She knew Cullen was busy. There was no way for him not to be. In honesty, Lucy had found herself exceedingly busy as well. There was a lot to be done with the inclusion of the Redcliff mages. Lucy wondered at time if there would be any end to it. She was a good healer, a strong one, but magic couldn't heal the mind. She needed a moment, she'd decided Cullen needed on as well.
That was why she'd come to his room, set a hot cup of stiff tea next to the paper work before him, and then in one easy motion, sat herself on a crate, undoubtedly of supplies. She said nothing as she sipped from her own cuppa. She didn't even look smug, or irritated, or sad, just, maybe wistful, far off. The past few days had be stressful, and murky, and she missed the sun, missed clarity of working in the burgeoning garden, even if she did so while avoiding Mother Giselle, that woman scared her.
At least here, even if Cullen picked a fight or acted obtuse to her attempts to call to his better senses, it would be familiar. Easy in a way. Easy like it was to forget in small moments that he hated her at all.