“Maybe a bucket.” he breathed out the words and she hurried back inside to see if he had one close by. She found the bucket quickly and returned to Cullen just in time for him to vomit into it instead of on the battlements and himself. She politely took a few steps away and turned around, giving him some privacy. It wasn’t pleasant to listen to the sounds of Cullen emptying his stomach into the bucket but she didn’t want to leave him alone. Not at a moment like this. She knew he didn’t want people to see his bad moments nor for them to know he was struggling, but he wasn’t pushing her away, telling her to leave him be (she hoped he wasn’t just too exhausted and in pain to properly react to her presence) and she wanted to offer him support. She didn’t know if she could do anything for him other than just be there but she would try.
“Maybe you should go to bed.” she said once he was done. Cullen gave a small nod but didn’t move. His compliance worried her as she was used to Cullen down-playing his symptoms, hiding the pain, the trembling of his hands, the bouts of nausea and all else from those he didn’t want knowing, saying he could handle it even when he was obviously having a bad day. Now he was just sitting there, his whole body trembling from pain and exhaustion, actually accepting the help she offered. In all honesty the change in his behavior was almost terrifying to her. Almost. Mostly she just wanted to make him feel better.
“Can you get up?” she asked when Cullen didn’t seem to make any effort to move from the battlements to indoors and into a bed.
“I think so.” he said, voice a little rougher than usually. With a deep breath he got to his knees, then to his feet. She grabbed his arm to support him as he pushed himself of the ground, not looking at all steady or sure of his ability to stand up. Again he didn’t protest as she wrapped one arm around his waist, another having grabbed the bucket. She didn’t really know what she should do with it, though. She didn’t want to leave it there, nor did she want to leave it to his office, or anywhere where someone else might stumble upon it. But she didn’t know where she could empty and wash it, either. And what if they crossed paths with one of the guards, or someone else who wasn’t supposed to see Cullen like this, and she was not only supporting him but also carrying a vomit-filled bucket? And where was she to even take the man as he obviously couldn’t climb the ladders to his sleeping quarters? Would the way to her own quarters be too long? Her bed needed to be good enough because she couldn’t think of any vacant rooms or other places to take him instead. And she would just have to risk it with the bucket – who knows if it might still be needed.
They walked slowly across Skyhold, Cullen leaning on her heavily. She was no warrior but he needed her support to walk the distance. Occasionally there would be a new jolt of pain that made Cullen stumble, or a new bout of nausea that had him grab the bucket from her, but eventually they made it. When they got to her quarters she led Cullen to the edge of her bed where he sat down as she started to work on the buckles of his armor. He shivered as he lost his cocoon of fever-warm air. The clothes underneath the armor were sweaty and she removed them too before letting him lie down and sitting down next to him. For a while he shifted, turned from his back to his side and to his back again, halting as he looked like he might vomit again, then turned again until he seemed to find a comfortable enough position.
“Is this all right?” she asked as she pressed one ice-spell-cooled hand on his forehead. At first the cool touch made his whole body stiffen but as he got used to it he relaxed, expression becoming slightly less painful.
“Thank you.” he said, closing his eyes. His brow was still furrowed, lips still tightly pressed together, nostrils flaring with the deep, shaky breaths, but he did seem to be slightly more comfortable. She knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep in a while yet and that the inevitable nightmares would make his sleep restless and inconsistent, but she would be there for him, stay by his side until the morning, longer if he needed or wanted it.