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Davrin watched as Assan executed another aerial pirouette. It made him a little sick to his stomach, the way the griffon cavorted in the—he couldn't call it "sky". He'd finally come to accept that they were in the Fade, and that the stunning view out of the open wall in his room wasn't real.
At least, not in any earthly sense.
And he was a man of the earth, wasn't he? He felt he'd always been looking down and not up. Some of his earliest memories were of the ruts dug in the earth by the wheels of the aravel, of mucking out the halla pens, of mud coming up between his toes as he ran through the glades of Arlathan.
Even later, hunting monsters, it had been the same. He kept an ear to the ground, tracked blood in the dust, read traces in the damp earth. Flying creatures were a problem; their movements were less predictable, and you can't follow spoor through the air. It was always harder to hunt the monsters with wings.
What had he to do with wings? Wings were for flitting, fleeting, fluttering things. Things that didn't last, didn't stick around to do the dirty work.
Davrin had always been willing to do the dirty work.
That's why he'd joined the Wardens, after all. He'd wanted to put his talents toward a goal that meant something, wanted to dig in and fight for a cause larger than himself. He'd tasted the filthy ichor in the joining chalice, and seen darkspawn boiling up out of the ground. He'd taken the fight to them, too, in the mines under the earth.
So how had he ended up here, shepherd to this feathered thing that danced the air?
He was still wondering when he felt Rook's strong arms wrap around his waist.
"Daydreaming?" he asked. Davrin felt him nuzzle the side of his throat, and a pleasant flush of heat blossomed in his belly.
"Watching that fuzzball risk his neck," he growled.
"How dare you speak that way about our son." Rook chuckled and Davrin could feel the vibration between his shoulder blades. "I heard Eldrin has good things to say about his training. Though he complains about how little time he gets with him."
Davrin shrugged. "Assan misses me."
"Mmhm." Rook poked him gently in the ribs. "Not the reverse?"
With a sigh, Davrin elbowed the poking fingers away. "Why did you send the griffons to Arlathan?" he asked.
"Do you think it was the wrong decision?"
"Didn't say that."
"I don't really know why," Rook said, resting his chin on Davrin's shoulder. "A lot of people have asked. They probably expected a Warden to send them back to Hossberg."
"They deserve to take their natural place," Davrin said. "Hunters. Caretakers."
"Arlathan deserves them more than the Wardens," Rook agreed. Then he sighed. "But I thought about it. I thought about it a lot."
"And what did you think?"
Rook laughed. "I thought about what it'd be like to ride one of those things into battle. Can you imagine?"
Davrin grunted. "I'll keep my feet on the ground, thank you."
"Aw, you'd look so good on a griffon."
Outside, Assan screamed by in a stoop as swift as any falcon's. "You want to do that? You're a braver man than I am, Rook."
"You know I'm not." Rook pulled him closer against his chest. "You're the bravest man I know. Even if you are a stick-in-the-mud."
"Hey!" Davrin protested. "I'm grounded. That's not the same thing. I was never one to have my head in the clouds."
"What have you got against the clouds?" Rook asked.
"Nothing. I just don't want to meet them face to face."
"No? Then why are you doing all those sketches of wings?" Rook inclined his head toward Davrin's desk.
Davrin stiffened. "They're anatomy studies. It's important to know your enemy."
"Not everything with wings is bad, Davrin."
"No? Tell that to the demon next door."
"Unfair. Lucanis is a good man."
"Maybe." Davrin shrugged. "There's a reason ‘fly-by-night' is an insult."
"Oh come on." Rook gave him a squeeze. "What about ‘flying high'? That's a compliment."
"Could be an insult. You were flying pretty high when you drank Emmrich's gingerwort tea."
"So were you," Rook retorted. "What about ‘soaring'? Or ‘eagle-eyed'?"
"That one doesn't count. It's about seeing, not flying. Besides, I have a lot more. Flighty. Flying by the seat of your pants. Winging it."
"Afraid to let your dreams take flight, Davrin?"
That stung. "I'm not afraid," Davrin scowled. "I'm just... not feather-brained."
Rook slid a hand up to Davrin's chest and let it rest over his heart. "Wouldn't you like to feather your nest?"
Davrin's eyes slid shut. "It's too early. We have two gods to kill."
"But after?" Rook insisted, bending to kiss the side of his neck.
As warmth spread out from the place his love's lips touched, Davrin considered it. After was a scary thought. He wasn't sure there was going to be an after. But then, he hadn't thought there would be an after at Weisshaupt either.
Just like he never thought he'd have wings.
As if on cue, Assan flew in through the open wall and landed on the stone floor with a screech of claws. The little griffon trotted over to the two Wardens and rubbed against their knees like a cat. How dare you speak that way about our son, Rook had said.
"Yeah," Davrin murmured. I'd like that. After."