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Chapter Text

Davrin slows his breathing so as not to jostle the leaves he crouches in, holding his bow at the ready to pull up. In front of him, his quarry noses through the underbrush looking for roots and truffles, completely unaware of the two sets of eyes watching it hungrily. 

Above him, Assan circles, high enough he might only be a normal eagle, but for the long tail stretching behind him. He led Davrin to this deer, and now waits patiently for his share.

Soon, boy, Davrin thinks. How different things were now. A few years ago, his prey would have been darkspawn, or an ogre, more fit for a sword than an arrow. But now, he has an even higher calling still, one that calls for meat, not violence. 

He pulls his bowstring taut, holds his breath, and lets the arrow go. The deer falls with Davrin’s arrow in its skull, a quick painless death, like Eldrin hammered into him all those years ago. He sighs and stands up, letting the tension out of his back. 
“Assan!” He calls up to the circling griffon, who quickly dives and hits the ground with a whump! Davrin crouches next to the deer and slices off its tail, tossing it to Assan. 

“There you go. You can have more when it’s cooking.” Davrin ties the deer’s hooves together and slings it over his shoulder. It’s a big one, plenty of meat for a couple of days and some to salt for winter besides. “Come on. Atropos will be wondering what hole we fell into.” 

Assan squawks assent, falling into step next to his warden as they start on the familiar trail home. He’s getting big, taller than Davrin, strong enough to ride finally, though only for Atropos so far, with his thin frame. It’ll be another year or so before he’s big enough for Davrin, or at least he thinks so, after combing through old Gray Warden books on the topic. 

Davrin’s okay with that. He’s definitely starting to understand his father complaining about him growing too fast - Assan’s growing far too fast from the baby griffon that once crawled onto Davrin’s lap while he was carving, ignoring Davrin’s scolding to be careful of the knife. Davrin can see the predator in his lean muscle and sharp beak, but then he looks back and he has the same big blue eyes as that baby griffon, and he smiles. 

Fatherhood’s made him soft, Davrin thinks. Antoine and Evka gave him a knowing look when he asked for an extended sabbatical from the Wardens. He hasn’t told them the real reason yet. For now, he’s just enjoying the privacy of their little cottage in the woods. 

The little cottage that comes into view through the trees. He can see Atropos sitting outside in the sun, his eyes closed and his hands on his belly, swollen with child. 

His eyes crack open. “There you are. I was starting to think you’d found a veil bubble, or something.” 

“Not today, vhenan. I caught us dinner.” Davrin stoops to kiss his husband’s forehead gently. Atropos stirs, groaning as he tries to get up. “Need a lift in?” 

“You know I’ll never say no to that,” Atropos says with a quirk of his lip. Davrin hangs the deer on a nearby tree and scoops his husband’s body into his arms. 

“How’re the twins behaving today?” Davrin asks as he carries Atropos inside. 

“Active,” Atropos says, wincing as Davrin feels a kick from one of the babies inside of him. “One of them’s doing their damned best to kick my ribcage out. I think we’ll have another Warden on our hands someday.” 

The thought brings Davrin much less anxiety now than it might have once, before the demise of the Archdemons and abolishment of the blight part of the calling. 

“You never know. Maybe they’ll just want to sit home and chop wood,” Davrin says. He sets Atropos on their couch and takes a quick perusal of their kitchen for herbs and salt to dress the deer with. Assan nuzzles his head under Atropos’s hand, and almost immediately chirps in surprise. Atropos bursts into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” 

“Assan just got himself kicked in the noggin,” Atropos chuckles. Assan looks baffled, his head tipping side to side as he stares indignantly at Atropos’s belly. 

Davrin laughs. “Definitely a Warden, that one.” 

Yes, maybe fatherhood’s turned Davrin soft. But as he heads outside to prepare dinner for his husband and feathery son, he finds… he doesn’t really mind. 

Chapter Text

“Bawk.” 

