Work Text:
"I'm alright. It's not over yet." Cullen's voice is strained, his breath ragged, arms fatigued, but his gaze determined.
Cassandra studies him for a second before charging, noting his exhaustion. Both have forgone their heavy armor and with the sleeves of his tunic rolled up, she catches the twitch in his forearms. Eyes narrowed, she's on him in three quick strides.
He blocks her attack with his shield before drawing enough strength to use it against her and push her back. Gaining momentum, he flings blow after blow, intent on victory.
But she expects this. Though she parries each hit with her own blade, Cassandra lets him lead her backwards across the length of the training room. There are only a few paces left before they reach the wall. She then trades sword for shield for the counterattack and when he staggers back, she uses the delay to flank his left side.
Surprised, Cullen pitches forward toward the wall and fails to block her final swing; the blade slices cleanly through the linen into his upper arm. A corruption on an otherwise immaculate tunic, the blood blossoms quickly, but he merely lets out of a frustrated groan of defeat. Hand still clenched around the hilt, he braces himself against the wall with the pommel before pushing off and twisting around. He leans back and slowly sinks to the floor.
Above him, Cassandra intones, "You are not usually so reckless."
He glances at her, apologetic, before focusing on his wound. "Yours was a fair win, Seeker."
Extending a hand, she offers, "Come. Let us find a healer."
"No! No magic." It comes out more brusque than he intends, but he's quick to clarify. "I'm fine. I've suffered worse." He pulls at the tear in his sleeve until it's off completely and uses the torn fabric to staunch the flow of blood.
Shaking her head, she makes a disgusted noise before walking away. Her voice echoes through the room as she tells him, "Don't move. Keep pressure on the wound."
Exasperated, Cullen starts to protest, but she's gone before he can finish saying her name. He draws his left leg up and lays his arm on top, keeping it elevated. Resting his head back, he feels the full extent of the migraine he was trying to ignore. Even though he's sitting, he's dizzier than he dares to admit, more light-headed than he already was prior to their sparring match.
He hears her return and looks up to see a small medical kit and flask in her bare hands as well as a slight look of surprise on her face. "Oh, you actually listened to me?"
Although she swears she hears a small scoff, she doesn't try to confirm before she takes her place by his side. Retrieving a bottle and clean cloth from the kit, she nudges his right hand out of the way to expose the injury. The blood sticks lightly to the fabric as she peels it away; the laceration is no wider than the breadth of her palm, deep enough only to cause more bother than worry. She makes a curt, contemplative sound before opening up the flask and taking a sip. He follows suit when she hands it to him and as he savors the burn, she unceremoniously begins cleaning the wound.
Cullen hisses at the contact but says nothing. Once satisfied, she takes another remnant and presses it firmly to the gash; grabbing his free hand to replace hers, she simply orders, "Hold."
She walks over to a practice dummy and pulls out a small dagger embedded in it. Sitting back down, she rummages through the kit for the needle and thread when he breaks his silence.
"It's never been this difficult before," he confesses. He hesitates before turning his head to see her reaction, steeling himself for any disappointment, but she's too busy concentrating on threading the needle. When she finally does look at him, her expression is softer than he expects. Of course. "But you already knew that."
Her hands are warm when they rest on his arm, fingers calloused much like his own and reassuring in that familiarity. Again, she doesn't announce when she begins to work, but her movements are quick and practiced.
Taking his time, he chooses his words carefully, his deliberate speech feeling even slower in contrast to the swift pace of her stitching. "Sometimes I think can anticipate it, but other times... Cassandra, I know we've talked about this becoming a problem but I need to know that in the event I cannot—"
He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale when she ties off the thread with a strong tug. She uses the dagger to cut off the excess and leans back to examine her work. Without a glance to it, Cullen gives his thanks.
"Hmph. There will be a scar, but you will live."
He opens his mouth to return to his previous point, but she's faster.
"Cullen. As you said, we have already discussed this. Trust me. I will let you know otherwise." After applying a salve, she wraps the final bandage around his arm and adds, "But I appreciate you speaking up so soon."
Once she's done, she stands to leave. Using the greater height difference to her advantage, she looms over him and warns, "However, do not assume you can blame all your future losses on a lack of lyrium."
With a chuckle, he concedes, "Duly noted, Lady Cassandra."