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Everyone was incompetent, stupid, and out of their minds. Yes, that was River’s professional opinion, thank you very much.
Kali’s haughty approach of tricking and outsmarting the humans for eternity had been tantamount to begging for annihilation. Aubrey’s approach of ignoring the “humans” problem in a haze of self-indulgence was no better. Especially in light of the most persuasive voice in Court lately - Song - that advocated for the Fae to simply cede their lands to the humans and retire as relics of a bygone era.
River was of the opinion that the humans, as the interlopers, should be the ones to assimilate. There had been initiatives before, in centuries past - exchange programs where young humans had been brought in to learn their customs, and young Fae had been left to learn the customs of the humans. No matter how much kindness the Fae showed, the humans only ever seemed to fear their power, take advantage of it, and spread their influence with no regard for the Court. The humans seemed to hold no concept of their own power over the Fae whatsoever, and made no move to rectify the imbalance. Stepping aside and letting the humans do as they may was... extinction.
Common sense aside (and as it stood, common sense was really rather uncommon), opinions, even professional ones, weren’t very useful without facts and proof. Obviously, the first step to policy was research.
River’s field study found them tuning up their human glamour on the edge of a vineyard on a warm evening on the outskirts of the forest. The light on the patio was on.
“Sorry mate, we’re closed,” the man said at the sound of their approaching footsteps, not looking up from his wine.
“Closed for business perhaps,” River agreed, “how about pleasure?”
The man startled and looked up, taken aback. He eyed River warily, his face flushed from drink, and eyes red-rimmed and glassy. Then, he relaxed with a chuckle, and rambled in a watery, self-deprecating sort of way. “Not much pleasure either, I’m afraid. Selling the place, can’t afford it anymore. Lovely people really, could be worse. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“You will not remember me,” River said, imbuing the words with meaning.
The man eyed the bottle, and laughed. “Yeah, probably not.” He rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve and waved at the couch opposite him. “Take a seat?”
“I will not take your furniture, but I will be seated. Your offer is appreciated.” River recalled the sign at the entrance. “Mr... Stirling, I presume?”
“Mr. Stirling was my father. I’m just January.”
“I will not take your name, either, but I will refer to you as January. You may refer to me as Gale, in a non-binding capacity,” River recited dutifully. They weren’t here to trick the humans into servitude or steal from them what wasn’t consensually given in full awareness. They wanted to get to the best solution fair and square, to have the humans hear their explanation, see their sound logic, and eventually say, ‘yes, I see, that does make sense.’ Perhaps that was bordering on fantasy, per the aforementioned axioms regarding common sense. River wanted to try anyway.
January tilted his head at the turn of phrase like the new perspective would help him understand, shook the mystery loose, and poured a second glass of wine for River.
“So, you’re saying anyone stronger than you in any capacity should simply be trusted not to harm you?”
“I - yes? Assume good faith?”
“And what if you met a polar bear?”
“Why would I meet a polar bear!?”
“Say the polar bears moved in, without asking you. They didn’t have anywhere else to go, and they were unpredictable and angry, and didn’t understand your ways of doing things. It wasn’t your fault but it was your problem now - what would you do?”
“I- I don’t know, okay? I’m not good at this rhetorical stuff. We’re talking about people, not animals, aren’t we? I just know people should be given a chance to do good with it. It makes everyone - everything - smaller, to constrict people to the lowest denominator. Ugh. I can’t think straight, can we talk about something else?” January's empty wineglass clinked against the bottle as he set it down unsteadily, joining River's on the table.
River’s blood was boiling in their veins. They hadn’t felt so invigorated by a conversation in a very long time. They wanted to earn all the pieces of January’s thoughts and worldviews and connect them all together like a puzzle. That was insane thinking - this was just one human. They forced themselves to calm. On the way back from going to get another bottle, January had dropped next to River onto the couch that was closer to the vineyard. He collapsed against their side, now, a warm and pleasant weight against their shoulder. River had never had anyone feel so comfortable as to lean on them since the days of being a small child. They were surprised to find that it wasn’t unwelcome.
“What would you like to talk about, instead?”
