"Hair is a punishment inflicted on us by the gods," she grumbled. "As punishment for our hubris."
"Why not just cut it off, darling?" Taran's eyes flicked over to Astarion, sitting under his tent and flipping through a book. "You don't have to deal with it and I don't have to hear about it. Everybody wins."
Taran stuck her tongue out at him. The only indication that he noticed was an upwards quirk of his mouth.
"I'm suffering muscle fatigue trying to braid it," she said, giving up and letting her other arm drop. "You think I've got the hand-eye coordination to cut it?"
"No one said it had to look good."
"I would personally prefer not to look like I lost a fight with a pair of tanner's shears."
Astarion huffed, snapping his book shut and making Taran jump. "Well if you're going to be fussy about it."
"I learned from the best," she said, and he rolled his eyes as he stood.
"Yes, yes, you're very clever." He disappeared into the back of his tent, emerging a moment later with a pair of scissors. The blades were long and silver, the handles some kind of black lacquer.
"I said I can't - "
"You're not," he interrupted. "I am."
Taran blinked. "You are?"
He stood there for a moment, the scissors dangling from one hand. "Do you want it gone, or not?"
"I mean..." Taran swallowed before nodding. There was a lump in her throat she hadn't expected. "Yeah. Sure. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," he muttered, moving to stand behind Taran as she faced away from him. Deft fingers undid her half-finished braid before making a grasping gesture next to her head. "Brush."
"Oh. Right." She reached down at her feet, retrieving the hairbrush and handing it to him. He began running it through her hair, muttering at each snag and tangle he encountered. The repetitive motion of the brush and the feel of his fingers running through her hair were soothing to her, and her eyes had drifted shut by the time Astarion spoke again.
"How much do you want gone?"
She blinked, startled out of her daze. "What?"
"The hair, darling, try to keep up. How short do you want it?"
"Oh." She reached up, running her hands down the length of her hair. It was softer than it had been in weeks, Astarion having worked out every knot and tangle he'd encountered, grumbling the whole way. She tried to gauge a length that felt right, pressing her hands against her cheeks. "Here, I guess?"
He hummed, considering, and laid his fingers overtop hers to measure out the hair. She slid her hand out from under his, and he began to cut.
She could actually feel the weight leaving her head, taking pressure off of her neck that she hadn't realized was there until it was gone. Astarion used his fingertips to guide her head this way and that, trimming the hair away as he went. By the time he had made it all the way around her head her scalp was tingling, and she squirmed in her seat at the way it itched.
"Hold still," Astarion scolded. "Unless you want me getting at your blood a whole six hours early."
"Head feels weird," she muttered.
Astarion held a hand in front of her, dangling a length of the hair he'd just removed. "You had hair practically down to your ass and now it barely hits your ears, what did you expect?" He dropped the hair to the ground, making a series of small cuts to the hair at the nape of her neck.
"It's not perfect," he said finally. "But that's what you get using fabric shears on hair. You're paying to have these sharpened when we make it to the city," he threatened, retreating to his tent to return the scissors where they'd come from.
"Yeah." Taran massaged her scalp, trying to chase off the lingering tingling sensation. "Of course." She shook her hair out in a halo around her head, something she hadn't been able to do since she was much younger. When she could see again Astarion had emerged, and she smiled up at him. "Thank you, Astarion."
Astarion looked away almost too quickly, like he'd been caught at something. "Anything not to have to hear you whining about it after every fight."
"Of course." She stood, brushing loose hair off of her clothes. "We all appreciate your sacrifice for the greater good."
"...it suits you." She paused, looking up at him. He wasn't looking at her. "The hair."
"I'm glad," she said, fluffing it out around her ears. "Otherwise I'd have to hear you whining all day about what an eyesore I am."
Astarion gave a soft snort of a laugh. "Go rinse off," he ordered. "Or else I'll have to hear you whining about hair splinters."
She stuck her tongue out again, the wittiest retort she had (he wasn't wrong about the splinters, but she wasn't going to tell him that). He just rolled his eyes, shooing her off towards the river, but as she turned away she could swear there was a smile on his face.
