(Vanyel meets the blanket in the next part. Don't worry, OP. Vanyel/Blanket is meant to be!)
He was alone. An entire room to himself, with a fireplace in the corner, and a soft bed piled high with layers of quilts and knitted blankets taking up more than half of the floor space.
Vanyel's gaze flickered to the door, as he waited for inn keeper to return and tell him no, actually, his room was in the stables, have a rock-hard piece of bread as an apology for the mistake. The cheery inn master failed to reappear, the door as solidly shut as it'd been ten seconds ago when he'd been shoved into the room, had Honoured Herald Mage sir! shouted at his back, and the door shut behind him.
Warily, he let his saddlebags slip out of his fingers, searching the cozy little room for some blatant flaw that would explain why he'd been led to it. Behind the fireplace--an alcove! Vanyel lunched, knife in hand and mage energies crackling at his fingertips, and almost fell into the copper tub, built tidily into the same red brick of the fireplace. There was a hole in the bottom, plugged with a cork like a wine bottle.
A bath. Its own private bath--Vanyel spied a pipe, coming out the side of the chimney. He touched it, and found it warm. If there is water, I can heat it myself, he thought, giving the bath an incredulous glance. It looked like--like a smaller version of the cauldron baths Haven. He hadn't seen such luxury in what felt like decades.
A sharp rap on the door, and Vanyel flinched from the bath, lurching back toward the door, graceful as a crippled mule. "Yes?"
"Honoured Herald Mage! We are most grateful to host you!"
What the fuck. "Thank you," Vanyel said. He should open the door. It was only polite... "The bath here, is there any chance it could be filled with water, sir?" Vanyel didn't open the door.
The inn master twittered like a bird. "The pipes connect to a cistern in the attic, Honoured Herald Mage! Would you like me to show you how they work? It should be lovely and warm by now!"
"No. No I'm sure I can...thank you." A bath... The heat of the room made Vanyel feel twice as cold, but the thought of a bath...No one would begrudge him taking advantage of that, would they?
Yfandes failed utterly to take him to task. Permission! Vanyel snuck another look at the tub, thinking of how incredibly disgusting he was right now. He'd scrubbed off the mud, but he reeked of sweat and swamp.
"When you have finished washing yourself, Herald Mage sir, the bath drains when you remove the cork! May I please help you with anything else?"
The inn master was older than his father. Vanyel had no idea why he kept calling Vanyel 'sir'. "Is there, uh. Soap?" he asked. :Yfandes?: he called, suddenly worried that it was a trap. They'd probably light him on fire while he slept if he took a bath.
:Oh--?:
Vanyel got a muddled impression of intent interest and lust from her, and suddenly remembered that she'd been eyeing a stallion when they'd ridden up. Hastily, he slammed his shields back up.
I'm sure it's not sinister, he decided. He was just being foolish. This inn was a very popular one, and there was at least one other Herald here--doubtless more senior than Vanyel, because who wasn't--so obviously it was safe.
"Soap is on the mantle, Honoured Herald Mage!"
"Thanks." Vanyel had a thought--a ridiculous, spend-thrift, extravagant thought. "Could you bring a meal up in about an hour?" he asked. Yfandes was distracted, she couldn't tell him to go down and get his own meals from the common room. Vanyel could--he could do whatever he wanted!
"Oh yes, Honoured Herald Mage! It would be no trouble, Sir, I will deliver your meal myself!"
Vanyel's mouth curved into an entirely unfamiliar grin. "Oh that would be wonderful, thank you so much!"
"Oh you are too kind Honoured Herald Mage sir, much, much too kind!" Vanyel heard the inn master scurry away from his door, leaving him completely alone. No Yfandes in his head, no Savil next door--he really could do whatever he wanted. Wow.
He could--Vanyel went to the bath, poking at the pipe above it until he found a little lever to pull. Water poured into the tub, sending lazy clouds of steam into the air. Vanyel looked up, found a neatly wrapped bar of soap on the mantel as just below eye level, and grasped it with a reverence that would have embarrassed him two years ago.
Vanyel stripped, filthy whites falling where he left them, and leaned over to test the water--perfect, it was perfect--and poured himself into the tub with a happy sigh. Gods he was dirty. Mother wouldn't even recognize him like this, all grungy and--Vanyel stroked his chin, found a few bristly hairs--and just covered in stubble. He unfolded the fine white washcloth and dampened it, and started scrubbing off two months of road grime. Baths were scarce as hens teeth in the Holderkin lands.
