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

Fifth Time

The fifth time he asks for your name, it's Early Summer Night, the beginning of the warmer days, celebrated by the entire village around a banquet. Your grandmother and your father have left the house. They are convinced you will not. No one would want to see you at the banquet, after all.

But your need for freedom is still there.

You escape your home which has become your prison, and you only feel like living again once the wind is in your hair, the grass under your feet, and you can breathe in fresh oxygen. You run. Your legs welcome the dearly missed sensation blissfully, take you to the færie ring.

You do not know where else to go.

"Áed," you whisper when you step into the færie ring, and he's there, and you're in his arms, and he's holding you so tight you realize he must have missed you like you have missed him.

"Do you know how scared I was, little one?" he asks in a strangled voice. "I thought— I thought you would never come again."

You break in tears. Everything is too much, feels too much, has been too much ever since your grandmother has discovered you had approached the færie ring. You feel like shattering – and in a way, you do, pressed against his chest, pouring your heart out and wishing this night would not end.

"I thought they had killed you," Áed murmurs, caressing your hair.

"They wouldn't," you sob. "They scorn me, now, but they're not murderers. And I have done nothing evil."

"What's inside you, what you are capable of, it scares them. And scared people lose their minds far too easily."

You shake your head like a child. "They would not harm me."

"Not physically. But they could have harmed you in other ways. Your beautiful mind, for example. They could have killed this spark in you." He pauses. "Forced you to give up on your freedom."

You think of all those days spent the same way, cleaning, cooking, sewing, all nice tasks as long as they're not the only ones in your life, looking by the window and desperately wishing to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin again, to walk around without fearing to be called names or to receive stones.

You think of how, had you not known him so well, you would have already escaped and given him your name, for getting lost forever in Fæqelt will always be better than the life you now have.

"They almost did."

You realize, belatedly, how terrified you sound. Áed takes your face between his hands, looking so worried you think he might cry too.

"Little one, you do not have to remain here. You can leave. That is what you have always wanted."

"But," you weep, "they are my family."

"Family should push you forward, and not hold you back. They might warn you, but they should not bind you. Leave, little one. Take your freedom. They do not own you. Come back to this village a fine traveler and a proper Witch, and show them they were wrong to outcast you."

You manage to smile weakly. "You make it sound so easy."

"Because it can be. Witches are travelers who venture into Fæqelt and explore it, little one. That, you can be easily. You have the wits and the courage for it."

You take a breath, in and out, the despair in your stomach slowly turning into a glint of hope.

"Aren't humans supposed to lose themselves in Fæqelt?"

"Not with the blessing of a Fæ," Áed replies softly, and your heartbeat fastens.

The future, all of a sudden, seems open with a thousand possibilities. You see the roads, the travels through færie rings, the foreign people in the inns, the new towns, the vast, vast world you have always dreamt of seeing, the holy land of the Fæs, mysterious and enthralling, only ever told in myths – and Áed by your side, being his usual self, smiling at you so brightly.

"Yes," you say to this future, to this everything. "I would want that."

There is relief on Áed's face, relief and fondness – as if he had wanted you to say that, for your sake and because that was something he wished for, but was not sure you would bring yourself to do so.

"I will come for you during Midsummer Night, when Fæs can leave the færie rings, and blend in with humans. Be strong until then, little one. Do not let them bind you."

"Thank you, Áed. Thank you."

"Just give me your name in exchange," he jokes to cheer you up.

It makes your chest so warm the tears pour out again. Áed smiles, kisses your humid cheeks gently.

"Next time", you promise, crying. "Next time."

You still want to give your village a chance.

Or at least a goodbye.