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Though the sun was only just setting, Dorian sat at the bar in the Herald's Rest surrounded by no fewer than five empty mugs of what presumably must have been ale at some point. A somewhat crumpled piece of paper sat beside one of the mugs, the ink ever so slightly smudged. It was unclear whether the waterlogged note was the victim of spilled ale or the tears that streamed down Dorian's usually charming cheeks.
Dorian's head laid cheek down on the bar, quite near to sobbing, and had he not had strict orders against it the barkeep would have thrown him out hours ago. He had sent a runner to fetch help, however, and hoped with every fiber of his being that someone came to collect the sobbing mage quickly.
The barkeep sighed heavily as his hero and rescuer entered - Cullen. Of everyone the runner could have found, why the Commander? The epitome of "I'm too awkward to help anyone with anything."
Cullen looked around the tavern and quickly found his target. Dorian's shoulders still heaved every now and then with sobs as he aimlessly reached for what he hoped would be a stein filled with ale. The commander sighed with annoyance and weaved through tables and crowds until he reached the Tevinter mage.
"Dorian, what's wrong?" Cullen asked impatiently.
"I got a letter!" he sobbed, suddenly flinging himself at Cullen and wrapping his arms around the slightly larger man, much to his dismay. Cullen stood frozen for a moment, not quite knowing how to react.
"That's... very upsetting," Cullen tried, only eliciting more sobs from Dorian.
"It's from my fa-a-a-a-ther!" Dorian continued to bellow, his hot tears dripping onto Cullen's neck and making him blush something fierce. He would have to do something before things got really out of hand.
"Dorian," Cullen began, trying very hard to pry the other man's hands off his shoulders, "why don't you sit there in that chair and tell me about this letter?"
Dorian sniffed slightly and staggered toward the chair with Cullen's help, plopping down and taking the letter when Cullen passed it to him. "Well," he sniffed, "my fa-a-ather w-wrote saying that he wanted me to come back to Tevinter."
"Absolutely dreadful," Cullen agreed, nodding enthusiastically.
"That's not the bad part," Dorian told him with a grumpy frown. "Anyway," he continued, "my mother apparently has a nervous condition that prevents her from travelling."
"Terrible," Cullen proclaimed with as much concern as he could muster. "Simply terrible."
"Would you be silent for five minutes, you great oaf?" Dorian complained. Cullen blushed and motioned for him to continue. There was an awkward silence as Dorian stared at him with a quivering lip. "MY DOG DIED!"
"That's... that's the bad part, right?" Cullen asked hesitantly. Dorian burst back into tears and leapt out of his chair to ensnare himself in Cullen's feathered coat.
"A year ago!" Dorian continued to howl. Cullen sighed, having given up entirely, and patted the man on the back as soothing as he could muster.
"This is going to be a long night."