It looks like I missed the Magonomia® preview last week. The project is alive and well. Here’s a preview of faerie royalty from chapter 14, “Enchanted England”:

Some powerful faeries draw followers together and live in societies. Humans call these courtly faeries. Three broad types of faerie form the vast majority of courtiers. The type which lives above ground and inhabits the wilderness are called elves in English, while those who delve in the earth are called dwarfs. Many faeries prefer their names in the older tongue of the isles, in which they are the ellyllon and coblynau. The third type, diminutive faeries, consider themselves ellyllon, but humans see them as a different—and less dangerous—type. Powerful faerie monarchs often incorporate all three types into their courts.

Faerie ladies in Scotland wear green, in Wales their choice is red, and in England white is their preferred dress. It’s not clear why the faeries adopt national colors, but they do, so perhaps they are indeed the pagan dead of each nation, as some scholars suppose.

In East Anglia, faeries are called Pharisees because they are believed to be the spirits of the Pharisees who rejected Jesus, doomed to walk the Earth. The other individual faeries are Robin Goodfellow and Oberon. Each court takes its amusements and aesthetic sense from its monarch. It is rare for courts to change monarch, nor do they divide permanently into smaller courts. If the monarch does change, the court rapidly adjusts to suit the pleasures of the new ruler.

Oberon and Titania

The faerie king most often discussed by the mortals of Elizabeth's realm is Oberon. He has been encountered throughout England, as well as in parts of France. Of the British faerie courts, his is the most like that of a Renaissance prince. Visitors may see knights, liveried servants, and ladies-in-waiting. Much like some human kingdoms, the court includes a separate household for the queen. Partisans of the two monarchs sometimes clash when their primaries bicker, and this causes stormy weather, and perhaps even flooding.

Oberon’s household may seem so familiar because the faerie king claims a half-mortal origin: he says his father was Julius Caesar and his mother was Morgana le Fay. There are slivers of evidence for this: there's no record of a King of the Faeries called Oberon older than 300 years. He is also an exceptionally learned herbalist, and faeries are not normally studious.

Queen Titania claims kinship to the race of primordial giants cast down by the Greek gods, the Titans. There is one, but only one, record of her name in ancient times: Ovid offers it as another name for the Greek goddess Diana. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare makes her the custodian of a changeling boy, whom she says is the son of a priestess of her order. The play is set in ancient Greece, so it can be presumed that Titania had worshipers there in ancient times.

If she is Diana, then Titania is one of the oldest and most cunning divinities in the world. Her new name may be a ruse of war against the mortals, or a way to hide her weaknesses from the church. Her marriage to Oberon may be diplomatic rather than sexual: Diana was a goddess of chastity, and these monarchs have no biological children.

Mab

Mab is queen of the atomic faeries, tiny creatures so small they are hard to see. Her royal coach is a nutshell, and her chitinous courtiers use tamed insects as mounts. Their palaces and devices are constructed from an eclectic mixture of natural materials and stolen human treasures. Mab is the midwife of dreams and the weaver of nightmares.

In some stories she has a diminutive king called Oberon, which has led to the suggestion that Mab is just another name for Titania. Some say that's not the case, but others think Oberon was her consort when he was younger, or during one of his arguments with his queen. Some think she has no king, and such tales are just a case of poets getting their stories confused. Much like Titania's court, Mab's is spans all of  England.

Of all the faerie monarchs in England, Mab enjoys humans the most. Their reign has not forced her into exile, their clever inventions are amusing, and their minds are beautifully malleable. She is an artist of madness and desire, offering wise advice and false oracles.

Gwyn ap Nudd

Within the Welsh mountains lies the shadowy kingdom of Gwyn ap Nudd. He rules the ellyllon and coblynau directly and is master of the other faerie races there. He is a proud and courteous host, but his people follow the customs of a thousand years ago, and it is easy to slight him accidentally. His name means “white” or “bright,” and he embodies winter.

His cavernous kingdom, Anwynn, is unfairly compared to Hades, for the ghosts of wise pagans are gathered there. Anwynn may be entered through Craig-y-Dinas in the Vale of Neath. Gwyn was not its original ruler: he fled to Annwyn when he was banished from Glastonbury Tor by Saint Collen in the seventh century. How he succeeded the previous king, Arawn, whom the Celts worshipped as the god of death, is not recorded. During Arawn's time the shadowy kingdom was filled with terrible monsters, some of whom the faeries used as steeds and war engines. Now visitors find faeries in roles from the courts of pre-Roman Celtic monarchs. Gwyn's knights are liveried in red or blue, and they burn or freeze those they fight.

His host hunts by riding the wind on dark horses. They use owls as spies and beaters. They prefer to chase those who offend the customs of their kingdom, but it is ill luck to hear the baying of the hounds—in some areas, it is a death omen. The pack, beasts with black coats and red ears, is loud as thunder while far away but grows increasingly quiet the nearer it approaches. The hounds of Anwynn are led by Gwyn's favorite dog, Dormach, who has three fishlike tails instead of canine hindquarters and flies swiftly. He acts as a sighthound for the pack. His ruddy nose would be comical if Dormach were not an embodiment of “death's door.”

The kennelmaster of Annywn is called Lolo ap Huw, but in the tales told by the peasantry he has been eclipsed by Mallt-y-Nos, Matilda of the Night. When told that there was no hunting in Heaven, she mockingly said that she would refuse then to go. How this ghost of a Norman noblewoman entered the service of Gwyn ap Nud, and why she shrieks to encourage his pack, is not known.

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