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Above all items of material value, the most important possession to a woman, young or old, is the locks of hair that sit upon her head. It gives her agency, it gives her dignity, but above all, it gives her a sense of purpose in a world so devoid of it.
Or so she's told.
Amicia’s heard it before and hears it in whichever corner of the world she manages to stumble into. A great deal of importance, something that she simply cannot understand, is placed upon something so pretty, yes, but so superficial and unimportant to one's true character. It is as if some powerful being decreed long ago that it be the case, that physical appearance, which starts from the hair atop one's head, triumphs over the innermost parts of the soul. And, worse of all, the world seemed to agree, all fed a lie. But Amicia doesn't.
Her hair has never been something to scoff at, for she was once a noble in a life so distant from her current one. Yet, it was never as ornate, or delicately cared for, as that of her peers, though not for lack of resources or knowledge. Rather, it was for a lack of want.
As a child, so full of energy and abundant curiosity for the world around her, she had other matters to attend to, some important, but most not. So long as it was out of her way, and not a detriment to one of her adventures, she paid it no attention.
Still, for years, she was content with her hair, packed in a tight braid on the back of her head. It was like that, fashioned in a similar style for much of her life, that it has become a fundamental part of her.
And now it is gone. Despite the circumstances in which it happened, she does not miss it.
But somebody does.
"What happened?" Hugo asks abruptly, his eyes wide with surprise, "Your hair... it's-"
"Gone?" Amicia asks, finishing the last word that he cannot. He nods, "Yes. He took it. That damned Count. If I ever see him again..."
Her voice also trails off into the void of nothingness, but the words still manage to remain in the air. The spite and rage present in her voice is palpable, and Lord knows the Count deserves much more than just her harsh words. But she regrets speaking them the moment she sees his reaction.
Hugo.
What little light from the moon above shines into the depths of Sophia's ship captures a single tear falling down Hugo's face just for Amicia to see. He is small, much moreso than usual, as if it is his defense mechanism. His eyes do not meet her's as he stares at the ground below him.
Amicia knows he is not sad, nor is he angry. Hugo is her brother, after all, and she has come to know him very well. No, what he feels is guilt.
For the people of La Cuna, doomed to an unimaginable fate.
For his mother, drifting eternally in a land very distant from his own.
For letting himself and those around him gain even a sliver of hope.
And her. For Amicia, and all that she suffered at the hands of a madman.
"Hugo?" she asks frantically after the passing of waves. He does not answer. She stands from her chair, and he takes an equal amount of steps back, still unwilling to meet her gaze. Recognizing a losing battle, she stops, and kneels to his level, "Hugo, please. Look at me. I need... I need to know you're okay."
The Macula has not consumed him fully. His eyes meet hers. As she expected, they are filled with regret, mourning, and guilt, all emotions that no child, especially just a young boy, should have to endure. It is only for a moment though, as in the dim light, Hugo swiftly looks down again, hair obscuring his eyes, but instead of backing away, he returns to her. To Amicia's arms.
The footsteps are slow, and time is even slower. But at last, he reaches Amicia's open arms and lets himself be pulled into an embrace.
"I'm sorry," Hugo says in between sobs, "I'm so sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for."
"Yes, I do!" he yells, only muffled by Amicia's shoulder, "Everything's my fault. And now your hair... it's ruined, because of me."
Then and there, Amicia's heart is shattered completely. It has always been close, just one bad day away from it breaking into hundreds of pieces.
Today is that day. She sheds a tear, not for herself, but for the terrified little boy, burdened with the weight of the entire world on his shoulders since birth, who now seeks comfort in her arms.
"Listen to me," she pulls him away, though still at arm's length, "You are not responsible for the actions of anybody else, let alone those of a madman. Do you understand?"
He hesitates, but under the pressure of Amicia’s eyes, Hugo nods shyly.
"There will always be bad people in the world," she continues, "People who want to hurt you. They control their actions, not you. The best we can do is be strong, brave, and fight for what matters."
"For you?" he asks softly.
"Yes. and for you, too."
As he falls back into her arms, they are as one again. Family, de Rune and de Rune. Brother and sister. Carrier and Protector. Two lost, scared, but hopeful souls picking each other up and holding one another close when the going gets tough.
They are silent for some time, only the crashing of waves against the hull interrupting. The moon rises higher in the sky, casting harsh shadows into their quarters. Hugo is the first to let go, to break away from her arms, and Amicia lets him. Though, she still keeps him at arm's length.
"This right here?" she places one hand on his chest, directly above where his heart is, "This is why we've made it as far as we have. Your love for people, the world, everything, it's... it's what keeps me going. And we're almost there. We just need to fight a little longer, okay?"
He smiles, "Yes."
"Good."
She lets him go, to be free into the remainder of the ship. To have an adventure worthy of a King.
He doesn't move.
"But Amicia. Your hair."
She had almost forgotten. Quickly running her hand behind her head, she remembers. It is uneven, messy, jutting out in many different directions, and only loosely held together. Certainly unladylike, something her mother would have scolded her for in different circumstances.
"What about it?"
"Can I... fix it?" he asks.
Though it is not broken, not truly, it needs some touching up, no matter how stubborn she may be. Once the carnage had ceased, once they settle down in a home between mountains, she will give it a proper fix. Something different. Something nice.
But for now, she supposed a temporary fix would not hurt her and would make Hugo feel better. And for the latter, she would do anything, even if it meant her own demise.
Comparatively, this will be easy.
"I suppose so," she says, still kneeling, as she turns her back to him, "But be gentle. Hair can be painful, you know."
"I won't let you down."
"You never have.”
Quickly, Hugo gets to work. He is uptight at first, only opting to straighten out the loose strands near the point of the cut. It is delicate and gentle, like the soul of her brother. Once he deems his work complete, Hugo then takes what he has gathered, a handful of hair strands without a home, and ties it up on the back of her head with some spare rope. Right where her braid used to be.
Amicia feels it behind her head. She is used to a long, familiar, sometimes uncomfortable braid running down the back of her head. It is gone now, and in its place are the remaining strands of hair that survived the slaughter into something much shorter, and much simpler. It is foreign.
Not bad. Just different.
She likes it more.
It is less meticulous than its predecessor, and certainly less sturdy. But it is made with all the love and care that Hugo could express through his craftsmanship, a skill in which he is still learning. A skill through which he cannot truly express himself yet, unlike his words.
A skill that Amicia cannot wait to see him develop in due time. Once he gets the chance to truly be a child, and explore the vast world around him.
"Do you like it?" he takes a few steps back, his voice nervous and unconfident.
She smiles, something that, since the death of Mother, has not come easily, "Of course. You made it, after all."
"But-"
He is still doubtful, as if allowing himself a compliment is fatal.
"I promise, Hugo," she reassures him, "It is just fine. Fit for a King's most loyal knight, in fact."
His eyes widen with excitement, "Really?"
"Of course," she stands and runs her hand through his hair, "And, if I may make a suggestion, King Hugo, I would recommend some sleep and a haircut of your own."
He laughs. Soft enough to not reverberate throughout the ship, but loud enough for it to be reciprocated by Amicia.
"No! I don't need either!"
"I beg to differ!"
Despite his insistence otherwise, Hugo is asleep within minutes, and any thought of grief and guilt, like all things, has passed. Amicia's best negotiating tactics could not persuade him to let her, or Lucas, for that matter, cut his hair, no matter how scruffy it has gotten over the months.
Maybe someday. A distant day, in the cold yet beautiful mountains, where she would finally get him to oblige.
Not maybe. Undoubtedly.
For now, she is content with the hair that sits upon her head, and the brother that rests upon her lap.