Tag: fairy tales

FIC: A Fairy Battle

I have had an extremely bad case of total creative block for several months now. I can’t write stories, I can’t write music, I can’t do anything. It’s pretty much blown. I can’t seem to shake it, either. I know the root cause but there’s not much I can do other than become a total hermit.

I am trying to bring down my horizons a little to get back in the swing of things. I’m focusing on 500-750 word bits, just a few paragraphs, to get me from being totally blocked to being mostly blocked. If you’re interested, here’s the first little bit. I’ll post them but I’ll keep them under cuts (LJ-only) so they can be easily skipped.

A Fairy Battle

I walked along the ancient wall built by forgotten hands. The wall was grey and stone and obscured by carnivorous vines that digested the wall bit by bit. It sagged as much as a grey stone wall can sag against the grass and trees. Wooden props helped it stand with slightly more dignity and grace as befitting the aged who had done their duties against wind and weather well.

The wall bends where the old cobblestone road turns away from the town and toward the farms. A hole opens where stones, not meant to turn but to stack upright, have fallen in a heap. Flowers grow in wild profusion in protected boxes made by the fallen stones and weather and happenstance. Beyond the hole in the wall lays a field where more flowers grow: golden yarrow and tall stalks of sage, aster and larkspur.

I heard a noise and set down my basket. Through the hole was a sight: feet of hooves and boots mashed the flowers flat into the grass and clover and dirt.

Two great armies stood on that field of wildflowers. One was in red with cloaks fluttering and swords shining. The troops stood side by side in proper regiments with perfect clean red uniforms and shining silver buckles and red hats. They held red muskets with bayonets like rows of toothpicks. The other army wore bedraggled green, a dirty rag-tag assortment of wild creatures of differing sizes and heights and builds. Their eyes held madness and their weapons more: serrated swords and broken knives, guns and crossbows and teeth and claws and horns.

A horn blew. On a grand stallion among the red army sat the Queen. Her shining blond hair blew back from her shoulders in the soft gusts of evening wind. Her uniform shone with shiny spangles and glittering buttons. Wind rippled the cockade of her great plumed hat. She drew her sword and paused. Then she ordered her men to charge.

With rank upon rank they did, the first ranks bending on knee to fire as the second rank loaded and the third waited their turn.

The early ranks of the mad and the green were felled by the Queen’s bullets. The insane green horde pushed forward over the fallen bodies of comrades and foes. War was met and the sounds of horrible battle echoed over the field. Those perfect ranks were nothing more than fodder for the chaotic and maddening ranks of the green fairies who hopped and played and danced among bullets. The front ranks of the red army fell to be replaced by more ranks and more; perfect harmony in combat with horrible chaos. Clubs swung and teeth gnashed. Bones shattered with balls of bullets and crossbow bolts sung in the air. The fairies fought, the red and the green, until blood soaked the wildflowers and the sounds of screams filled the air.

I staggered forward through the hole between the stones. My basket lay forgotten on the cobblestones. At my feet was a man dressed in red, lovelier than any man can be, dying, his lifeblood pouring out on to the grass. I put my fingers to his wound as blood poured over my hands. He died and I cried: “STOP!”

The Queen of the Faeries gazed at me with her purple shining eyes. For a moment, silence. No sounds of combat, no attacks, no muskets fired at close range with ear-splitting cracks in the air. I knew only the Faerie Queen and her terrible wrath.

Then they were gone, every one of them. The fairy battle disappeared. They left only crumpled flowers and the occasional strange discoloration in the grass. The sounds of battle hung in the air for only a moment and then they, too, where whisked off to the land of Faerie.

There was nothing, then. Nothing but my basket and a hole in a wall. And the knowledge of faerie, warring, somewhere beyond a veil.

Bloody Revolution in Pixie Hollow

For Katie’s birthday, I bought her the first set of four collected junior novels, each one depicting some adventure of one of the fairies of Pixie Hollow, the imaginary Disney universe for Tinkerbell.  The general plan was to get her into the whole concept of reading books with chapters and stories too long to be resolved in a single evening yet be interesting enough to hold a four year old’s interest for multiple nights.  This turned out to be highly succesful if Katie was allowed to pick the fairy — which she is.

Since I am now reading about this universe every night, a bit at a time, I have plenty of time to ponder Pixie Hollow.  I realized, with the stories of baking fairies and serving fairies and laundry fairies and even entryway cleaning fairies, that Pixie Hollow is a very Victorian England Upstairs/Downstairs culture with rigidly set out life paths depending on where one is born with no hope for advancement.  Only the true Upper Classes may go to the Mainland and interact with humans.  The rest of the fairies must stay behind and serve.

The Tinkerbell movie revolves entirely around this theme: poor Tinkerbell discovers to her utter horror that she is forced forever to be working class as a pots and pans fairy, and no matter how hard she tries she cannot flee her caste.  Sure, she is promoted to Upper Class when she makes for herself a role as a master engineer over a mere tinkering fairy, but it is not without great effort and recognition from the Queen.

This is utterly unlike the plight of two other fairies of the Pixie Hollow cosmos: the fairy Prilla and the fairy Vidia.  Vidia is set up to be the “evil” fairy of the world, but Vidia is not actually evil.  She rejects the rigid despotic monarchy of Queen “Ree” Clarion of Pixie Hollow and shows her disdain for the caste system that holds them all enslaved.  And Prilla, well, Prilla has a unique talent which draws her automatically to the human world to keep children believing in fairies.  Her friends keep giving her mundane fairy-like tasks to do but her heart is not in it.

While I sat on the bed reading Katie her stories, I began to put together the bloody and horrible revolution, hatched by Vidia and Prilla in Vidia’s sour plum tree where no one ever goes.  From there, they explode with Prilla as the Charismatic face of the Revolution, explaining on the stumps and toadstools around Pixie Hollow how no fairy is lesser than any other and how they can all be free of their castes if they clap their hands and believe.  Meanwhile, Vidia plans, and executes a horrible Night of the Long Knives where she does away with the Ministers of the Four Seasons in a bloody coup and unleashes the anger of the animal talent fairies and their beast army upon the unsuspecting High Nobility light fairies.

Then, as the war reaches its zenith and Pixie Hollow is torn by war and death, a proud Vidia and a woebegone Prilla watch as Queen Clarion, broken and dashed against the revolution, is forced to sign the peace treaty with harsh terms in her own blood.  Then the monarchy is done away with, crowns are forgotten, Clarion drifts off to spend her days tending to Mother Dove, fairies are freed from their bonds of talents by birth! (to appear and become a laundry fairy — the horrors!) and Prilla takes the reins of government…

We are undecided if Over the Edge or FATE would make a better system for playing out the Bloody Fairy Revolution in Pixie Hollow.