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Fae are like sharks. Beau knows this. Smooth and graceful circling under the water, sharp and beautiful and dangerous. It’s never their fault—Maybe they didn’t mean to hurt you, but that never meant they didn’t. Mortals were such petty, pretty creatures, and much too delicate to play in games of shadow-trading. Maybe it was their own fault for stepping into those magic circles—For reaching with grasping hands towards those too clearly ethereal. The ghosts of butterflies, the trailing fire-birds through the air—Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
How could she not know, child of deals herself? Of course she’s aware of their power, even if the whole ‘deal’ thing is a self-fulfilling prophecy for any poor schmuck that falls for it. She knows, and yet.
And yet.
The fae was beautiful. It went without saying, almost—For everything in the Feywild was beautiful, strange, alluring—But not like this.
“Jester”, as she called herself, was…Grounded. As light and fleeting as the other creatures were, Jester stepped upon the earth, even if her bright moods would only allow her a brief touch before shooting back up into the sky—And Beau loved to watch her.
The fae called for her, cackling after some scheme, “Lion! Run Lion, run! He’s coooming!” Beau wasn’t a fool. Well, she was a fool, but at least she knew it.…At least she hadn’t given her full name. Yet.
“What’s it like, living here?”
“Weeeeell, as long as Laden doesn’t catch you, it’s pretty great!” Jester smiles impishly, remembering their earlier escapade—(She had turned the lake into jelly, somehow, when Beau wasn’t looking, and the thrown stones to giant, sugary gumdrops midair—Didn’t stop Beau from getting clocked by one as she followed Jester, but. Still softer than a rock, she knows.)
“No, I mean…What do you do when there aren’t any people around? Does it ever get, y’know, boring?”
“Oh.” Jester says, slowly—A vulnerability that seems to stretch beyond than the spare moment, then she smiles brightly again, and it’s almost forgotten. “I wait!”
“…For what?”
“For people, silly!” She boops Beau’s nose, and lifts up off the ground as Beau reddens.
“Sure,” Beau says, rubbing her nose, “—But like, what do you do? Is it…Always pranks around here?”
“Technically,” Jester says, and Beau can’t deny her tugging smile, “We’ve been doing prank wars as long as I can remember, soooo…” She shrugs, midway through balancing on a twisty branch tightrope. “I think it’s always been like this.”
“…Is that why you don’t hang out with the other Fey?
Jester steps off the end of the tree branch, dropping to the ground next to Beau. “You’re silly. I hang out with the Traveller, remember?”
“Well…Yeah. But the last time you came back from talking to him your hair was snakes.”
Jester giggles, sitting beside the monk. “Yeah, that was pretty funny.”
“It doesn’t…Have, to be funny, Jess. You got hurt.”
“…It was ‘cause I said my hair was a snake’s nest. That’s not how it goes!”
“Jester.” Beau turns to look at directly at her.
“Your friends shouldn’t hurt you. Even if it’s—Especially if it’s, ‘funny’.”
For once, Jester ducks the gaze, instead resting her head on Beau’s shoulder.
“…You wouldn’t hurt me, Beau, would you?”
“…What?”
“You wouldn’t hurt me.” Jester says, nodding to herself as if she’s just come to an important conclusion.
Beau struggles to stay focused, “…How do you know my name?”
“The Traveller told me.”
“…You talk to the Traveller about me?” As unsettled as Beau is, she can’t help but feel…Touched?
“Of course!” Jester sounds almost surprised at that, “I like you, Beau.”
The Fae are like sharks.
They draw you in with sugar and pastries, tricks and treats—Adventures spying on pretty mermaids, paths leading to wonders beyond imagination, gifts and love—But none of it’s real, right? A candy-coated illusion, crumbling under any pressure. Beau…Beau knows this.
She pulls away.
“I want to make a deal.” This time, she’s sure.
The Feywild knows what to do. With a sudden glow, a white circle of pure energy comes to life in the ground around them—Only the truth can live inside.
The fae is nearly purple, peeking through her fingers at Beau.
“You forget my name. Forget about me.”
Jester blinks.
“What do you want?” Beau is blunt in her anger, in her fear. She crosses her arms, and stares down at the fae she had left on the ground.
“But..!”
“What. Do you want.”
Jester looks down. “…I don’t want this.”
Beau sets her jaw. “Too bad.”
“I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?”
Beau doesn’t fall for it. “What do you want, Jester.”
Jester stands, “No! That’s not fair, Lion!”
“What.”
“Fine.” She snarls, form crackling over with frost patterns as she clenches her fists, “Fine. I forget about you, and your name. But you will never forget about me.”
Jester, like all fae, could be vindictive.
Beau hesitates.
“Why were you talking to the Traveler about me?”
“I told you already.”
The monk pauses. The circle…Was this the truth?
Jester deflates.
“I like you. I wanted you to stay with me.”
“…By the binding of the circle, what is your name?”
“…You already know my name.”
Jester stares at her.
“I can’t use it unless you give it to me.”
“Oh.” Beau murmurs, “I thought…”
“I thought…You were using my name against me.”
Jester cocks her head. “…I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“…I thought you made me love you.”
The fae falters. “You…?”
“I want to make a new deal.” Beauregard decides.
She was no longer Beauregard, after that. She was no longer Beau.
Once, a human woman made a deal in the Feywild, some say. Tricked and fouled by a cruel Fae, she was forced to renounce her homeland, her everything—She became a lion, forced to protect her fae.
This is what they say.
And yet.