Names and Diplomacy

         There are many tales that will tell you that the name of a faery -- or any other magical being -- is important. Once you know the true name of another being, you have power over them. Exactly what the power is, and how important it is varies from tale to tale. In some stories, calling a being by his or her name is the one way to defeat him or her. In others, the knowledge of their true names is the key to casting spells. Without the true name, the spell will not hold. Even with a binding spell that makes the person obey you, he/she will not obey unless you call him/her by name.
         The latter is true in our world. While I don’t know of any beings that can be defeated by hearing their true names said, the knowledge of knowing a being’s true name is the key to casting spells over him/her. There are many things faeries and spirits can do to you magically without knowing your name, but when it comes to controlling your mind, or your choices, you -- someone -- first has to give them that key.
         Giving a false name or nickname is generally a good idea, but giving the name of someone else you know (even if that person is a jerk and deserves it) only leads to misunderstandings and messy situations.
         This faery already knew my name, and had already magicked me. There was only one way we’d ever be close to standing on even ground. At the time I asked, we were across the table from each other, having what’s called a “stare down,” and coincidentally were both holding knives (I was slicing bread, and he was slicing cheese).
          “What’s your name?” I asked him again.
          “Why would you want to know that?” he stalled, narrowing his eyes slightly.
          “I feel somewhat entitled. You know, since I did save your life.”
          “I thought our debts were settled.”
          “They were -- until you fainted and made me drag you to your bed.”
          “I appreciate the gesture, but you could have left me on the floor.” he popped a slice of cheese in his mouth.
           “True, but I didn’t, and you owe me.” I grinned at him.
           The faery smiled and looked down. “My name is Ciaran.” he said, finally giving in.
            I held out my hand across the table. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Ciaran.”
            He shook my hand in a moment I would like to call a diplomatic first between our two races. For a few minutes we sat in silence, pleasantly munching on the strange bread and cheese. After my portion was done, I asked,
            “How is your back doing?”
            “It’s a bit sore.”
            “Can I take a look at it?”

“Please do.”

I took the bandage off of his back carefully, although there was no gentle way to rip off the duct tape. All I could do was stare for a moment at where the gash used to be. In its place was a fine, red line, as if Ciaran had been scratched by a little tree branch.

“Seriously? There’s practically nothing there!” I yelled.

“That’s a relief.” Ciaran sighed, not surprised at all.

I wasn’t done freaking out, so I put my nose next to his. “You almost died! And now you’re fine!”

“Yes, I am. Good job!” he gave me a strange look. “Could you take the rest of the tape off?”

“It is all off.”

“Please, I am begging you. It’s itching like mad.”

I laughed and scratched around his wound for him. “I’m telling you, the tape is gone. You know,” I continued more soberly. “the medicine in those bottles would save a lot of lives.”

“That is why it was invented.” Ciaran agreed, arching his back like a cat.

“So, why haven’t your people shared that with the human world?”

He stiffened. “That’s where it starts. It’s not a bad idea at first. But just think, Ashlyn, if I gave you that medicine to take to your doctors, they would demand that you get more. More medicine, more ways to cheat death. And it wouldn’t stop there. They would demand everything we have, little by little. If I said that bottle was all I had, they wouldn’t trust me enough to believe me and leave it at that.” Ciaran turned in his chair to face me. “And when they cannot trust me, when they fear what I am hiding, that is when I become the enemy. A worldwide threat; something that must either be put under control or destroyed.”

“Not everyone is that greedy.” I said quietly, although it sounded likely.

Ciaran tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Not everyone is like you.”

He was so handsome.

“But that’s why I’ve got to take you back and erase your memories again.”

            “Again?”
            “I have to.” Ciaran repeated. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want anything else happening to you. I’ll make sure you smell like a human again and see that you get home all right.”

“But --”

“It’s either that or stay here, and I know you don’t want that.” He dug through a pile on the floor and pulled out a shirt.

I looked down at my hands and squeezed them together. “What if I did?”

“Then you’d stay here forever and I wouldn’t have to erase your memories.” He didn’t look up but kept digging through the other piles in the room.

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” I admitted.

“You’d change your mind soon enough.”

“Do we have to go back now?” I wanted to see the empty village in the daylight.

“The longer we wait, the more memories you’ll lose.” He found the book he wanted.  

“But that doesn’t mean we--”

Ciaran grabbed my arm with his free hand (not roughly, don’t worry). His eyes were fierce. “Ashlyn, do you want me to keep you here?”

There was another tense silence accompanied by another stare down.

“No,” I said finally, looking down. “Take me back.”