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Alright, maybe Val hadn’t thought this one through. And maybe, just maybe, he is regretting pelting a handful of worg shit in that goblin’s face. To be fair, it was kind of worth it, if only for Karlach’s little whooping and Astarion’s manic giggle, but now that the battle is over and Val is covered in blood, with feces smeared on his glove and dirt lodged in every little seam of his armour, he is starting to believe perhaps he should have found another way to instigate confrontation.
With a grimace, he slowly takes his glove off, holding the offending garment as far from him as possible as he turns back to his companions. Shadowheart and Karlach are distracted, the cleric healing a small gash on Karlach’s forearm as she snickers at something the other woman said, but Astarion, arms crossed against his chest, is watching Val intently, lips curled up in a mocking grin. Val scowls, and the rogue’s impish smile only grows as their eyes meet. Astarion lets one hand fall to his hip, lips parting, no doubt readying to fire some snarky remark or another.
“Shut it,” Val hisses, not waiting for the other’s reply as he turns, walking away with a grumble.
Usually, he’d be more than happy to partake in Astarion’s little jabs and throw a few acerbic quips his way, but today, his patience is running thin. Very thin. With one last thrust of his dagger in the eye of some poor goblin sod who’d somehow survived Shadowheart’s firebolt, Val gestures for his companions to follow, feet already taking the steps back to camp.
♢♢♢
The evening is calm, the silence broken only by the group’s conversation and laughter. Selûne shines bright in the night, not quite full but close enough to bathe the camp in its cold light, and the sky is clear of clouds, for the first time in almost four days. Its darkness is speckled with stars; Val almost wants to lay down and spend the entire night watching them. Almost. What he wants more than that is a bath. A nice, well perfumed bath, like the ones his flimsy memory conjures up every time his skin gets hit with grime.
Unfortunately, the wilderness offers very few such baths, and so the bard will have to improvise. Taking advantage of his companions getting distracted by yet another heated debate between Lae’zel and Shadowheart, Val slips away from the fire, grabbing a few supplies from his tent before disappearing into the woods.
Following the current of the small creek that runs by their campsite, Val walks until he arrives at a pond nestled in a cliff side, clear water gushing out from the rock to create a miniature waterfall. He found the place by chance a few days ago, when searching for some secluded area to write in peace, and the idea of going for a swim has been nagging him ever since. Setting the bar of soap and hairbrush he brought on a rock by the water banks, he undresses, folding his clothes neatly before dipping one foot in the water.
As expected, it is freezing cold, and he suppresses a shiver as he takes another tentative step forward. Val sucks in a breath, letting his calves slowly adapt to the temperature, before walking in until the water is all the way up to his waist, letting out a breath of relief as the cold hits his back.
Infernal blood means his skin runs hotter than most, and the lower temperature does wonders to soothe the ache in his bones. Bringing his braid across his shoulder, Val works at untying the cord holding it, brushing his fingers through the dark hair to untangle as much as he can. The effort is futile, and he lets out a small curse as his hand catches in an amalgam of dried blood and mud.
How long since he’s last taken the time to fret over his appearance? Days, even a ten day perhaps, and he grimaces at the thought. Oh, how he wishes he still had time for frivolous vanity, sitting down by the mirror for hours on end to oil and brush his hair like he had once done! His memory is full of holes, yes, but even so, he can remember snippets of such moments, deft hands brushing the soft strands into elaborate coiffures that would turn the heads of every last jealous shrew and their bored husbands. And even without recalling the specifics, he can feel his hands itching with the muscle memory, fingers already following the steps without so much as a thought from him.
Grabbing the soap, Val ignores the urge to attend to his hair. Instead, he settles on washing the crass away from his body with meticulous precision, rubbing his skin raw as he removes every little speck of filth he finds.
♢♢♢
He doesn’t know how much time he spends cleaning himself, but by the time Val is done, not one trace of grime remains on his body. He kept his hair for the end, as some sort of reward for going through the endeavour in full, and he hums happily as he finally gets to rub at the blood and dirt nestled there. Once again, his hands are moving on their own, performing the steps with practiced ease; he washes, and brushes, and oils, and the process is all so therapeutic he almost forgets about the tadpole, and the Absolute, and the rest of the mess he’d somehow ended in.
He is, however, quickly reminded of it all when he hears the snapping of a branch not too far off from him, and he turns around with a small jolt, golden eyes piercing the darkness as if it’d been the middle of the day. He relaxes as he sees what had caused the noise; there, by an old elm tree, stands Astarion, clad in his signature white chemise, and the vampire grins as they lock eyes.
“My, my, what have we here,” he sing-songs, and Val rolls his eyes, going back to the task at hand with careful indifference.
“Came to enjoy the show?”, the bard mocks, and Astarion’s smile widens as he makes himself comfortable and leans his back against the tree.
“And what a show it is,” he hums, “although I must admit I am quite disappointed you wouldn’t offer me to join in. Unless you expected me to find you?”
Val snickers.
“Keep up with your little fantasies, spawn. They might just save you from the disappointment of reality.”
Astarion laughs, seemingly unbothered by the mocking retort, and he pushes himself from the tree, walking out from the cover of the foliage to sit at a boulder by the water.
“Believe me, there is little disappointment in what I’m seeing at the moment. But please, don’t let me interrupt, I’m quite content watching,” the vampire teases, and Val rolls his eyes as he turns his back to him, tail swishing to send a few droplets of water toward the other man. A surprised gasp tells the tiefling he’d hit his mark, and he smirks at the knowledge.
“Such childish behaviour,” Astarion pouts in a very childish manner, “now you’ve gotten me all wet.”
