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vampbloodbunny · 1 year

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please please please tell us your theory about why fae cant lie

the TL/DR version is that the fae can’t lie because they aren’t actually speaking human language, they’re speaking the language of the fae, which only uses the True Names of things. So if a fae were to refer to a tree, they would say the True Name of that SPECIFIC tree. constructing a lie would require the fae to make up a false name/a new truth which is not something they’re capable of. (unless…)

if you want the full version/the way i originally worked all this out, here’s an excerpt from a story i wrote where a fae (Lincoln) is trying to make a deal with The Prince (human). i also delve into what seelie vs unseelie means and some other fae lore. i wrote the whole story on a 72 hour bender where i didn’t sleep and barely ate. it’s the closest i’ve come to Receiving A Vision. enjoy!

“Well… if we work sunup to sunup-”

“I can’t.” The Prince cut him off. “I have to sleep. And eat. And I would like to do other things, on occasion.”

“Then a long time.” He wrinkled his nose. “Longer than the moon takes to fatten and vanish.”

“You mean a month?”

Lincoln stared blankly. “What’s a month?”

“It’s… one day is from sunup to sunup.”

“And 30 of those make a month?”

“Yes.” The Prince nodded. “Sometimes. Other times it’s 31. Or 28. Or 29. But usually just 30 or 31.”

Lincoln stared at him in bewilderment. “Why would you have a measurement that changes? How can you remember what times it’s 30 and what times it’s not?”

“Well, we have calendars.” The Prince explained. “You can also use your knuckles.” Lincoln looked down at his hands.

“How?”

The Prince stood, moving so he was standing beside Lincoln. “So if you start here.” He pointed at the base pinky knuckle of Lincoln’s left hand. “And count the knuckles and the spaces between them as months, the knuckles will be months with 31 days, and the spaces will be months with less than 31 days.”

Lincoln used his right hand to tap his left knuckles one by one. “So there are 7 months?”

“Ah, no. You keep going on the other hand.” He demonstrated on his own, pointing to each knuckle and space on his left and then switching to his right, starting with the base knuckle of his pointer finger.

“Not the thumbs?” Lincoln asked. “The pattern breaks.” He tapped his pointer finger knuckles together. “Two 31 months in a row.” The Prince nodded, and Lincoln stared at his hands, mouthing silently.

“What’s after 10?”

“The number?” He blinked. “11.”

“And then?”

“12.”

“And then?”

“13.”

“One more.”

“14.”

“So there’s 14 months.” Lincoln grinned triumphantly.

“Ah, no.” He winced. “There’s only 12.”

Lincoln tossed his hands into the air. “You have 14 knuckles and spaces!”

“I know.” The Prince grinned sheepishly. “You’re supposed to stop after 12. Humans are taught the number of months before they’re taught the number of days. The knuckle trick is actually not well known. One of my tutors showed it to me.”

“So there’s 12 months that alternate 31 and not 31 days. But there’s two that don’t alternate. And you can use your knuckles but you have to remember to stop at 12. And you still don’t know how many days the not 31 months have because they could be 30 or 29 or 28.” Lincoln huffed.

“Only one month has 28 days.” He pointed to the space after the left pinkie knuckle. “February.”

“Febru-what?”

“February. It’s what we call the second month.”

“They have names?”

The Prince nodded. “January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December.”

“Why are they called that?”

“I’m not sure, actually.” He admitted. “I know that July and August were named after Roman emperors. I think. And September, October, November and December were originally the 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th months of the year.” He saw the blank look in Lincoln’s eyes and went on. “So in Latin, 7 is septum, 8 is octum, 9 is novem, and 10 is decim.”

“Latin?” He made a face. “One of those weird things you made up?”

“Not me personally, but yes, someone made it.”

“And then the emperor months were added and the made up months don’t mean what you made them up to mean anymore.”

“Yes.”

“So which ones have 29?” Lincoln asked.

