Italics are for thoughts.
Bard sighed heavily. He inspected his work. The flames of a fire were dancing in the fireplace and so the room was warm and cozy. A couple of huge buckets full of water were next to it. In front of the fire was placed the wooden bath filed with hot water. The soap was placed nearby along with some fresh towels. Everything seemed in order.
Now it was time to get on with his plan; the hard part. Over the years he had found out that it was a hard task to get into the bathtub a small child, let alone three. With his wife they used to struggle an entire evening to bathe Bain, Sigrid and Tilda. Over the course of the year after her death, he had regrettably found out that it was almost a mission impossible to bathe his three kids on his own.
Almost impossible. He had discovered that it was easier to confront each child separately. The only thing Bard had to do now was to choose with whom he would like to begin. He creased his eyebrows for a while; when he had made his decision he approached the door. He glimpsed his toddler daughter, Tilda, napping on the bed, before calling Bard. He had decided to confront him first as he was the most difficult of the three.
"Bain!" Bard shouted towards the group of children that were playing on the alley next to his house. "Come inside for a moment. I need your help with something".
"Of course, da" beamed his six year old son. He liked to boast to his friend that he was a man grown and he helped his father with the knots on the barge.
"Do you want me to come too, da?" asked his eldest daughter, Sigrid. Bard thought to call her inside too, but decided against it. If she knew that it was bath-day today, she would simply flee the house while he was washing Bain. That would mean a harder time for him to find her and bathe her.
"No, my dear. Come back when the sun is set as always". The good thing with children is that they never suspected that something is wrong. They simply trusted other people. So, Bain just climbed up the stairs waving goodbye to his friends and Sigrid continued playing with her friends without casting another glance towards them.
Bard entered the house again and behind him came his son. Bain didn't realize from the beginning what was going on. Howeve,r when his eyes fell on the tub, they widened with shock and fear. Bard closed the door behind him.
"Da! No bath-day! Please!" he turned on his heels but he found out his father was blocking his way towards the door and his freedom.
"I am afraid it is bath day today. Now, Bain, get into the tub" Bard tried to talk with as much authority as he could master, to try and convince the boy to do his bidding. He hoped that he could intimidate him enough to get in the tub without a fight. But he was wrong.
Bain casted a quick glance towards his father's grim face and dashed to the side. The boy was quick; Bard didn't react fast enough to catch him.
"Bain, please don't make it harder than it is. Please come here and bathe like a good boy that you are" said his father as he was chasing Bain around the table.
"No!" shouted in denial the kid. Suddenly he dashed towards his father's bedroom and hid under the bed. Only his feet where seen. Why did it have to be so difficult? Why do they hate bathing? Thought Bard as, like all parents, he had forgotten how much he hated the same procedure as a kid, too.
Bard frowned to the sight of his son's feet poking under the table. He deemed it fruitless to plead with him; Bain could turn a deaf ear when he wanted to avoid something. Instead he leaned down and dragged the boy from underneath. Bain kicked and squealed but his father's hold on him was firm. He wrestled until he could get him out of his clothes and put him in the bath. Bain crossed his hand in front of him.
"I hate you!" exclaimed the boy.
"I know" said simply Bard. It pained him to behave like that towards his son but he didn't have another way. Instead of saying all of this to his son he asked "do you want me to give you the wooden boat?"
"No! I am a big boy! A man grown! I don't want to play with the silly toy".
"Fine, I will just leave it here then" Bard left the wooden toy within his son's reach, picked up the sponge and soap and begun washing his hair. His son stood silent for a while, staring angrily to the boat. After a while he sighed and picked it up.
"Hello, crew, this is captain Bain talking to you, get ready to pick up the sails!" said the boy and Bard smiled to himself. He knew that Bain would enjoy the rest of the bath time.
Ten minute later he was done washing Bain but he let him play in the tub a while longer. He fetched one of the towels disposed next to the fireplace. Thankfully, Bain left the bath with less complain than he had entered it. He insisted that he was a big boy and that he could dress without his dad's help. Bard let him dress on his own while he thought. One done, two to go.
He glanced outside the window. It was still almost an hour till sunset. Sigrid would not be back before the last rays of the sun put on fire the lake, but not later either. She was a dutiful and obedient daughter, most of the times. So, it was time to bathe his toddler daughter.
He approached the old wooden crib. Tilda had woken up and was playing with her teddy bear. She never let it go, she would eat with it, drag it along with her, sleep with it. It was her best friend. Bard picked her up and carried her towards the fireplace. He had already put hot water in the tub so that the baby would not get a cold. Bard began removing her clothes. She didn't pay any mind to his actions; being undressed and dressed by her father was a daily routine.
