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Rowan looked at himself in the mirror and took a deep breath. His ship to Rifthold was leaving tomorrow morning and he only had one task left.
Give himself a haircut.
Even in the wars he had fought, there were always some soldiers who used to do this for others, but Rowan couldn’t say he was one of them. However, his lack of experience wasn’t going to stop him. He was a warrior. Incredibly skilled with blades. He could cut his own hair.
After studying all of his knifes, he decided to go with one that was pretty well sharpened, but small enough to make his cuts precise. He thought of making it shoulder-length like Gavriel’s, but that wouldn’t do. He needed it to be effective in battle. He needed it to be short.
It didn’t matter that Rowan had kept his hair long since the last war Doranelle fought, several decades ago.
I didn’t matter that Rowan have begrudgingly eaten honey ever since Fenrys told him it makes the hair look shinier.
No, he didn’t care about that at all.
He was cutting his hair for a better world.
For his Queen.
For the most painstakingly beautiful creat—
No, he wasn’t going there again.
Rowan’s shoulders were slumped when he started to feel his chest tightening. Enough stalling. He snatched the blade with all of his Fae speed and cut the first strand. Like ripping a bandage. And then another. And another. And another. Until he really analyzed his work and realized he was looking awfully like a baby hawk. A very awkward baby hawk who only has downy feathers, before the real ones start to grow. But that horrid look wasn’t going to stop him. In fact, it motivated him to go further.
When Rowan saw his shape-lacking hair, he knew exactly what matter of short style he was going to do. Very short, but bigger at the top because Aelin liked to play with his hair when they were in bed. And then he put his blade down and clenched his teeth until his jaw felt as tight as his heart. There could be no platonic cuddling in bed this time. Specially when he didn’t want it to be platonic. The worst part of it was knowing Aelin had wanted it too. He could spend days just thinking about the taste of Aelin’s blood or the way she smelled when he made her aroused but, at the end of the day, he actually couldn’t. Aelin knew better than pursuing anything with him, and Rowan knew better than hurting himself by thinking about her this way.
He splashed water on his face like it would cease his existential agony. After judging Lorcan for crushing on his queen, it came back to bite Rowan in the ass.
Rowan continued trimming his hair short on the sides, cutting himself behind the ears at times, and used his wind magic to make his hair stand so he would know the exact length to do. He was kind of enjoying it now, the process of cutting hair became almost too easy once he got the hang of it.
But when Rowan stopped focusing on sections and looked at himself in the mirror, he realized his hair looked like a blood stain. Shapeless. Some parts were bigger, others made him wonder how he didn’t scalp himself. He took a deep breath. That definitely wouldn’t do.
Rowan had fought wars. Leveled cities. Learned how to dance. After more than three hundred years of accomplishments, he needed to put his pride aside and admit he was bad at cutting hair. In fact, Rowan had ruined his hair completely. He was so fucked. If Aelin saw this, there would be no end to the jokes she’d make. She’d laugh at him in the afterlife.
Sighing at the mirror, Rowan put his very hooded cloak on and went outside to finish his task, avoiding people at the streets. Once a Fae wrote a song that mentioned Rowan’s looks were as polished as his sword. That was what he was aiming for. He was the only blood-sworn Aelin had for now, the most appealing creature he had ever met. As much as he didn’t care about what people thought of him, she deserved to have someone at least worthy of her by her side.
Entering a door that wasn’t familiar, but he heard about before, Rowan was greeted by a Fae with very good-looking hair.
“Good afternoon! What can I help you with?”
Rowan lowered his hood and the Fae gasped. After taking his time to swallow and take a deep breath, he said, “Okay, I can work with that.”
Oh, he was the hairdresser, then. “You need to leave the top bigger.”
The hairdresser flared his nostrils, smelling him, and smirked, “Your female likes to play with it, huh?”
Rowan glared at him.
“S-sorry, it’s just that this isn’t an unusual request. Sit down.”
It was unnerving to stay sat while someone walked around you, analyzing you just like a bird does to their prey. When Rowan started getting too impatient, the hairdresser concluded, “I’ll have to shave it.”
“Go bald? Absolutely not.”
“But there’s bald parts.”
Rowan took a deep breath. He had close to a month in the ship, but it wasn’t enough to stop Aelin from recognizing his hair mishap. But someone could do a better job than making him bald, right?
When he mentioned to leave, the hairdresser pointed out, “You’re not going to find anyone better than me. I’m used to do haircuts for traveling nobles from Doranelle and Wendlyn.”
Rowan was well aware of that fact. Feeling powerless, he went back to the chair and tried to grow his hair back with healing magic, but didn’t achieve much by the way the hairdresser grimaced.
“It’s still pretty bad, but better.”
He sighed. “Do the most decent without making me bald. And leaving the top bigger.”
As he got his hair trimmed, Rowan realized he couldn’t complain much about the hairdresser. The blade he was using was so thin any warrior would be at least impressed. His skills with it were just as stunning, the precision he used to do each chop could make anyone wonder if this Fae’s eyes were better than a ruler.
By the end, Rowan carefully assessed his image, and the result was acceptable. Adequate for Aelin’s court, but there was still a chance his eagle-eyed Queen would notice the disaster. “It’s too short on the sides.”
“I just performed a miracle. Get over it.”
A small nod. “How much was it?”
Rowan could feel his stomach dropping when he heard the amount of money he’d have to pay. He thought he avoided fancy hairdressers to not bump into Doranelle’s nobility, but now he had a new reason why. Besides, he wasn’t a wealthy prince who could spend his coins like this anymore.
Rowan mentioned to get his money, but when he bended his head to look down, there were no strands of hair brushing against his shoulders.
He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath.
For the war.
For his Queen.
For a better world.