“Go away,” Davrin sighs. He likes the griffons, he really does, but he was hoping for some peace and quiet away from the mewling eagle-lion…things. He’d finally found a nice rock outcropping, a little climb and a walk from the old ruins they’d holed up in, one he figured none of the griffons could tackle yet. Evidently, he was wrong. 

He stops in his whittling and raises his eyebrow at the culprit, one of the bigger male chicks, the one with stubbly gray feathers growing in and bright blue eyes that stare at Davrin with a startling amount of intelligence. He’s been trouble right from the start, and for some reason he just loves Davrin, pattering after him no matter how many times Lancit or Remi try to get his attention or Davrin tries to insist he’s the griffons’ bodyguard, not babysitter. 

“Is it just you, Assan?” Davrin glances around for the chick’s siblings, but there’s no one else. “How’d you even get up here? Oh, Lancit and Remi are going to kill me. Do you have any idea how important you are?” 

Assan blinks at Davrin. Davrin sighs. 

“Just don’t try any flying yet, okay?” He shakes his whittling knife at the griffon. “I’m not going to have one of the last griffons break his neck on my watch.” 

“Bawk.” Assan peers at the piece of wood in Davrin’s hand. 

“Huh?... Oh. It’s a nug. Why am I talking to you?” Davrin groans and rubs his temple. “These damn mountains are getting to me.” 

“Bahk.” Assan sits down and wraps his little tail around his feet. He doesn’t seem to be intending to go anywhere, which means he’s stuck with the annoying presence, but also at least he doesn’t seem like he’s going to try and break his neck. 

“Well, as long as you don’t start making sense, I think I’ll be all right.” Davrin goes back to whittling on the nug, which evidently fascinates Assan. He slowly creeps closer and closer, until… 

“Hey!” 

Assan had pounced on him from the side and was eagerly wiggling his way onto Davrin’s lap. He was only as big as a halla fawn, but sent feathers into Davrin’s nose as he  wriggled, narrowly avoiding Davrin’s knife. 

“Hey!” Davrin quickly drops his knife and carving down out of the way. Assan, quick as a flash, grabs the falling nug carving in his two little front feet, looking up at Davrin with those big blue eyes. Davrin draws in a breath for a scolding, but all the words die on his throat when he looks in those huge, intelligent, unfairly adorable eyes. 

“...Be more careful next time, Assan,” is what Davrin finally settles for, stroking Assan’s growing mane of feathers while the griffon gums at the carving with his beak. He’s surprisingly gentle with the wood, not even leaving a scratch. 

“You’ll have to be tougher than that on darkspawn someday, boy,” Davrin says, but Assan just flicks his ear at his voice. He sighs. Below him, he can see Lancit and Remi searching outside of the ruins, and waves to them to let them know Assan’s with him. 

“We’ll have to go back soon, before Lancit and Remi decide to drag us down,” he says, but he doesn’t move, finding he doesn’t want to break the spell. He might be the first Warden to have a griffon in his lap for hundreds of years. Did griffons ever cuddle like this before, or were they raised from birth to be warriors? Were they being too soft on them now? 

Maybe they were more alike than he thought. He only hoped Assan would find the same iron in his bones that he did. 

In spite of himself, he starts humming the same tune he once did to the halla, and feels Assan start to purr.

Chapter Text

“Whatever it takes.” 

Davrin stares in horror as the Veil explodes around Atropos, starting to run towards him but in a heartbeat, he’s gone. The next heartbeat, he’s replaced by a tall, pale, bald elf, who resembles nothing more than Fen’harel, especially in the haughtiness of his gaze. 

Solas. Atropos had said he was imprisoned. 

Elvish god of trickery, indeed. Davrin would add bastardry to that. 

“What did you do with Atropos?” He demands, stalking up to Solas and stopping just a hair shy of grabbing him by the collar and shaking the answer out of him. Assan lands next to him, growling. 

“Your Rook?” Solas raises an eyebrow. “Why, he took my place in my prison.” 

“No… you bastard!” 

Davrin lunges for Solas, for the dagger he carries that whisked Atropos away - but in a heartbeat, the elf is gone. “NO!” 

He feels arms clutching at him. It’s Neve. 