Three more days and his circuit would be over. Vanyel could hardly believe it. They'd even arrived early at the inn, and there was another Herald here who could do whatever people wanted Heralds for--Vanyel could stay in his room for the entire night.
He dunked his head under the stream of water, then scrubbed the lavender scented soap into it, rubbing until suds were dripping down his arms and chest. Vanyel rinsed, and then washed it all again.
He smelled like flowers. Vanyel reached up to turn off the water, preparing to soak--and his gaze caught on the grimey grey bathwater he was sitting in. Nasty. Vanyel sighed, and got out, unwilling to simmer in his own filth.
He flipped the level back, cutting off the wonderful, clean stream of water. Glanced at the door, half-expecting someone to charge in and tell him to make do with what he had. No one appeared, and Vanyel's smile grew so wide that it hurt his face. He pulled the bath plug and watched it drain out.
Vanyel looked out the window, calculating how long he had until the inn master brought his dinner. Long enough, he decided, flipping the level again to rinse out the tub. He stuck the plug back in and watched it refill, grinning almost manically. He was going to soak until he turned into a prune.
The fire crackled, radiating warmth over his skin, and Vanyel crouched in front of it while he waited for the tub to refill, his hair dripping onto the flagstone. He saw towels, tidily set by the window, but Vanyel didn't want to wet them just yet. After his second bath.
He basked like a snake in the sun, muscles that hadn't relaxed since he'd left Haven in the fall going soft as putty. I hate winter, Vanyel decided, and Holderkin, barn cats, kittens, and especially barn cats giving birth to kittens in my saddlebags. Also hard tack. And jerky. And--dirty clothes--.
The whites he'd left in a heap in front of the bath seemed to glare at him accusingly. They were his last whole set, free of holes, tears, blood stains, and kitten afterbirth. They also stank like he'd worn them for three weeks non-stop. Which, to be fair, he had.
I should wash those, Vanyel decided. But later. He rose and turned off the water, and stepped into the tub. The sound he made--Vanyel flushed, a half-there memory of making that same sound when Tylendel had fucked him for the first time--Vanyel swallowed it down, and determinedly didn't think about it. He was having a good day. No need to be sad when he was having a good day.
No need to be sad when the water felt so incredibly good, either. Vanyel stretched like a cat, the strain of being in the saddle for days and days easing out of him. Gods it felt good.
Fill- Vanyel/Blanket 1/? - A Restful Night
He was alone. An entire room to himself, with a fireplace in the corner, and a soft bed piled high with layers of quilts and knitted blankets taking up more than half of the floor space.
Vanyel's gaze flickered to the door, as he waited for inn keeper to return and tell him no, actually, his room was in the stables, have a rock-hard piece of bread as an apology for the mistake. The cheery inn master failed to reappear, the door as solidly shut as it'd been ten seconds ago when he'd been shoved into the room, had Honoured Herald Mage sir! shouted at his back, and the door shut behind him.
Warily, he let his saddlebags slip out of his fingers, searching the cozy little room for some blatant flaw that would explain why he'd been led to it. Behind the fireplace--an alcove! Vanyel lunched, knife in hand and mage energies crackling at his fingertips, and almost fell into the copper tub, built tidily into the same red brick of the fireplace. There was a hole in the bottom, plugged with a cork like a wine bottle.
A bath. Its own private bath--Vanyel spied a pipe, coming out the side of the chimney. He touched it, and found it warm. If there is water, I can heat it myself, he thought, giving the bath an incredulous glance. It looked like--like a smaller version of the cauldron baths Haven. He hadn't seen such luxury in what felt like decades.
A sharp rap on the door, and Vanyel flinched from the bath, lurching back toward the door, graceful as a crippled mule. "Yes?"
"Honoured Herald Mage! We are most grateful to host you!"
What the fuck. "Thank you," Vanyel said. He should open the door. It was only polite... "The bath here, is there any chance it could be filled with water, sir?" Vanyel didn't open the door.
The inn master twittered like a bird. "The pipes connect to a cistern in the attic, Honoured Herald Mage! Would you like me to show you how they work? It should be lovely and warm by now!"
"No. No I'm sure I can...thank you." A bath... The heat of the room made Vanyel feel twice as cold, but the thought of a bath...No one would begrudge him taking advantage of that, would they?
Yfandes failed utterly to take him to task. Permission! Vanyel snuck another look at the tub, thinking of how incredibly disgusting he was right now. He'd scrubbed off the mud, but he reeked of sweat and swamp.
"When you have finished washing yourself, Herald Mage sir, the bath drains when you remove the cork! May I please help you with anything else?"
