Chapter Text
Halsin is, despite appearances, surprisingly fastidious Astarion finds. Not that he was being fair in the assessment, but he doesn't think it was particularly unfair either. Baldur's Gate did have a distinct lack of squirrel and grass sympathizers milling about, it's only fair his impression of druids is a tad skewed.
"And here I thought you content to wallow in the mud and giving the ticks free reign over your hide," he drawls, partly letting his boredom make a pest of him, and partly playing appreciative audience to Halsin's strangely enticing show of doing laundry. He knows of at least two patriars who would've paid for the privilege and he's half a mind to toss Halsin a gold for it himself. Of course, he doesn't, and instead contents himself with a pleased hum as he watches.
"Most denizens of the wild are clean, Astarion," Halsin replies, though he stays focused on wringing out the now clean white robes of his usual attire.
It's quite fetching as far as Astarion's concerned as he watches thick arms and strong hands work to squeeze the fabric until the water stops dripping. Terribly dull and near offensive in how boring and utterly mundane it is, but delectable seeing ample muscle flex underneath a healthy layer of fat.
"Many animals bond through helping one another groom actually," Halsin adds after finding a suitable place for his things to dry.
"Is that so? How painfully pragmatic of them," Astarion says, rising to stand and stretching his arms over his head.
"Some birds prefer to dance, if that's more exciting to you," Halsin tries as he moves from washing to getting the group's herbs sorted in that fussy way Gale insists upon if he's "to make a meal worth enjoying, not just tolerating," for them.
"I'm not much of a dancer," Astarion says.
"Perhaps an ostentatious display then. Bright feathers flared and fanned for your appraisal, hm?" Halsin tries next, busying himself with bundles of mugwort.
Astarion scoffs at the idea but he does smile at it, just a little and only to himself.
"Is that what birds get up to when trying to make friends? Dancing and showing their best feathers?" he asks.
Halsin chuckles as he wipes his hands clean once he's apparently satisfied with the supply of herbs.
"Some sing as well, but all of this is in the interest of hopefully impressing a mate actually," Halsin clarifies, finally giving Astarion his full attention and smiling softly at him.
Astarion doesn't have to work at looking disinterested as he's already lounging on his bedroll, but he does feel the tiniest bit of something he won't dignify with calling a blush when Halsin looks at him.
"Hm, I suppose we're not so different from sparrows and the like then," Astarion says. "I do enjoy a bit of preening, though I do it better."
"I've overseen neophytes who took years to set aside their ego enough to understand that. Perhaps we'll make a druid of you yet," Halsin teases.
"And perhaps afterwards, a flock of flying pigs will lead us to a mountain of gold and trussed up nobodies just aching to have their blood let while we're at it," Astarion counters, and the pair laugh.
Astarion sits up then and crosses his legs as he stretches his arms above his head. It was nice talking about nothing and with no goal behind it, but he hears the distinctive sound of Karlach's boisterous laughter in the distance, and whatever this is, the easy conversation and shared looks, it's gone as quickly as it showed up.
Halsin's already up and ready to greet the group, and he leaves Astarion with one final smile, and leaves him be.