i like to imagine that maekar wore his hair long during the days of the blackfyre rebellion. but what i love even more is the thought of him braiding it before a battle or a training session. he braided it himself of thinking no one could do this the better way than he could. at first, his fingers fumbled, the strands slipping away rebelliously, and the result was far from beautiful. but with time, he learned. he adapted. eventually, he could braid his own hair without a second thought, even daring to experiment with different styles. it suited him well, of course. and in time, caring for hair of his dearest ones became his quietest, sweetest way of showing love. how he treasured those moments when his dear daughters came running to him with the softest of smiles and eyes glowing with happiness, asking him to fix their hair. and maekar could do nothing but sigh and help restless rhae tame her tangled locks, all messy from a fierce game of tag with her brother. or help gentle daella gather her hair into a neat braid so it would not get in the way of her beloved books. but what maekar adored above all else was brushing his beloved wife's hair. at night, when it was time to finally get ready for bed, he would quietly ask "may i?" as if he did not already know the answer by heart. with his long fingers, he would undo your curls, carefully unwinding the intricate masterpiece you had pinned up during the day. then he would take the comb and begin to brush with a mixture of deep delight and tenderness. in those moments, he showed his true self, not the grim or hardened man the world often saw, but someone wonderfully gentle and kind. it was as if he cast aside every mask. and when this tender ritual was complete, he would press a soft kiss to your shoulder or your neck. and you would understand, deeper than words, how truly and delicately this man cherished your love, and how much those small, shared rituals meant to him.