In Autumn, powerful and revered males were easily identified through long hair and an abundance of intricate braids. Beron wore his pin straight hair in thick braids that cascaded down his back.
A male's hair was shorn after a defeat in battle or if they disgraced the court. Eris had been forced to his knees countless times, long hair shorn with wicked daggers and heavy hands. He never gets to see the natural waves that would form.
It's important that the court watches him, faces already contorted in horror from the battle they witnessed. They cannot tear their eyes away when the High Lord is forced down to a kneel. They cannot help but watch the flames grow brighter in the eyes of the eldest son of their court, watch as he brandishes that wicked blade, red hot with his fury. Braids that are centuries old, thick with pride and ego and torment, grasped in hands that had never known the art of plaiting. Those hands tremble, stilling only for a moment before that blade cuts through those braids, leaving them to drop to the filthy, ash ridden floors with a dull thud.
Eris looks down at his father, the male's face twisted with fury at the disrespect even as his crown is about to be stolen away. He will not live to see the crown on his son's head, but he had to witness his own humiliation before his court. Flames whip higher around them, unburdened as if they can feel this ancient exchange of power preparing itself. Eris' eyes are ablaze, molten tears evaporating instantly. Golden laurels born of flame sit upon his brow, his short hair, barely past his ears, burning white hot and joining the dance of heat climbing up and up around them.
A dagger full of hatred and misery, elongating into a flaming sword of retribution. The thud of Beron's head on the tiles sounded softer than those braids.
Eris is standing there, heaving, encased in this unending heat as the full power of the Autumn Court settles within him. They watch, his court watches, as those flames disperse and unbidden swathes of hair unfurl over his shoulders and back. Bright and shining, healthy and new, long and his.
He has waves, and soft curls.
His mother teaches him how to plait.
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