Work Text:
The luminous hovering rock was different from the dusty howling planes Assan used to live in. It was easier too, less screeches, less memories etched into every single scent.
Assan missed his siblings. Sometimes he would fly as high as he could in the strange dense new sky, looking for them. He would call for them. But with every single new day it got harder and harder to be nostalgic.
His life was filled with new. So much new.
New things. New food. New non-griffons.
Some days, instead of flying high, Assan let the horn-tall-creature - Taash - pick him up and throw him into the vortexes around the rock. Instead of remembering, he would run to the hummingbird non-griffon, Bellara, and wait for her to comb his feathers.
The new world was so full of flock-mates. They were all non-griffons, which Assan easily recognized because of the clumsy way the wandered around, but they were still his.
The wisps-woman called Neve and the two-people man, Lucanis, always had tasty new foods for him. And the short person, Harding, would let him dig into her plants as much as he liked. And Manfred! His best friend Manfred! The corpse-man let him play with Manfred every single day. It was why Assan loved to bring Emmrich new toys, little bones, and sticks, and hide them in his room (it was what Davrin did with him, so he knew it was a game non-griffons adored).
And Davrin.
Davrin! Assan could not help but purr and twirl just at the thought. Davrin had always been there, he had been his flock-companion for as long as Assan could remember. For a few weeks Assan had even though him a griffon! But Davrin was just a non-griffon with very big ears, just like Assan's.
Davrin was the strangest of men! He liked games (he called them training), and he seemed to not fully grasp how a flock worked. He was gentle, and he was enamoured with rules.
His most common game seemed to be the game of the four-no. Assan lovec sleeping on the bed with Davrin, curling on his side, but there was a rule: Assan must screech four times, Davrin must say no four times, and then at the fifth screech Davrin would look at the ceiling, which meant Assan would be able to jump on the bed. How strange, but how thrilling to understand!
Assan might not have known a lot of words, but he knew the Davrin's words: here, good, boy, Assan, come, dinner, ginger truffle, darkspawn, dinner, arrow, stop, no (which was a very strange word), Rook.
Rook was big, tall, he also could not fly but he could jump extremely high and spin very fast, sometimes. His ears were regrettably small, but he had horns just like Taash. He smelled like home – like darkspawn and Assan's old non-griffon family – and he carried the scents of the whole flock, like an anchor.
Davrin would write, read, cut wood, sing and hum, and then Assan would hear running steps outside their nest. Davrin would say "Rook", or some other uncomprehensible word, and Rook would scratch Assan's head or under his chin.
Scratching and combing, what wonderful inventions non-griffons had!
Davrin was, of course, the best at it because he had applied himself for quite a long time. He had once been not quite good at it, almost hesitant or short in his gifted time, but Assan had persisted. So Davrin had learnt and gotten so much better at it, now even scratching right under his beak while humming soft words. The only problem was that every time Assan tried to do the same, to groom Davrin's face or his removable furs, Davrin would make him stop. Instead of the rule of the three or four "no", he would yelp and then say "Stop, boy."
The world was confusing. Assan knew non-griffons groomed and cuddled each other's too.
He had even seen Manfred and Emmrich take their hands and squeeze them together at the rally of "Very good, Manfred! An almost perfect handshake!". He had participated in a session of mysterious hair knotting, where Harding and Neve had worked on Assan's tail and Taash's hair to create intricate and beautiful patterns.
It happened. Just not to Davrin.
It filled Assan's heart with anxious restlessness.
Who gave Davrin scratches under his chin?
For as much as non-griffons and griffons had differences, surely this was not part of it. Not when he had seen it in the rest of the flock.
Assan sighed, lowering his head onto Davrin's knees. Davrin had been writing for hours, instead of getting any scratch under his chin. How the world could be so unfair – that Assan could lose his family, that Davrin could be alone even when surrounded by a flock.
"It is not dinner time yet," the man said, distractedly.
Admittedly, the mention of "dinner", one of the best words, perked Assan a little. On the other hand, it was just another reminder of how similar him and Davrin were: they both ate dinner and they both ate apples. So surely, as flock-mates, the closest of flock-mates, as family, they both wanted the best for each other.