“I feel magic gathering. Bad magic. We need to get out of here. Now.” 

“No - Atropos - Bellara  - Harding -” He remembers her falling, and looks desperately towards the pool of Blight she fell in, moments after murmuring those words he hates now. 

Whatever it takes. 

He was supposed to sacrifice to save the world. Not them. 

He’s already failed. 

‘They wouldn’t want us to die mourning them,” Neve hisses. “We need to get out of here to help Atropos and Bellara. We’re no use to them dead.” 

He knows how much it hurts Neve to say that, as much as it hurts him to think it, so he lets her drag him towards the boat the others are waiting for him on. He clucks for Assan to follow from the air, which he obeys immediately. 

“Solas - that bastard - he put them in the prison he was in.” Davrin husks at Emmrich’s questioning look. His expression turns to one of sorrow. 

“Oh. Oh dear. My boy…” 

Davrin half expects Bellara to chirp up with a theory of how to find Atropos in the Fade, so when she doesn’t, he’s at a loss. 

They paddle away from that gods-forsaken island, and none too soon, as a massive blast rocks it when they’re a few miles out. The blistering heat reaches Davrin  before the blast, which rocks their boat and almost capsizes them. 

When he looks back, there’s nothing left. Every tree, every ruin on that island is leveled, and even the sand itself seems to have been turned to glass. 

“Lace…” Taash whispers, and Davrin knows what they’re thinking. Even if Harding somehow survived falling in the Blight, there’s no way she survived that. Bellara, either, though Davrin doubts she was still on the island. 

“We can still help Atropos and Bellara,” Davrin rasps. “We’ll find them, and we’ll honor Harding.” 

Whatever it takes.

Chapter Text

It’s incredibly rare, almost unheard of, for Gray Wardens to become parents. The blight in their blood makes bearing children almost impossible, and the brutality of their lives makes adopting children not exactly in the child’s best interest. 

So Davrin would call himself one of the luckiest Wardens alive, to have done both. 

He doesn’t know what to expect when he approaches the old Warden ruin he was told to look for Lancit and Remi in. Just that there was something incredibly precious and infinitely valuable to the Wardens inside he was to protect. 

So when he opens the door, he’s surprised when he’s greeted, not by Lancit or Remi, but a tiny pink thing looking up at him with bleary blue eyes.

“Brp?” 

“Huh?” Davrin crouches to get a better look at the creature. It’s… a bird, he thinks. It has a little curved beak, like an eagle’s, with the egg-tooth still on the end, and stubby beginnings of what one day might be wings. 

But it has a whole other half it shouldn’t, with downy fur just starting to appear. It has a lion’s tail, for Maker’s sake, and that’s what jogs Davrin’s memories of the crest of the Wardens. 

“You’re a… griffon?” He asks, almost dumbstruck. 

“Mrp.” The ugly little griffon rubs up against his boot like little more than a domestic cat looking for pets. Davrin straightens, looking for any sign of Lancit and Remi. He hears voices from a room down the hallway, that must be them. 

He sighs and leans down, scooping the griffon into his leather-clad arm. He’s glad he didn’t wear full plate today. The griffon squalls initially at being handled, but then it seems to pause, sniffing, before snuggling into the crook of Davrin’s arm. 

“Let’s get you back,” Davrin says.

Remi jumps to her feet when he arrives, quickly taking the offered griffon from him. “Hey, you little rascal! Don’t you want to say hi to your siblings?” 

“Hey, Davrin.” Lancit stands too and clasps Davrin’s hand. “I’m glad it’s you they sent.” 

“It’s good to see you too, Lancit.” Davrin grins. “So I’m the… babysitter?” 

“Bodyguard,” Lancit corrects. “Me and Remi, we’re the babysitters. And trainers, as best we can.” 

There’s another loud squall, coming from the griffon Davrin found at the door. He’s waving little clawed feet at Davrin. Remi chuckles. 

“You might have to rethink that, Davrin.” 

---

Davrin wrings his hands, straining his ears for any sounds of squalling, or someone coming out to him. 

