"Commander Cullen?"

He nearly jumped out of his seat when he heard the soft voice call to him from the doorway of his cabin. He'd been so taken in with reports of the Herald's activities in the Hinterlands that he hadn't even noticed the door opening.

There, a small covered tray in her hands, stood a woman. He'd seen her before, but he'd never properly looked. He recognized her as one of the young ladies who worked in the tavern's kitchen. He couldn't help but take her in now as she stood uncertain - neither entering nor leaving, the jet curls that fell loose around her face, the rest pulled back with a simple strand of leather, the grey of her eyes, the small dusting of flour that ran over one of her freckled cheeks. He couldn't deny that the thought that she was pretty ran through his mind.

When she called his name again, he realized he hadn't yet spoken in response.

"Yes?"

She bit her lower lip, before taking a small step inside. "I noticed you weren't in the tavern for supper, and well, I'd wondered if you'd had any… or if you ever stop working for some, that is."

When all he did was look at her, any words coming to his mind dying in his throat, no one but Cassandra had even noticed he'd been skipping meals - time slipping away from him as he attended to his duties for the Inquisition and his withdrawal. When he didn't speak after a few moments, she covered her mouth with a small hand, hiding the small gap between her front teeth that he'd been just admiring, as a flush rose to her cheeks.

"I've offended, haven't I? Maker, this seems silly now. Of course, the Commander of the Inquisition doesn't need me mother henning him. I'm sorry… I… I'll just go."

He watched as her shirts swirled around her calves as she turned to go. He didn't want her to go, his stomach protesting as much as his mind. "Wait."

She stopped, turning back as a smile began to spread across her lips. She came farther into the room, settling the tray in front of him on the table. He could hear his stomach roll as the smell settled in the room, and he prayed that she didn't hear it.

"It seems I was right in bringing something then, Ser." She couldn't hide the giggle as she confirmed that she had indeed hear.

When she took the cover off, he could feel his mouth watering. Maker, he shouldn't have gotten so caught up in his work, should have joined his recruits and his fellow advisors.

"It's well… it's a simple stew… but it fills a hungry belly. And it's hot."

He smiled up at her, "Thank you. I… I appreciate this."

She glanced away from him to her toes as she spoke, suddenly shy once more. "It's no trouble. Really." A small pause. "I should be heading back though, Flissa might need a hand with the crowd tonight. Lot's of celebration, what with the Herald returning with mounts from Master Dennett. Lot's of sore feet'll be happy about that."

When she stood to go, leaving him with a plate of hot food and a feeling in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long time, his smile faltered. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, my lady."

She gave him a small smile, one that made his own lips turn up once more at the corners. "My lady." And then a hearty laugh at the title, a laugh he found he wouldn't mind hearing again. "Maybe, Ser, if I might be so bold, you can learn it tomorrow at supper in the tavern."

And then she was gone.