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Falin’s ears perked up to the sound of the flickering candlelight every once in a while, starling her a little no matter how many times she’s been sitting on that side of the table.
She’d take a short peek from the book she was putting all her effort focusing on, but just couldn’t. The words swam before her eyes and her thoughts kept drifting off elsewhere. Her eyes drooped with fatigue and her stomach rumbled with hunger–even after the dinner Senshi had cooked for them tonight while he was visiting. She always enjoyed his cooking, and always made sure she ate her fill too. Maybe it was the glass of milk she had drunk while speaking to Laios in the dining room before he too headed to his chambers to sleep, or drown himself in more work. Maybe it was the candle itself, slowly burning itself as the time passed. Maybe it was the half-elf whose elbow was propped on the table, sitting across from Falin, her eyebrows scrunched in thought as she turned another page from her book, the scent of her making Falin sleepy.
After everything that happened, with every passing day, Falin is all the more sure that perhaps magic may not be the future for her. She knew it wasn't for her even when she was still legally a student at the magic academy, but she was even more sure when she started adventuring to dungeons with her older brother, and then even more so after waking from two certain long naps, finding feathers growing from all over her body, and everyone around her practically putting her on house arrest.
She had never truly felt like she had a place in the world, just appendages to things that had already existed. She was the second child to her parents, the younger sister of Laios Touden, the other mage in the Touden Siblings’ Party, Marcille Donato’s friend, the other Touden Sibling. Falin never took a second glance at getting her party out of the pinch they had with the red dragon, never once thinking of it as something she could gain fame from, nothing for her own gain, but oh, how she wished to have a purpose. Perhaps being eaten by the dragon was her purpose.
While the world whirled to a blur around her, seemingly too busy to give her any form or shape of explanation of what happened since she was so bravely and chivalrously eaten by the red dragon, Falin had to figure everything out piece by piece, slotting herself back and reclaiming her position in the world again—somewhere, because or a while, Farlyn felt like a missing screw from the wrong set of furniture, timed two. She was already struggling to find a place for herself once upon a time. Now she just felt like she’s not even the correct type of screw at all—maybe she was a nail.
Falyn felt her head dip, before lifting it up in surprise, finding herself awakened from a short dream about furniture sets and screws and nails.
“Are you tired, Falin? You can go ahead to bed, if you’d like.”
Falin’s eyes slowly focused on the figure sitting across from her.
Her eyes—always the same, kind, caring, and glassy, a word she learned a while ago wasn’t usually used to describe eyes. She had one hand slotted on the page of the book she was still reading to hold the pages from closing and losing her progress. Her other hand was now resting on the wooden ridges of the table, just next to the book. The candlelight painted her golden hair in a faint orangish hue, a color she’s used to seeing whenever they studied together for exams late at night, or whenever the half-elf mage was teaching the tallman a spell from a book in the library so she wouldn’t fail hers, back in the magic academy.
“Falin?”
The latter smiled, finding that her friend’s smile had dipped, closer to a frown now, “No, I’ll stay,” she replied, “This book is getting interesting.”
The half-elf huffed, “Don’t lie to me. You’ve been reading the same page ever since you got here.”
Falin looked down at the page she was reading, “Oh, um…”
She heard the woman giggle, “Go to bed, Falin.”
She groaned and pouted, her fingers moving to close the book, seemingly having given up reading at all for tonight.
“You were never the studious type, anyway,” she continued, her elbow now back on the table, eyes skimming the book once more, “Sometimes I envy just how much you know everything without having to learn, you know.”
Moving the book aside, Falin crossed her arms on the table, on the space where the book she was reading had been, and rested her head atop her arms, face twisted so she could make out the half elf’s long golden hair cascading down her back. Without Falin’s reply, the silence returned not too long after, which the two mages take delight in, only the sound of the half-elf’s fingers flipping another page, or more sounds of the candle before the both of them crackling, the flames rippling and casting shadows on the walls.
“Marcille.”
Without looking, she replied, “Hm?”
“Should I do your hair?”
The older mage tilted her head before replying, “I appreciate the offer, but we’re going to bed soon anyway, Falin. I’ll take the hairdo off before bed, and it’ll be a waste of time and energy, for you” she replied, before pulling over some paper and a quill, most likely a note to herself after finding something noteworthy from her book, perhaps, “Besides, you look like you’re about to pass out.”
After everything, one of the major changes Falin realized—among all other major changes, was how reluctant Marcille was now to do her hair. Even simple twin braids or a ponytail using a single ribbon was too much for her to do, to the point where she was running around court with her hair flowing freely down her shoulders and Laios had offered to get her a headband so she could get hair away from her face while she worked. It confused Falin at first, considering how much Marcille loved her hair, loved doing her hair, and how beautiful her hair was, unlike her own coarse, pale, and choppy hair, although that last part was her own fault. The thought of something happening that caused Marcille the inability to do a thing she loved so much because she embarked on a journey to save her, made Falin's heart clench and burn.
The sound of Falin's chair scraping the wooden floor made Marcille look up from her notes, a relieved smile a direct contrast to her tired eyes, bloodshot and baggy, “I’ll be there soon, okay?”
She had returned her focus on the book before, her fingers moving the quill across the paper, copying down some spells and notes.
“Marcille.”
“Yeah? Did you need anything?” her fingers were still writing as she replied, the other hand tracing words from the book, as if not to lose focus.
The half-elf did, in the end, turn her head in Falin’s direction, though, finding her head tilted in curiosity, eyes searching.
“Why don’t you ever do your hair anymore?”
Marcille’s eyebrows were raised, eyes widened, as if the question wasn’t something she expected. But a smile eventually made its way to her face—a real one, despite the messy hair, the sleepwear she already had on, the eyes that showed that she lacked the sleep she needed, and the tired look on her face that Falinn so wished she could wipe off of Marcille’s face.
