King Greylock

Under one of the hills of Swaledale (versions of the story differ) lives King Greylock, a fay lord of great power. Few have seen him, but there are stories, most notably that of Alan of Gunnerside.

Alan was a cottar, and earned his living by working the lands of other men. Such living as he got he squandered, using it to buy ale and stronger drink. Any who chastised him for such reckless behaviour, he would beat until they were unconscious, for he was a strong man. Indeed, it was only his strength that kept him in employment, for he could do the work of six men.

One Autumn, he was clearing the land for planting, and had much money in his pocket. He went to the alewife of Gunnerside, and asked for a drink. Most men drew off around him, for his temper was short when he was in his cups. One man, a labourer from the north, seemed unafraid, and tried to start a conversation with Alan. Of course, Alan would not speak until he had drained his first flagon of ale. But then they began talking, and the stranger spoke of his plans for the future, how he would save the money from his labouring, and buy a yardland, and become a prosperous farmer with a family to carry on his name. Alan listened in good humour, until the stranger thought to criticise him.

"With the work that you do, you could surely do the same, if you did not drink all your money." Alan rose up with a roar, and the stranger, realising that he was in trouble, leapt up and ran from the house. Alan pursued him, and both disappeared into the gathering gloom.

Out on the hills Alan soon found himself unable to keep up with the sober, and terrified, man, and soon he was reduced to wandering around randomly, shouting out challenges and insults against his quarry's bravery. And as he wandered, he became aware that he was no longer wandering the hills.

Instead, the gloom was closed between walls that seemed to be of natural stone, and the ceiling above him was of the same material. Shaken, but buoyed up by the drink inside him, he continued forward, shouting for his quarry to come out of hiding. Thus he came into the presence of King Greylock.

The faerie sat on a throne hewn from the stone, and seemed almost to grow out of it. His robes were of dull grey, and his hair, cascading long down his back, was of the same colour. Even his skin seemed dull, although it sparkled as it caught the light. His eyes and crown gleamed with the bright flashing glitter or new silver, and these burning eyes fastened upon Alan as he entered the chamber.

The labourer was shocked into silence and immobility, and he would have remained thus for ever, had the faerie not spoken.

"Why do you trespass on my domain, mortal?" Alan could say nothing, though his mouth moved and his hands waved in front of him. The faerie lord fixed him with an even sterner glance, and then smiled, sitting back in his throne. "Drunk, on ale. Well, mortal, your state has been held an excuse by many a wanderer. Look now upon the treasure of King Greylock, for you shall live to report it. Look well." Alan peered round the chamber, seeking for this treasure, but seeing nothing but the dull grey stone. On the throne, King Greylock laughed. "Seeing, you are blind. Strong as you are, you cannot carry my treasure from me. Leave, mortal, and I shall give you a gift." Turning, Alan stumbled from the halls, and soon found himself on the hillside.

His journey became harder as his head became clearer, and he soon found himself back at Gunnerside, completely sober, but robbed of his former strength. No-one would have him as a labourer, but Alan moved to York, and there, completely sober, became a wealthy merchant. Such are the gifts of Faeries.