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Fourteen years was a long time to get to know someone. It was a good chunk of life, and things had changed and morphed in that time from something unsure to something good and wholesome and domestic . There was a farm now, one that had two old barns converted into dormitory style housing along with their modestly sized ranch in the middle of the property. People had come and gone, and sometimes come back, but things had changed there. There was a sense of belonging that couldn’t be taken back or torn away no matter how bad things had the capacity to get.
It had been Cullen’s project from the beginning: a rehabilitation compound for ex-Templars that wanted to heal themselves and get better from their lyrium addictions and leftover anger toward the Order. Of course Divine Victoria had sanctioned it, had been supportive and somehow found funds and manpower to help change the land from an old, run down family home to something useable and good . Cullen, in his way, had taken to it like a duck to water and within only a few short years the place was bustling with activity. He was happy there. He was happy helping others and using what the Order had taught him to help give his Brothers and Sisters their lives back after being poisoned and used.
Even Samson, though he’d gone seemingly unwillingly, had come through a better man on the other side. That, in itself, had been a miracle.
Fourteen whole years.
And by Cullen’s side, sometimes in spirit and other times only through a voice that came from a pendant tucked into a leather cuff at his wrist, was Dorian. The man had left Halamshiral an Ambassador and gone back a Magister, to Tevinter, and he split his time between reshaping the Imperium and being Cullen’s husband and confidant. It was dangerous to go back and forth, though they both did it, and they’d built a home together through it all. For several months at a time, barring any political nightmares for the Lucerni, Dorian came back to Ferelden and helped Cullen manage their home. They were a lot of things: confidants, best friends, lover, and then husbands. They were also de-facto healers and listening ears when their charges needed it.
Also by his side, for the entire time, was his steadfast and even tempered companion on four legs. She’d been a transplant, someone far away from home in Orlais like he’d been at the Exalted Council all those years ago, and finally Cullen had the Fereldan companion of a Mabari by his side. For the longest time she’d just been ‘Dog’ or ‘Good Girl’ when she did something clever (which was most of the time), but eventually he’d settled on River after a rather arduous attempt at getting her to stop playing at a crossing at the eastern end of the property. It seemed she’d known her name the moment he’d picked it, and took to it immediately.
Fourteen years with her by his side, sometimes with puppies and sometimes not, and she was just as much a part of his family as Dorian was. She’d come to him when he’d needed that support, just as Dorian had, and for those long months when his husband was home and they settled in before the large fireplace with the dog at their feet Cullen couldn’t have even imagined anything so perfect. It was perfect love, perfect happiness, perfect life. It was the life he’d always been meant to have, he was convinced.
Fourteen years of love and trouble and play, and his River was...well, for the first time in a long time Cullen was alone. Dorian was in Tevinter, arguing with yet another Old Guard who rejected the Lucerni and argued against the ‘upstarts’ that wanted to make Tevinter great again but without the blood magic or old values that had spawned the Venatori. He hadn’t felt so alone in years, had never had reason to, but now...in the barn beside the house that was an actual barn and huddled over a nest of warm flannels and blankets, Cullen felt his heart laboring to beat for the grief.
--
He’d never meant to love the mutt.
The dog had been Cullen’s, full stop. The dog was his companion, some old story about Fereldan spirits seeking each other out, and Dorian had been more than alright with letting that be that. He’d balked at her tracking mud inside, complained at ropes being laid at his feet covered in drool, and had actively pushed a chair in front of his and Cullen’s bedroom door when she refused to vacate so that he and his husband could catch up in the manner to which they were damn well owed. She’d been Cullen’s companion.
And then she was his, too.
River had curled up with her head in Dorian’s lap when he’d returned home to Fereldan after Aquinea’s death six years ago. He hadn’t wanted to admit to the grief he felt in his heart at the loss of his mother, or the fact that he no longer had a mother or a father. Their relationship had been strained, but losing them had been harder than Dorian wanted to admit. So he’d stroked River’s velvety ears and hugged her warm body to him in the early morning hours when he couldn’t manage to lie in bed beside Cullen for how his mind wouldn’t shut off. She’d licked at his face, which had shocked him out of his thoughts with a grunt, and wuffed at him until he was smiling and running his hands along her grey coat.
Fourteen years, and Dorian had salt and pepper hair the color of her fur at his temples now. When he and Cullen talked on the speaking stones there was always a happy bark that came through, and Cullen would relate her escapades of bothering chickens and helping nurse the ex Templars back to smiles. She was a good dog. An amazing dog. An amazing friends that came to him almost against his will, like so many of his friendships seemed to. She wormed her way into his heart just like her owner had, and Dorian couldn’t imagine their family any other way.
“Dorian?”
The crystal set into the pendant at his neck was glowing as he worked through yet another stack of paperwork. All these years in and he and Cullen still joked that half their lives were spent in front of a desk. It never failed to amuse them, even now.
“Here,” he answered with a touch to his throat. Cullen’s voice was soft and sad. Filled with tears. Dorian knew the sound of that voice because it was the voice he always spoke with whenever they had to say goodbye. “What’s wrong?”
A sniff, then a shaky exhale, “It’s...it’s River,” was the reply, and Cullen’s voice trailed off a bit until all Dorian could hear was tearful, labored breathing.
“Cullen?”
“Maker help me,” Cullen went on, and Dorian heard a telltale heaving sob, “she’s gone, Dorian. I was with her the whole time, though.”
It hit him like a punch in the chest. Dorian blinked, and one hand immediately went to the pendant around his neck. Maker help them indeed. He sucked in a breath, and for a moment it was like the loss of Halward and Aquinea all over again, only magnified tenfold. This was their family .
His eyes went wet and red, and before he could stop himself a sob wrenched its way up through his throat. He’d never meant to love the mutt. He’d never meant to worry when Cullen told her that she seemed more tired than usual and had seemed to start slowing down more and more. He’d never meant to be the one in tears and clutch at his chest as he felt his heart breaking. Dorian never meant to love anyone that much, and there he was with two Fereldan beasts that had come to be so important to him.
“No pain?” Dorian asked softly.
“No,” Cullen answered with a hiccup, “no, she was warm and happy. I-I took her out to the barn. You know how she loves...loved to play hide and seek in the hay.”
“I know,” Dorian whispered, and squeezed his eyes shut for the change of tense in Cullen’s words. “Maker watch over her,” he breathed, almost too softly to be heard. Maybe it was ridiculous to be saying a prayer over a dog , but he couldn’t help himself. “And watch over him,” Dorian went on in that same soft tone as tears rolled down his face and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge that Cullen was at home alone now.
“What?”
“Nothing, love,” Dorian amended before he sucked in a breath and cleared his throat. The tears were still coming, though. “I’ll get a ticket on the next ship going home,” he told Cullen, “I want to be there.”
There was another sound like Cullen trying to choke back a sob along with the scratching and rusting of the speaking stone on the other man’s wrist that was probably him raking his hands through greying curls. “I want you here too,” Cullen told him, “and so does she.”
“I’ll be there, amatus, I promise.”