The hardest part came when he had to put her in the tub. Tilda, simply put, hated water. She would squirm and kick like a dog gone mad. And she wailed. Loud and long. Once, Violet, his next door neighbor, had come to check on them. She had thought that something bad had befallen to someone in his family. When he had to explain to her what the real reason was, Bard had turned as red as a beetroot, a color that only became deeper when she could not contain her laughter.
This time was not an exception. As soon as the young girl's foot touched the water she began screaming. "No, da! No wate' "
"Tilda, you have to bathe".
"No! I no like!"
"You don't like it. But you have". He put her into the tub and started washing her hair. Meanwhile, she screamed and splashed water everywhere. Nicely done, now I won't have to bathe, thought her father gloomily when she splashed a large amount of water to him.
While he was rubbing her back, she tried to shove him aside. "Tilda, stay still. If you move around like a squid, it will take longer" warned her.
"Tilda no squid. Tilda is a bear!" she said stubbornly. "Bears do not bathe!"
"Yes they do! They wash themselves in the river" he answered.
"Lia'! My bear never wash in the 'ive'" she splashed more water towards his face. Bard got up angrily from his place. He walked towards her pile of clothes and picked up her bear that was laying there. He took a deep breath to calm himself and returned to his place next to the tub.
"That is true, Tilda. But your bear washes in the tub". With those words he splashed the bear into the tub. The toddler hugged tightly her beloved toy and he continued his task. From that point on, the little girl was calmer, even though she let out a sob now and then and she was mattering constantly to her bear. The only that he could make out was "bad da" but he said nothing. That teddy bear needed washing, too, was his only thought.
When he was finished five minutes later, he picked her up and covered her in a warm towel. Bard dried her and clothed her. Her eyes were red from crying earlier, but now that she was away from the water, she seemed happy again. Bain had emerged again from the children's bedroom and he was playing on the kitchen table with his two wooden soldiers. Bard let Tilda join her older brother. Fortunately, she had left her teddy bear behind, as it was soaking wet; he put it over the fireplace to dry. Two done, one to go.
For the next five minutes he was mopping the floor and changing the cold water with hot one. When he was nearly finished, Sigrid entered the house. She had a huge smile on her face and her chicks were red form her play. However the smile vanished from her pretty face as soon as she saw the tub.
"No" said his ten year old daughter.
"Sigrid, my love, you have to bathe. Look your siblings are already bathed" tried to reason with her. She crossed her arms in her chest.
"No. What use is to bathe, anyway? I will get filthy afterwards again!" she posed her question to him.
"Yes, you will" admitted reluctantly her father. A smug expression appeared on her face as she thought she had won the argument. "However, if you do not bathe regularly you will catch lice and worms. Then you will be so disgusting that no one will like to play with you. Do you want to lose all your friends?" asked Bard. Terror appeared on her face. She pondered the possibilities. When she looked down on her toes, Bard knew that he had won. His eldest was too old to be forced in the tub, but usually he could reason with her. She was of that age that wanted to have friends and socialize freely and easily. Her greatest terror was that she would lose her little band of friends.
"Fine" she said reluctantly. "But I will do it myself" she approached the tub and begun unclothing. Bard did not object. He went towards the kitchen and begun cutting ham and cheese for their dinner. He was boiling some eggs when, Sigrid called him.
"Da...can you help me with my back?"
"Of course" he approached her and did as obliged. Sigrid had finished bathing herself and he went over to take the last towel over the fireplace.
"No! I don't need your help!" she said stubbornly. "I can manage".
"Sigrid, it will be easier if I hold it open for you. You will not get cold while trying to cover yourself".
She thought it for a minute. "Fine! But don't look at me!"
"As my lady commands" he replied Sigrid rolled her eyes, even though a small smile crept to her face. He knew that Sigrid had started to regard herself as an older girl, a woman, even though her body still was one of a child. It is the fault of Violet's twin girls, he thought. They are teenage girls now, and teenagers don't want to be bathed by their fathers. A feeling of melancholy possessed Bard as he covered his eldest child. She was growing so fast, especially after her mother's death. The combined responsibility of looking after her younger siblings while he was away, working, and the grief for her mother's death, had forced her to mature before her time. Before Bard wished she had matured.
Sigrid went to get dressed in their bedroom and Bard begun laying the table. He called the youngest to eat and soon afterwards they were joined by Sigrid. His kids were chatting cheerfully. Bard joined their conversation from time to time, commending on their daily activities whenever needed. At some point his eyes fell to the tub next to the fireplace and sighed. He had to bathe too, it was bath-day for all of them after all, but that didn't mean that he liked it any better than his kids.
A/N: I had this idea for a while, but I could not get it written in a satisfactory way. This is the third story I have written for Bard and his children. (The other two are "A father and daughter dispute" and "Play time".
Thank you for reading, and I would appreciate a review!