January cracked an eye open. Paused. “I want to know you. What do you actually think?”
“We’ve been talking about what I think for a while now.”
“No, I don’t think we have. We’ve been talking about what I think. You’ve brought up plenty of counter arguments from many different angles, but I don’t know if you even believe or agree with any of them. Who are you?”
“Does it matter?” River said, not betraying anything on their face. Secretly, they felt put on the spot. They weren’t lying about their beliefs. There was Truth and Logic and Fairness. These were the things River believed. Many things could be Truth at the same time, though, and other times it wasn’t immediately clear what was Fairness, either. Until they reached objective Truth and Fairness, they picked Logical sides like glamour, applied it to themselves as it suited them, and then discarded when it suited them. It wasn’t personal. It was how academics functioned: you didn’t grow too attached to an idea, lest you became too rigid to accept new ones.
Now, though, they felt... adrift. River had been re-orienting themselves with January as their way-point. Without January plotting a steady course to use as a relative metric, River had only their destination in mind.
January looked at the stars. Then at River. There was barely any space between them. River wasn’t sure how that happened. Usually when they debated, it caused other people to guard their physical space more closely the more threatened they felt intellectually. Yet, here January was. His face turned a darker shade of red, and determined at the same time. “It does. A beautiful stranger comes to talk to me when I’ve got no one at all in the world, left. They’re witty and charming, and their voice is so… soothing even when they’re questioning all of my beliefs.” January pushed his face into their shoulder. “Comfortable. And I don’t know them at all. I’d like to, though.”
This was unexpected. River hadn’t modified their features to be attractive - the goal had been to look human. Their clothing was a simple green sweater and jeans, as was the style among humans these days. January was dressed similarly. River also knew very well that they could be exhausting to talk to when they got laser focused on a conversation and fell into interrogating or lecturing. Other people traded places away from them at parties just in case, so they wouldn’t be subjected to listening to them. They’d never taken it personally. They didn’t need anyone to like them, they just needed to be understood. January, too, had asked to change the topic. And... January was asking River to keep talking. Instead of fueling the usual self-restraint, January speaking up when he got overwhelmed only made them feel safe to speak their mind.
“You won’t remember me.” It made River sad to say, this time. Which, again, was insanity, all things considered. This would remain a dream, a liminal conversation, gone in the morning like fog. It was better this way.
“Sure. Suppose I won’t. Doesn’t that mean that you could tell me just about anything and it would be fine? Just for tonight,” January said to their shoulder. “Doesn't have to be politics. Could you tell me about your mother?”
That was true, River supposed. January had this earnest way about him. Both vulnerable and immovable at the same time. It made River want to open themselves up to him. They reasoned that it was for building rapport.
“You may be right.” You probably wouldn’t believe it anyway. River adjusted their posture to better fit the January cuddling up closer to them. It was getting cold out, for a human, they realized. “Do you have a blanket?”
“Oh. Yeah. In the hamper.” January gestured to a basket he had brought over with the extra wine. The implication that January was accommodating a longer stay on the patio was again, rather peculiar. No matter how lonely January was feeling, River was a stranger. If they had wanted to, they could have tricked January any number of times by now. They had a pang of realization that if January met a polar bear he really would just let it into town, and into his house, and pour it a glass of wine, in case anyone doubted his hospitality. ‘No sense of self preservation,’ River wanted to tsk, though it was serving them quite nicely at the current moment.
“I was raised by a wise and ancient spider,” River began without further ado, January snuggling closer to fit both of them under the small blanket. “They taught my sibling and I everything we know, starting with the periodic table.”
“Okay, if you really don’t want to tell me, fairy tales are good too. I’ll allow it.” January’s laugh ghosted over their collar.
“My other parent was much less interesting,” River confided.
“Anything to keep it interesting for you.” January yawned. “What you choose to share or not share still reveals something about you, by the way.”
“Hm. I suppose it does.” And that was alright.
