Girlboss Sauron the Third

Donovan for mooneawolf

filigdor for heavyhandedwizard

spook for lyall

cinn and Maira for @nerdylizard5

kingfish forcr0wfood

duventoliel for @elfroot-and-laurels

"It's just a-"

"-Cullen, I have just rotated and realigned the two separated halves of the longest bone in your body, that which keeps you standing and walking. We can only hope you won't need the surgeon in the next few hours. It's not a minor injury, it's not anything you can shrug off and pretend it isn't there, do not tell me you're fine, and don't ask me to be bubbly and cheerful, right now, not when I could have-"

Lavellan stopped, before she could say anything else, with a groan and a shake of her head. Cullen, thankfully, understood and kept silent about it, even if the frown on his face said he very much disagreed with her.

She wasn't angry, of course not. Not with him, at least. It wasn't the time to stop and listen to whatever she was feeling in that exact moment, tho: Keeper taught her better than that. She wasn't his lover, right now. She wasn't even his Inquisitor, no. First and foremost, now she was a healer. So she acted like one, remembering lessons she heard since she was a child. She healed birds fallen from their nests trying to fly since she was 8 (with supervision), she splinted so many limbs and fingers, when she was allowed to help the Keeper with elves, that she could do it in her sleep.

The only difference with her current situation was the context around her, really.

It wasn't a tent quickly set up at the centre of a circle of aravels. It was a stone tower, cold and drafty after they finally got rid of all the red lyrium. She herself had ordered it to be set as infirmary and not as her personal living quarters and war room, as everyone else had advised her to do. Woundeds had the priority, she insisted: they needed every man if they wanted to conquer Suledin Keep from a demon with who knew how many Red Templars at his orders. She wasn't called First, nor Keeper, but Inquisitor, but they were just names. They all meant she was in charge, even if now every dignitary was surprised to find her there, helping, and not sitting on her fancy chair in the war pavillion. Any Dalish would have searched her there automatically.

No incense and herbs for Sylaise overpowered the smell of sickness and medicines - even if she reserved a corner of the fireplace for a small ceramic bowl, filled with those herbs she could find or spare, and a bit of incense. "For the smell" she told everyone, and hardly anyone heard or minded her whispering a prayer in elvhen to consacrate the offering.

Other than that, the job was still the very same. Humans and elves and dwarves worked similarly, when it came to open wounds, fractures, distortions and seasonal ailments due to the innatural snow that still covered the Emprise. The very same process.

It was just harder to recall, right now, when her heart wouldn't stop beating insistently in her ears, and she swore she could feel Cullen's frown on her skin.

A very subtle grunt of discomfort - the Commander tended to undersell his own hurt, but she knew by now whom she was dealing with, enough to pay attention. She loosened the bandages a bit, noticing she was tightening them too much. The leg would have swollen a bit more in the next hours, she should leave some space for that.

Yes, she knew it: Deshanna told her, the very first time she splinted a broken wing. Far more delicate than the leg of a trained warrior, and yet…

"Aisling, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. For now, at least. I'll change the bandages tomorrow and check how the bone is faring, we'll know if I set it right. If not, surgery will be, but for now-"

"You had the same face in Halamshiral, when you found documents in Celene's bedroom."

Aisling grimaced instinctively at the memory, which gained her a knowing "Ah!" from the traitourous man on the cot.

"If you feel in pain and like you want some more of the potion I gave you before, you ask someone to call for me, ok?" Aisling sighed, after a moment, frowning hard at her work. "Immediately, you don't wait it out, you don't minimize it, you don't think it's normal and that I should sleep. I will be angry if you don't call me."

"There won't be any need for it, I'm-"

"Poppy in anaesthetics is extremely effective. But it tend to be craved by patients who have too much of it. I shouldn't have used it, but we are running short of elfroot, and for the pain of a resettled bone, I would have needed a lot of it. I wasn't reasoning."

"You gave it to me once, I'll be fine."

"Yes, but… You already- I'm not risking it, ok?" She shook her head, sending loose strands of hair flying out of the quick braid she tied her hair into. She blew one that fell in front of her face away, irritated with herself. "Call for me even if it's just your nose itching. Please. I won't sleep anyway."

