AN: I'll take either a Cullen or a Tom Hiddleston, really.
Disclaimer:
I own nothing you recognise. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!
He avoids her for the rest of her stay, coward that he is. Quiet murmurs of the good the Herald has done echo around him. He keeps a close watch on the mages. They know it.
She departs with her forward team – Cassandra, Blackwall and the Tevinter – for an excursion to clear out some local mines they had mapped on their travels. Half the town turns up to see them off. Cullen watches from the steps of the Chantry. She sits proud atop her massive Ferelden charger, saddle bags filled only with the bare necessities.
They return two weeks later, and the whole town turns up to greet them, fingers desperately reaching to graze against the Herald's legs or feet. As though touching the Herald would bring upon Andraste's blessing. She takes it all with good grace, slowing her horse's movements in the throng so she does not injure anyone.
They ride right up to the Chantry doors where Cullen is waiting. Cassandra is the first to dismount, lithe and fluid, throwing her reins at one of the stable lads who had come to assist. The Herald's own charger stands in front of the Chantry doors, angled to hide her dismount from the town. Cassandra takes her reins, hands them to the stable hand, and carefully assists the Herald to dismount.
Up close, Cullen's trained eyes can pick up the hasty patches in leather as big as his fist. The bulging that indicates extensive bandages. The Tevinter's palour and the way he takes his time to dismount carefully.
She does not complain as she is herded through the Chantry and into the infirmary where the mages, ones properly trained in the art of healing, can get to work.
"Spiders," Blackwall explains as they leave her to the gentle ministrations of the mages. "Bigger than most mabari. I hate spiders."
She still convenes the council in the War Room that day. One of the mages lurks outside the door, frowning viciously at it as if it could convince the stubborn elf to return to her convalescence. Instead, they keep the debrief short and to the point, eyeing Nikolai with care. Her only tell is a slight favouring of her left side. A subtle hitch in her walk, a stiffness to the way she uses that arm.
They usher her back out the door and into the mage's waiting care.
"She did not mention it until we had finished clearing out the cave," Cassandra admits to him later, over a drink. "The spider had bitten her shoulder, put its legs through her side and thigh." The harrowed woman took another long drink. "Do not let him hear me say this, but Dorian is a good man. He did not falter."
"How bad was it?" he asks, angling his head to watch her reaction. She shudders, takes another long pull.
"It was not good," came the reply. Cullen takes a long pull of his own. They stare into their glasses for a long time afterwards.
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