Work Text:
Why does the rain fall from above?
Why do fools fall in love?
Why do they fall in love?
- Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers
It isn't the sky that betrays the change in the weather first. It's the air.
The gentle tang of rock salt and dried seaweed riding on the costal breeze has given way to the sharp, encompassing scent of ozone long before the first grey cloud has appeared. Now, the sky has transformed itself into a sheet of granite and the wind has become less and less agreeable as the minutes pass. The ocean complains against the rocks and sand, growing restless as the world around her shifts.
A figure sits alone on a particularly large and flat rock, a respectful distance from the thrashing tide for now. It will be some time before the waves reach his position. He has chosen a spot secluded in a small cove formed naturally by cliff erosion. The path down to it had been treacherous, but the solitude is apt payment. He has lost sense of time, far from the bustle and breathing chaos of his growing city. Here, minutes and hours seem to have lost all their power over the world and, by extension, him. Here, he ponders, is a place that one could exist in forever if they allowed themselves.
Absently, Balduran picks up a smoothened pebble resting by his boot. He weighs it, then, drawing back his arm, he tosses the pebble in an elegant arch where it plops, unheard, into the frothing green waters. He repeats the gesture with another pebble, then another, becoming lost in the listless rhythm.
A sound from above, barely audible over the costal zephyrs and the voice of the waves, but Balduran's ears know it. Wings; great and swooping and growing closer and closer. He looks up just in time to see a monstrous shadow descend from the lowest clouds. Huge and terrifying to any other, the dragon's figure meets the rock and sand beneath him, his wings creating a tempest of his own within the cove before they fold against his immense body and the world settles once more.
Balduran notices how, despite the lack of sunlight, the dragon's bronze scales still seem to gleam as they would on the clearest summer day, somehow carrying a light of their own, while the turquoise accents blend seamlessly with the ocean in front of him. He always notices.
'There you are,' Ansur rumbles, coming to rest on the clustered rocks next to Balduran's. 'You weren't with the others when I returned. They have grown worried about you.'
A small smile plays across Balduran's lips as he picks up another pebble. 'Did they send you to fetch me?' He tosses the pebble and Ansur lets out a guttural huff.
'Nobody sends me to do anything.'
Balduran's grin widens a fraction. Just a fraction. 'So you came looking for me of your own, volition? I'm flattered.'
'I was simply wondering where you had disappeared to. Why are you here alone? You don't wish to celebrate with the crew?'
The crew of The Wandering Eye haven't long returned from a successful raid against a notorious bandit stronghold across the waters.
It had been a long and bloody endeavour, and they had committed the bodies of several brothers and sisters to the sea afterwards, but they have returned with an abundance of wealth and stories. Having a dragon on their side certainly swung the pendulum of chance towards them; there aren’t many beings in this world who can stand against Ansur’s command of lightning, not to mention his lance-like claws and teeth the size of swords.
Ansur rarely celebrates with the crew after an excursion, instead opting to fly off after ensuring his people have made it back to the Sword Coast safely. Baludran has never asked where he goes or why. If Ansur wishes to tell him someday, he will. This time has been no different; the Waiting Storm having taken off almost before their ship touched the dockside to seek his solitude in the clouds. Now, here he is.
Balduran snorts. ‘I’m sure the taverns and brothels have all the drunken fools they can manage. Someone has to avoid a hangover tomorrow. Besides, you never partake, why should I?’
‘You are their captain.’
‘You are practically their god.’
Now Ansur snorts. It is a deep, reverberating sound from the depths of his massive throat. ‘That’s rather dramatic, don’t you think?’
‘Not really,’ Balduran replies, leaning back on his palms. ‘They idolize you. You are a creature of legend in the flesh to most of them. How many victories do we owe to your power? How many of us would have survived this long had you never joined our numbers?’
While Ansur is undoubtedly the purest-hearted being Balduran has ever encountered, he is still a dragon, and all dragons have an ego to be stroked. Balduran notices the way Ansur preens at his words no matter how he tries to hide it. He wonders if, were the dragon in his human guise, he would be blushing. The notion tickles him and his lip curls.
A companiable silence passes between the man and the dragon. Together, they absorb the chorus of the crashing waves and steadily increasing winds – the song of the sea. After some time, one of them speaks again.
‘I would have you somewhere safer than here,’ Ansur says. ‘The tide will be coming in soon.’
‘We have time,’ Balduran says. ‘An hour, at least. And I can look after myself just fine, thank you.’
‘I know you can...but still...’
