Work Text:
Eurydice Nightshade is in the midst of teaching a class about the important difference between historic names, titles, and true names. It’s one of their favorites. Something they remember fixating on for months when it had first been introduced to them—long ago as that now was.
“Professor?”
“Yes—Ironglade isn’t it?” One of Dorothy’s students, only recently starting to pick up Conjuration as a secondary.
“Do people have true names?”
“Everything has a true name—living or dead, though the dead are often unresponsive to non-necromantic influence outside specific circumstances—I will cover the intersections between the two another time—the living on the other hand, do have true names.”
“And they work the same?”
“Using a persons true name would give you complete control over them—similar to that of your summons to the monsters used in battle—assuming you have the power of will to exert that control.” A handful of the students go wide eyed before they finish, making the same jump that always gets made, that the everyday names they use could somehow be used against them. “Fortunately, given names and true names are not the same. A living person’s true name is more than just a word, it’s more than a summons, you must learn even your own through study and meditation. If I were to ask any of you what your true name is, you wouldn’t be able to answer me. It is also exceptionally difficult to acquire a true name belonging to another person without their permission and cooperation.”
“Do you know any?”
A pause while they consider Ironglade’s question, glancing around the class and realizing the little triad of chaos happens to be entirely present. If they feel up to dealing with the inevitable consequences—technically there was an opportunity for demonstration here.
Eurydice nods slowly before they speak, “Opalkeeper, go collect Professor Grimwater for me?”
“Dog what?”
“Darana.” They resist the urge to roll their eyes. This will be worth it.
“I’m going—I’m going!”
The door to Duncan’s classroom is swung open at full speed, revealing Darana Opalkeeper leant halfway in across the frame. “Daaaaaad—Professor Nightshade wants you for something in their class. The lesson is on True Names, so, what they call you in the privacy of your own home is not the subject of today”
“I’m not your father, Darana.” The response is an ingrained habit at this point, so often does some form of that joke leave the Conjuror’s mouth. He doesn’t grace the latter half of their statement with a response. Which is usually the correct choice. “Mistsong, keep an eye on your classmates until I’m back, no summoning anything until I am back in this room—I’ll know if you’ve lied to me.”
“Do you hear this shit?” Darana crows over their shoulder as Duncan moves past them into the courtyard, “Disowned! Orphaned even!”
“Nobody fucking believes that Daz!” Allison Ashwraith yells back, only to have Darana flip her off before they slam the classroom door, needing to jog to catch back up.
Duncan just shakes his head, taking a breath and training the slight smile back off of his face before Darana is close enough to see it. Titans sake, was this really a good idea? Out of every class this could have been for—was it necessary to choose one Opalkeeper was present for?
…though given their timeline, he wasn’t sure there was a class of Eurydice’s they weren’t in.
“I take it you have a good reason for interrupting my lecture, Professor Nightshade?” Duncan asks, voice carrying the level of exasperation they’d expected given the request.
Eurydice smiles and doesn’t answer, simply waits for Darana to get back to their seat, “Class, watch carefully.”
And the sound that leaves their mouth is not entirely a word, not fully, not in any language their students can absorb, and they reach out to Duncan’s mind. The pieces that make him up sitting at the forefront of their own, lining up and twisting with their own like puzzle pieces slotting together.
There is a moment of resistance, a soft telepathic really, Eurydice?
Their smile shifts into more of a smirk. You brought this on yourself.
There is a split second where they see a flash of annoyance in Duncan’s expression as they refuse to back down—it’s expected, there was no satisfaction if he didn’t push back at least a little—before his eyes unfocus, pupils blown so wide the grey had nearly disappeared behind them, then they return to normal and he’s given in. They feel his body like an extension of their own. The sharp edges of resistance where part of him is still trying to fight back, not exactly on purpose, more out of instinct. Self preservation.
The room is deathly silent.
None of their students daring even to breathe. Someday they may well regret this particular display falling during a class when they have all three of their most chaotic pupils there to witness it. But not right now.
When they speak again, Duncan follows suit in perfect time. Their words overlapping, not repetition, but complete unison. “True names are as much about respect as they are willpower and control. Especially with living things. The mind of a human person does not like being bent into shape by outside forces.” The odd sensation of sound vibrating through two heads, their own and his. One of the closest things they’d ever experienced to matching that internal echo Raven’s words used to carry. “You have to understand what, and in the case of a person—who—you are commanding. In the case of monsters and myths, you can study them to find answers, you can summon and entreat them outside the confines of battle, build your understanding, as you saw with our lesson on the Minotaur.”
A pause, they tilt their head slightly, one hand outstretched just to help with the focus. Words are easy, actions though—actions required a little more thought. There is more pushback, resistance like heavy duty elastic. “However,” just their own voice now, “once that control has been claimed—”
Admittedly, the spin looks more graceful than it does in their minds eye. Duncan is, after all, not a polar bear in a tutu. But the motion is still the same. Something they can pull from that is both easy to convey—and unlikely to happen under any normal circumstance.
“—it is exceptionally difficult to break from.”
“Holy shit.” Eurydice chances looking away just so that they don’t miss the wide eyed expression on Darana’s face. It’s worth it. On either side of their friend, Zinnia Thunderwhistle and Brecken Bittersweet seem equally enraptured by the display.
“There are, obviously, exceptions.” Eurydice continues, setting their focus back to Duncan, having him come forward until he’s level with them in front of their desk. “For example—impossibilities, I cannot ask him to sprout wings and fly expecting compliance. It’s not that I lack the drive to put behind the order—he simply lacks the ability to follow it.” A pause as they pull their sword from where it is typically sheathed on their hip. An older piece. Fitting here. Belonging to one of the paladins roaming the Labyrinth. “Another being something that would override the mind’s usual faculties—life or death, fight, flight, and freeze reactions do not play well with any form of compulsion—which is often what using the true name of a living person is closest to.”
A breath.
They are perfectly aware he’s capable of breaking this.
But this in particular is just on the edge of nerve wracking.
One strike, aimed well for the side of Duncan’s throat.
A feeling like glass shattering inside their skull.
The hand that catches the blade wreathed in Shadow, a sliver of the Sentinel called up to block it from his skin. A sharp twist and it’s wrenched fully from their grip. Grey eyes narrowed in irritation and focus.
“Welcome back, Professor Grimwater.” Eurydice has to bite back on the grin trying to break through their controlled expression. Settling into what is maybe an approximation of respectable mirth. “That was all, you’re welcome to return to your own classroom—provided you leave my sword behind.”