“Ah… only February does.” The Prince tried not to laugh at the outraged expression that appeared on Lincoln’s face. “Every four years we have a “leap year” where February gets an extra day.”

“Why?!” Lincoln yelled.

“If we don’t add it, the months will slowly get out of line, and all the days will be wrong.” The Prince explained. “So the summer equinox will be on a different day, and then the seasons won’t align with the months anymore-”

“Seasons? Like winter, fall, summer, and spring?”

“Yes.”

“They line up with the months?”

“Yes. Each season is three months long.”

“Four groups of three.” Lincoln hummed. “We have something similar.”

“Months?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “We don’t have anything that stupid. But we have these things called courts. There’s a court for each season, and each court has three leaders, one seelie, one unseelie, and one besides.”

“What’s a seelie and what’s an unseelie?”

Lincoln scoffed. “You don’t know what a seelie is?”

“No. I don’t think most humans know much about the fae.”

“Well that’s because we want it that way. But still, seelie and unseelie are like… knowing what’s darkness and what’s light.”

“So it’s an appearance thing?”

“No, that was just a metaphor.” Lincoln huffed. “Seelies are the fae who are meant to reward good. Unseelie are the fae who are meant to punish bad.”

“So, the seelie only reward people and the unseelie only punish?”

“No.” Lincoln snorted. “Seelie and unseelie alike can reward and punish.”

“So… the difference is only in name?”

“No.” He frowned. “The words you use are so limiting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your language. It doesn’t work well with fae concepts.”

“You have your own language then?”

“Yes. Seelie and unseelie aren’t even the right words, they’re just… a sort of translation.”

“What’s the words for them in your language?” The Prince asked curiously. Lincoln responded with a series of noises that the Prince didn’t think living creatures were able to make. Some of them were noises that he didn’t think existed. When Lincoln saw the look on his face, he shrugged.

“If you spoke my language, you’d understand what they meant just by hearing them. That’s why it’s so hard to explain things. No one’s ever had to explain anything to another fae ever.”

“You’re born with the knowledge? Or you gain it when you hear the words?”

“Well we’re not born, but kind of both. We’re formed with the ability to understand our language, and every new word we hear adds to our knowledge. We’re also able to just… look at an object and know the word for it. Like it was written on it. So if someone speaks a word, we automatically know the meaning, and if we see something, we automatically know the word, and are able to convey the meaning to others.”

“How many words does your language have?”

“As many as there are things in the universe. So, infinite.” Lincoln shrugged. The Prince fell silent, both impressed and a bit overwhelmed. Then something occurred to him.

“If you instantly understand the concept and meaning of a word when you hear it, why didn’t you know what a month was?”

“That’s how our language works.” Lincoln countered. “Every word is the true word for whatever it is. Every name is the true name. It comes with understanding because it is understanding. You humans just made up noises on your own. And you didn’t even make up the same noises. And sometimes you use different noises for the same thing.”

“I never considered it like that, but I suppose you’re right.” The Prince mused. “So you don’t have any sort of… tutors or lessons or things like that?”

“The humans who tell other humans things for a living?” Lincoln laughed. “No. We just gather knowledge as we live. The older a fae gets, the more they know. Usually. There are exceptions, like if a fae lives alone. But that’s rare. And then some types of fae are smarter than others.”

“Are you born, er, formed knowing English?” The Prince asked.

“English?” Lincoln made a face. “Who’s that?”

“It’s not a who, it’s a what.” The Prince chuckled. “You’re speaking it right now.”

“Language?” He asked, confused.

“English is one language, yes. Latin is another.”

“You have specific names for the types of noises one group of humans makes.” Lincoln said flatly.

“Yes. The fae language doesn’t have a name?”

“Not in ‘English’ it doesn’t.” Lincoln said, exaggeratedly pronouncing the word and rolling his eyes.

“So are you formed knowing it?”