A hand reached her face, making her startle. She stayed on her place, realizing quickly it was Cullen, and that all he wanted to do was to comb her hair away from her face. She leant minutely into his palm, squeezing her eyes to prevent tears.

"I hear the apology even if you're not saying it." He said, a laughter hidden in his vowels.

"I didn't voice it, as you wanted."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I am not used to fight in snow so high, and I didn't see that Templar flanking me, as I was fighting the other two. I'm sorry you had to patch me up. Again."

"I'm just-" She shook her head. "It's my job."

"I know. You still shouldn't have to be the one to patch me up."

"Are you still embarrassed?" Aisling huffed. "Because really, I'm ok in leaving digestion out of the topic since you all are so squeamish in admitting everyone poops. But it's just flesh, I don't understand why you Andrastians are so shy, even after I saw your-"

Cullen cleared his throat evocatively. When she turned to him, he was looking at the wall, away from everyone else in the room. Red to his ears. Some in the room openly laughed, others smiled, with a few eye rolls to the ceiling.

"Relax, I think everyone knows." Her turn to hide a laughter in her words. Grateful for it.

"… How? I thought we had been private."

"Sera mimicking smooching at us every time we came closr than 5 metres in the tavern may have tipped someone off."

"I'd have said it was Varric the first to talk."

"Tomay-to, tomah-to."

A moment of respite, as she finished to tie the splint, and knotted the fabric in place. The job, all considering, wasn't all too shabby. Not her best handywork, but considering that she was emotionally maybe too involved, she decided to consider herself satisfied.

"You won't move and you will rest, ok? No going to your tend, no pacing, no reports and no attendees."

"Aisling-"

"Cassandra will handle the logistics, Bull will take care of trainings and surveillance, I'll go and scout the next two mines, you told me what to look for. We got you covered, you just focus on healing."

"Aisling, stop-"

"I'm serious, these first two days you have to stay as still as you can. I don't want to operate you, if I can help it, I'm-"

The hand, still on her shoulder, squeezed down. It was so big, and grounding. She stopped talking, taking a deep breath as she cupped her face in both hands. The Anchor tingled her nose, which brought her back to her body, too. She never thought she would have been grateful for the mark.

"I am happy I can help you. Really. And that you trust me enough to let me. But I wish I could heal you sooner, with magic. I wish I didn't have to, not so often." She confessed, whispering it. "Just try to keep safe, ok?"

"We're at war, it can't be helped. I won't stay in the back and letting our men die, if I can help it." He sounded so reasonable, Aisling hated it. "Would it make you feel better if I told you it's just an excuse to have more of your hands on me?"

Aisling turned to gave him a look. She must have made quite a funny face, because it made him laugh.

"I told Bull it wouldn't have worked. He suggested it when he brought me back."

"You're still the fun police, that was terrible and delivered worse." She still smiled at it, just happy he was still able to try at joking.

He smiled back, covering her hand with his and squeezing. She smiled at the size difference. His fingers were cold, but they always were. And between the drafts, the snow it was hardly a surprise.

And like that she had no more words. The splint was in position, the bandages weren't too tight: the toes down there weren't turning blue. With everything in good order to wait to the morning, Aisling should have stood and get to the next patient, really. They had plenty on their hands with the Red Templars still swarming in the mines and the whole Emprise du Lion. Which meant wounded people. On top of regular (magical) winter ailments, flus and colds that needed to be treated anyway. Aisling should really get going.

She hesitated, enjoying the moment of quiet, and holding Cullen's hand. It was a terrible moment to confess any deeper feeling, sure, no matter how hard they pressed in her throat. But silence and quiet with Cullen had always felt quite cozy, since the first times they carefully approached each other past all the differences that should have kept them away.

But still…

"I thought of one thing that would make me feel less worried."

"What?"

"You'll get embarrassed."

"I'm not going skinny-dipping in the thermal bath I'll believe you conveniently found and aren't just a pond you'll warm up with magic."

"Fun police." She huffed. "Not that. You can do it right now. Can I…?"

"Hadn't you just ordered me not to move?"

"Well, you won't need your legs. And to clear all the doubts that everyone knows…"

She cupped his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss. And didn't care if they made a show, if it wasn't anything short, if it wasn't a chaste peck, if people whistled.

When she let go, Cullen's face was the colour of cherries. But it was looking at her, and not at the applauding crowd .