Val snorts out another laugh at the words, looking back at the other with a smug grin.
“Already? Now, now, I thought you less desperate than that.”
“Me, desperate? I am not the one having a midnight swim barely an earshot away from camp, where just about anyone can simply waltz in without a care in the world…” Astarion taunts. “Are you quite certain you didn’t want to be found, darling?”
Val shrugs, turning back to brush his hair.
“I did not want to be found. But I don’t mind the company either. If ,” he puts emphasis on the word, brows furrowing in warning as he points an accusatory finger in the spawn’s direction, “you can behave. I came here for peace and quiet, and I want it to remain that way.”
Astarion smiles, softer this time. For all his faults, he can understand the need for solitary musings.
“Of course, darling, not a peep. You won’t even know I’m here.”
For once, Astarion keeps true to his word, and Val remains undisturbed for another few minutes.
Unfortunately however, it is quite difficult to concentrate on quiet enjoyment of the peace and quiet with the vampire spawn watching his every move like a cat on the hunt, and with a small irritated huff, Val dives under the water, stilling under the cold stream as he watches a myriad of bubbles rise to the surface.
From there, Astarion looks like nothing more than a shapeless stain of white against the backdrop of the forest, and yet Val can still feel his hawkish gaze on him. Usually he’d relish in the attention, put on just enough of a show to make sure he doesn’t lose it. But he feels raw, tired. Astarion will have to be satisfied without a show.
Speaking of Astarion, Val sees him shift now, moving from his post on the rock to walk closer to the water. The tiefling slowly rises back to the surface, eyes peeking just above the water as he watches the vampire spawn cross his arms with a furrowed brow. Val observes him for a few moments, face softening in understanding, and he approaches Astarion slowly, raising his head to speak as he gets closer.
“You don’t think the tadpole will protect you?”
Val aimed for his tone to remain soft and neutral, but Astarion must not be used to the absence of a mocking tilt in the bard’s voice, because his scowl deepens as he takes a few steps back.
“How did you- Do not patronize me,” he seethes, ready for a fight, but Val shakes his head with a sad smile.
“I’m not,” the tiefling says, “it was a genuine question. We obviously know sunlight’s not a problem anymore, but you haven’t set foot in running water since the nautiloid, have you?”
Astarion shoots him another unconvinced glare before turning his eyes back to the water.
If he is scared, he is good at hiding it, his face perfectly unreadable as he follows the stream gushing out from the rock behind Val, gaze finally settling back on the man before him. Finally, he sighs, shaking his head in defeat as he kicks a small pebble into the water.
“No, I haven’t. Not like you’ve given us much time for leisure swims, what with your insistence to help every poor sod we come across.”
“Careful,” Val teases, “some would say you are one of said poor sods.”
“I would have managed quite well without you,” Astarion fires back, and Val’s smile softens despite him.
“I know. But I’m still glad you’re with us.”
Something flickers across Astarion’s face, but it is gone as quick as it came, and already the spawn slips back into his usual aloofness.
“If this is your attempt at seducing me with sweet nothings, you should go back to looking pretty in the water, darling.”
“Apologies,” Val rolls his eyes, “I wouldn’t want to steal your thing.”
Astarion huffs but adds nothing more. He is still very close to the water, barely a meter away, and Val finds himself wishing he’d take the few steps separating them. He shuts down the dangerous thought quickly.
Besides, Astarion is still very much clothed; he’d get his lounge wear all wet and ruined if he went in. Val turns away, swimming back to the centre of the stream in a few long strokes, but stills at the sound of rustling fabric. Astarion is staring straight at him, eyes alight with stubborn determination.
He’s thrown his shoes to the side and rolled his pants up to his knees; if it had been anyone else it might’ve looked ridiculous, but it’s Astarion, and Val knows it’d be a lost cause to try and fight the warm fondness suddenly twisting at his gut. He is probably gawking, the tiefling realizes, and he averts his gaze, feigning indifference as he turns to fiddle with his hair.
After what seems like an eternity, Astarion moves forward, body freezing in place as his foot touches the water. His face is back to its usual impenetrable state; not a wince, not a yelp escapes his lips, and he takes another tentative step, limbs tensed and ready to jump out at the first sign of trouble.
“...So? Feel like you’re about to disintegrate or…?”
Val expected a glare, or some witty comeback, or whatever other reaction Astarion usually has when the tiefling tries his patience. Instead, he watches as the spawn’s lips stretch into a smile. A real , genuine smile, not one of the honeyed smirks Val has come to recognize as a practiced facsimile.
And oh, Val’s skin naturally runs hot, but now his cheeks and neck are positively sizzling , and he doesn’t dare to move, because although he'd love for the water to swallow him whole and drown him right this instant, he’s quite certain he'd turn the whole pond to steam before he ever reaches the point of suffocation.
Thankfully, Astarion seems blissfully unaware of the effect he has on his companion, and Val’s inner anguish is interrupted as the spawn moves to dip his hands in the stream gushing out of the rocks, incredulous laughter leaving his lips as he threads his finger through the water. He looks so unabashedly content, unlike anything Val’s ever seen from him, and despite the warmth it brings in his chest, he can’t help but feel like he’s intruding on something he shouldn't, something that isn’t his.
“Thank you,” Astarion suddenly says, eyes still trained on his hands and the waterfall, and Val freezes, brows furrowing in confusion.
“What for?”
Astarion doesn’t answer, smile stretching knowingly as if the answer was obvious.
Val still has no clue, but somehow, he finds that he doesn’t mind it all that much.