“Kind of.” Lincoln shrugged. “This is another concept that… doesn’t really have a word for it. We speak all languages because we’re not really speaking the language. We’re saying what we mean, and you’re kind of. Hearing what you understand.”

“So when you said those things earlier. The right words for seelie and unseelie. What I heard was just… noises.”

“Right, because it can’t be translated or understood by you.”

“But then when I hear seelie and unseelie, what are you saying?”

“The same thing. Just in a way you can understand. .” The Prince raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you didn’t have multiple words for the same thing.”

“We don’t. What I’m saying right now isn’t how I’d talk to another fae at all.” He pursed his lips. “If… for example, I wanted to say ‘the tree is brown’. There’s no direct translation for that statement in fae because… I dunno it’s not anything that ever needs to be said. But we have a word for tree and we have a word for brown and we have a word for ‘the’ and ‘is’ so I line those up in the right order and say it and it translates but if I were to say the words ‘the tree is brown’ in fae to another fae it would be like… a bunch of gibberish. They’d probably just ask why I was speaking human to them but if the humans didn’t exist, that phrase would never be uttered.”

“But individual words. Why does ‘seelie’ sound like seelie sometimes and not others?”

“Well, it hasn’t always existed. So when the first human found out about the different types of fae, they made up a word for it. We didn’t say ‘seelie and unseelie’ we explained the types and the person made up the word.”

“And then you all started using it?”

“No, but the word existed so the next time a fae tried to make themselves understood while talking about the types of fae, the human heard ‘seelie and unseelie’.”

“Then how can I hear a difference between that and the real word?”

“Because I’m not trying to make myself understood.”

“You can just. Turn it on and off?”

“Do you hear a difference between talking and singing? Or when someone is being sincere or sarcastic? Or what emotion a person is using?”

“Yes….” The Prince said slowly. “Most of the time, anyways. Sometimes people change their tone, or are bad at expressing themselves. Some people are bad at reading others too.”

“Exactly!” Lincoln clapped. “Fae are the same. Some have a better grasp of the tone to use to make humans understand them. Some have a worse grasp of it. Usually the more you interact with humans the better you get. But some fae just have an ear for it.”

“So… earlier, when you couldn’t count past 10.”

“I know how to count. I just don’t know how humans express… um….” He furrowed his brow. “The word for the… many of things.”

“Number?”

“No.” He flapped his hands in frustration. “The concept of there being more than one.”

“Multiple? Numerous? Many?” The Prince guessed.

“No.” He growled. “I don’t know how humans express the blank of things.”

“Number works.” The Prince said slowly.

“Yes but there’s another word for number. But not number. How many things there are.”

“Amount?”

“AMOUNT.” Lincoln clapped. “That’s it. I’m bad with anything relating to numbers, honestly.” He paused. “Quantity is another word for it. Math, I suppose, but more than that.”

“So when I say things… what do you hear?”

“I hear what you’re saying.” Lincoln rolled his eyes. “Your words can’t be translated into fae.”

“Then why can’t you just… memorize the words and speak them like we do? Why the translation thing?”

“It’s like… you can hear the difference between a cat hissing and meowing, right?”

“Right.”

“And you can even mimic them, right?”

“Right.”

“But you’re not actually meowing in the same way they’re meowing. You’re just mimicking it. And if you wanted to tell the cat ‘don’t bring me dead mice anymore’ you wouldn’t be able to say it in a way they understood because their ‘language’ isn’t that complex.”

“Right.”

“That’s why we use the magic to speak to you. Well, a mix of magic and dumbing things down. Like how you might be able to hold the mouse in front of the cat and hiss and they’d understand you’re upset but not be able to process what’s bad about a mouse.”

“Because the concept of someone not wanting a dead mouse is beyond the understanding of a cat… like the concept of seelie and unseelie is beyond the understanding of a human?”

“Exactly.” Lincoln grinned. “You’re pretty smart for a cat, though.”

