"For a moment Frodo stood gaping. Then in desperation he began a ridiculous song that Bilbo had been rather fond of (and indeed rather proud of, for he had made up the words himself). It was about an inn; and that is probably why it came into Frodo's mind just then. Here it is in full. Only a few words of it are now, as a rule, remembered."

At The Sign of the Prancing Pony

J. R. R. Tolkien

So, as we realise that this is in fact the full version of "Hey Diddle Diddle" it may occur to the curious reader that perhaps there were other songs that were known in Middle-earth, and have come down to us through a convoluted aural route that has changed them to fit our society.

Also, if Bilbo were the author of many of these, it would be odd if some were not based on the doings of his friends and family.

So here we have a very early version of the well-known Carol, Good King Wenceslas.

I'm guessing that Bilbo wrote it based on Gandalf's account of how he steered (very gently) little Pippin on his first wobbly steps towards what it takes to be an excellent and philanthropic leader.

What follows is that account, together with the original words.

Llinos

A Yuletide Lesson

by Llinos
beta Marigold

Gandalf the Wizard, he looked out
On the Shire at Yuletide,
When the snow lay round about,
With all the hobbits inside.
No one ventured out to see,
For the frost was cruel,
Save one poor beggar man from Bree,

Gathering winter fuel.

"Peregrin, come here a moment my lad. Who is that? That old man out there, do you know what he is doing here?"

Gandalf had arrived in Buckland just before the worst of the snowstorms had begun. It was 1400, although the year was almost spent and the Tooks were paying their Yuletide visit to the Brandybucks as befitted the two leading hobbit families of The Shire.

Gandalf in his travels often stopped at Brandy Hall; they kept a good table and gave him a pleasant enough welcome. Rorimac was most hospitable, as was Thain Paladin who had already taken over as titular head of his family, clan and country. Paladin's youngest child though, his only son, and therefore heir to the title, still had much to learn in the wise Wizard's opinion, but the lad was young – only 10.

Pippin perked up at Gandalf's question; the little hobbit was in the greatest awe of the robed figure. He had heard a great deal about the mysterious Wizard, much from Uncle Bilbo and even more from Cousin Frodo and he had seen some amazing things himself – fireworks that leapt and sparkled like jewelled dragons, magical toys that sang and whirled and, best of all, flashes of light from the great staff that could turn your enemies to newts and your friends to shining fair elves. Gandalf was as splendid as he was big! This much Pippin knew for certain.

"Yes, Mr Gandalf!" Pippin knew he was too young not to use a formal address but he was still a little too shy of the Wizard to call him Grandpa Gandalf as many of the youngsters did. Pippin stood on tiptoe and peered out of the window. "That's old Plogger. He used to live in that Breetown place, so they say – at least Cook told me so – and he got turned into a bear by a magician called Beorn, only the spell didn't work right and he only got half turned, so they threw him out of the Mantown in case he ate the children and now he scavenges around the Shire for this and that. That's how he gets his living," Pippin finally drew breath, "but Cook says I'm not to go near him or he'll eat me."

"Really?" Gandalf shook his head and looked stern, "Now who would want to eat a skimpy little mite like you?"

"Well Cook says," Pippin started to seriously number the people who had warned him away from Plogger on his fingers. "And Nanny and Bluebell, she's Merry's Nanny, and… and Rube in the stables and… and…"

"Peregrin Took!" Gandalf was trying very hard not to laugh. "You are far too small to make even a mouthful for such a creature and besides," the Wizard bent down to whisper conspiratorially, "I do not think he would eat anyone. Those are just stories designed to scare a small hobbit lad. Furthermore…" Gandalf straightened up and took on a stern tone once more, "I suspect that poor man is not enchanted at all. I would say he has never even met Beorn – who I might point out is a particular friend of mine – and that Mr Plogger is merely the victim of a bad accident, that has bent his back out of shape; together with prejudice that bends folks' minds out of shape."

"Oh well," Pippin was a little lost for words at this revelation. He was used to taking the gossiping of the servants as the last word on anything of that nature; to be told they were all wrong was a little disconcerting and to be told they were prejudiced was even more worrying as Pippin had no idea what that meant. "I suppose I shouldn't be scared of him then?"

"You should not speak to strangers, true enough," Gandalf agreed, less formidable now. "But you know young Peregrin, you will be Thain one day and it is up to you to think for yourself on such matters. Now then," the Wizard took the hobbit by the hand, "do you know where he lives?"

"Oh yes!" Pippin was suddenly enthusiastic, "he lives out by the Old Forest. Merry says he's got a little hut just under the High Hay and that Uncle Sara doesn't mind because he's nowhere else to go. Merry says Uncle Sara tells Cook to give him food when she sees him."

