For the coming days as the Inquisition rallied and pushed onward through the mountains, Cullen made himself scarce. Each day at dawn he prayed for the strength to stay away from her, and each night he lay awake and longed to hold her in his arms.

He had a particular awareness of Lavellan now. It was something stronger than it had even been before. He was keenly aware of her whenever he could see her. His body ached for her nearness, empty and numb without her. Ever since he had let himself give into her tether, her magnetism, he had not been able to come up for air.

Every day the lyrium weakness wracked him with pain and tremors. He suspected he was dying, and to feed from her energy would only prolong his agony. Thus, he stayed away.

Something that he had been trying to deny was the admission that he was not only physically or magically attracted to Lavellan in some way.

In truth, he harbored feelings for her in a way he hadn't for anyone in an extremely long time, perhaps not since he was a teenager. She occupied his mind a shameful amount of his waking hours, in a thousand little ways. He knew he was doomed to be miserable. It was shameful to be lovesick, especially when he needed to maintain a professional working relationship with the object of his unrequited affection.

The days passed in a blur, and he got the sense she knew he was avoiding her. He would catch her glance from time to time, but he would disappear into the group before she could make her way to him. It was easier this way. He only saw her in glimpses from a distance but tried desperately not to. It had to be like this. He needed to stay away.

After several arduous days through the mountains, they had found Skyhold. It was truly like something out of a story book. Suddenly the Herald became the Inquisitor. Thankfully this also meant that she was suddenly needed everywhere and too busy to seek him out.

Cullen set to work along with every other able-bodied Inquisition member as they began to make Skyhold habitable. It wasn't only their refuge; it was now their home.

Once things settled a bit, Cullen got to work trying to organize his remaining troops into units with leaders and schedules. He worked out of a tent just as he had at Haven. It was easiest for him to be down in the main courtyard. Digging into his work was quite the welcome respite from the past week of inner turmoil he had suffered.

He never left the courtyard if he could help it. He was a coward. If he crossed paths with the Inquisitor, what could he say? She would probably be able to read him like a book, if she were to see his desperate expression even briefly.

Of course, this angered him- he was being irrational. He could not avoid her forever, not unless he resigned his post. Eventually they would be closely working together again.

Despite his best efforts to avoid it, one sunny afternoon fate came walking down into his courtyard. Her courtyard, as it were.

Inquisitor Lavellan swept her gaze across the groups of people here. At first, he watched her but thought better of it. Better to avoid getting caught staring.

He returned to his work leaning over the table and discussing training with his lieutenants. If he was lucky, she would be off to the stables and continue passing through. But, if she approached them, he had to make time for her. She was the Inquisitor now; he could not make excuses to avoid her any longer. Shit.

Deep in his chest, he felt Seyna's presence pulling at him. This was the nearest she'd been since he'd saved her, and the restored strength of the mage's power startled him. She grew closer still. She cleared her throat politely. He braced himself as he turned to face her, dismissing the lieutenants away to their work.

"Welcome back." He said sincerely before he could stop himself. He'd been waiting to say it from the moment he found her in the snow, but she had been unconscious. Since then, he'd been busy being a coward.

He took in her appearance—it was not something he had been prepared for. He was still in full armor daily. Seyna's outfit was much more practical and casual. It must have been tailored to her, he noticed how well it fit her figure. It also let him see more of the shape of her than he had any time she was layered in jackets and vests of mage's robes or armor. This was not helping him stay at a professional distance.

Seyna offered him an easy smile, and it chipped away at his very low reserve of willpower. The light in the courtyard was perfect, the sun glittered in her emerald and teal eyes. It shown in her hair-

"Oh, your hair-" Cullen interjected before Seyna could reply. He reached out but stopped himself, drawing his hand back. The wound on her head had been healed, but it left a shiny purplish scar across her scalp and down her neck. The healing had no doubt been accelerated with magic, but the scar would stay. A reminder of how closely she'd defied death.

The hair on that side of her head must have been sheared off when they healed her and had now grown back to just a light layer of white fuzz. There was a short braid that bordered the patch that had been cut short. But now that he took it all in, he realized her hair was much shorter all around. It wasn't a long braid now; it was loose, curly, and somewhat chaotic. It was glorious. She was glorious.

"My hair?" Seyna replied, her tone chiding him. "Oh, right… Do you hate it? You must hate it." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. This was not boding well for him. She was so… familiar. Friendly. She was teasing him. He was doomed.

"What? No! Of c-" he cleared his throat, lowering his voice briefly. "Of course not. It suits you."

"Thank you. No one has really said anything since they had to cut it off, but I believe you. I don't think you're capable of lying to me so convincingly." She winked. Maker's breath. She winked. She must have been spending too much time around Dorian. Seyna crossed her arms and watched him. Her mismatched eyes seemed to be trying to solve a mystery of some kind as they studied his expression. "And also, Thank you."

"For what?" he replied, feeling more and more nervous as she studied him.

"For what?!" Seyna pushed his arm and she laughed. It sounded joyous and musical. He wanted it to surround him, he wanted to capture it and keep it forever. The spot where she had touched him seemed to tingle intensely. "For saving my life. For risking yours to do it. Remember?"

Cullen cleared his throat and studied a particularly interesting rock near his toe. "Oh. Well, of course."

"What's wrong?" She asked, voice low enough that only he could hear. She sounded concerned, maybe even hurt. She took a step closer to him. His eyes shot up to hers immediately, wanting to chase away her concern.

"What? Nothing-" She stared into him, demanding the answer she sought. He could not deny her if he tried. He also lowered his voice now, barely above a whisper, "I just… We almost lost you… I almost lost you. I don't want that to happen again. I don't like to think about it."

Roughly one thousand questions flooded her mind when Seyna heard Cullen's answer. Not just the words he had said, but the tone he had used. It was so gentle, like she might be startled or broken if he spoke too roughly. She wanted to hug him so tightly, squeeze into him the realization that she was alive and here and safe. And she was unequivocally his. Of course, that was not the appropriate thing to do right now. Certainly not here.

Oh, and the fact that he obviously didn't have feelings for her. He just cared for her, like a… peer. Like the Herald that they needed to continue closing rifts. That's what he had meant that he had almost lost her. She thought of this and several other plausible rationalizations for what he said.

Rationalizations that did not acknowledge the humming feeling in her body now that she was so close she could touch him. The intense pull between them was stronger than ever, somehow. That was one of the reasons she had come to the courtyard; to test the presence of that sensation.

And there it was. Taut. Intoxicating. Tense. Desirous.

It was somehow more, now. Not just feeling the quiet lyrium hum from his body, but feeling the draw to Cullen the person. She wanted to hear his sarcasm, his sheepishness, the stories he told… She missed him dearly. It seemed unfair. She didn't have any right to miss him. He was not hers to miss.

"For what it's worth, I don't like to think about it either. I don't know how you did it, but I am glad that you found me. I mean-… I'm glad it was you." She said, unable to meet his eyes. All her mischievous confidence was gone now. She couldn't bear to see how he reacted; the weight of his rejection would crush her. Instead, she stared at the ground between them and made a poor excuse to head off to the stable. When she stepped away, he took a step after her.

She looked up, but then he looked away. He offered a goodbye and returned to his duties.