The inn master was older than his father. Vanyel had no idea why he kept calling Vanyel 'sir'. "Is there, uh. Soap?" he asked. :Yfandes?: he called, suddenly worried that it was a trap. They'd probably light him on fire while he slept if he took a bath.
:Oh--?:
Vanyel got a muddled impression of intent interest and lust from her, and suddenly remembered that she'd been eyeing a stallion when they'd ridden up. Hastily, he slammed his shields back up.
I'm sure it's not sinister, he decided. He was just being foolish. This inn was a very popular one, and there was at least one other Herald here--doubtless more senior than Vanyel, because who wasn't--so obviously it was safe.
"Soap is on the mantle, Honoured Herald Mage!"
"Thanks." Vanyel had a thought--a ridiculous, spend-thrift, extravagant thought. "Could you bring a meal up in about an hour?" he asked. Yfandes was distracted, she couldn't tell him to go down and get his own meals from the common room. Vanyel could--he could do whatever he wanted!
"Oh yes, Honoured Herald Mage! It would be no trouble, Sir, I will deliver your meal myself!"
Vanyel's mouth curved into an entirely unfamiliar grin. "Oh that would be wonderful, thank you so much!"
"Oh you are too kind Honoured Herald Mage sir, much, much too kind!" Vanyel heard the inn master scurry away from his door, leaving him completely alone. No Yfandes in his head, no Savil next door--he really could do whatever he wanted. Wow.
He could--Vanyel went to the bath, poking at the pipe above it until he found a little lever to pull. Water poured into the tub, sending lazy clouds of steam into the air. Vanyel looked up, found a neatly wrapped bar of soap on the mantel as just below eye level, and grasped it with a reverence that would have embarrassed him two years ago.
Vanyel stripped, filthy whites falling where he left them, and leaned over to test the water--perfect, it was perfect--and poured himself into the tub with a happy sigh. Gods he was dirty. Mother wouldn't even recognize him like this, all grungy and--Vanyel stroked his chin, found a few bristly hairs--and just covered in stubble. He unfolded the fine white washcloth and dampened it, and started scrubbing off two months of road grime. Baths were scarce as hens teeth in the Holderkin lands.
Three more days and his circuit would be over. Vanyel could hardly believe it. They'd even arrived early at the inn, and there was another Herald here who could do whatever people wanted Heralds for--Vanyel could stay in his room for the entire night.
He dunked his head under the stream of water, then scrubbed the lavender scented soap into it, rubbing until suds were dripping down his arms and chest. Vanyel rinsed, and then washed it all again.
He smelled like flowers. Vanyel reached up to turn off the water, preparing to soak--and his gaze caught on the grimey grey bathwater he was sitting in. Nasty. Vanyel sighed, and got out, unwilling to simmer in his own filth.
He flipped the level back, cutting off the wonderful, clean stream of water. Glanced at the door, half-expecting someone to charge in and tell him to make do with what he had. No one appeared, and Vanyel's smile grew so wide that it hurt his face. He pulled the bath plug and watched it drain out.
Vanyel looked out the window, calculating how long he had until the inn master brought his dinner. Long enough, he decided, flipping the level again to rinse out the tub. He stuck the plug back in and watched it refill, grinning almost manically. He was going to soak until he turned into a prune.
The fire crackled, radiating warmth over his skin, and Vanyel crouched in front of it while he waited for the tub to refill, his hair dripping onto the flagstone. He saw towels, tidily set by the window, but Vanyel didn't want to wet them just yet. After his second bath.
He basked like a snake in the sun, muscles that hadn't relaxed since he'd left Haven in the fall going soft as putty. I hate winter, Vanyel decided, and Holderkin, barn cats, kittens, and especially barn cats giving birth to kittens in my saddlebags. Also hard tack. And jerky. And--dirty clothes--.
The whites he'd left in a heap in front of the bath seemed to glare at him accusingly. They were his last whole set, free of holes, tears, blood stains, and kitten afterbirth. They also stank like he'd worn them for three weeks non-stop. Which, to be fair, he had.
I should wash those, Vanyel decided. But later. He rose and turned off the water, and stepped into the tub. The sound he made--Vanyel flushed, a half-there memory of making that same sound when Tylendel had fucked him for the first time--Vanyel swallowed it down, and determinedly didn't think about it. He was having a good day. No need to be sad when he was having a good day.
No need to be sad when the water felt so incredibly good, either. Vanyel stretched like a cat, the strain of being in the saddle for days and days easing out of him. Gods it felt good.