Holy Andraste, when I was praying for a handsome young male to enter our lives, I actually meant a handsome young male griffon, not a human…but thank You all the same. Snow needed a mate more than Jennis did. Earlier that year, Snow had insisted on building a nest, which for a griffon mean not twigs and branches, but semiprecious stones and all the gold they had. She had even found a rock face with a vein of gold nuggets and chipped them out with her beak.
After the nest was built and lined with feathers and down, the griffon had laid an egg and tried to hatch it out. As she had never mated, the egg had no chick inside, and Snow grieved when it went rotten and broke (only someone hardened to the stench of the springs could have born it.)
What that underscored was Jennis's ignorance of how griffons grew and developed. For ten years, she had gotten by on common sense as far as caring for and feeding Snow was concerned, but there were limits to how far that would get them. How much larger might Snow become? What was her lifespan likely to be? How often might she lay eggs, and most of all, where were they to find a mate for her?
At the moment, however, their greatest problem was standing there in wet smallclothes which covered no more than a hand span of his body, brandishing a sword. "This might go better if you put the blade down and backed away from it," she told Alistair. Ordinarily I wouldn't trust a human, but the way he's grinning, like Snow is a dream come true. I think…I think that for once this is someone who is on the inside exactly as he is on the outside.
"Oh, right," he agreed, bending over and setting the longsword down with care. "And, uh, perhaps I should put something on as well."
"That couldn't hurt," she said, a little reluctantly. He was quite well-made but their conversation wasn't going to get very far if she kept getting distracted by embarrassment. It's so hard to concentrate on his face and not look at him below the neck.
"Then I'll just, ah, go behind this rock here and put on my armor," he edged away. "You're not going to go flying away if I do that, are you? I have so many questions to ask."
"No," she said, "we won't." All the same, she went to Snow's side to smooth her hackles.
"Whuu izz ee?" Snow asked, ducking her head to nuzzle Jennis. (1)
"His name is Alistiar," she replied, soft and low into Snow's delicate ear. "I don't know, but he may turn out to be a friend, like the Dalish."
At a year old, Snow had begun to talk, at first just parroting what Jennis said, but soon it became clear that she was truly talking, not just mimicking. As she had a beak rather than lips, her words were sometimes distorted, but the sense was clear, at least to Jennis.
"Ai ken tok to eem?" Snow murmured back, closing her eyes and letting Jennis scratch her around her ear. (2)
"Once we're sure he is a friend, yes. Until then, it would be better to let him think you a dumb beast." Some people had a narrower definition of 'people' than others did, and even the best of humans might balk at extending personhood to a creature the length of a house. Those who referred to elves as 'knife-eared' and dwarves as 'grit-suckers' were apt to get upset when presented with a talking, thinking griffon.
A clashing of metal armor came from behind the rock. "What happened to the bear?" Alistair called out, sounding alarmed.
"It got away," Jennis called back.
"Eee med me luze et," Snow complained. "Mabee eee izz not a frend—Duu uuu want eem fur a maete? UUUr aigz wuul bee az my aigz, alwayz." Human-like did not mean human; there were things which Snow must have come out of the egg knowing—no, things she was convinced of. No amount of explaining would change her mind. (3)
"He would have to court me first. Now shush, he's coming out." she told the griffon. Raising a magical creature with human-like intelligence wasn't easy, Snow did not see things the same way a human would.
"Now—"Alistair reappeared from behind his rock, reached out, then hesitated. "Is it possible that I could I pet her? It won't seem quite real otherwise."
"Why don't you ask her?" Jennis countered, and stepped away.
"Ask her—? Ah. All right. It can't be that much different from talking to a Mabari. Lady Snow, you are the most wondrous and magnificent creature I have ever seen, and it would be a privilege to be allowed to stroke your plumage. May I have the honor?" He spoke caressingly, with a measure of awe in his voice, holding out his hand where she could sniff it.
Snow, in turn, drew her head up proudly. She loved being praised (few people of any sort are immune to the charm of hearing nice things about themselves). Suddenly dipping her neck, she nudged his hand up to her forehead.
"I'll bet you say that to all the girls," Jennis teased him.
"No, only the ones who can literally bite my head off. Although if you mean it figuratively, that does cover all the women I know, actually. Ah! She's so soft." Granted permission, he took advantage of it to scratch around her ears, tugging gently at the tufts.
"She likes being scratched under the chin, too," Jennis told him. "and between the wings—when she's not saddled, that is."
"I see," He nodded to the saddle. "I notice there are two sets of stirrups—is there someone else you go riding with?"
"No, it's just that I sit differently when we're flying than I do when we're on the ground," she replied.
Just then, Alistair found that spot right between Snow's jaw and ear that made her go boneless with pleasure, and she leaned into the knight, staggering him. "Whoa! I think I must be doing something right. What's that noise? Is she purring?" The sound was somewhere between the purr of an enormous cat and the coo of a dove, of all the incongruous possible sounds.
"Yes. Don't stop now, whatever you do. She'll be tetchy."
"I won't! Now, by the Maker," Alistair, asked, rubbing for all he was worth and looking very cheerful. "how is it possible there's a griffon here at all? Where did she come from, and how did you get her? They all died out two hundred years ago, after all."
"That's not what the Dalish say," Jennis replied. "I met a very old Dalish leader, many centuries old, and he told me griffons left human habitations because they were treated badly."
"The Dalish? You're friends with the Dalish? No, wait. I want to hear about how you found her first, so can we revisit the Dalish later?" Snow leaned harder against Alistair, staggering him. "If you're going to collapse on me, let me sit down first," he told her. "Remember how much bigger you are than I am." He did, and she went limp across his lap in a gold and white puddle of feathers and fur.
"Rubbing her eyebrow ridges is also good," Jennis said. She watched Snow swoon even harder, if such a thing were possible. Alistair's face had had tensions in it that smoothed out as he rubbed between the griffon's eyes, and he looked much younger for it. She could see what he must have looked like when he was a boy. I don't think he could have been a very happy boy—and that, Andraste, is something I know about. Yes, I'll try trusting him.
She sat down herself and began, "How much do you know about the village of Haven?"
"I know they have male priests there, they don't like outsiders, and they may be guarding the Urn of Andraste. How's that for a start?" he asked.
"It's where I got my start," Jennis replied. "They say they worship Andraste, but they don't. What they worship, what they spend their lives adoring and worshipping, is a High Dragon."
Griffon Speech Translations:
(1) "Who is he?"
(2) "I can talk to him?"
(3) "He made me lose it. Maybe he is not a friend. Do you want him for a mate? Your eggs would be as my eggs, always."