The Prince laughed. “Thank you.” As soon as the words had slipped from his mouth, he froze. “Wait, I didn’t mean that. I’m not erasing what you did or thinking that my words negate anything or-”

Lincoln held up a hand to stop him, expression flat. “I take back what I said. You’re a pretty stupid cat.”

“I’m s-” He stopped himself with a frustrated noise. “It’s... difficult to express myself when the only methods I have available are upsetting to you.”

“The phrases ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ aren’t inherently upsetting. It’s the concept or intent behind them.” Lincoln squinted at him. “Who taught you fae conduct?”

“I read it. In a book.” He sighed. “A Princess gave it to me.”

“The Princess of the East?” He asked immediately.

“Yes.” The Prince raised his eyebrows. “How did you know?”

“She’s as close to fae as most humans get.” Lincoln grinned. “Everyone knows her.”

“Well she wrote a book, and it had rules in it. And one rule was not to not say… certain things.”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “Most elder fae lose their shit over ‘thanks’ and ‘sorry’ even outside of the context where it’s actually hurtful.”

“Like how… dogs bark when they’re happy or angry, but some people don’t want them to bark at all because the sound is annoying?”

“Mm… kind of.” Lincoln scratched one of his horns. “More like… how ‘ass’ can mean an animal or a body part depending on the context. And how most people avoid saying ‘ass’ at all because even if they’re talking about the animal, people have the immediate connotation of the body part.”

“Right.” The Prince nodded. “Do you mind if I ask you questions about some of the things in the book?”

“Show it to me first.”

The Prince hesitated.

“Is it true fae can’t lie?” He asked.

“Yes.” Lincoln grinned. “But there’s no real way to know if that answer is true. You’d only know for sure if I’d said ‘no’ but that wouldn’t make you believe me any more than you already do.”

“Is it true you have to keep your word?”

“Yes.” His expression grew serious. “The fact that humans can make a promise or say you’ll do something and then go back on your word is… inconceivable. It would be like you trying to stop your heart from beating.” He shook his head. “I think it’s because of our language. We only speak the truth. Your words are just made up. They don’t hold the same power. ...are you going to ask me to promise something?”

“I just want your word that this isn’t a trick, and that you’re not going to damage the book or steal it.” The Prince answered. “Or that… showing it to you won’t give you some kind of power, or make you angry and harm me or something.”

“I won’t steal or damage the book, I won’t even look at any part other than the conducts, it isn’t a trick, nothing will happen to you or to me because I see the book or read what’s written.” He considered this. “Now that I think about it, we can lie in some ways. We can make predictions and be wrong, which technically means we lied. I can say that me seeing the book won’t affect anything but the book ends up being magical and the moment I touch it a dark force erupts from it and envelops the house, killing us both.” He shrugged. “We can also make jokes, which can be a sort of lie. Or use ‘loopholes’ which we exploit a lot. Like ‘I am taller than the trees’. I didn’t say which trees or how many. But because your language is stupid and imprecise, I can express a concept in a way that is misleading to most people.”

“But you can’t lie knowingly.” The Prince said. “What happens if you try?”

“I mean… some fae can, but we don’t… talk about them.” Lincoln rubbed his neck, obviously uncomfortable.

“Why can some of you but not others?”

“The ones that can lie… well ok, the ones that do lie had to. Work at it.” He sighed. “The older the fae get the smarter they get, right? So some of the really old fae have amassed knowledge that goes against pretty much every facet of fae existence. Like how I compared talking to humans in a way that’s singing? They learned how to hit the notes that are lies. Most of us don’t have that register. There’s actually no way to express a false concept in the fae language. Like saying ‘this tree is brown’. Makes sense in human, but not really in fae. We have a word for big tree, a word for small tree, a word for all trees, a word for specific groupings of trees, like literally a group of five trees in a specific forest will have a different word than a group of five trees in another forest. Or the same forest and the same type of trees but just a different grouping. Entirely different words. But you just… have a word for all trees and then you tack on other words to specify what you mean. Or you say ‘that tree’ or ‘this tree’ and the context of where you are and how you’re pointing changes the meaning.”