She wanted the old Marcille back, so she thought.
“A lot happened, Falin,” she replied, never taking her eyes off of her, “But it doesn’t matter now. You’re here, after all.”
I’m here, after all, Falin repeated in her head. Is that truly what mattered?
“Can I do your hair for you?”
Marcille’s brows were already creased, and a rejection was already on the tip of her tongue, despite her smiling lips. At the very last minute, though, the half-elf nodded.
“Sure,” she said.
And Falin almost squealed with joy at those words, threatening to wake up everyone in the castle with just the sound of it. She walked the distance between where she was standing and the back of Marcille’s chair.
She giggled, “Do you even remember how to do it?”
Falin's hands were already touching the long, golden strands, getting a feel of what she was working with, “It doesn’t matter, you’ll look good in anything anyway.”
“Oh, stop,” Marcille said, before turning her body back towards the table, asking, “Can I go back to reading, though?”
“Oh, of course,” Falin replied, reaching for a nearby brush Marcille had left just lying around on the table they were using, “I’ll try not to bother you too much.”
Marcille’s hair was soft under her fingertips—just as soft as she remembered it last, maybe ironically even softer. The length was quite similar, but she could be mistaken, it’s just so much harder to keep track of hair length once it passes a certain checkpoint. The brush she was running through the golden locks glided through without any particular resistance, tangles Falin always found on her own short hair seemingly nonexistent in Marcille’s. Falin herself at some point understood why Marcille loved doing her hair so much. With hair this beautiful and soft, not even Falin would reject a chance to play around with it.
As if already knowing what she was going to do, her fingers started off with an area on the left side of her head, on the occipital region, where she sectioned off an area of hair, just enough to create a braid with her desired thickness, before she started braiding. Once she secured it with a thinner ribbon, Falin brought the braid upwards, so it wrapped around Marcille’s head like a headband, before bringing the braid down on the other side and securing the remaining hair with a hairpin. She teased the remaining hair a little and rearranged everything so nothing was out of place.
Once she was satisfied with her work, she called, “Marciille, can you look at me for a second?”
Putting the quill down, the half-elf obliged quickly, finding Falin’s face only inches from hers, fingers teasing the bangs around Marcille’s face, and tidying up the baby hair sticking up from the braids. Marcille put on a smile when Falin stepped back to admire her own work.
“Well?” the half-elf started, “Does it look good?”
Farlin smiled, “Every hairstyle looks beautiful on you, Marcille.”
“Does it, now?” she giggled, “Thank you. It sure does get hair away from my face when I work, so not only is it pretty, it’s also quite functional.”
A thought crossed Falin’s head that instant.
“Shall I do it for you again tomorrow morning? Before you start your day?” she asked.
Marcille, being who she was, was already rejecting, “No, no, Falin, I can’t have you do that. I’m fine with my hair down anyway, it’s never really in the way”
“But you have trouble doing your hair everyday,” she said, leaning her hip against the table, “I can do it for you everyday if you’d like. We can even experiment with different braids and hairstyles and bring back some old ones like from school!”
“If you’re bringing back the twin braids—”
Falin raised her left hand and crossed her right over her chest, “I swear I won’t do twin braids.”
The half elf pursed her lips.
“Come on,” Falin chuckled, her hands reaching for Marcille’s, folded on her lap “It’ll be fun!”
If she were being honest, Marcille never really had the intention to turn her down. But, Falin was never this pushy about anything, especially after all the dungeon incidents that had befallen them. What Marcille wanted least was for her to crush that happiness and excitement Falin was feeling right now, simply because she didn’t want Falin doing her hair.
“Fine,” she sighed, a smile on her face.
Now Falinn really did squeal, although it was cut short with Marcille’s shushing. “Oh my goodness, I’m sorry!"
Marcille was the first to laugh, before Falin followed not too far behind, her hands covering her lips as Marcille's hand was now on her stomach, Falin's stomach equally hurting from laughing to much.
***
"Good morning, Marcille."
The mage looked up from her plate—and the stack of paper she had laid next to it, notes from the night before, lifting her nose from the scent of eggs and parchment. She didn't notice him immediately due to busy rush of the castle kitchen, where everyone came in to pick up breakfast, or stay a while and eat, have tea, and talk about nonsensical things.
Laios sent her a smile, approaching her table.
"Morning," she replied, a tired smile on her face.
As the king sat across from her and sat his plate down, Marcille's fingers reached for the high ceiling of the dining hall and stretched, letting out a long yawn. He, in turn, crossed his arms on the table and tried to peek at what she had jutted down on her notes.
"Researching a pain?"
She sighed, "I like it, though," she replied, rolling her peas around her plate with the fork in her hand, "It comforts me to know things."
Laios smiled, "And it comforts me to see that you've taken some effort to do your hair," he said, his fork stabbing a sausage on his plate, "Did you have one of the maids help you with it?"
"Oh," she said, as if only remembering her hair was now in an intricate updo with a braid running along the base of the bun at the back of her head, her bangs loose, framing her jaws, "Actually Falin helped me with it."
Laios stopped chewing for a bit, "You should appoint her for your personal hairstylist."
The mage chuckled, "I fear she has appointed herself the position."
If it was possible, his smile grew wider, "I'm glad to see you two content with your lives here," Laios said, "Falin especially."
Marcille put the idea in her head, "So am I."
The two shared another smile, before Laios started inquiring the mage about what she has discovered from her reading, and she passed him her notes—the ones she has been taking for the past few days.
A few paces away, another blonde mage passed by their table, perfectly content, for she had perhaps found a new, mundane purpose for her existence.
But weren't we all brought to this world for mundane purposes?