Samson could hear the disgusted noises Cassandra made through the closed door. The Seeker had been pacing outside of his room for the last five minutes, but had yet to make an appearance within. He wished she'd hurry up and yell at him for whatever it was he'd done. He had other shit to attend to.

Samson was grumbling by the time Cassandra knocked. He nearly ripped the door off of its hinges as he pulled it open. "What is it?"

The growl didn't take the Seeker by surprise. Expressionless, she stepped inside the commander's quarters. "We must talk."

"About?" He questioned, slamming the door shut behind her.

"The Herald." Cassandra said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And your fascination with him."

Samson felt his temper flare. "I do not have a damned fascination with the bloody elf."

He noticed Cassandra's lips twitch as if she was fighting off a smile. "Of course you don't. I wanted to make it clear, however, that any affections towards Lavellan are off limits."

Samson had never liked being told what he could or couldn't do. "Off limits, eh? Andraste's tits, Pentaghast. It's like you're trying to tempt me."

Cassandra frowned as if the thought had never crossed her mind in the first place. "This is not a challenge, Samson. The Herald is young. He is uncertain of who he is and the Inquisition needs him to close the breach. We cannot afford any distractions, on his part or ours. Is that clear?"

Samson nodded, not sure what he was really agreeing to. He wasn't one to sit idly by while something he wanted was right in front of him. He was like his nickname, a wolf, taking what he needed to survive.

Deciding he needed to some fresh air, the old templar left the Chantry and made his way to where his army had set up temporary training. Maybe a sparring match would help him to control his thoughts. Or at least help him get rid of some of his pent up energy.

"Hey, Rutherford!" Samson called out towards his lieutenant, pulling his shirt over his head before depositing it to the dusty ground. "Let's go."

Cullen raised an eyebrow before approaching his commanding officer. "Now, Samson? Are you sure that's wise?"

Samson grunted and cracked his knuckles. "We need to be prepared for anything, Rutherford. Now hurry up."

Cullen sighed before removing his own shirt. "I don't plan on wrestling anyone."

Samson smirked, intending to make the young templar regret his words. Gripping Cullen's shoulders, the commander prepared to take his subordinate to the ground. It wasn't long before the two men, sweat dripping from their brows, had gathered a crowd. Wrapping his large arms around Cullen's waist, Samson began to mentally calculate how much strength he'd have to expend to take the warrior down when he heard giggling.

His attention turned outwards to the group surrounding him and Cullen. He noticed the dazzling white smile of Vanryra Brosca, the mischievous dwarf standing between her girlfriend and the Herald. The elf was staring at the display, eyes wide.

Samson knew he shouldn't care, but the fact that the emerald eyes of the mage was staring at his hair covered chest made him grin. With a final grunt, Samson tackled Cullen to the ground. Applause erupted around him as he stood and faced his audience. He met the Herald's gaze before winking. Cassandra had warned him not to pursue the elf, but as the commander stood there, he realized it would be a fun game to do it anyway.