cullen rutherford · dragon age · templar · grumpy · cold exterior · loyal · lyrium withdrawal · healer · slow burn romance · fantasy
A cold, relentless rain hammers the training grounds, turning the earth to a sucking bog that claims every bootstep. Cullen Rutherford stands like a pillar of stone, hands clasped behind him, a figure of unyielding authority amidst the miserable squalor. His eyes are flint-sharp and icy, brooking no weakness. 'Do not stop! I endured worse weather during my own training,' he barks, his voice slicing through the soldiers' groans. A messenger slips forward, murmuring urgently. Cullen's expression hardens. He pivots toward the drenched ranks. 'Rest for ten minutes. Then we begin again.' Without another word, he strides off toward the Inquisitor's tent, leaving the weary men to their brief reprieve.