"Rook."
Rook. Rook.
Assan raised his head, looking at the tall horned-blight-scent man make his way into Assan's room.
Davrin was cutting some wood, and Rook was there – he was often there, Assan realized, with sudden interest.
His whole flock spent time together, but only Rook and the other horned person, Taash, came often enough to Assan's room. Of course, Davrin must have a predilection of people with horns. And for griffons.
Rook's hand scratching Assan's cheek was enough to add even more weight to the griffon's new resolution. Rook was always there, Rook gave the best pets, Davrin liked people with big horns.
It all made perfect sense, half of a plan shaping itself, rolling out of his mind with a purr of delight.
Assan would make sure that Davrin was taken care by his flock mate, as much as Davrin was taking care of him.
"Do I want to ask about your obsession with nugs, or am I not privy to this information?"
Assan raised an ear at the mention of nugs. Small beasts, they smelled strange but were always around truffles, so he liked them.
"Just trials."
"Can I take one?"
Davrin huffed, a half laugh in his voice. "You want a nug?"
"You gave one to Bellara."
"Ah." Davrin let his knife rest on the table, the small clunk more interesting than any word Assan could not recognize in this strange mix of sounds. "She was pretending to like them. A small punishment for an excess of courtesy. Now I give her one every time she passes by."
Rook stood from the desk he had been leaning on, and Assan waited. He was so close to Davrin now, at perfect height for a head pat.
Unfortunately, nothing happened, instead he just squeaked out some more incomprehensible words. "Well, I really like the sculptor, so I'll take one."
"Something to remember me?"
"Got you right here."
Davrin grabbed one of the small wooden creations around him. Assan had been explicitly forbidden from touching them so he looked with interest at Rook rotating the little thing in his hands.
Rook nodded his head, and Assan understood that.
It meant goodbye.
No! Not yet!
Assan squeaked and run to the door, which is where Rook found him just a few moments later.
"Hey, Assan," Rook greeted him, and almost foiled all his plans with aa masterfully distracting hug. Assan found himself purring in delight when Rook's hand moved to squish his cheeks. But he had a plan, a purpose - he was not going to allow his flock-mate to foil it!
Assan let his whole body press against the door. These non-griffons could not even fly, so Assan made sure to let his limbs grow heavy, to almost lay on the ground, unmovable. He knew non-griffons could only use that door and nothing else.
"Well," Rook started, which was when Davrin finally noticed Assan was keeping them hostage, for their own good.
"Assan, what’s the matter with you?"
Davrin stood up as well, hands on his hips. "Here, boy."
Assan could feel his muscle tensing, ready to jump to Davrin. Oh, if only he could explain. He tried to stubbornly resist a few more moments, hoping Rook would change his mind about leaving, but then Davrin repeated the command and Assan moved.
Davrin sometimes fought with their flock-mates. It was something Assan understood very well, he also had enjoyed fighting and playing with his siblings. What he never comprehended was that sometimes non-griffon kept going, even when releasing squeaks of pain. Assan knew very well that he was not allowed to mock fight or bite his own flock-mates if they squeaked in pain at him.
He was also not allowed to use his favourite stick to poke at people, which was instead something Rook and Davrin had the liberty to do.
Right in that moment, Davrin used his favourite shiny clanging stick to try and hit Rook. The other man raised both of his short sticks – daggers, he called them – crossing them against Davrin's. The movement was familiar. Assan had seen it far too many times while fighting darkspawn, he recognized it now, he knew it well enough that when he saw Venatori do the same, Assan would use his hind legs to kick, or his tail to whip their face.
Davrin, instead, just grinned, before using his shield to hit on their untangled weapons. "More of that, Rook."
The clashing made Assan wince a bit and ruffle his feathers in annoyance. He tried to focus instead on the chirpings of the forest, ears twitching at a nug burrowing into the ground. The sun always made him sleepy, but unfortunately it was his job to stay alert for any danger when non-griffons were distracted.
The sounds of clanging metal slowly subsided.
"I missed this."
Assan perked up at Davrin's voice. There was always a different tone, a calmer note, when his flock-mate decided it was time to stop hitting things.
