It's A Clever One What Can Keep The Gold
A/N: Hello, y'all! First let me state my reasons for writing this story. One: My heritage is largely Irish, and I'm quite proud of it. Two: I love Irish folktales. Three: I love the Santa Clause movies (except the third, but let's not go into that). So, here's an idea I've been playing with since Thanksgiving.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Santa Clause trilogy. Dang. Nor do I own any Irish folktales I refer to. Dang again. The plot, one character, and the concepts presented in this story are my intellectual property, and I am not making a profit from this story. Yet again, dang.
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Here I sit, shivering in some God-forsaken glade, wishing the pot of gold in front of me would explode if I glared at it enough.
How did I get here?
By my own stupidity, that's how. I just had to prove that I was clever and capable, didn't I? I should have learned my lesson that time in 1404. It's no use trying to match wits against the higher legendary figures.
Oh, by the way, my name is Bernard. Bernard Hywell Yulestar. Don't wear it out. I'm a Christmas elf. I work at the North Pole as Santa's Head Elf, manager of all departments.
At least I did, until now.
You want to know how I got here?
Absolutely not. I'm a very busy elf, and I don't have time to yammer about my small problems. I've got a pot of gold to guard. It sure as heck isn't guarding itself.
Aw, who am I kidding? Nobody's ever gonna come look for this stupid gold. Nobody looks at rainbows anymore. Even if they do, most don't think to look for the gold at the end. No wonder the old Leprechaun hated his job. Fine, fine. Sit down and listen.
It started about a week ago. All because I felt what no elf should ever feel: boredom.
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And there's our introduction, narrated by Bernard. Review, even if only to say that the full name I invented was dumb. Merry Christmas!