Work Text:
The first thing Kain does when he arrives at Mt. Ordeals' summit is to cut his hair.
He does it upon arriving at the protective field, dropping his pack when he stumbles onto the circle at its center. He feels calmer, safer, immediately. Maybe it's the magic in these fields, or just the thought that nothing could attack him anymore. He's never really understood how the protective fields work.
The rest is welcome. It's been a long day of battles and climbing, after all, and the sun is already descending behind the distant mountains. How Cecil did this with a pair of children and an old man at his side is a mystery to him. Cecil isn't here for him to ask.
He tries not to think of him as he grasps his knife's handle and unsheathes it. The weapon - tool is heavy in his grip. His long tail of hair, held in his other hand is just as heavy, even heavier.
Kain's hand trembles as he brings the knife up. He stops just as it cuts through the first few strands. He can't do this. He doesn't have to. There's nothing to prove by cutting his hair. He can still back out like the coward that he is.
But he isn't worthy of it, not anymore. In Baron, they cut the hair of deserters and traitors. Kings and nobles who had become drunk with power. Criminals went under the knife before being jailed.
Once, when he had just joined the Dragoon Order, one of the older Dragoons had been caught in bed with a noble's wife. Kain had watched with the other cadets as the then-Captain had dragged said Dragoon out by his hair, throwing him to the ground before them as he would any ordinary criminal.
That had been before the Dark Knight Corps claimed the title of most prestigious order. Dragoons then took care of their own. They were expected to punish their own as well. The Captain had ordered the cadets to watch carefully, before cutting off the disgraced Dragoon's ponytail in a single motion.
Kain remembers the man's screams for mercy, and how, a moment later, he'd stolen the Captain's sword and run himself through with it.
Better to die than live with your disgrace so plainly evident for all to see. The man had been a senior Dragoon. He would have been spared any other punishment, in consideration for all he had achieved in the past, yet he'd made his choice. Kain wonders for a moment if it would be better if he simply threw himself off the mountain.
Then he wonders what Cecil would say if he cut his hair. Would he be surprised? Would he laugh? Would he shudder and look away in disgust? That's not right, Cecil's forgiven him. Hasn't he?
His hand is trembling as he brings the knife up again, even as his grip on his own hair comes loose. Fair as the sky at sunrise, but never as beautiful as Rosa's locks of spun gold. He thinks about the rare times he's touched her hair, how soft it was under his calloused hands. She would smile at him, before batting his hands away and turning around to talk to Cecil, who would then smirk and ask him how it felt to be second to him -
No, that wasn't right. She'd smile, bat his hands away, then laugh when he fumbled to excuse himself from the room. Cecil wasn't there.
He brings the knife up, and it cuts through the rest of his hair. Gold parts much too easily for the blade, and time slows as he watches strands fall loose from his grip. Surely sawing his legs off wouldn't hurt as much as this.
He imagines each of his regrets falling away before his eyes, embedded in each strand. There's Rosa, sitting with Cecil, the two of them laughing together at some joke Kain doesn't bother asking about. There's Cecil holding a hand out to him with a friendly smile, asking him if he's all right, and Kain swats his hand away. There's Golbez, looking just like Cecil as he informs Kain that he's needed in Fabul, and Kain does not voice any of his questions. Rydia's eyes are wide in shock as he yanks the crystal out of Cecil's hands, and Edge is trying to shake off a Lunar creature, yelling at him to Jump, dear god man, Jump!
He stands, looks out to the distance. Mysidia is just barely visible on the horizon. The sun is setting, and he's thankful he made it this far before nightfall, before the ghouls and spirits are sure to come for him. Maybe they'll still try to attack, maybe the magic of the field will fail.
In any case, the stench of hair burning should be enough to keep them away for the night. Kain sleeps as far away from the flames as he can, as though distancing himself from a past he couldn't forget, not until now, at least. His head feels lighter, and it's strange to try and imagine what he might look like now, but he tries not to dwell on it. He thinks that tonight, his sleep might be a little more peaceful than usual, but he can't be sure.
He watches the flames from his sleeping bag. Tomorrow, he'll build himself a proper camp. He doesn't know how long he'll be here, after all, or if this accursed mountain is ready to let him go so soon. The shrine awaits him as well, and who knows what he'll find there.
That night, Kain rests without dreaming. It is the first of many nights to come on Mt. Ordeals.