“Wait.” The Prince stood and went into the cabinets, retrieving two identical jars of jam and holding them up, one in each hand. “So if I wanted to refer to this jar.” He wiggled one of the jars. “I would say one word. And if I wanted to refer to this jar.” He wiggled the other jar. “It’s another word. Even though the jars are identical?”

Lincoln rolled his eyes. “But they’re not. They’re different jars. They might look the same to you and share the same properties, but they’re different.”

“So when you look at these jars, you see different things. As in they appear different to you.”

“Yes.”

“If I were to switch the jars around while you weren’t looking would you be able to tell the difference?”

Lincoln snorted. “Yes.”

“Can we try?”

“Knock yourself out.” Lincoln closed his eyes and turned around. The Prince clinked the jars together, but kept them in the same hands.

“Ok, turn around.”

Lincoln glanced at the jars. “You didn’t move them.”

“You guessed.”

“No I didn’t.” He laughed. “You believed I could teach you to spin thread into gold but you don’t believe I can tell two jars apart?”

“Fair enough.” He put the jars back and sat down. “So… lying.”

“Right.” Lincoln frowned. “So we have a word for everything. We even have a word for lying, though it’s the only fae word that sounds like another word. It sounds like ‘truth’ but it sounds like the opposite of truth.”

“How is there an opposite of a sound?”

“I can’t explain that to you. There just is.”

“Right, ok. So it sounds like the opposite of truth. Why do you have a word for a concept you don’t… actually have? Was it something you had to define because humans were doing it?”

“No. We have different words for like. What you consider to be lies and actual lies. Like me saying I’m taller than trees. We have a term for that and a term for, ah… hm. If I were to point to a tree and say ‘I am taller than that tree’ but I’m not.”

“But you can engage in hypotheticals.”

“Yes, because remember, I’m not actually saying the words you’re hearing. It’s a lot easier to understand if you grasp the concept that fae language is the one and only truth. So inherently, everything I say is correct.”

“So when you’re saying ��If I were to point to a tree and say ‘I am taller than that tree’’ the words you’re using are completely different than the words you’d use in the actual situation of you pointing to a tree and saying ‘I am taller than that tree’.”

“Exactly. And because we use different words for different things at different times, I literally would not be able to put together a lie. The words wouldn’t exist. If I’m talking about a specific tree, and how tall I am in relation to it, the only thing I could say would be ‘I am not taller than that tree’ or something like that. It’s not like I can just drop the word ‘not’ because we don’t have just one word for ‘not’. So I couldn’t say it, which means it couldn’t be translated into something you’d understand which means I, essentially, cannot lie.”

“Couldn’t you learn the human words for things and lie that way?”

“It would be nearly impossible.” Lincoln shook his head. “First off, there’s only so much of your language we can actually like. Hear the difference between. The subtleties of most words are difficult to parse out. To go back to the cat thing, you might understand the difference between a hiss and a meow but not understand the difference between the meow that means ‘I want attention’ and ‘something is wrong’. Humans are a bit more intelligent than cats-”

“A bit?” The Prince raised his eyebrows.

“I’m being generous, don’t push it.” Lincoln snickered. “So there’s more room for communication, but our language is still vastly more developed than yours. It’s like… communicating with a very young child. But there are some noises we literally just cannot make. Physically incapable.”

“Are there any words in fae I could say?”

Lincoln laughed. “I have no idea. I don’t think any human has ever tried. I don’t even know what noises you can make. Like physically are able to make. You might be able to mimic them but it would be akin to a dog barking in a way that sounds like a word. Not actual speech.”

The Prince nodded. “So the fae that can lie…”

“Have to invent new words.” Lincoln frowned. “But more than that. They have to invent new truth. It’s an incredibly advanced form of magic, with potentially catastrophic repercussions.”