"Hither, lad and stand by me
If thou know'st it, telling
Yonder human, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"I think he lives a good way hence
And that he is enchanted
His hut is by the forest fence
Where great trees are planted."

"Hmm," Gandalf watched the man foraging about in the distance. "He doesn't seem to have done so well today."

"Maybe Cook was busy," Pippin climbed up on a stool to see better through the window. "She chased me and Merry out of the kitchen five times today."

"She might well have been too preoccupied if she had you and young Meriadoc to chase," Gandalf agreed. "Where is your partner in villainy now?"

"If you mean Merry," Pippin began on his dignity, "he is spending some time in his room alone right now."

"Oh really?" Gandalf enquired in a sham polite tone, "reflecting on which piece of iniquity this time?"

"If you are referring to the incident with the mince pies and the cream," Pippin folded his arms indignantly, "I was barely involved and…"

"I thought perhaps it was the mistletoe and Cook's eldest daughter incident which had forced a state of reflection upon your cousin." Gandalf could not totally banish the twinkle. "Most improper! I trust you were not involved in that at all."

"No," Pippin's curiosity was aroused. "I didn't even know – what happened? Did Merry put mistletoe in her tea?"

"Um – something of the kind, but never you mind young Peregrin," Gandalf swiftly changed the subject. "Let us get back to the matter in hand. Mr Plogger – what say you that we find the poor chap something to eat and maybe a few logs for his fire?"

"Oh I don't know that I should do that." Pippin frowned at the implications and the complications. "I'm not allowed to just help myself to food, that much has been made perfectly clear to Merry and me today. I could manage the logs, but I'm not meant to go out either – especially to talk to old… I mean Mr Plogger."

"In that case I shall manage the meat and wine," Gandalf said with a smile. "I shall also take them to Mr Plogger myself." The Wizard patted the hobbit on the shoulder. "You just find me a few good pine logs, young Peregrin. After all, Thluggul the Yuletide Dragon* has already started his journey, you can tell by all the snow. You wouldn't want him to think you mean, now would you?"

"Oh no – and I'm not!" Pippin assured the Wizard anxiously. Little hobbit lads and lasses all eagerly awaited the arrival of Thluggul the Yuletide Dragon to bring them presents on Yule'eve. The flapping of his wings would often shake the snow off the mountains, making it fall upon the Shire, which meant Thluggul would bring especially good gifts that year. "I'd gladly give Mr Plogger some pine logs and my own supper. But I'm just trying to be good because…"

"I know," Gandalf nodded knowingly, "you don't want to break any rules and get into trouble. It's very difficult young Peregrin, but it's a lesson to learn, which rules you should keep and which you should bend a little."

"Is this one of the bendy ones then?" Pippin asked. This was most confusing, especially coming from Gandalf.

"Let's just say it's not completely rigid, shall we?" Gandalf swept his long grey cloak around him and set off towards the kitchens. "Logs Pippin – if you please."

"I'll get flesh and the wine,
Bring me pine logs hither,
Thou and I will see him dine
When we bear them thither."
Mage and hobbit forth they went,
Forth they went together,
Through the rude wind's wild lament
And the bitter weather.

"I don't think you should come, Peregrin Took." Gandalf hefted the heavy sack more comfortably up on his shoulder. "I can manage the logs as well and I seem to remember you are not allowed out too late at night."

"It's all right if I'm with someone," Pippin pointed out. "Besides, you don't know exacterly where Mr Plogger lives, you need me to show you and I need to give Mr Plogger some Seasons' Goodwill… or… or what will Thluggul think of me? I might only get a piece of charcoal."

"I'm sure I could manage," Gandalf said gently. "You stay in the warm young Peregrin, and I will wish Mr Plogger a Merry Yule on your behalf. Although…"

Pippin perked up in anticipation. He was very excited that the Wizard was taking such an interest in him and desperately wanted to please.

"Although," Gandalf considered him thoughtfully, "I hope your charity is not only inspired by greed and the promise of dwarven toys from the Yuletide Dragon."

"Oh no!" Pippin realised his mistake,. "I really, really want Mr Plogger to have a nice Yuletide too, truly I do Mr Gandalf."

"Very well," Gandalf reached out for the bundle of firewood Pippin had collected. "Give that to me and I will give him your wishes."

"I can carry it," Pippin heaved the small bundle of logs up onto his shoulder in imitation of the Wizard's action. "I'm quite strong really, and I can show you where the hut is. I know, because Merry told me exacterly."

Gandalf smiled, "Well, generous deed should not be checked by cold counsel. Come then Peregrin Took, we shall go together."

The night was indeed cold, colder than Pippin had imagined it could be. He had donned his best and thickest cloak but still the wind whipped unforgivingly into his hood, turning the points of his ears quite blue. His feet sank into the snow with every step and, although the pads of his feet were hard and well protected like any hobbit's, the fur on the top soon became clogged with ice and the cold bit into his feet and ankles cruelly.

