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“How did you get this scar?” Astarion had surprised her by asking that question, noting the small but sharp line over her left eyebrow that just barely grazed the top of her forehead. It wasn’t a nasty looking scar, but it was one that had remained prominent on her face for so long she’d almost forgotten its presence.
“Oh.” Willow said sheepishly, peering up at him. “That scar?” They’d finally had a quiet evening at camp together, after what felt like weeks of chaos and bloody encounters. Rest did not come easy to them, and it was best to cherish every second they got. That was how Willow had found herself lying on a soft patch of grass, her head resting on the legs of her pale companion. Peace at last.
His hands traced the scar with a feather-light touch that in another circumstance would have sent shivers down her spine.
“I don’t really remember how I got it.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but nerves seeped through. Astarion wasn’t having any of it. He brushed his thumb over her face gently and huffed a laugh.
“Come now, darling,” his voice was hushed, but a little teasing. “We all have our fair share of scars.”
He was right; he’d bared every wretched scar of his to her like it was nothing even though it had probably torn him apart. She imagined that her other companions were bore scars just the same as hers, both visible and hidden away. She’d poured her heart out to him and he’d been more gentle than she could have ever imagined. This tale would not hurt as much as the others.
She held her hand against the one that was pressed against her face.
“It’s not really a story worth telling.” She said quickly. He doesn’t fall for her lie one bit, and instead takes her head in both hands and lowers himself so that only sh can hear him.
“However horrifying it is, your secret is safe with me.” His eyes shone with growing concern, but his lips were dangerously close to hers, and she was dangerously close to giving in. She couldn’t help blurting out the sentence in one clumsy breath.
“I got into a fight with a bard over a song.” Whatever horrifying, traumatic story Astarion had been expecting to hear, it certainly wasn’t that. He lurched away from her in genuine surprise, before trying his best to hide his reaction.
“I’m…sorry?” A part of him was relieved that the conversation was heading in a sunnier direction. Astarion was scared that he’d accidentally crossed a line with her by asking her about something she refused to speak of. He knew that feeling all too well, so he stilled, waiting for Willow to explain herself. Instead, she slowly lifted herself up from her position on his lap, now facing him.
“I was having too much fun at a tavern, and there was a bard playing that night who had no business being so untalented.” Now that she’d started talking, she couldn’t stop. Astarion still had a bewildered look on his face, a small, cheeky smile creeping up to take its place. Willow paid no mind to it and continued her story, refusing to look him in the eyes.
“I wasn’t the politest audience member in the world.” She spoke. “At one point he was god awful that I got up and told him that I could do it better.” Astarion chuckled lightly. Despite Willows sheepishness, it was music to her ears. “So, I tried to get up on the stage and grab his lute.”
“As you can imagine, the bard did not take that lightly and for a minute or so we wrestled with the lute until he decided to just clock me on the side of the face with it.” Drunk as she’d been, she could still remember the fury on the arrogant bard's face, and the white-hot pain when he’d knocked the lute against her head. Astarion winced at the thought.
Willow had become accustomed to brawls; it was nothing new. But that one night had been particularly embarrassing on her end. Her friends expected a lot from her, and sometimes came with being a role model. Willow knew that she was being silly, getting embarrassed over a little scar that she’d almost forgotten about, but her reputation didn’t have room for those kinds of stories.
“I have to admit, this is not the direction I thought this conversation was going.” He laughed. “Our heroic leader, getting into tavern brawls? That’s the best story I’ve heard in years.” Astarion continued to laugh, and the sound was so contagious that Willow found it difficult to remain serious.
She smacked his shoulder playfully in response.
“It isn’t that funny.” She grumbled, heat spreading across her cheeks. She tried and failed to hide her grin.
“Darling,” he started between laughs. “I thought you were going to tell me a monster tried to claw your face apart, I’m just relieved we can laugh about this one.”
Eventually, Willow began to laugh too. The ridiculousness of it all finally washing over her. Willow Emberfell, powerful sorcerer, bested by a talentless bard and his untuned lute. She supposed it was a funny story, meant for friends. She’d crawl into a hole and die if her enemies ever found that out. Laughter dying down, Astarion leaned over to press a soft, gentle kiss on the scar.
“There’s no need to be ashamed, love.” He spoke. “I’m sure there’s enough social embarrassment to go around this camp.” Willow huffed a short laugh. “If it helps, you probably would have outperformed the bastard at his own gig.”
“Oh, I know, I’m ridiculously talented.” She teased.
“Although, it does make me wonder if we should all take a trip to the nearest tavern just to see what happens.” He suggested. “Between Karlach’s short, fiery temper, Gale’s penchant for snacking on magical items and just the very presence of our gith friend, I’m sure we could cause a world of chaos.” Willow laughed at the thought. Her mismatched group of companions, all with their own charms. She wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“Just don’t tell anyone about this, I don’t want them to know I make stupid decisions when I’m drunk.” She was positive the story would come up again one way or another, but a girl could dream. Astarion kissed her quickly in an attempt to reassure her, before pausing to think.
“Maybe we should start a traveling band!” He yelled out as though it were a genius idea. Willow looked at him mortified.
“I’m sure Halsin could sing a song or two and oh, Wyll looks like he could play the flute!”
“Astarion."
They continued like that for the rest of the day, sitting under the sun laughing about the silliest things. She was glad that even though they’d been through so much, there was always something to laugh about.