"The forest?"
"No, just the scorching sun when you're wrapped in armour." A short breathless chuckle. "Getting battered while sparring in the training yard."
"You mean Weisshaupt."
Assan froze right in the middle of his yawn, immediately standing up. That word, Weisshaupt, he did not know what it meant, but he was aware of what power it held over Davrin. It echoed of longing and regret, like what Assan felt for his lost brothers and sisters.
"It was different, of course. Terribly cold, and damp. Drafty as a canyon. Ever got the pleasure to sleep in the bunks?"
Rook shrugged, putting away his daggers. "Only for a few months. Can't say I was fond of it."
No! The humans were still talking about the forbidden word! It made absolutely no sense, because when Assan felt lonely, when he missed his family, then Davrin always made sure there were soft touches on his head.
"A bittersweet taste," Davrin confirmed. His shiny dangerous stick was also being put away; shield abandoned on the ground.
Rook took a step forward, but Assan was not going to wait for these non-griffons to start repeating Weisshaupt Weisshaupt Weisshaupt. Swift action was needed, so he was going to provide.
With a small squawk of determination, Assan jumped forward, fast enough that Davrin was not able to catch himself when the griffon's front paws hit him in the back. There was enough strength in his push that Davrin simply grunted and fell forward, carrying Rook to the ground with him.
Rook let out a surprised huff, back hitting the grass, Davrin's hand the only thing stopping his head from following suit.
"Assan!" Davrin grunted out and Assan squeaked in frustration.
Rook laughed, weaker than usual, which earned him a glare. "He seems to be having fun?"
"Did you put him up to this?"
"Why? So I can have a handsome Grey Warden in my arms?"
Assan stomped his feet onto the ground, impatient. No scratches, no pets, just unintelligible squawks between Rook and Davrin. And now Davrin was even sitting up.
"Keep them coming, Rook."
"You did say you liked hearing it from me the most."
There was a chuckle, and the two were standing up again. Rook winced a bit, touching his shoulder and Davrin patted his back.
They were absolutely incomprehensible.
Assan was stubborn. He had always been, at least since he had been tall enough to be able to bite at hands and steal bites of food.
So he was not discouraged.
What if Davrin was more difficult than the rest of the flock? It had to be expected, of course, given that he was the leader of the flock. That was why Rook always made time to pass by and visit them, to scratch Assan's head. It was why the others took the most delicious bites to Assan and awed and fawned over those wooden sticks Davrin liked to work on.
Therefore, Assan tried, again and again. Only his own stubbornness could match Davrin’s.
He carried his favorite stick to Rook's room, so Davrin would follow him there. He made sure to yell the loudest when he could hear Rook's steps outside, so the man would pass by to see what was happening. He stole little trinkets from Rook's room, made sure to store them under Davrin's bed – until Davrin found out and told him "No, stop."
More importantly, every time Davrin and the man-with-a-demon were drinking the stinging water that made Assan's eyes tear up, Assan made sure to go and collect Rook. He would grab and push until Rook could join Davrin in the kitchen.
The water-that-made-eyes-tear-up, also called alcohol, always seemed to make Davrin sway to the side, so Rook just needed to conveniently sit there and Assan's dearest companion would end up with his shoulder pressing against Rook's, his head on Rook's shoulder (Rook was very tall).
“I should cook something. Should I cook something?” Lucanis wondered, exchanging his alcohol with his inseparable cup of coffee.
“Is that thing always full?” Davrin slurred, predictably tilting to the side. Assan’s head jumped up from the place he had chosen for himself, under Davrin’s chair, ready to intervene in case his flock-mate fell to the wrong side.
“By necessity.” Lucanis moved to grab his coffee pot, peeking inside. “There is more.”
Davrin tried to look into the thing as well.
Assan gave him a gentle nudge, using his wings to make sure the elf would sway right into Rook instead of right into the coffee teapot.
There was a surprised huff, but at least the teapot was safe, and Davrin was exactly where he was supposed to be.
“Hey, there, Rook,” Davrin greeted him, with a grin.
Rook’s face was flushed, a darker colour on his cheeks that even Assan could see.
