La Dame had asked him to dance, and so he did. She was so beautiful, fair-haired and dressed in white, and who was he to deny the request of a lovely mademoiselle? And so he danced with her, even as the sun slanted over the ravine, even as the day faded into twilight. When his eyes drooped she brought him to the cave she guarded, and watched him as he slept; in the morning they danced again before he had to leave, and she bestowed a kiss upon his cheek.


Fire, fire; He could feel the fire, on his skin, under his skin, in his heart.


They called him witch, servant to the Devil. They said he crept away at night to dance in the forest; they said he stole their children and seduced their husbands to ruin.

La Dame had asked him to dance, he wanted to say.

But they would not listen.


Water, water; he sank but they would not save him; he swam and they sank him again.


He fell asleep under the stars and woke up with his hair in hopeless tangles. He spent the better part of the morning by the river combing it back to its usual smooth locks, ignoring the giggles of the lutins in the trees.

He walked along the winding dirt path, picking berries for his breakfast. Then, up ahead, standing across the path, a majestic bay horse waited, tossing its mane. He offered it some berries, and the horse snorted but ate them all.

He smiled and got on, and La Cheval Bayard brought him home.


Earth, earth; they threw stones at him, the very earth, dirt smearing, blood falling; and he wanted to laugh…


Servant to the Devil, they called him. How strange it was, to think about it. A being such as he, if he was servant to anyone, he was servant to the people.

Would that make people the devils?


For was it not funny that that they used his own body to hurt him?


He sat by the riverside, listening to Melusine's stories. He lied down on the soft grass on the bank, and she patted his hair as she sang.

Humans were fickle, Melusine taught him. Humans broke promises and broke hearts. Humans thought that they knew so much, when they knew so little. What they did not understand they feared.

And it was those they feared that they hurt the most.


Air, air; it was the water again, but water did not hurt him; it was the air that it robbed, that cruel mistress of blue; he did not need it, he did not need them; he closed his eyes and let himself fall.


Was it his fault that he did not age?

Was it his fault that he knew every being that resided within his lands, for were they not as much his people as the humans who wielded fire and steel?

Was it his fault that he danced when asked to dance, talked to a lonely lady by the water, understood what they could not?

Perhaps it was?


He asked the fée, what did I do, where am I wrong?

You are not wrong, the fée said, but the humans found him again.


The tiny fée on England's shoulder was watching him, but he pretended not to see. He had been pretending for centuries, because it was wrong.

"Magic?" he laughed loudly, even as England bristled with annoyance, and the fée watched him with sad, sad eyes. "Of course magic doesn't exist. How ridiculous."


Reference list

fée: French for fae/fairy

La Dame: Reference to Dames Blanches, a spirit in European folklore that waits in ravines and asks travelers to dance before letting them pass.

Lutins: Similar to brownies, they are house-spirits. They sometimes tangle people's hair into fairy-locks.

Le Cheval Bayard: Lutins may also appear in the form of a horse, capable of shifting size to accommodate their passengers

Melusine: A feminine water spirit who is a serpent or a fish from the waist down. She was married to a mortal, with the condition that he would not enter her chamber when she bathed. One day he broke the promise and she left him.