Archive of Our Own ^beta

Her hair has never grown this fast before. Maybe the Lazarus minerals had something to do with it. Either way, it is a new sensation to feel bristles pull through her hair past her shoulders before Talia tugs it loose. Each time she hears the soft snag, her scalp and neck and shoulders tingle. It's only her recent training that keeps her back rod straight because otherwise she'd be slumped over the vanity half asleep. 

"J," Talia murmurs, her fingers never faltering. "Have you decided on a name yet?" 

She swallows and almost shakes her head, then admits, "No."

Talia hums. "A name is important. Do not rush. May I make a few suggestions?"

"Please."

"You could have a name that matches your beauty. I'm serious," Talia tacks on when the teenager blushes and tries to duck her head. "The name Jasmine comes from the Persian word for God's gift. That is what you are."

Another pull of the brush as she lets the name wash over her, imagines crawling into the name like a shell. It is beautiful, and pure and untainted and so many things she is not. But if Talia thinks it is fitting...

Talia sets the brush down and parts her hair with a finger, right down the middle. "Perhaps that is too delicate for you, my warrior. Your hands know blood and soil."

She clenches them into a fist. "I'm not pure."

"No, and that is a gift." Talia takes the hair on the left of the part and begins weaving it, tightly coiled starting at her scalp. "Hm, perhaps Jansaya." She lets the name sit in the fragile air. "The words for soul and protector. Perfect for a fighter, no?"

Again, she lets the name linger. It drapes across her lap, beneath her hands, like a quilt. She has always been a fighter and deluded herself into thinking she had been a protector, too. "Maybe," she says down to her hands. 

Talia finishes the first braid and moves on to the next. Both are silent so that only Talia's hands pulling through her hair make a sound between them. "Of course, you do not have to keep your J. What about Nanaya? She was a goddess, you know, of love and war." 

Talia finishes the second braid and stands. She walks around to look at her from the front, and she smiles. Talia places her hands on the girl's shoulders and squeezes them gently. “There, now your hair will stay out of your eyes during training. What do you think?”

She raises a hand and touches her hair. She's never felt the ridges of pleats straight against her head, it's novel. The tightness feels secure, grounding. It is amazing what Talia could do with just a brush and some gel, because when short her hair has always been curly, always unruly, Alfred would say, and —

“I like it. I think.” 

Talia sighs a little. "If only you could see yourself the way I see you."

She glances behind Talia, to the covered mirror on the vanity. Her stomach knots. "N-not yet," she croaks.

Talia nods. "It's okay. One thing at a time. One moment leads to the next. For now, a name."

She touches the end of one of her braids. "What's in a name?" And with a smirk, she adds, "Juliet?”