Moments

Moment of Choice - Part 4

"Will he live?"

The surgeon nodded, then turned to a spirit healer washing her fingers, an elven mage with a streak of red hair braided down her back and the sides shaved. I couldn't place her, our ranks still swelling even after closing the breach for good. She hovered over Rhodri, her fingers waving a breath above his too pale vallaslin.

His leathers were shredded and scattered to the stone as my people worked tirelessly to revive him. Candlelight sputtered against the limp chest chewing through ragged breaths, crimson flecks of blood cascading like paint off his shoulder. I didn't say a word, watching both human and elf massage powders into his wound to finally stop the blood, slap a hardening poultice across it, and dribble some wine into Rhodri's paling lips. Someone else grabbed up the Crow Varric and I drug, re-knocked unconscious, then deposited at the gate. Leliana and I were going to have words about that.

"He will require rest," the elven mage said, her eyes focusing back upon me from whatever spirit guided her gifts. "But should recover in time."

"This is a mess," I sighed. My Inquisitor stance broke as the problem shifted from possibly losing a member of my clan to now having to deal with one nearly killed on my watch. Cullen touched my arm, trying to offer his support without crossing a line. His armor was soaked with Rhodri's blood, crimson pooling inside the grooves of the rivets and blooming like a vengeful rose on the drapery above his hip.

"Someone should inform his...your...the other elves," Cullen said. He crinkled his nose, the jowls of his cheeks rising in disgust as he staggered around the proper way to describe the clan. I nodded my head, having practiced the lines for how I'd explain this since we left the clearing. So, Eria, Rhodri told me you two were an item and then nearly got himself killed by assassins my people missed. Oops. It was about to go over as well as Sera's chamberpot helmet.

My fingers ran across his chest, smudging up the sticky blood, leaving an imprint of myself in the viscera. "I should speak with Leliana first, and the prisoner."

"Maker," Cullen muttered, massaging the back of his neck, "Crows here? How did we miss that?" I pursed my lips and glanced away, focusing on the pokers still blazing red hot in the fireplace. I had theories burrowing in the back of my mind about that, but he paid me no heed. He was too focused on solving the problem the only way he knew how. "I'll double up patrols cast further off the roads, and we should increase the night shift upon the battlements. They're more likely to notice unexplainable campfires. And perhaps a retinue to follow you when you're passing though..."

"Cullen," I interrupted his stream, "that isn't necessary."

"Assassins got to our door. Near our door. If they'd taken you..."

"They didn't, I'm fine."

His eyes blazed at me, each speck of gold emphasizing the words tumbling behind them. IT'S NOT FINE! But he didn't challenge my authority, not here, though I knew I was certain to get a mindful back in the war room. The thought of him drawing up a plan to barricade our fortress in the mountains while fiddling with his sword like a ten year old child slapping on his father's weapons brought a smile to my lips. Cullen blinked from my change in spirits, confusion crackling into something darker.

I reached to him caressing his face despite the audience a breath away. His eyes rose from the sulk to greet mine. He cupped my hand with his, the smooth leather of the gloves above my fingers contrasting with the prickling scruff on his cheek. "Perhaps I am overstepping my bounds, Inquisitor," he said, the words sliced jagged, "You may not require my services soon." His eyes shut tight with that proclamation, my own heart shattering along with his.