As they trudged onwards through the snow Gandalf glanced down every so often to see how the little one was faring, and, although the lad did not complain, he could see that he was beginning to feel the bite of the bitter cold, even though he struggled valiantly on. But his determination impressed the Wizard and he held back from suggesting they abandon their mission.

At length Pippin halted and Gandalf turned and bent down to take his hand. "Are you all right little one?"

"Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger,
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, little one,
Tread into them boldly,
Then you'll find the winter's rage,
Shall freeze your blood less coldly."

"It-t-t'ssss sssso c-c-c-cold!" Pippin stammered.

Gandalf bent down and, gesturing for the hobbit to lean on his knee, took Pippin's right foot in his large hand. The fur on top was so clogged with snow that it could not be seen. Carefully the Wizard cupped his hands around each of the ailing feet in turn and gently blew upon them.

"Oh! Oh, that's real magick!" Pippin watched his feet in awe as the snow quickly melted away. "And you did it on me! Actual, really magick!"

"No," Gandalf smiled, "just a little heat, judicially applied. Now then," he straightened up with a slight wince at his creaking bones. "Are you able to walk or should I carry you the rest of the way?"

"I'm all right," Pippin said firmly. "Besides, you would find it difficult to carry all the things for Mr Plogger and me!"

"Very well," Gandalf lifted his own foot and plonked it down heavily in the virgin snow ahead of them. "But listen carefully and do as I say. Step into my footprints, that way your feet will not become so clogged with snow."

Pippin nodded, a look of serious concentration on his face.

"While I..." Seeing the look on his pupil's face Gandalf spoke more gently. "I shall endeavour to take smaller steps."

And so together, the powerful Wizard and hobbit child, forged their way through the cruel winter night until, at length, they came to the abode of the unfortunate Mr Plogger.

Gandalf knocked briskly on the door of the little unlit hut, making his rapping heard even above the wail of the vicious north wind. Slowly the rotting door creaked open a chink and a cracked voice muttered, "Who be there? I ain't done nothing, I never took nothing, honest!"

"Do not fear Mr Plogger," Gandalf reassured him. "We simply come to bring you some Yuletide cheer."

The door opened a little wider and a wizened, brown face appeared, squinting at his two would-be benefactors. He saw the small hobbit child and gasped in alarm. "What they saying I done? I never touched no children! They lies on me, they all does. I ain't done no harm!"

"I brought you some logs for your Yule fire," Pippin announced proudly, hefting his little bundle of faggots off his shoulder and dropping them just inside the ajar door. "And Mr Gandalf has got some meat and festive wine for you... and... and..." He searched laboriously under his cloak finally finding his jacket pocket and withdrew a large, round orange. "It's an or-gange!" Pippin had always had trouble with that word.

Slowly realisation spread over the old man's face. "For me? Really? Why thankee kindly sirs. Err... you must come inside from the cold a while. I've no fire, but it'll be out of the wind at least."

Gandalf and Pippin stepped gratefully inside the forlorn little hut. It was indeed as bare as a scorched summer meadow after a stubble burning, but not nearly as warm, in fact, scarcely much warmer than the outside had been. Pippin shivered, partly from the cold but mostly from dismay at the pitiful little dwelling.

"Come on lad, get busy!" Gandalf poked Pippin in the back with his staff, breaking his reverie. Quickly realising what was needed, Pippin stacked several of the logs onto the bare stone hearth that the old man had obviously made himself. The Wizard muttered a few mysterious words and aimed his miraculous staff at the little pile, making it burst into a welcoming blaze.

Pippin's jaw dropped open at this overt display of magick, but he said nothing. He was carefully memorising every detail to relay to Merry later.

"There now that's better," Gandalf held his hands out to the modest conflagration. "So tell me Mr Plogger, have you been living here long?"

"Err the name's Plodgrass, sir, begging your Honour's pardon." Mr Plodgrass was not sure why the hobbits called him Plogger, but he knew he did not like it. "I been here nigh on two year now."

"Have you looked for work at all?" Gandalf was speaking to the man but kept a careful eye on Pippin as he did so.

"Oh aye," Mr Plodgrass sighed. "But who'd have me? I mean the Bree folk drove me out on account of they blamed me for every misfortune that came their way, but I never was the cause of none of it. The hobbits don't trust me, on account of being a Man and crooked at that and I can't blame them, but 'twern't my fault! I was out gathering wood for my fire one day and I found this baby bird that had fallen from its nest. I took it in my hand, as gentle as could be, and climbed up the tree it had come from and put it back in the nest."

"That was kind," Pippin piped in. "But why did people take against you for that?"