They’d come to the Necropolis when Atropos’s contractions started. It seemed like a morbid place to give birth to Davrin, but Atropos had pointed out that his old home had by far the best knowledge of anatomy and healing, Myrna among the best. It had taken hours of fruitless pushing before Myrna, worry creasing her brow, had said that Atropos’s body lacked the strength to push and whisked him away to a room to take the babies out… the other way. 

Davrin had already chewed his lip so badly it bled. His mother squeezes his hand. 

“You said he’s in the hands of the best,” she says softly. 

“I know,” Davrin breathes. He looks up at Assan. The griffon is full grown now and almost doesn’t fit in the room they wait in, but he’s pacing anxiously in the little room he has, his lion’s tail lashing. His mother follows his gaze and chuckles. 

“He looks almost as worried as you, vhenan,” she comments. 

“Atropos is like a father to him too now,” Davrin says.

He almost misses the moment Myrna appears in the door, but he’s to his feet and moving to her almost before he even registers the bundle in her arms. 

“The first, a girl,” Myrna says. 

“Atropos -?” 

“He is…stable,” Myrna says, a little more uncertainty clouding her voice. Davrin swallows hard, but then he looks down at his first daughter, and everything else seems to slow down. 

Myrna puts her in his arms, and she is perfect. Objectively kind of ugly, pink as Assan was fresh out of the egg, only briefly cleaned of the remnants of the birth but she moves and wiggles and her little foot kicks up and makes contact with Davrin’s arm, and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

“Oh, you little rascal,” Davrin breathes, clasping her foot and tucking it back under her blanket. “Are you the one that’s been trying to kick your way out through your daddy’s ribs?” 

The baby neither confirms nor denies the accusation, instead opening a tiny mouth and squalling. Assan pushes his head over to look at the baby, and trills happily.

I’m a father. 

Myrna comes back a moment later, with another bundle. 

“Another girl,” she says. “Atropos is being stitched up as we speak, under a spell to keep him asleep. The next days will be… difficult, but he is alive.” 

“Can I see him?” 

Myrna nods curtly and motions with her head to follow. Davrin looks over at the other baby as he walks. She’s a little smaller than her sister, a little quieter, but she’s wiggling and lively as well. 

Doing a lot better than her other father, it seems, as they come into the room where he lays. He’s asleep and deathly pale, but Davrin sees the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket he lies under. 

He sits next to Atropos. The baby in his arms stops squalling, as if sensing his close presence, and instead opens her eyes. They’re a deep brown, just like his own. 

“You did well, vhenan,” Davrin says to Atropos. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you to wake up to name them.” 

He leans over to press a kiss to Atropos’s forehead. 

“They’re beautiful.” 

---

“Daaaaaaaad.” 

Davrin gives the griffon saddle one last check, making sure it’s cinched just right, loose enough to not pinch or rub off any of Luc’s glossy black feathers, but tight enough to not flip mid-flight and send his daughter into free fall. 

“You’ve checked it three times.” Ellowen sits astride Luc, crossing her arms. Her griffon huffs in a pretty good imitation of his rider. “We’re ready.” 

Davrin feels a pluck at his elbow and turns to Atropos. The shorter elf has an amused look. 

“Remember, Davrin? Turlum.” 

He softens, remembering the first time Atropos told him that, so long ago. Next to him, Assan preens, looking his son over proudly. 

He steps back from the griffon and his rider. “Alright. Go on, then. Fly!” 

Luc gathers his haunches and springs forward like a cat after prey. He’s flown before, but never with Ellowen aboard; he gives one powerful leap and then he’s in the air, taking her weight in stride. Davrin’s filled with a wave of pride when he hears his daughter whooping. 

“Well? Aren’t you going to show her how a Warden rides?” Atropos pokes Davrin in the side. Davrin grins and sweeps his husband off his feet and onto Assan’s back before mounting after him. 

“After them, boy!” he tells Assan, who leaps into the sky with practiced grace. 

Yes, Davrin thinks. He may be the luckiest Warden alive.