The fives times you refuse to give your name to a Fæ, and the one time you don't

Second Time

The second time he asks for your name, you are fifteen, and you have ran to the wishing well again, forgetting the elders' warnings. You have sworn to yourself you would not go back home anyway. You are not sure what you want to wish for, but at least for all this pain within you to fade; just to be more, or maybe less, like your mother, to accept the village's rules better, to simply fit in and be happy that way.

Eyes full of tears, breath uneven, barefooted on the grass, your mother's necklace beating against your chest as run, you have not made a detour to avoid passing by the færie ring. You trip and fall in front of it, and Áed finds you curled there, crying and cursing to the world.

"Those are not pretty words," he says.

You freeze. You push yourself on your elbows, see the færie ring, feel dread slip into your head. It is only the second time you see him, and you are not a child anymore. You have learnt to fear.

The Fæ, who has taken Nimia, then Lettie, on the day of her wedding, and even the old Mack, hovers over you curiously, at the edge of the færie ring. You remember to keep still, not to offend him. You feel the fear you should have felt when you were eight; and yet again, as tonight sadness and despair have already filled your heart, you do not manage to remain terrified.

"I don't care," you answer, sitting on your knees.

He finally sits down, too. He does not talk, so you do not feel compelled to talk either, and silence stretches between you for a while.

"Were you going to the wishing well?" he asks eventually. You nod. "It does not work anymore. Whatever you wish for, it will not grant it."

You feel your chest tightening.

"You might not say the truth."

He smiles. "Indeed. I might not. But you can try yourself."

It might have been his way to allow you to leave – but you do not find it in yourself to do so. You are tired. You have run as fast as you could from your home. Your grandmother must be worried about you, and she will probably never let you stray from the village again. Your father's shouts still resonate in your ears, saying you are not a good daughter, that you will never be, asking why you feel such a need to always run free, just like your mother, then asking why you cannot be her.

You know you should listen to your elders, tame yourself, learn to properly take care of your household, and stop fleeing from your duties and your classes to explore the wild. You just cannot help it. You were already a disobedient child; but the teenager you are now cannot bear authority.

Freedom.

Is it too little to ask?

"Are you going to stay here?" Áed asks.

You shrug, unable to answer properly. You feel too pitiful to try to talk with a Fæ – a tricky exercise, as Fæs like to twist words as they like and get human souls from a clumsy sentence.

"You can," Áed then says. "I will watch over you."

"This sounds too nice, lord Fæ." You haven't been able to prevent the dryness of your tone. "It might be another trick."

And yet, you lay on your back, somewhat desperate, arms crossed behind your head, not knowing where else to go or what else to do. The Fæ, after all, is not evil, you remind yourself. He also does good things, occasionally. You might just be lucky.

"Aren't you afraid, little one? I know you do not trust me."

"I am too tired for that."

He laughs. "Will you not give me your name, then?"

"I cannot give you my name," you reply. You know what it would lead to. Giving your name to a Fæ is giving him the power to take over your life. "But I will tell you that it's..."

You hesitate. The Fæ knowing your name would also give him some power – that is what has lost Lettie, you've been told.

"Elaine."

You close your eyes, and Áed simply laughs. He does not speak afterwards; yet you remain wary, and heavy thoughts are on your mind, so you do not find sleep easily. You end up turning towards him, and opening your eyes again, wondering if he has left, too bored to stay watching over a sleeping human.

But he's still there.

"Little liar," he says, not smiling but not sounding angry either. "This is your mother's name."

You are somehow not surprised he has noticed. Your grandmother said your mother used to go the wishing well often – she might have met him too, talked with him, before he took her away. Just like you, your mother didn't fear the way to the wishing well and the færie ring. The same recklessness, the same need for freedom runs into your veins. That might be why your family is so afraid to lose you.

"You remember her?"

"I do. I remember Nimia, also. That foolish girl, Lettie. The old Mack, who tried to cut the færie ring. And all the others."

"Why do you take them away?"

He looks at you. "Humans are fascinating. You poor little things, so weak and powerless, your lives are so short, and you do not know half the wonders that exist. And yet. You manage to find happiness."

You feel yourself drifting off to sleep, listening to the soothing velvet of his voice. Exhaustion has caught up to you. Your eyes are already closing off.

"It is no reason to take it away from us," you murmur, tiredly.

He keeps on staring at you, but does not answer. After a while, you simply close your eyes again, and this time, sleep finds you after a few minutes.

When you wake up, Áed is gone. You go back home, and your grandmother cries when you arrive. She forbids you to leave ever again. Your father apologizes for his harsh words, and you apologize for your rebellious attitude.

"Where were you?" your grandmother asks, once the calm has returned to the household.

"I slept by the færie ring," you say. "But the Fæ wasn't there."

You can hear it in your head, 'little liar' said with his voice, and it somehow makes you want to smile.

"You shouldn't," your grandmother admonishes. "Your mother used to do that too, and look where that led her. You were lucky."

"Yes," you reply, and this time you think it, too.