Another long silence. Balduran glances up at Ansur, at his impossible friend. The dragon has cast his gaze to the sea, something deep and unknowing in his turquoise eyes. Balduran has seen this look before, often in those rare, fleeting moments when Ansur appears...at peace, as though he rests in the certainty that he is exactly where he is supposed to be here. What must it feel like, Balduran wonders, to know oneself so stoutly?
A different question crawls across his tongue, a question that Balduran has kept within himself for so long but has not garnered the courage to ask for fear of the answer. It reaches to claw past his lips until, despite his long-standing restraint, he can bear it no longer. ‘Ansur?’
The dragon turns his huge, horned head to look down at him.
Balduran pauses and searches for the words as a fisherman searches for catch on the driest day. ‘...Why are you here?’
The dragon cocks his head at the slightest angle. ‘I told you, the crew are concerned and I-’
‘No,’ Balduran cuts him off. ‘Why are you here with me? Why...why did you join my crew? That day we met...after you rescued us from our wreck...you could have left. You could have flown away and gone on with your life, and yet...you stayed. All this time, you have remained with us...with me. Why?’
With the words finally freed from his heart, Balduran feels exposed, unclothed, naked before Ansur’s judgement as the dragon stares down at him. He wonders if he has finally broken the spell, if Ansur’s mind has cleared itself enough to realise exactly what he is looking at, realise that the little fleshling before him, jabbering like an upset monkey, is in fact not worth his time.
Ansur lowers his lead some way so that he is almost eye-level with Balduran. Almost. ‘I...’ he begins, sounding unsure all of a sudden, and Balduran prepares himself for the worst. ‘...I am here because I want to be.’
‘But why?’ Balduran asks, almost exasperated. ‘What could possibly be tying you here? A ship? A mangy crew of misfits? I think not. It makes no sense for a dragon to bother himself with plights of men.’
Something new forms in Ansur’s eyes, something that makes Balduran’s stomach twist in quite a horrible way: Hurt.
‘Do you...do you want me to leave?’ The dragon asks.
Bladuran feels himself blanch and nausea bubbles within him. He realises now how that must have sounded, how ungrateful and dismissive he must be coming across towards his greatest friend. His only friend.
‘No!’ He cries, rising to his knees. ‘No, never. I don’t want you to leave me – us – Ansur, I just...cannot fathom why you would not want to leave.’
This why Balduran keeps his mouth shut. Asking questions is dangerous – it leads to hurt and misunderstandings, and destroys a good thing. Ashamed, his gaze travels to the rocks below. He cannot bring himself to look at Ansur.
‘Balduran,’ Ansur rumbles after a while. ‘Where is this coming from?’
Balduran raises his eyes half way to Ansur’s face. ‘I am ashamed to say.’
‘You need not be.’
‘I don’t want to seem like I am ungrateful for you, or don’t value our bond...’
‘Balduran,’ Ansur’s voice somehow manages to find the perfect balance of gentle and firm. ‘Speak true to me. Please.’
Balduran forces himself to look at his friend, into those glorious, glassy eyes of his. He owes him that much. Then, he opens his mouth and his words tumble forth like fish from a net. ‘You’re perfect. Everything about you is perfect. You’re a dragon, Ansur. You’re the Waiting Storm. Your power is incomparable to any man or woman’s. My magics are nothing in the face of yours...I am nothing compared to you. You will live hundreds of years, maybe even a thousand. I will not. You are a creature of strength and majesty, I am a man – I come from weakness and flaw and...finality. Even your heart is purer than any other. Inside and out, you are the very thing every man wishes they could be. So, why would you...what could someone like you possibly see in someone...someone like me?’
The water on Balduran’s face does not belong to the sea. He feels...tired, suddenly. As though the words themselves have sapped the very life from his body. He sees the disturbed look on Ansur’s draconic face and it occurs to him that this time – this time – he may have truly crossed a line that he can never return from.
‘Balduran,’ Ansur says softly. ‘...I do not like you talking about yourself like this.’
Balduran swipes at his own cheek. ‘But it’s true-’
‘It is not true.’ Ansur’s voice shakes the sand beneath them, cuts through the wind like a blade, and Balduran actually jumps. He sounds...angry. Ansur has never been angry at Balduran before. ‘You are not nothing. You have never been nothing, and I forbid you to say that you are ever again. You are Balduran of Gray Harbour. You are the captain of the Wandering Eye. You are the namesake of Baldur’s Gate.’
‘That’s not-’
‘You are the slayer of tyrants and the saviour of those oppressed by them. I’ve seen what you have done, Baldruan; I’ve seen how you have gone out of your way to better the lives of the people around you, how you have given your rightful spoils of the battles you have survived to those in greater need, how you have turned a tiny fishing hamlet into what will become a great city. How many dragons do you think can claim the same achievements for themselves? How many dragons do you know to have shaped the world around them as you have? Certainly not I. I was adrift before I met you, wandering this earth without cause or direction. I might have saved your life then, but you offered me something greater: A purpose.’
