Adar Nostomereth
.oOo.
At the sign of the Drunken Goose…
Farm hands and craftsmen huddle around the hearth that brightens up the ancient walls with warm, reassuring reflections. Despite the bitter cold around Thalion, the winter chores are progressing well; cowherds and farmers share a well-deserved mulled wine. Yesterday Master Finran gathered the neighbours to kill the pig in the castle courtyard, so a little festive air is sounding now for the winter solstice. Tonight the great candlebearer has been hoisted, a souvenir of the royal festivals, filled with all its candles.
Some wrinkled apples, the children of the class have removed from the attic racks, simmer gently in mouth-watering molasses, while the black blood pudding is perkily fricoting. The baker is greeted with cheers when her chubby arms distribute full trays of hazelnuts cookies, while the landlord is pulling the first white beer...
Now is the time for old stories, enriched at each solstice eve.
.oOo.
Somewhere in the Shire, during the Long Winter 2911-2912 of sinister memory…1
- Hey, Grazer! Giddyup, Cabochon!
The cart squeaked painfully in the roaring wind. Josso flogged his wobbly hitch with anguish, looking at the snow heaps that blocked the way. The ox and the donkey did their best, but struggled to drag the overloaded cart. The eldest son pushed bravely to the wheel, even though the snowdrifts were already over his shoulder.
"We should never have left our hole in these conditions," Josso told himself.
Yet his wife, inspired by some imperious dream, had insisted on joining the great smials of the Tucks before the expected birth. What a foollish thing to do…
The utter cold colored his cheeks with carmine, but his brown locks now bent under the frost. Josso composed a voluntary and optimistic face to glance under the cart's tarpaulin. His two daughters were supporting his wife, who was lying on a bundle of straw, while his youngest son was watching and filling a small iron stove.
Josso flogged again, obtaining an admirable pull from his team, so devoted but so unsuitable... The wind softened a little, but the snow fell in heavier flakes. The road and the green hills country, unrecognizable, slowly disappeared under a thick pallid and uniform shroud, which erased all the likeable beauties and the least points of reference in the landscape.
Suddenly a cry of stifled terror sounded under the tarpaulin. The scared face of the youngest daughter appeared in the front and stammered, her lips a little shaking:
- Mom just lost the waters!
Our hobbit suddenly lost that rosy complexion that had been his youth's success. He had faced many perilous or annoying situations, but this expedition looked beyond his strength.
- … We'll arrive soon! he shouted with as little conviction as he had left.
But the worried look he gave to his eldest bracing on the wheel, belied the decided tone of his words...
Then the bursts of wind rose again, intertwined with long howls that froze the blood. Father and son looked at each other with fright.
Pairs of oblong eyes appeared here and there, shining with an evil flame and staring at the petrified cart. Then grey silhouettes flowed silently in the white fog, soft and menacing...
.oOo.
He had appeared from nowhere.
Armed with their straw-forks, Josso and his elder son Bosso, cornered at their frightened hitch, desperately repelled the pack's cowardly attacks.
One had just heard tiny tinglings and, in a lightning, his tall figure had thundered the leader, a vicious white wolf, that rolled mad red eyes and drooled a thick bloody foam. Then his sword had slain an enormous wolf, with a ruffled grey pelt.
Soon fear had changed sides. Two swift she-wolves had their pelt scorched and flew for cover under the forest, large ghostly mass from which emerged sad frozen branches. The pack disbanded with pitiful yelps.
Josso and Bosso, quite surprised at being still alive, sharply looked at the new-comer. The end of his staff still shone with a flickering light, as their saviour was approaching, dragging on the snow a long sledged wooden box marked with a « G » rune. This recalled far souvenirs for both shocked hobbits – a vaguely familiar old grey man, fond of firelights. He took off his large-brim hat and smiled, but the fire of fight still lingered in his dark look. Apart from his wizard staff and his blazing broadsword, he almost looked like a gentle oldtimer, draped in his grey mantle.
But the Hobbits were shortly taken from their stupefied contemplation:
- Daddy, whimpered a small voice at the rear of the carriage.
Father and brother rushed to help the youngest daughter. They found her trembling under the tarpaulin she had defended, covered with blood.
A wolf lied dead at the back of the cart, a sharp butcher's knife deeply plugged in its ear. The courageous young hobbit - Primavera – had fought with teeth and nails for her dear ones, as is said in Frogmorton, and slain the monster that had ventured its mouth into the cart. Miraculously, she had no harm other than some bruises – the blood on her face and dress was the beast's. But that sticky dark venom disgusted her deeply…
.oOo.
The wizard had quickly taken charge of everything, loaded his own box in the cart and had led the family to a nearby sheepfold, nearly buried under the snow.
