Far north in the wilds, where water meets land, the good and hardy marsh fairies make their homes in a place most give a wide berth. Still, they live happily, pollinating the early marsh-orchids in spring, harvesting marsh thistles in summer, celebrating the blowing wind and beating rains of autumn, and fearlessly flying through mist and snow as winter blows its icy breath over the land. To them, the marsh is a place of beauty and wonder.
In the darker parts of the year, marsh fairies warm themselves in their tiny, thatched houses at the water’s edge, gather at the hearth, and tell stories. One of their favorite stories is about the beautiful Marigold. Many elderly marsh fairies still remember her daughter’s daughter, and her descendants are said to be as beautiful as the golden grasses of late summer, as brave as they are beautiful, and as kind as they are brave.
Marigold was born in a time of suffering when the marsh was ruled by a wicked, malevolent king. Most of the year, he went unseen by his subjects, but each year on the night of the autumn equinox, the marsh king would swim from his deep, dank realm below a gnarled old stump in the deepest part of the marsh and demand tribute from all—often half of their harvest and stores. Families that gave the full tribute struggled through the long winter, but those that did not saw their homes raided, heirlooms stolen, and their thatched roofs pulled down. Worse, the wicked toad dragged some to his dark realm under the water.
Marigold was the marsh midwife’s daughter. She helped her mother deliver marsh fairy babies and forage for flowers and plants for her mother’s potions. When she was fully grown, her mother taught her to make her own potions and spells. Marigold was joyful and industrious despite the dark time she had been born into.
One day, Marigold’s mother needed a special marsh flower that only grew atop the gnarled stump above the marsh king’s home at the bottom of the water. The marsh king paid it no mind; he cared nothing for flowers or anything in the world above his dark realm and stolen treasures. He cared for nothing until he spotted Marigold. At that moment, he had to have her, for she shined like precious metal, reminding him of seasons he had not seen in ages.
He swam with stealth to where Marigold stood, pulling flowers with all her might. He wrapped one hideous, tiny-fingered hand around her ankle, then pulled her under the water, dragging her down, down, down to his dark kingdom. All that was left behind were broken flowers and bubbles that popped as soon as they reached the surface.
Marigold was trapped in the cold, gray realm of the marsh king, and there he threatened her to marry and obey him, tend to his lair and stolen treasures, and stay with him forever, for if she did not, he would devour her as he had many other fairies. And marry him she did, cursing her fate and longing for the day she could escape his clutches.
The marsh fairies searched and mourned. Her mother’s heart broke, but Marigold seemed gone from the land.
But Marigold was not gone; she was trapped. The days went on, and the seasons changed above, but nothing ever changed in the marsh king’s lair, which was so deep and distant from the surface. When she could, Marigold went to the highest parts of the marsh king’s kingdom and watched the water’s surface, realizing that blue, gold, grey, and white told the story of the seasons changing.
That is how Marigold knew she spent many seasons captive to the wicked marsh king. Before she could devise a way to escape, she bore a child. She labored secretly, knowing the marsh king’s cruelty would extend to their daughter. Out of love and desperation, she hid the newborn in a lily blossom, casting the babe into a magical sleep where she would neither grow nor remember. The baby would stay frozen and perfect as the day she was born until Marigold could escape the marsh king’s clutches and reclaim her.
Marigold’s heart broke, and she ached to hold her newborn child. It tore at her for them to be parted, and she cried for her little Lily, her little lost flower, who could never be with her as long as the marsh king held her captive.
One night, as Marigold wept, the marsh king heard her anguished cries. “Just hold on, my tiny precious child. We will be together one day.” He stormed into her chamber, pulled her from her bed, tore the quarters apart, and demanded she return his property and heir. He threatened to devour Marigold, but this time she refused. “Devour me then. I will never give her to you.” Marigold’s words stoked his rage into a burning fire, and a new darkness crept into his eyes.
Marigold was truly terrified then. In desperation, she threw herself in front of the king, crying and begging him to forgive her for stealing their child away. “She’s in the old stork’s nest,” Marigold confessed. “I stole away and flew her there myself once the birds flew south before autumn.”
“Autumn?” the marsh king asked. “Are we so close to the equinox? Time has flown with you by my side,” he snarled. “Alas, I shall go get the child, and when we return, I will devour you for this betrayal. Perhaps I will devour your mother too when I collect my tribute.”
“I am sorry, my husband and king! I regret what I have done,” Marigold pleaded. But the marsh king told her it was too late.
The marsh king swam towards the surface, thundered over to the lone tree the storks had made their home, and climbed to the highest branch, which held their nest. In his haste and hate, he never realized it was summer, not autumn, and he assumed the cries he heard came from a hungry, crying baby, unaware they were really the plaintive cries of three hungry storklings. It was only as he tumbled into their nest that his rage turned to horror—but it was too late, for the three young storks devoured him in seconds.
Marigold waited, and when the king did not return, she knew her ruse was a success. She had won and was free. Her little Lily was safe. Marigold raced to the surface, skimmed across the water to the lily pad where her baby slept, pulled her from her flower cradle, and waved away the enchanted slumber that had held her as Marigold had longed for her in the marsh king’s prison.
The baby stared at her mother with wide, knowing eyes, then smiled and cooed, clapping her tiny fairy wings and joyfully waving her little webbed hands and feet.
Marigold became Queen of the Marsh and ruled for many years in her castle carved from the stump above the dead king’s now-empty lair. Her mother joined Queen Marigold and Princess Lily, rejoicing to have her family together. The marsh fairies loved and celebrated their new ruler, for she was just and kind and one of them. When Princess Lily came of age, she took over the kingdom’s rule and was just as beloved.
And that is how Marigold and Lily lived happily ever after. Their reign was a new era for the marsh fairies, who loved their queens and the queens after them. This is why the good marsh folk still tell Marigold and Lily’s story every year when the nights grow long, the months grow cold, and mist wreaths their happy homes.
Alison Weber is a writer and artist inspired by fairytales and the Golden Age of Children's Book Illustration. Her work is for everyone who still dreams of magic. Alison lives near Seattle with her tiny family and beloved creatures, where she is currently building her dream illustration business.
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