“Why do they do it, then?”

“Well it’s not like they lie in the same way humans do.” He sniffed. “Telling people you enjoyed food to spare their feelings or making up an excuse to avoid work. The fae that can lie are rare. We actually know every single one that is or has been capable of it. So far, anyways. In a few centuries another might learn how.”

“How did you find out?”

“This… isn’t something I’m willing to discuss.” He muttered.

“Right. I’m s-” The Prince cut himself off.

“That was the original topic, wasn’t it? Learning why ‘I’m sorry’ is bad?” Lincoln grinned, but the Prince could see the shadow of something hovering behind his eyes.

“Let me get the book.” He retrieved it from it’s carefully chosen spot and opened it to the ‘Rules’ page before handing it to Lincoln. His eyes scanned both pages for a second, and he handed it back. “You read it all? That quickly?” The Prince asked in shock.

“Yes.” Lincoln snorted. “It’s still entertaining to see humans get so surprised over normal stuff. Like a dog getting confused when you pretend to throw a stick.”

“You really need to cut the animal metaphors out.” The Prince muttered and sat back down. “So what do you think?”

“She’s not wrong, but she paints in pretty broad strokes. This is obviously an abridged version of her knowledge. I imagine she wrote this down on her way to see you, and wanted to make sure it would be small enough to hide easily. I’ve seen the other things she’s written about us. Enough to fill books much larger than that.”

The Prince nodded. “That makes sense… care to fill in the gaps?”

“The name thing is true.” He shrugged, grinning. “You could never pronounce a fae’s true name, but there are words in human languages that are… close enough to the language of the fae that you could actually do some harm. Or good, possibly, but no fae is going to give you the opportunity. Some humans have found out through one means or another but it’s incredibly rare. And usually it’s the less powerful fae and the more powerful humans.” He hummed. “Oh and your names are… more complex. You see, humans are the one thing who’s true name we can’t understand just by looking at them. So when I look at a cup, I see it’s true name, or when someone uses that cup’s name, I know exactly what cup they mean, but when I look at a human I just see… you. The only way we can know your true names is if you tell us your human names. Then it translates, and we know the real one.”

“Why is that?”

“Humans have magic in them.” Lincoln shrugged. “Not as much as the fae, but more than anything else. When your parents name you, it’s a sort of magic. It protects your true name from being used against you.”

“But if we use it…”

“If you just spoke your name aloud near a fae, with no context, we wouldn’t understand you. But if you give it to us, the magic is broken.”

“Full name... meaning?”

“First, middle, and last. That’s actually why humans started giving their children middle names. Someone got wise about the fae’s power and slipped in a hidden name you never used when speaking to people so that you’d be protected. But then people forgot what it’s for.”

“So if I gave you my first and last name?”

“You’d technically be safe, though it would grant me some potential power over you. Same with if you just gave me your first name, or last one.”

The Prince frowned. “What if people change their name? Or go by a nickname?”

“Those are two different things. If someone changes their name, their new name is the key to their true name. It doesn’t change your true name, mind you, just the… form of the magic that guards it. A nickname would be… hm. Depending on the type, it could either grant no power, or very little. A man named ‘Robert’ going by ‘Bob’ would grant the fae very little power over him if he told them his name was Bob. But if some people called him, ah… ‘Colossus’ because of how tall he was, that name would grant no power over him.”

“Alright.” The Prince nodded. “And the others?”

“Avoiding faerie rings is good advice. You’re not guaranteed to be harmed or taken if you step into one but. It’s a gamble. Not eating our food is also true. First because if you eat our food, human food will stop tasting good to you. Or really, stop tasting like food. And if we offer you human food and you take it, you’re now in our debt, and we can and will use that. It might not be bad for you, or actually harmful, but we will use it.”

“Why is that?” He asked. “How is that?”

