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Chapter Text

Perhaps Balduran had grown accustomed to the burning heat of Ansur’s gaze, or perhaps he’d learnt to appreciate the warmth it afforded him. For in contrast now to that very first day, where he could barely turn his back sans losing focus, his focus lay now without disturbance on the map of Grey Harbour before him. 

Once more he measured the lines he’d drawn; once more he turned to his ledger. Once more he checked his calculations; once more he suppressed a groan. This was alright—he’d figure it out, as he’d learnt to always do. Yet the lines on the map said otherwise, and taunted him with each new try: this isn’t enough, you’re still not enough, is this what you’d dreamed about?

Ansur’s voice rumbled behind him: “Tell me what troubles you.”

Balduran flinched, and masked it with a cough. (Ansur was far from fooled.) “It is the wall’s location,” he settled on, which was—on parchment—true, “Come closer, my friend, and look at this map—I would certainly value your input.”

A predator’s approach of silent steps, then electric breath caressed his neck. If those jaws of teeth were to open now—if that tongue did crave the taste of flesh—Baldur tamped down his instinctive reaction, though could not prevent the heat. 

“I have conceived of three options,” said he, after swallowing down his wordlessness. “The first is to encircle the village, as we had previously discussed. This option is my favourite, but necessitates compromise. Our budget does not quite permit a best-practice wall—at least not one of the length implied in encircling Grey Harbour. A more modest one would certainly repel those mensual, mundane threats—goblins, bandits, fauna; the like—but an army possessing sufficient magick may make of the wall like a storm might to dykes. It may thus require upgrading, some century or two down the line, but ‘til then shall it certainly serve its purpose.” Ansur frowned, so he blustered onwards, “The second option—”

“—Has, I notice, a shorter perimetre.”

“…Yes,” said he, with a nervous smile, “that one would be studier.”

“At the expense, I see, of any living in its path.”

“At expense, also generally.”

“And option three?”

“—Is the line you see here—”

“Which currently encircles a beach?”

“Well—” Baldur said, now floundering, this sudden intensity intimidating, “that could be the port, in the future, or at least where it expands to.”

Ansur hummed indecipherably. “And if Grey Harbour’s to grow into a city, in which directions would it expand?”

Balduran hesitated for but a moment, before pointing to each side of the village: “To the west and east; along the waterfront. Into option three, if that’s what’s built, though it will doubtlessly outgrow it. And one day, perhaps, along the road, which shall lead to the river’s crossing.”

The flames of Ansur’s gaze now laved lava ‘gainst his nape, and he swore he heard the thunder rumble under Ansur’s words: “In my lair those days ago, I remember what you told me—that the protected town becomes a city. Yet none of these options would protect a town, let alone a city.”

Perspiration tingled at the border of his brow, and Baldur’s eyes were wide but unperceiving of the map. He could not fail, he must not fail, yet failure seemed to loom. ‘Twas in the doubt in the dragon’s voice, and in his quick and dry retorts. Ansur’s gold wasn’t charity, Balduran reminded himself, it was simply one half of a deal, and the deal’s other half was a city. (A city, and himself.) So following was that reality which burnt the back of his throat: Ansur was right, none would work—yet they were all he could afford.

Images—nightmares, really—flashed in his mind’s eye: Ansur returning with his gold to his lair, starkly disappointed—and Baldur left on the shores of Grey Harbour, bankrupted and broken. Suddenly could he acutely feel: how the dragon at his back did box him in, how trapped he was in this situation, how careful he needed to be.

Run, instinct pleaded, run and don’t look back. But he’d already done that once before, and he'd been running towards this. He did not know with confidence, if he’d find with success a new raison d’être.

But he would not let it come to that; he would salvage Ansur’s trust and respect; he would have their city built. But by the gods, he couldn’t think. Where’s your wit, you stumbling fool, which served you so well hitherto? Speak!  

“Ansur, my friend, you’re fully correct, and I fear that makes this harder. ‘Twas foolish of me to endeavour to find a solution without you—I fancy us a team, if you’d pardon the boldness, and I’d value your help on this problem.”

Ansur stood yet less than a wrist’s breadth behind him; he nary could meet those blue eyes when he spake: “I take it our problem is budgetary? The gold that we brought not being enough?”

“‘Twas my mistake in underestimating; I simply wished not to take more than I ought. This does not, however, imply an impasse; I have ere been known to make budgets stretch.”

“Do you think,” asked Ansur mildly, snout tilted so Baldur could peek white teeth (hidden betwixt draconic lips like daggers half drawn from their scabbards), and feel the air of warm words on his ears, “that what paltry sums that we brought back are where my means do end?”

“I saw your trove; of course I don’t,” Baldur rushed to assure Ansur. “It is simply that I dare not ask for more.”

“Then do not bother yourself with asking.” Ansur stepped away from his back, and turned to the balcony. “I have heard enough from your words already.”

Balduran bit his lip to forestall his apology, instead quietly observing the flexing planes of Ansur’s muscular back, as he calmly walked into the gentle breeze outside on the balcony.

A harrowing few seconds of silence passed. “How long would preparations take?”

“Preparations?” “To set sail.”

The vertigo of impotent failure nearly brought bile to the back of his throat. “Back to your lair, that is?”

A frown, “Where else would we get more gold?”

His heart stopped falling so suddenly that he felt knocked from his very own body. “More?” he whispered, awestruck.

Ansur’s frown deepened. “You have just made it quite clear to me that we do not yet have enough. You will find it a characteristic of mine is that I do not commit by halves. If walls do indeed a city make, then I shall not underinvest.”

“Oh,” Balduran said, “oh, my friend, I thank you. Oh, Ansur, dearest friend, I cannot thank you enough. Preparations—yes—a tenday or two, though it’ll be far less than two if I at all have any say. Yes,” he said, and laughed with relief, “I’ll begin preparations right away.”

Ansur’s look turned scrutinising, his head tilting then to the side. When realisation dawned upon him, his icy eyes grew slightly wide: “You thought I would rescind our deal.”

“I… admit that’s what I feared.” Balduran responded hesitantly, as if voicing the fear would realise it.

“You need not have,” Ansur replied. And that, really, was that.