"I fell," the old man continued. "The mother bird came back and flew straight at my face, protecting her young you see, so I can't blame her, but I fell right out of the tree and broke my back, I reckon. Anyway, I was lying in the woods for some time till the old woman, witch some calls her, but not I, found me and took pity. She healed me best she could, but my back was crooked and stayed that way since."

"That's very sad," Pippin could not imagine hobbits taking against one of their own kind for such a misfortune. "Was that why you left the Man's place and came here?"

"I couldn't take it no more," Mr Plodgrass was trembling slightly at the telling of his own story. "They blamed me for everything after that. At least the hobbits let me alone and I get the odd handout from the Hall."

Pippin fell silent, squatting before the fire and warming his hands alongside the Wizard and the unfortunate man. Gandalf said nothing either but watched the young hobbit's troubled face at the revelation he had just heard.

"I think..." Pippin broke silence at last, then paused. "No... I'm not sure..."

"What lad?" Gandalf prompted. "Out with it."

"Mr Plogg... I mean Mr Plodgrass," he began cautiously. "Do you like to wear boots?"

"Er um..." The man was obviously taken aback at what appeared to be a totally irrelevant question. "When I had some I liked it well enough. Only mine wore through and I only got these rags to bind round my feet now."

"Well..." Pippin screwed his eyes up in thought. "I'm not sure, but I think I heard Uncle Sara say he needed to get someone for the stables as would be happy to wear boots – you know for the mucking out and such. Only the hobbits get their foot fur too messy and they complain if they have to wear boots."

"Indeed," Gandalf confirmed. "They can never find any the right size – too long you see and boot making is not a skill common amongst Shire folk."

"So," Pippin continued, "Uncle Sara was saying he was thinking of either getting a hobbit from down the Marish way, where he says they do wear boots sometimes, or perhaps even a Man from the big town... erm... Bree. Maybe..." Pippin finished triumphantly, "you could be that Man!"

As Pippin and Gandalf plodded back to Brandy Hall, having left Mr Plodgrass with the hope of a job and at least the firm promise of more food and fuel, the Wizard remarked, almost casually, "You gave him your orange?"

"Yes," Pippin agreed.

"But I know you only have one of those a year – and I seem to remember you telling me what a treat it was."

"Yes."

"So why did you give it to that poor old beggar?" Although Pippin could not see it, Gandalf was smiling through his beard as the hobbit lad pondered the question.

"It... it..." Pippin stumbled. "I just thought about all I've got and what little he has and it didn't seem like much after all."

They trudged on in silence.

"But Mr Gandalf..."

"Yes?"

"It actually was nicer to give it away than to keep it."

"Indeed!"

Into Gandalf's steps he trod
Where the snow lay dinted.
Heat was in the very sod,
That the Wizard printed.
Therefore, noble souls, take heed,
Wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now bless those in need,
Shall yourselves find blessing!

Epilogue

"No, he thought of it all by himself!" Gandalf was seated comfortably in "The Wizard's Chair**" in Paladin's study. "I merely pointed him in the right direction."

"And he set it all up with Sara and Rory?" Paladin was smiling broadly at the Wizard's account of Pippin's exploits in Buckland last Yule. "Ah, there's hope for my rapscallion of a son after all!"

"Oh, don't you underestimate your youngster," Gandalf's face turned serious. "He may be a little wet behind the ears, and he and Saradoc's lad together can be a trial, even for this old Wizard. But I suspect the future holds great things for the pair of them. They'll prove themselves in time I have no doubt."

"I hope that's not a warning of them trailing off after you on some madcap adventure," Paladin's face grew stern now. "He's my only heir and I know Sara feels the same about his Merry."

"Don't fret," Gandalf said sagely. "The future is what it is and you know what they say, "Cometh the hour, cometh the man – or in some cases hobbit! They'll be fine – who knows, one day they may even be called upon to save the whole Shire and then be feted as heroes for ever after."

"Gandalf!" Paladin spluttered with mirth. "Much as I love my son and nephew, sometimes for a so-called wise old Wizard, you come up with the strangest ideas!"

End/

Nadolig Llawn a Blwydden Newdd Dda!

Llinos

This story has been languishing on my pc for several years, because, come Yuletide I always forget to finish it and then it's too late.

This year, because GW mentioned Thluggul in her lovely story "A Grove in Buckland" I remembered it in time. So thanks to her for that. And check out her story if you haven't already - you'll like it!

Thanks to Marigold for the beta.

Here are the Notes:

*Thluggul, the Yuletide Dragon was first mentioned in "A Partnership in Villainy (his purpose is pretty self-explanatory).

**"The Wizard's Chair" was a large chair, graciously imported from Bree to accommodate Gandalf – See "Big Enough to be Thain".