“We believe in equilibrium.” Lincoln paused and shook his head. “Believe isn’t the right word. We require equilibrium. The universe does, really. Our magic is based off of reality. Reality only exists if things are balanced. So when certain actions would potentially cause unbalance, the universe corrects them. When you take something from us, the universe is potentially unbalanced by that debt. We’re allowed to… direct the balancing as we please.”

“Why can’t humans?”

“Interactions between different humans are different than interactions between humans and fae. There’s less of a magic charge. The way the universe balances that is by allowing humans to entrap fae in the same ways we entrap humans. So if we take something from you directly, we’ll usually be sure to define the exact terms of repayment. That way the universe is never out of balance and you can’t use it against us.”

“Like trading flowers for gold spinning lessons.”

“Exactly.”

“But it doesn’t count if I leave out a gift for you?”

“Mm. Sort of.” Lincoln hummed. “Gift is the wrong word. We don’t really have a concept of ‘gifts’ because it’s just… not how the world works. Nothing is ever given or taken for free with no after effects.”

“But if I leave a loaf of bread on my table for you...”

“Then you’ve relinquished ownership of it and it holds no more ties to you than an apple that’s fallen from a tree.”

“Even if it’s still on my table?”

“If you placed it there with the intent to have someone take it, yes. We won’t just… take food you leave out for no reason. The intent has to be there because the intent changes the object’s nature.”

“And the same applies for gifts you give or tasks you do?”

“Yes. Because we’re not giving gifts, we’re leaving things were you’ll find them. Or doing tasks that you’ll enjoy. Same as if we pointed out a shiny rock that you then picked up, or sang a song you heard and liked. It puts no one into debt.”

“What if I ask you to sing?”

“Then you’ve created a debt for yourself. You’ve put out an energy into the world that we can use against you.”

“And that energy won’t be filled by you singing?”

“No, because the act of filling the request is what creates the energy of debt. If we refuse the request, no debt is created.”

“How big does the request have to be? I’ve already asked a few things of you. Technically.”

“Yes you have.” Lincoln smiled, more flashing his teeth than anything. “But they’ve been relatively minor. And you’ve answered my questions as well, so you’re pretty much safe. The amount of energy created that we can use is directly proportional to the size of the request. And the size of the request is relative to what a fae or human is likely or able to do. You asking me to elaborate on a topic that we’re already discussing, in an ongoing conversation that is a specific give and take of ideas, creates very little debt. If you approached me out of nowhere and asked me to teach you about fae conduct, it would be more of a significant debt.”

“But there’s still a danger.”

“Yes. Fae are extremely powerful. There’s a danger going near one. There are many ways a fae can harm you without you even knowing they exist, much less interacting with them.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Well first off, not all of us are malevolent. Secondly, our actions still have consequences. If a fae does nothing but negative things, that’s going to affect other things in a completely different way. Same with if a fae does nothing but positive things. The universe deals with this by creating seelie and unseelie fae who’s actions, good, bad, and other, tend to balance each other out. Plus ‘good’ and ‘bad’ aren’t really… accurate. It’s more ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ but not in the way you think. See, if a person does something good, that unbalances the universe in their favor. A fae can then use that energy to reward them. Same with if a person does something bad and a fae uses that energy to punish them. But sometimes a fae wants to do something that doesn’t strictly fit the crime. Say a person does something mildly annoying but it really pisses the fae off and they, ah… curse them to grow fur on their eyeballs or something. That’s not proportional, so the energy dips into the negative, and has to be balanced. Same with if a fae just. Really likes a human and rewards them for basically nothing. That will make the energy dip negative too, because they’re using energy that wasn’t created. It’s a ‘good’ thing that makes a ‘negative’ energy because it wasn’t proportional.

