Honor. The military they served was big on that, being honorable, being knightly, being something admirable and worthy of time and effort. Every military has signs of the prestige an individual soldier has earned. Some are medals, some blades, but the Fae's military did not use either.
Theirs was hair.
It had always been this way. Young or old, male or female, the stronger the soldier, the longer their hair was. It was just how their kind worked. The reason wasn't clear in the slightest and, honestly, the specifics for such an unorthodox display of power has been lost in time. Nevertheless, it is a tradition that has been upheld by the Onelilian Army for generations.
As its most prominent, and powerful, members, Wil and Merli were no different. Wil's hair, as dark as night and mussed just so, trailed behind him, the ends brushing against the back of his knees when removed from its normal neat, elegant braid. He had a knack for keeping his hair in place. Years of training and fighting had made him practiced and precise, something his protege, bless her heart, did not possess.
Merli, like her mentor, proudly wore her hair at great lengths. The cascade of blue-tinted amethyst fell to her knees in a silk curtain, flowing freely, or, when she had a moment, pulled up into a haphazard mess that resembled a ponytail. Unlike her mentor, however, the poor girl was absolutely hopeless at such things as simple as pulling her waves of hair into a quick braid, even when the well-consolidated hairstyle was much more feasible in the heat of battle than a tail that flew loose on the wind. Merli could spar like professional, harden her heart in battle within moments, and concoct a plan that will ensure victory, but when it came to weaving her hair into an easily executed braid, she was completely at a loss.
He had seen her struggle on more than one occasion, and was often left speechless at how incapable she was. She would attempt to braid it, but when her normally sure fingers, to an infantile clumsiness, could not weave the strands accordingly, she would grow frustrated and pull it up in a vain attempt to keep it out of her face. Wil had thought about offering to do it for her, just so it wasn't such a chore for her before drills and missions, but he would stop himself just before he asked. Their hair was sacred; their kind didn't let others touch their hair easily. Too many fae would love to strip someone of their power ranking just to get ahead. For one of their kind to allow another to touch their hair was one of the greatest signs of trust, intimacy and respect. Wil had been Merli's mentor since she was young, but the young warrior did not dare assume he had earned such trust.
His trainee was a many deal of things, but trustful was not one of them. Her heart had hardened even before they met, and even after all these years, it had not yielded. Wil knew this, he accepted it. Merli would always remain closed off-it was just how she was, how she functioned. He was long since used to it.
So it had been the last thing the warrior expected when one especially windy day, while they were stationed in a training camp not too far from the border, Merli plopped to the ground in front of him and sat. Wordlessly, she held up a hair tie behind her, azure eyes fixed firmly on the horizon. Wil blinked, looking back and forth from her to her hand, his jade eyes wide. He felt his chest tighten, choking on the sudden warmth he felt rising in his heart. It felt good, to have earned such trust from the notoriously cold-hearted young fae.
Silently, he took the tie, slipping it on his wrist before easily taming Merli's gemstone hair into a tight braid with military precision. Tying it off, he tapped her shoulder and sat back, observing his handiwork. Wordlessly she stood gracefully, as she always did and turned to him, her braid whirling around her, expertly crafted, and with it gave her a whole new fierceness, a confidence that could not be contained. She looked every inch the warrior she was. He couldn't stop the small smirk that danced over his lips, growing ever wider at the sight of her fierce grin. Her eyes danced with a new kind of light that was both mischievous and whole.
It became routine after that. Without fail, before every mission, every battle, every meeting, Wil would braid Merli's hair back and out of the way, easily consolidated and out of her face. Simple as the style was, many agreed-it suited her.
…
Delicate hands hardened at the tips from years of wear and tear clumsily ran through a multicolored mane, trying in a vain attempts to pull it into something akin to a simple pleat down the center of the back. A growl rippled in her throat and with a sigh of frustration she yanked her long tresses up into a high ponytail, just enough to keep it out of her face, but not enough to keep it out of her line of vision. It would always move to her line of sight, and would get in the way, but she didn't have the skill to place it in a neat braid. She never did. There was only one person who she deemed able to touch her knee length locks.
But he wasn't here anymore.
No, he had been gone for many years now, to where, she did not know. The story always changed from one source to another. Some said he was dead, had been killed on enemy soil while on a solo mission; others claimed that he had been captured. The most popular theory seemed to be banishment, though no one could guess why. She didn't know anything but one day he had been there, one day he hadn't been. It had been a shock. Merli always saw him. He was a punctual person who was never late, so while others wondered if it was just that, tardiness, Merli thought otherwise. It disquieted her nerves and made it hard for her to focus, but she continued on with the thought that perhaps he had a mission to complete on his own. After all, he was one of the best, and everyone knew it.
But he never came back. And she stopped waiting-at least that's what she told herself.
She also told herself that she didn't miss anything about him but the convenience of somebody being able to braid her hair for her. Not the sure, gentle fingers grazing over her scalp or the scent of his wind, not his habit of whispering his family's names before a battle and certainly not his ability to reign her in and calm the storm inside her with just one firm utterance of her name.
Merli growled as she blew a free tuft of hair out of her face, not thinking about how she couldn't remember the exact green of his eyes. Jade or spring leaves… Shut up, Merli.
…
He couldn't get used to it.
It had been years now, but he still felt off balance, like his head was suddenly too light. He stared blankly at the mirror, jade eyes focusing intently on his hair. Dark, thin, but short. At its longest, it didn't even reach his ears. He tugged on one choppily cut lock in front, as if a good yank could extend it.
The first thing they had done upon his sentencing, fifty minutes after turning himself in, was chop off his hair with the blade of his own dagger. They'd cropped it as close as possible, nicking him in a few places where the knife came too close to his dark skin. It had looked like he'd received a bad buzz cut when he first was thrown through the portal. It had grown some since.
He frowned, a common thing for him nowadays.
Wil supposed there were worst things they could've done to him. His back muscles tightened at the thought-there were worst things they had done. But he didn't think he would ever quite adjust, not completely, to losing a symbol of strength that he had taken such pride in for many, many decades. He twirled a bit of dark hair in his fingers; it wasn't even long enough to pull back into a tail, let alone braid.
His fingers tightened in his hair as his thoughts took on a mind of their own, an image of aquamarine eyes and soft lilac hair running through his fingers. Merli.
He wondered how she was doing. If she was still alive or had done something stupid and gotten herself killed. If her hair was still long. Who braided it now? He almost smiled at the thought of her ineptness when it came to something so simple, so basic.
Try as he might not to think of home, gods, he missed her.
Wil tore his gaze away from the mirror, turning on the sink to finally start brushing his teeth. He sighed as he wet his toothbrush, not thinking about how more than part of him hoped her hair was in a ponytail instead.