Balduran opens his mouth but the dragon’s tirade goes on, unhindered.
‘You are strong and cunning, and brave, and...and good. For all the power I may possess, I have discovered how worthless it is without your hand to guide it. You are Balduran. You are my Balduran and...and you are important...to me...’
Ansur’s words trail off and silence descends between them once more. They stare at each other, their gazes locked, and Balduran feels something...stir. It too is something old and ignored, something that he has long convinced himself is not truly there, is a mere figment of his overactive imagination. But now, that thing has reared its head and it is making his heart race and a familiar heat to bloom across his face as he looks into the eyes of his...of Ansur.
‘Ansur,’ he breathes and his words are almost drowned by the growing tempest around them. But Ansur hears. He always hears. ‘I...I would like you to kiss me.’
The world stills, the wind and waves suddenly invisible to either of them, and Balduran stops breathing as he waits for the dragon to refuse.
Instead, Ansur’s voice carries a note of desperate enthusiasm as he says, ‘...I will change for you. Give me a mom-’
‘No,’ Bladuran says, placing a palm against Ansur’s snout. It’s warm. It’s so warm.
Ansur blinks. ‘Balduran...I can be a man for you. Let me-’
‘I don’t want a man,’ Balduran says, taking a step forwards, no longer entirely in control of himself. ‘I want you as you are. I want...I want my Ansur.’
If Ansur needs any further convincing, he does not show it. Balduran’s breath hitches as he feels an enormous, taloned hand curl gently around his waist and pull him closer. He places his own hands beneath the scales of Ansur’s chin and swears he feels the soft pulse of electricity against his flesh.
It is an awkward arrangement, Ansur’s head being near the size of Balduran’s entire body, but Balduran doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about logistics or what his peers may think if they were watching this unfold. All he thinks about is the dragon who his heart beats for and who’s heart beats for him. But, before this goes any further, he compels himself to speak once more.
‘Do you...are you sure you want this? I...I’m not trying to pressure you into anything...’
The glow of Ansur’s eyes against the darkening sky pins him in place and makes his body shudder in ways he cannot describe.
‘I am the Waiting Storm,’ Ansur all but purrs, his cool, ozone-scented breath washing over Balduran. ‘And I have waited long enough for this.’
The first bolt of lightning splits the sky as their flesh meets. The dragon’s maw is parted just enough to flash a hint of the lethal teeth lying within and Balduran feels his blood pressure spike as he presses his mouth against Ansur’s upper lip. Moments later, a protest of thunder snarls above them and Balduran has never felt so small in Ansur’s grasp, and it excites him – oh, it excites him – to surrender to the warmth emanating from the great wyrm, and he wonders how he has gone so long without Ansur’s true touch, without feeling the dragon’s claws graze his waist as he longs to hold him tighter but knows he cannot hurt his Balduran.
Balduran only forces himself to pull away after the rain has started and he is soaked through. Ansur, sensing his movement, releases him and opens his eyes once more. Seemingly without even thinking about it, one of his massive wings unfolds just enough to shield Balduran from the growing deluge.
‘Balduran,’ Ansur says, his voice matching the pitch of the thunder. Balduran has never truly appreciated the effect until now. ‘May I take you from here, now? Please? I wish...’ The dragon pauses, and he seems he is struggling with the selfish words that fight to leave his maw. ‘...I wish to have you somewhere warmer...somewhere safer.’
Heedless of the weather, Balduran strokes his fingers along the scales of Ansur’s giant hand. ‘I’d consider anywhere with you to be both safe and warm, my dear Ansur.’
Ansur lets out a breathless huff and, with the care of a sculptor handling glass, he scoops Balduran into his clutches once more, bringing him to his chest so he remains sheltered from the rain. Balduran does not resist; instead, he leans into Ansur’s touch, drawing the endless heat from his bronze body and feeling the immense power lying within.
‘I will take you back to the city,’ Ansur rumbles, spreading his wings as he prepares to take flight.
‘Stay with me,’ Balduran says, placing his palm flat against the dragon’s chest. Right over his thundering heart. ‘Please...don’t fly off after we get there. Just...stay with me, Ansur.’
A beat of silence passes between them before Ansur lowers his head just enough for the tip of his nose to brush against Balduran’s hair.
‘Always,’ he says.
Then, with an earth-shattering flap of his wings, he leaps directly upwards, his ward safely clasped in his talons. Together, unseen by the world, the man and the dragon ascend into the sky, into the clouds.
Into the storm.