The Fairy Queen

“The Fairies are coming! The Fairies are coming!”

The ragged children of the village shouted as they ran down the street. Doors and windows in cottages and hovels were slammed open as the excitement spread like wildfire. First from the youngest child, then to the older youths, to their parents and finally to the grannies and gaffers. Soon every person in the village who was not working in the fields was clustered along the only village street to watch the spectacle. The screeching of the children subsided into awed silence when the first fairies came into sight.

In the vanguard came twenty or more flying boy-fairies, each armed with a tiny bow no longer than a clothes peg, their wings all a-glitter with iridescent blue and green and gold. Then came a troop of Fairy Cavalry; larger, stouter fairies with their wings folded back and carrying long, sharp spears. These soldiers rode upon the backs of weasels that were saddled and in harness that glittered and glinted in the sun.

Following the cavalry was a column of marching fairies laden with fairy goods, each of them pulling a small cart or carrying a sack over their shoulder. All the fairies stood between five and eight inches tall but their small size did not detract from the magnificence of the spectacle. A horde of tiny and beautiful people riding and flying by is a rare and special sight, even in the world of Faerie.    

Above and behind the carriers there flew and walked a great retinue of courtiers and ladies, warriors and princes. And the spectacle of their coming was astonishing, not one jaw of the villagers, young and old alike, had failed to drop open in astonishment. There were plump lady fairies, swathed in red and green and gold and purple dresses the like of which has never been seen abroad in this countryside. Tall thin courtiers, with silver wings, fluttered around the ladies, smiling and bowing, laughing and shouting in their tiny, high-pitched voices. Warriors strode, tall and haughty, beneath the frivolous throng, their weapons and armour all gleaming with gold and silver.

Then came the most wondrous sight of all; the Fairy Queen. She rode upon a flying chariot pulled by twenty-four of her silver-liveried young girl-fairies. The chariot seemed to be made of the purest silver and floated magically on air behind the girls whose wings were also silver and grey. The majestic lady smiled benevolently as she was swept passed the rough  and seemingly enormous villagers.

Behind the Queen and her retinue came more cohorts of warrior fairies, some flying, some marching in columns and, at the rear, another troop of soldiers riding their weasel steeds.

As the incredible horde of fairies, many hundreds of them there must have been, passed down the village street, the children could not help but follow. And behind them the grown-ups felt drawn to come along as well.

The fairy-horde marched and flew all along the street, passing the church, the alehouse and the village pond. Indeed, it looked as though they were not going to stop and would disappear from the villager’s lives as quickly as they had appeared. But no, at the very last house, a run-down thatched hovel, they stopped. The fairy Queen was handed down from her floating magical chariot by the handsomest of her fairy courtiers. She fluttered her magnificent wings a little as she came down to the dusty ground in front of the cottage door.

Around the queen clustered the many courtiers and followers in all their finery and beyond them stood and fluttered the fairy host. And beyond this magical gathering of gorgeous fairies stood a half circle of humble villagers, many times taller than the fairies, yet shrunken to insignificance by their dull and shabby clothes compared against the glorious finery of the fairy horde.

In a tiny but beautiful voice the Queen announced:  

“People of Westfold, last night the lady of this house had a baby, a baby girl. That girl has faerie blood in her and so she shall be blessed and forever protected by me and all of the fairy folk.”  

The Queen paused in her speech to look around at the villagers, towering high above her, yet keeping well back in superstitious awe of the Fairy Horde. They did not know how to take her words but just stood, silent and dumbfounded, until she spoke again:

“The daughter of this house will be fair of face and perhaps a little mysterious. I ask that you, her fellow people, friends and family, look after her. Do not taunt her or expel her because of her touch of fairy strangeness. It is a good thing. A blessing that will reflect upon your village as well as upon this new-born child.”

And with these strange words the Queen went through the rough wooden door and into the hovel. Leaving her retinue and the villagers outside in astonished silence.  

Inside the cottage Elizabeth lay in her birthing bed, exhausted but happy, for in her arms lay the sleeping babe, healthy and fit. Like all births, it had been painful and trying, but Elizabeth’s heart was filled with joy and contentment now. She had heard the commotion outside but did not understand it. Nor did she hear the Queen’s speech to her fellow villagers.

As the door creaked open on it’s ancient hinges, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of the fairy horde, clustered in a magical, glittering cloud just beyond the threshold. Somehow she was not entirely surprised by the arrival of the Fairy Queen, for she had dreamed strange dreams in the last few weeks leading up to the birth of her child. Dreams in which fairies had been characters and her child to be had been clothed in glittering robes.

The tiny Queen, perhaps nine inches tall to the top of her silver crown, glided across the dirty floor, her feet barely touching the beaten mud and dust. As she approached the mother she flapped her beautiful wings a few times and gently flew up to settle on the end of the bed. From the dark recesses of the cottage came a hiss as someone unseen drew in shocked breath.

“Tis the Fairy Queen, Elizabeth!” Exclaimed old Mother Stone as she stepped out from the shadows to stand by the bed. She protectively sidled closer to the bed, as if to put herself between the magical Queen and her patient.

“Fret not, old mother, I mean your charge no harm.” Said the Fairy Queen in a calm and reassuring tone. “I have come to honour this babe, who has been born under the sign of the waning moon. She has Faerie blood in her, though you, her mother, and  her father be of human kind.”

As the Queen spoke she waved her wand back and forth and it seemed to cast off a glittering dust upon the bed. The sheets, which had looked grey with grime and much mended, seemed to turn whiter, cleaner and newer as the magic dust settled.

Elizabeth, all the while sitting still in the bed with her baby in her arms, smiled. She knew in her heart that this strange and magical visitor meant no harm. And she was wise enough to trust her heart so she just smiled dreamily at the Queen for a while and then said to the village wise-woman:

“Be still, Mother, sit beside me a while.” And she patted the covers at her side indicating to the old woman where to sit.

Mother Stone was worried, she knew something of fairies, that they could be mischievous and dangerous folk to become involved with. Yet she held her tongue and perched upon the side of the bed as Elizabeth requested. Thinking of the difficult birth and the strange look in the baby’s eyes she had noted a few hours earlier when the babe and mother had first awoken this morning.

“I bless this child born of a woman, sired by her man, she shall have the protection of the Faerie Folk wherever she goes in her long and fruitful life.” As she spoke the magical little figure waved her wand again and this time the glittering dust settled gently upon the sleeping babe. The child awoke quietly and stared joyfully at the beautiful and glittering Queen.

“I honour this Woman who bought you into this world and I praise your father, a good and true man. And I thank this goodwife Stone who has attended your birth. Your future is bright, child, I can see you will bring joy to your people at an unexpected time of great need and peril.”

All this time the mother and child were silent, simply staring at the wondrous figure as she spoke. Yet the midwife, Mother Stone, was frowning, concerned and suspicious. She knew that fairies sometimes blessed (or cursed!) human children, but there was always a reason and often a catch, like the child being drawn to become a slave to the fairies or slowly loosing it’s mind as time passed and the fairy power waned.  

The Fairy Queen flew up from the bed and waved her wand one last time, scattering fairy dust around the room so that it touched everyone present.

“You have heard my spell, there is no trick or price to pay, my gift is freely given and freely accepted by mother and child alike. There is no danger to any in this room.” And as she spoke the Queen spun around three times in the air, scattering yet more magical dust as she did so. Then she flew gracefully towards the door, calling as she went through:

“Farewell! Fare well happy child, until we meet again.”

And with that she was gone.