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Shire Yule  by Dreamflower


Clack. Clack. Clack.

It was two days since Frodo-lad's "adventure" with the King. The snow had mostly melted--there were still a few banks and patches in the shade where the Sun did not show herself, but she was bright this morning.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

He was in front of the lodge, sparring with Uncle Pippin, with wooden practise swords. The King and Uncle Merry and Bergil watched. Uncle Merry had been glad to be allowed to come out in the sunshine. He sat on the front step of the lodge, with his foot propped up on a small barrel. The King sat next to him, and Bergil stood nearby, keeping an alert eye out.

"Move your feet, lad!" called the King.

Clack. Clack. Thwack.

Frodo stopped completely, startled. He'd actually landed a blow to Uncle Pippin's upper arm. Uncle Pippin stepped back. "That was good, Frodo-lad! Very good!" He rubbed at the place where the blow had landed.

"Are you all right?" asked Frodo.

"I'm fine; I'm wearing my armour, after all, lad."

The King had sighed and rolled his eyes. "Hobbits!" he said.

Uncle Merry glanced over at him. "What's the problem?" he asked, amused.

Bergil exchanged a glance with the King, and then said "You hobbits are too polite. You stop in the middle of a match to exchange pleasantries!"

Uncle Pippin laughed. "Why not? It's not like we are fighting actual enemies."

This was an old argument, and the Men and the hobbits all chuckled now.
Then Bergil called out, "Look!"

Frodo glanced to where the captain was pointing. A figure was coming towards them. "It's Mr. Appledore!" He tossed aside his practice weapon--getting an exclamation of protest from all the adults--and dashed forth to greet the new arrival.

Tom Appledore looked rather surprised at the warmth of his reception. The King had stood, and he nervously approached, and attempted a rather awkward and unpractised bow. "My lord, I--uh--well, if you still want me, that is, I thought I would take you up on your offer to be caretaker?" He gazed up at the lodge, and his eyes grew wide. "If--if you think I can do it?"

The King placed his hands on Mr. Appledore's shoulders. "I am glad that you have decided to accept my offer. I think you will do well."

The other Man had tears in his eyes. "I don't know why you are so kind to me." Suddenly, he sobbed, putting his face in his hands.

The King drew him into a brief embrace of comfort, and then turned with his arms about the poor Man's shoulders.

"Come inside with me, and we shall speak privily."

Frodo stood with Captain Bergil, Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin, and watched as the King drew Mr. Appledore away.

Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin exchanged a look full of meaning. "Was there ever anyone like him?" asked Uncle Pippin.

"He helps us to live on those heights we once spoke of," said Uncle Merry. "I can't think of a greater blessing than to have him for our King."

Nor can I, thought Frodo-lad. And it's going to be a real blessing to serve him this year.



This story was inspired by one of my favorite Christmas carols, due solely to the fact that "Good King Elessar" has the same number of syllables as "Good King Wenceslas".

Although I am sure most of my readers are at least somewhat familiar with the carol on which this story is based, here are the lyrics:

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gath'ring winter fuel

"Hither, page, and stand by me
If thou know'st it, telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint Agnes' fountain."

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

"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, my good page
Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly."

In his master's steps he trod
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very sod
Which the Saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing.

"Good King Wenceslas" was an actual person. According to Wikipedia:
Wenceslaus I ( c. 907 September 28, 935), or Wenceslas I, was the duke of Bohemia from 921 until his assassination in 935, purportedly in a plot by his own brother, Boleslav the Cruel.

His martyrdom, and the popularity of several biographies, quickly gave rise to a reputation for heroic goodness, resulting in his being elevated to sainthood, posthumously declared king, and seen as the patron saint of the Czech state. He is the subject of "Good King Wenceslas", a Saint Stephen's Day carol written over 900 years later, in 1853, that remains popular to this day.

So while the legend has been around for over a thousand years, the carol is only about a hundred and sixty years old:

In 1853, English hymnwriter John Mason Neale wrote the "Wenceslas" lyrics, in collaboration with his music editor Thomas Helmore, and the carol first appeared in Carols for Christmas-Tide, 1853. Neale's lyrics were set to a tune based on a 13th-century spring carol "Tempus adest floridum" ("The time is near for flowering") first published in the 1582 Finnish song collection Piae Cantiones.

Here is a link to the carol sung by a traditional choir:
Good">">Good King Wenceslas

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