Four days.

Four long days since I have seen her.

I am trying my utmost best to pay attention to the task at hand—namely designing a new training program for our more advanced and experienced troops—but I seem to have developed a tick of some sort whereby my eyes keep darting to my office window every few minutes.

What in the Maker's name is keeping them so long?

All Cassandra had to do was take the Herald to the Hinterlands, talk to Mother Giselle, look around the area to for opportunities to spread our influence, and then come back. Mother Giselle arrived here two days ago.

So where are they?

Letting out a loud sigh, I give up on the training plan and walk to the window, staring off into the distance.

What if she's injured?

What if some fanatical mage fools hurt her?

Or worse?

I sigh again.

I am being decidedly ridiculous.

I barely know the lady.

It has only been… what? A week since we met?

It is true that, by virtue of our positions in the Inquisition, we have spent a considerable amount of time in each other's company this past week, but that time was all spent professionally.

At face value, at least.

Not necessarily in my head.

But a part of me can't blame myself.

There is a quality about her—I cannot quite put my finger on it—that draws people to her.

Like a gravitational pull.

Or maybe it's just me?

I hear the Chantry clock chiming in the hallway.

Noon.

My stomach rumbles loudly for the fiftieth time today.

Maker, I am famished.

I have been eating quite poorly these past few days, an unfortunate reaction to stress that I have developed over the years.

I return to my desk, scan the nearly complete training program, and make my way to the dining hall.

I see a table taken by some of my troops and take a seat among them.

I enjoy being around my troops.

It may seem strange to some people, but I am very fond of them.

I care for them, like a father would care for his children, notwithstanding the fact that quite a few of them are older than I am, in some cases considerably older.

After a hearty meal and a few good laughs, my troops and I head out to the training area beyond the gates for a theory lesson on ambush tactics.

"Commander!" an angry male voice calls out as soon as I step out of the Chantry. "Commander Cullen!"

I turn to the source of the voice and groan.

"Chancellor Roderick," I grimace as I wait for the old man to approach me. "You lot go on ahead," I tell my troops. "I'll catch up with you once I'm finished with this nuisance."

I fold my arms across my chest and don't even attempt to act civil when the old man stops before me, scowling as though I had done something to greatly offend him.

"Back again, Chancellor?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"I have been meaning to ask you," the angry Chancellor says. "Just for how long is the Inquisition planning on dangling that little puppet and continue to spread malicious lies—"

"There is no need to corner the Commander, Chancellor," a stern, female voice calls out loudly from a short distance.

I turn my head in surprise, my heart jumping when I see Cassandra and Trevelyan approaching us, closely followed by Varric and Solas.

"Seeker Pentaghast," the Chancellor hisses in disgust.

"I have already told you before, Chancellor," Cassandra snarls, stopping a few inches before Roderick. Being quite a tall woman, she towers over the aging man, her amber eyes glinting dangerously as she glares down at him. "The Inquisition has been established under the direction of the late Divine, and nothing a lowly clerk like you says or does can undermine that authority."

"You have no—" the Chancellor protests.

"Enough!" she yells out, her strong voice echoing across the camp. I look at Trevelyan and see that she is watching Cassandra with unmistakable awe.

"If you have nothing meaningful to add to this discussion, I suggest you stop wasting the Inquisition's precious time and leave this place at once."

Without waiting for a response, Cassandra stalks off and yanks open the Chantry doors, Trevelyan following closely behind her.

"Commander?" she calls out, barely turning her head to look at me. "I need you in the war room."

"Of course."

Completely ignoring the Chancellor, who looks so angry, he might just explode, I follow the women into the dimly-lit Chantry, feeling a lot more excited than the situation warrants.

As the Herald—or, Evelyn, as she asked me to refer to her—walks ahead of me, I can't help but watch her as she moves. My eyes shamefully focus on the sway of her hips, and despite myself, my pulse quickens.

Maker, what am I thinking?