He blinked down at Davrin, and cleared his throat, but instead of scratching his chin, he just murmured some words. Oh, how these non-griffons loved their words!
“Hey, you.”
“Please, not in front of my coffee.”
Assan sighed, lowering his head back to the floor. It seemed that once more his plans were not bearing fruit.
Assan met someone new! It rarely happened these days, as most non-griffons he encountered were people he had to break the bones of or throw himself at. Their names were Venatori, Antaam, Darkspawn, but this time he met a man, an elf, someone who smelled a bit like Davrin, and a bit like the forest.
Davrin and Rook talked to the man – and the man named Eldrin talked to Assan! Assan made sure to squawk back, to show his appreciation for the way all these non-griffons were trying so hard to use their words.
The sun was still high in the sky, and the forest sounded so calm – this was a good day, Assan decided. A day where no one was going to try and use a pointy stick against Davrin, and a day where Assan was not going to think about his old family.
Assan loved the forest. There was always something interesting to smell and hunt, eat, or yell at, but this time it looked like Davrin was teaching Rook and Assan something different.
“Find.” “Look around.” “Look for.” Assan knew those words; they were his treasure hunt words. He knew “Find the darkspawn,” or “Find the blight,” but today it was different.
Assan run up to Rook, who was picking berries from bushes Assan had spotted through the forest before. He sniffed at them, sweet and pungent, before Davrin told Rook “find” and Assan eagerly followed them once more. They were looking for new treasures: berries, stones, the scent of something new, something alive, something that did not smell like the blight.
Rook used his newly collected stick to create a peculiar sound which made Assan almost flinch in surprise, but he had no time to wonder what it was for because suddenly a creature crawled out of the tree. It had been a call, a call for a new friend.
Yes, that was the scent the griffon had caught just a few moments before. A familiar one, something that permeated the whole forest, something Assan had only glanced in passing.
The deer creature walked to the berries, eating a few of them, and finally Assan understood what they were doing. Of course, this was the simplest of things, the most flock-like of things: feeding each other’s, like Lucanis fed them, like Davrin fed him.
Assan flew up into the sky, tracing their steps until he found the bushes of berries. If this strange deer was part of their flock, then Assan would act accordingly.
He filled his beak with the round juicy fruit before returning to Rook and Davrin.
The deer was still there, laying on the ground and eating the few berries Rook had given it. Assan loved eating on the ground too, so he made sure to let his filling of fruit fall right into the deer’s face.
The deer let out a soft grunt, before resuming his eating and Assan squawked back. He raised his head, shaking it in excitement. He wanted to play with the creature, but he had been taught play could not happen when flock-mates were eating, so he stepped back, ready to return to Davrin.
That was when he finally noticed something was happening.
Assan could not believe his eyes.
All his efforts, all his plans, they had not been for nothing because right in that moment Rook was finally giving Davrin his head pats. One of Rook’s big hands was cupping Davrin’s head, as their faces pressed together.
Unable to contain his joy, Assan jumped up on the hill, deer forgotten.
His flock-mates were still touching, Rook’s hand now at the back of Davrin’s neck and Assan walked up to Rook, chirping all of his satisfaction at him. The touch seemed gentle, the fingers were not squeezing but were simply brushing Davrin’s skin – yes, this was good.
“You know, being with me means being with him.”
The words made no sense to Assan, but he still turned to look at Davrin.
He had chosen well, because Davrin was smiling, one hand immediately finding the feathers of Assan’s neck, scratching him.
Rook’s hand followed suit. “It’s part of the charm.”
Assan purred gently. This was what Davrin deserved to have too.
“Eyes of an eagle. Roar of a lion,” Davrin continued. Half words Assan had memorized, but he could hardly focus on them. Davrin fought, just like Assan, they used their talons and sticks, and they fought every day. It was not right that only Assan received these gentle touches, these kind words. They were the same, him and Davrin. “But maybe the heart of a halla.”
Assan purred at him, looking up at this incomprehensible strange kind non-griffon he had found for himself.
Rook was still talking, but Assan was just filled with satisfaction, purring into the soft words.
He had done it!
“Come on, boy. You did good.”