It seemed that the Knight Commander spent the majority of his time in the war room these days. It was deep in Winter, with blizzards battering the hold. It was impossible to train recruits in those conditions. All he could do was pore over their various expeditions and try to guess how they were going. He was staring at a spot deep in the Hinterlands that would be blanketed in thick fluffy snow right now. That was where the Inquisitor had gone, taking a few of the others with her, including Dorian, his only other real friend in this whole place. He sighed and moved from the War Table. His eyes were starting to hurt from the way he had been staring at the map with such intensity. He hadn't believed it would be possible, but he missed her. He missed two mages, one was even from the Imperium. He almost smiled at that thought.

Almost.

He made the long trek up the stairs, his mind filled with thoughts of her; The Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, Dragana Trevelyan. He thought of that first conversation they had had, where they had confessed to each other the guilt they both felt over everything that had happened at Kinloch. Everything had seemed rather bleak then but she had showed up, true to her word, to challenge him at chess. Cullen had always been very confident in his abilities at the game. He was the Inquisitors tactical advisor after all. She had lulled him into a false sense of security with her moves, all the while making very light conversation about all things unrelated to the Inquisition. Then she had absolutely annihilated him. And she won with such grace, giving him a small shy smile, afraid to seem like she was gloating. Cullen had been stunned into a silence that lasted only a moment, broken by her beautiful laughter, that filled him with the desire to laugh along with her. The sound of her joyful laughter was just infectious.

His memory jumped to recruit training. He had been drilling a new platoon on basic forms with the sword. When he stepped back to watch them, he saw Dragana and Dorian in the distance circling each other, wearing very light clothes, staffs in hand. It looked as though they were doing their own training. They were both slick with sweat and panting. He had never really ever watched mages train fully in combat without being restricted by Templars. He was fascinated. Without any warning Dragana sprung into action, launching flurries of fire at Dorian, who held her at bay, just about. He watched the back and forth between them, and had to admit that magic was pretty beautiful. Dragana looked fierce commanding fire as she did. She was so determined. She was everything he would have wanted in a soldier. When she managed to scorch Dorian, she dropped her staff and rushed to him. Without thinking, Cullen ran to the pair of them. But before he had time to even panic, Dragana was already healing Dorian with expert hands. "I'm so sorry!" she kept repeating, as the Tevinter laughed her off (interrupted with the occasional bout of grunting in pain. It struck him how responsible it was of her to know how to hurt, but also how to heal. It may not have been that way, but he liked to think that Dragana wanted to have a failsafe in case she ever accidentally hurt somebody.

Cullen's mind was an absolute maelstrom of appreciative memories for the Inquisitor by the time he had wearily climbed up the ladder to his bed. He set about the task of slowly unlacing his boots and taking off his armour. He just couldn't seem to stop thinking about her. He was worried for her. She was fierce and brave, but she was also quite sensitive and maybe just a little bit naïve. She had such a respect for life, a strange connection with nature that he could never fathom. He had only ever seen elves have that level of affection for the land. She said it was because her people were so closely linked to the land. They loved and respected it, and the land knew that. He was of the opinion thought that animals were just able to sense her gentle caring spirit. To look at her, you would never expect her to lead an entire inquisition against a horde of demons. She looked as gentile as any noblewoman he had ever seen. She had long blond hair that she would either have in intricate braids or let it fly loose. She had a delicate face with angled features that did make her exceptionally beautiful. And she was so tall and thin. Sometimes he thought a breeze would surely blow her away, she was so slight. But she was more than just a perfect face. She had such intelligence behind those green eyes. She could keep up with even his most complicated of tactics, and she just had an insight into all things, which he just could not fathom. She was incredibly deep. But she always had time for those around her. Even him. A Templar. One of the Templars that had kept her prisoner in Kinloch, in fact.

The way she would smile to him would set his heart to sputtering. His stomach would flip and he would feel the tips of his ears getting hot. He lay splayed out on top of the bed, in just his smallclothes, too exhausted to even crawl under the covers. He had a strong image of woman in his mind. She was such a dear friend. The only one to be able to make him smile in this damnable keep. And she was deep in the snow covered hinterlands fighting off demons and red Templars. He couldn't help but feel horribly guilty for not being at her side, fighting them off with her. He was meant to be her friend after all. He should be protecting her. He sighed to himself. It was time to face the truth. He was ridiculously attracted to her in every facet of her existence, even her magic. It was so typical and stupid of him. The possibility of romance had been denied to him for years within the Templar order. Now that he had left, he had to fall for the one woman he couldn't have. The Inquisitor. He tried to push the spectre of her from his mind, but she just would not leave him. Damn it. It just made his guilt worse. He groaned, feeling sick with worry for her. He knew she had excellent warriors at her back, but none of them were him. He knew that when she returned he should probably stay away from her. Starve his infatuation with her. But he would run to her. He would run to her the second she got back. He'd help her from her horse, he'd listen enraptured to her report of events, and he'd get hopelessly lost and gooey eyed every time she'd look at him. He fell into an unusually peaceful sleep with thoughts of his reunion with her filling his mind.