So, River spoke of Anansi, and Kali, and Aubrey, and the Court, in the roundabout way that would pass it off as a human fairy tale rather than a real faerie tale, without being dishonest. January spoke of his mother and father, and his days at the vineyard. He had moved away to the city for ballet and was only visiting to tidy up for the sale, in truth. It had all hit him, then, sitting out on the patio one last time, watching the sun go down behind the roof. No close people in his life, and not even the house he grew up in. He hoped the family that was moving in wouldn’t feel too inconvenienced if he came by to visit his mother on occasion.
“Say, d’you think you would remember, though?” January asked. He had stopped drinking some time ago and was getting to that broody stage just past tipsy, with long lapses of silence in between.
River let out a heavy breath. “Yes, I will.” They didn’t think they would be able to forget this night if they wanted to.
“That’s nice. I like the thought of someone else remembering my mum, even if it’s only from my stories.” January shifted self consciously. “Can I - uh, never mind.”
River followed suit, looking at him expectantly. January’s face belied a tension like he was holding his heart in his hands. Somewhere between, ‘it’s no big deal if you break it, don’t worry about it,’ and ‘I’ll never recover if you do.’
“Can- Could I- I want to be memorable -”
“You are plenty memorable, January,” River murmured, amused.
January had that determined look in his eye again. “Maybe I want to hedge my bets.” He squirmed, his gaze darting across River’s face. Exhale. “Can I kiss you?”
River had never kissed anyone before. Then again, no one and no time had seemed right for it, before. It was an easy answer.
“You may.”
“Oh!” said January, like he genuinely hadn’t expected it. Maybe he hadn’t. River hadn’t either, after all. “Uh, before that though... You’re not... human, are you?”
January was clever, of course he saw through them. Not that they’d done a very thorough job of hiding it. They should have been apprehensive. They simply weren’t, though. “No. I’m not.”
“Is. Will that be a problem?”
“It is a problem in some ways.” River was regretting having placed the amnesia enchantment on him at the beginning. At the same time, the only reason they had felt emboldened to speak so openly was precisely because of the enchantment. It was the smart and safe thing to do. River had a hunch that not every human would be so kind. If January got close to them of his own accord once more, though... “It is not a problem currently, though.”
“What a relief,” said January, and kissed them.
“Hold on, hold on.” River pulled back and laughed at January’s expression. Said River, slow and deliberate, “If there comes a time when we meet again - kiss me again. You’ll remember.”
The next morning though, January would wake up shivering on the patio and not remember.
Over the course of the human studies, River would discover that their chance meeting with January was somewhat of a fluke. Even otherwise lovely humans were by and large boring, to say nothing of the unlovely ones. Talking to humans other than January didn’t light River up from the inside with the urge to, do a lot of things, really. Talking to January had made them think deeply about their principles. Made them open to revising their course for the first time in a long time. Conversations about regular human things weren’t particularly engaging if it wasn’t January, either. The human interviews went shorter and shorter. What they had thought was them following their academic curiosity turned out to be January curiosity, through and through.
They didn't regret any amnesia enchantments after that first one.
And the January curiosity never quite went away. Though less frequent over time, every now and again a thought popped up in their head like an unhelpful pixie, ‘January would have had something interesting to say about this.’
If they had thought about it even a little bit, they would have realized that their last-ditch disenchantment clause was an endeavor designed to cause them unnecessary pain through false hope. January would go back to London, to where his real life was, to where River couldn’t follow. And River would go home, where January wouldn’t follow.
January did come back to visit his mother exactly a year later. River had hoped so, and simultaneously hadn’t let themselves think about it.
January looked up, surprised to see someone else, there. He nodded at the grave. “You knew my mum?”
“In a certain sense,” said River. They had given their word that they would remember, after all.
“Do we know each other?”
River dismissed the hope they thought they saw in January's eyes as wishful thinking on their part. January wanted someone to connect with about his mother, not the... empty space that River was for him. Foolish, foolish. It wasn’t night, yet - not too late to pretend to be a vineyard worker.
“No... No, you don’t know me.”
“I- Ah-”
River turned back. They couldn’t help it. Some part of them, the part that hoped, still homed in on January like a compass needle to iron, and pained them just as much.
“Um. What I mean is.” January smiled nervously under the force of their attention. “I’d like to. Know you, that is.”