"No, I've already told you this several times. What you're telling me isn't familiar." Cullen was tired and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. His head was spinning in confusion and he was fed up with answering the same questions over and over again.

After he'd told that woman...

Maker, she was so beautiful...

After he'd told her he didn't know who she was and asked where he was, they had all just stared at him. It made him feel very uncomfortable, the way they looked at him as though he'd just lost his mind. When no one answered him, he had tried to get up and out of bed but was stopped by a mage who rushed forward and made him lie down again. Apparently, the mage was some sort of healer and insisted that Cullen did as he was told. He had agreed, very reluctantly. He didn't exactly place much trust in mages. He noticed the other mage with the Tevinter styled robes had his arm around the woman at that point. He wished he could have seen her face again, it was drawing him in like a moth to a flame, but her back was already to him while the mage led her out of the room. Cullen hoped she wasn't ill or something like it.

Now, here he was, back in bed with two mage healers by his side, pestering him with questions he had no answers for. What was the last thing he remembered? Did he recognize the Inquisitor? The whole of the Inquisition even? Did he hurt somewhere? Could he hear something whisper to him? Did he recognize anyone?

They all sounded crazy to him, and the mysterious, hooded redhead who was hovering in the room near the door, clearly listening and assessing his answers, didn't help him feel any more sane.

One of the mages got up and walked over to the redhead and whispered something to her. She nodded, authority present in her every move, she didn't need to speak for Cullen to be able to tell.

The young mage-girl walked out the door. The redhead stayed where she was, still quiet, still watching him like a hawk. Her scrutiny made him shift and squirm where he was sitting in bed, it was so intense.

After a while, the girl returned with someone walking in behind her. Relief flooded him when he realized that it was someone he recognized, at last.

"Seeker Cassandra! Thank the Maker. Can you please tell me what's going on here?"

The Seeker walked up to him and sat down at the edge of the bed. Cullen was surprised at this. She seemed like such a hard and determined woman, not someone he would expect to sit down at his bedside and look at him with the softness she did now.

"Cullen."

The way she spoke his name with such familiarity caught him off guard. He'd never heard her call him anything besides Knight-Captain, or most recently - Commander.

"Please, Seeker. Tell me what's going on."

She looked at him, searching his face for something, he didn't know what. "What is the last thing you remember?" she asked, her tone muted and serious.

"You recruited me for the Inquisiton, of course."

"Do you remember the Inquisitor?"

Cullen almost laughed. "Heavens, no! I've barely even set foot outside of Kirkwall yet. You've just recruited me, Seeker." When Cassandra's expression turned sad, he was putting the pieces together. "I... I don't remember, do I? Something's happened to me and now I can't remember."

Cassandra nodded.

"How long?"

"Cullen..."

"Answer me, Cassandra." His voice was low, surprisingly steady despite the turmoil inside him.

"That time you speak of, when I first offered you the position as Commander of the Inquisiton's forces... Cullen, that was almost two years ago."

He blinked. One, three, ten times. "What?"

The mage healer hissed at the Seeker. "You were not supposed to tell him that! The shock alone might hinder him in regaining his memory."

Cassandra stood up and threw her arms out in front of her. "What was I supposed to do? He deserves to know, lying to him won't help!" She turned to face Cullen again. "You need to know, Commander, you and the Inquisitor..."

She was interrupted by the mage again. "Fade, keep quiet! No more revelations, no more shocks! Do you want him to never recover? Maker! Little things, alright? You can tell him little things. One thing at a time, mind you. But right now he needs rest. You can speak more tomorrow."

Cullen's head was still reeling.

Two years...?

"Everybody out. He needs sleep." The mage ushered everyone out the door before closing it and walking back over to Cullen. He handed him a cup of steaming water. "Here, drink this, Commander. It will make you tired and able to rest. I know this must be a shock to you, but your mind needs to calm down and rest. It's the best way to recovery."

Cullen accepted the cup without saying anything and drank. He didn't feel like talking with this man would help anyway.

After a while, he drifted off, his thoughts still in turmoil.

He thought he had a dream later in the night, a dream about a whispered conversation.

"Please, if I can just tell him, or show him..."

"Absolutely not! He needs to remember for himself. I've seen cases like his before where the family has forced their memories on the patient by telling them. They always think it's going to magically solve everything. Well, I'm telling you now, it bloody well won't! Not only does it worsen the strain on the patient but it can send them into a very bad shock. I've even seen one young woman who became catatonic after she was told she had a husband and a baby, because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember them. Can you even imagine what that must feel like?"

"But he loves me so much, and I him. I can't stand him looking at me like that, like I'm some stranger!"

The other voice softened. "I know this is hard for you as well, Inquisitor. And I'm not saying you're not allowed to see him. On the contrary, I think spending time with you is the best shot we have at him remembering again. But you mustn't push him. Tell him of the Inquisiton, by all means, but do not tell him of matters of the heart. The emotions would be too much for him to handle. You must act normal, for his sake."

The woman snorted. "Normal for him and me is to look at each other with longing, to sneak off to the battlements to kiss, to meet whenever we can to... Maker, why am I telling you this?" She sighed. "But I understand. I will act as though he is only my... friend."

"Good, Inquisitor, good."

Cullen almost woke up when he thought he heard the door to his room close, but in his drowsy half-asleep state, he just figured it was his imagination.

When morning came, he couldn't remember a thing about dreams of whispered conversations in the night. But he remembered the face of that woman who had thrown her arms around him yesterday when he'd first woken up. She was without a doubt the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and the memory of her lips on his cheeks made his face flush even now. He would hardly even admit it to himself, but deep down, a part of him wished that maybe there was something between them, something that he'd forgotten now. But no, of course not. He was certain he would never have forgotten if a woman like that had cared for him, and she was far too beautiful for him anyway. She was probably just overcome with emotion to find him alive from whatever accident he'd been in when she'd hugged him. He supposed they were at least friends.

His thoughts were interrupted as the door to his bedroom swung open. In walked the mage healer, the redhead, Cassandra and her.

She approached him carefully while the others stood back. "Commander Cullen. I'm sorry for my rash behaviour yesterday, I shouldn't have run up to you like that, you must have been confused from just waking up."

He was just about to protest that no, it was fine, he didn't take offense.

You can run up to me any time you like, and place your lips on me anytime you want as well...

His romantic notions were crushed when she spoke again.

"I'm Lily Trevelyan, but most people know me simply as the Inquisitor."

The Inquisitor. If he'd entertained the idea that they could have been lovers before, she well and truly put that notion out of his head now. There was no way he would get involved with a woman in such a high position, he was too professional for that. Or maybe it was just that she seemed too professional for that. He sighed inwardly when he looked at her, feeling a sense of loss that he couldn't put his finger on.

She held out her hand to him in greeting and he took it, thankful for this act of kindness when he knew that they must have met countless times before. He felt a like a jolt electricity passed through him when his fingers clasped around hers and he felt her soft, warm skin against his. He almost thought he heard her breath hitch a little and he wondered breifly if she had felt the same when she touched him. But when he looked up into her face, it was perfectly friendly and polite, nothing more.

Keep dreaming, Rutherford.