I have met several women in my life. I have never been one to… ogle, for lack of a better term. Truth be told, I was always known as 'the prude' in whatever circle of friends I was amongst. The nickname never really bothered me—there was no point in denying the truth, after all.

And now, here I am, staring at a respectable young lady's backside and getting sinfully excited over it.

My friends should see me now.

Cassandra stops by Jospehine's office and asks her and Leliana, who is with the ambassador, to join us.

Oh, Maker. More of Leliana's teasing.

"Well?" Leliana asks impatiently as soon as the door shuts behind her. "Is the fighting as bad as the reports indicated?"

"Worse," Cassandra says, leaning over the war table. Once again, she looks absolutely exhausted. My gaze then drifts over to the Herald, who is covered in mud and looks every bit as worn as Cassandra, if not more.

"The fighting has spread everywhere," Trevelyan says. "Though it's not the rebel mages that are involved."

"What do you mean?" I ask, eager to attract her attention.

"The real rebels are cooped up in Redcliffe castle," she explains. "Those mages are just random apostates that have no affiliation with them."

"And are the Templars aware of that?" I press on.

"Oh, they are past caring," Cassandra pipes in. "They've all lost their minds. They attacked us and the rest of the Inquisition forces on sight."

"They did what?" I ask, shocked beyond belief. "That can't be!"

"It can and it is, Commander," Cassandra responds coolly.

I shake my head, trying to make sense of this mess.

"So what's our next step?" Jospehine asks.

Cassandra focuses her attention on the war map.

"We go to Val Royeaux," she says after a short pause.

"For what purpose?" I ask.

"Mother Giselle asked the Herald to speak to the clerics in person," Cassandra explains. "She thinks it would do the Inquisition some good if they saw and spoke to her in person. If they saw that she is not the criminal that they claim her to be."

"Is that a safe course of action?" I immediately ask. I feel my face go warm when I see Leliana's amused eyes quickly flash over to mine.

"With a hole in the sky, I'm sure facing a bunch of aging clerics will be manageable," Trevelyan jokes sarcastically.

I smile, but feel worried for her nonetheless.

"We will only go to speak with them," Cassandra tells me reassuringly; almost as though she read my mind. "We do not intend to start a blood bath in the midst of the city."

"I believe it is a good idea," Josephine says. "Stopping the clerics' slander will be a huge advantage to the Inquisition."

"It's settled then," Cassandra says, stepping away from the war table. "We will leave tomorrow."

With the meeting concluded, I excuse myself and leave to join my troops.

Leaving, I think gloomily to myself as I walk through the snow. Again. And so soon.

"Commander!"

I stop in my tracks and turn around, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Lady Trevelyan," I turn and bow deeply, trying my best to ignore the stream of butterflies that flutter in my stomach. "How can I be of service?"

"Well, you can start by dropping the formal act and calling me Evelyn," she smiles playfully.

"Oh, right," I rub the back of my neck.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"I was just uhh… There's a training exercise I have to go over with my troops," I stutter stupidly.

"Cullen is acting like a doting parent. I think he might carry portraits of all the soldiers in his pocket."

We turn around and see Varric watching us with a thoroughly amused expression on his smug face.

Evelyn chuckles heartily while I frown at the annoying dwarf.

"All right," she turns her attention back to me. "I'll get off your back, then. I have to go bathe, anyway. I'm covered in filth!"

Yet, you look as beautiful as the shining sun.

"I'm sure you require your rest," I smile as I bow my head. "Should you need anything, you know where to find me."

"Yes," she smiles. "I do."

And with that, she walks past me to her cottage, still smiling until I can't see her face anymore.

"Are you always this awkward around pretty young women, Curly?" Varric smirks after taking a swig of wine straight from the bottle. He looks quite battered and fatigued himself.

"Shut up, dwarf," I grumble. I stalk right past him as he laughs heartily.

"It's all right, Curly!" he calls out. "It's part of your charm!"

I lift up my right hand as I walk away and gesture rudely at him without turning around.

I've changed my mind.

My friends should definitely not see me right now.