Thankfully, humans and fae alike create ‘positive’ energy with their actions. Humans usually do it without knowing that’s what they’re doing, even if, on some level, you understand. Like if you hold the door for someone just out of kindness, that’s a bit of positive energy. If they don’t say thanks that’s a bit more. But if you hold the door and expect a thank you, or worse, hold a door for someone who doesn’t say thank you, and then you tell them to say thank you? Whoof. That’s negative energy dip right there. And if you righteously punish someone for doing a terrible thing, that’s a positive energy creation. But someone doing a terrible thing creates a vacuum. Them getting away with it creates a bigger one. The more people that enable the person to get away with the thing makes a bigger negative dip. And if the universe has too much energy, it has to use it. And if it doesn’t have enough, it has to get more. That’s why sometimes things happen for ‘no reason’. They do, it might just not be related to you. Or only tangentially so. Like you step on someone’s foot and don’t apologize and then three years later your favorite dress tears. The universe was filling the vacuum, you just don’t have enough perception to see it. And because everything in the universe is constantly doing things that have negative and positive outcomes, things are also constantly happening that have negative and positive outcomes. The fae can just… see it and understand it and sometimes direct it. But we’re still a part of the system, and we’re still bound by it’s rules.”

“So ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’… act as balancing tools?”

“Yes. Depending on the situation. So if you step on someone’s foot and say ‘I’m sorry’ that fills in the vacuum that was created by you stepping on their foot. Somewhat. It depends on the person and the foot and the step. And if someone gives you a gift and you thank them, that takes away a bit of the positive energy they created with the act. Which is why fae hate it. Because if a human is powerful enough, uttering those words can literally strip a fae of their power. The words we have for directly thanking someone or apologizing are actually sort of spells in our language. It would be like… someone trying to attack you, and you using a shield to stop their attacks. Or just… taking their weapon entirely.”

“So if I upset you and I want to apologize….”

“You could say ‘sorry’ and I would understand it to be an expression of regret and not an attempt to take away the power I have righteously earned over you because you upset me. Which, by the way, isn’t a lot. Even if you purposefully angered or upset me, the damage I can do with the amount of energy from that one incident isn’t a lot. Fae usually use other energy created by other things you’ve done to punish you. Though if they enjoy the punishment, it actually creates more energy because they’re gaining pleasure which is, inherently, a source of energy. And that’s really the only difference between seelie and unseelie. Seelie gain more pleasure from rewarding people, unseelie gain more pleasure from punishing them. But they both can do the inverse, of course. It’s just rarer and probably weaker than their usual magic.”

“So what phrases don’t effect the energy that I can use instead?”

“Anything that’s just a statement. ‘I appreciate this’ or ‘I regret this’ because it’s not attempting to make amends or fill in the vacuum it’s just stating a fact of how you feel.”

“That’s a difficult line to walk.”

“For humans, yes. For fae it’s pretty simple. That doesn’t mean there aren’t mistakes, but it’s more like… calling your mother by your friend’s name. It’s uncommon.”

“And the other rules in the book?”

“Yes, we can tell if you’re lying. And we’re pretty well versed in all the phrasings of things that avoid a lie while creating a non-truth, so it’s pretty hard to pull one over on us. We already covered why we can’t lie. All in all I’d say nothing she says is outright wrong even if there are gaps in it.”

“If you don’t mind me asking… are you seelie or unseelie?”

Lincoln smiled. “Humans are so… strange. Not being able to tell… strange. I’m neither.”

The Prince nodded. “So you punish and reward people?”

“No. Being neither doesn’t mean you’re a mix of the two it means you’re neither. I don’t punish or reward. I make my deals up front and use the energy from that.”

“Right.” The Prince nodded. “And what court are you?”

“What court do you think I am?” He countered.

The Prince thought it over. “Spring?”

“Summer.” He laughed. “But only tangentially.”

It was at this point that the Prince realized how late it had gotten.

“This whole conversation started because you didn’t know how long a month was.” He rubbed his face tiredly. “And you were trying to estimate how long it would take for me to learn to spin thread into gold.”

#the fair folk #faerie #fae

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