- I know where we are, Bosso said. That's Fredegar Tuck's wood stockpile! He's a cousin at third degree of ours who…
- Of course it is! The wizard interrupted, somehow irritated. Where else would you have us shelter nearby? This place is perfect for what we have to do…
The passengers – and first of all Mrs Myriamel Timber, who had stoically gone into child-work – and the content of the cart were swiftly unloaded. Everyone, even the ox and donkey, was lodged in the cabin, that was emptied of its lumber piled there, while the wizard was scheming some trick of his own.
Josso Timber, who was a « carpenter of the Hatchet » undertook to repair this all and before sunset, he and his sons had reinforced the structure, filled the holes and set a proper door, that could be blocked from the inside. The stove even allowed to boil some snow and heat the cabin somehow. Just on time! Indeed Grazer and Cabochon would not have been able to warm up the Timber's last born with their breathes, by such a cold night.
Outside a cruel blizzard was roaring, while hobbit-eater wolf packs roamed nearby. Sometimes strangled yelps were heard around the fortune house. After uttering words of safekeeping and soothing, the wizard kept watch near the door, as he remembered the spells the Witch-King of Angmar once weaved in the north, when his minions crossed the frozen Baranduin. No indeed, this long winter did not seem entirely natural, his cousin from Greenwood was right… The hobbits were forced to bury themselves in their holes. Though the ancestral great smials like Tuckborroughs or Brandy Hall, provided with ample hidden cellars, did not fear the famine, the small isolated farms like Timber Meadow were much exposed. The times were dark and the wizard was pondering his retort.
But in the cabin, the enlarged family laid sound asleep, under the old wanderer's care. Grazer and Cabochon quietly chewed straw in their corner. The children's muffled breathes recalled the serene country existence in their beloved Shire. The tiny noises of the baby's hungry suction at his mummy's breast, paced the night hours, like a protective jingle repeated to exorcize their fear. The simple happiness of an overcome test, and a hope for better tomorrows accompanied the child's birth.
.oOo.
In the deepest of the night, the wizard went out for a short patrol. The wolf traps he had hidden – dreadful weapons forged by the dwarves of the Blue Mountains – had worked wonderfully. Silently and pitilessly, he finished the monsters that were snapped up by the steel jaws, and rearmed the traps. The surroundings seemed calm, but the wizard felt the pack's vigilance under the frozen eves of the forest. From time to time, a far howl warned that the pack's forced retreat would not remain unpunished. The snow had stopped falling, and sometimes he even glimpsed stars across the grey clouds.
After his meticulous inspection, the old man took a long object from his bag, planted it on the ground, and lighted a wick that hang under it.
- Now the time has come, he murmured. May you help us in our need!
A small dwarven rocket suddenly sprang up into the sky, finally bursting into a silent plume.
One more star was now shining in the firmament. Strong and tenacious, it did not seem to be affected by the heavy clouds pushed by the wind.
.oOo.
The next morning a dull, cold dawn chased away the ghosts of the night. The wizard's light lingered in the midst of threatening clouds, sending glittering rays here and there.
When a curious chime tinkled around the shelter, the whole family gathered in front of the door, speechless. Even Cabochon and Grazer forgot to chew their straw.
A large green sledge was twinkling on the snow. Thousands of bells jingled when one of the reindeer hit the snow with his hoof or shook its splendid silver pelt. The wizard was in great conversation with a short, brown-robed figure, who was gesticulating enthusiastically. The unfolded wings of his fur hat fluttered with the rhythm of the brown man's arguments. He welcomed - on his staff, his arms and shoulders, and occasionally his head - many birds of all kinds, he answered to and sent back with the appropriate tweeting:
- Thranduil lends me his wedding carriage. Trrlluît! He has neither the taste nor the use of it. Zuît Zzluuît! And for now he prefers to discourage his son's plans for marriage... Pshitt Psshuîît! I keep this little wonder for myself! Kikikiki kikikêkê!
- But is that not a little... obvious?, objected the wizard.
- My Rhosgobel Reindeers team is fast and has no equal to go unnoticed - Kwakak! - or to defeat on occasion, the wild beasts of Dol Guldûr! Trrlluît!
- After all, nodded the grey wizard.
The whole Timber family – with nappies, baby, provisions and gear – embarked in the wonderful sledge, they found cluttered with bags and parcels of all kinds, salted ham of the Eotheod, remedies from Rhosgobel, golden buns of the Beornings, Dwarven automatons from Erebor and other mysteries of distant lands.
The children, delighted, insisted to take on Cabochon and Grazer, who rolled imploring eyes on the cabin's stoop. With a hint of good will and a stroke at an enchanted chime, it's amazing what you can carry in a mage's sledge! Indeed he was undoubtedly a mage, and even probably a King mage, guided by the mysterious star, and that greatly enhanced the grey wizard's prestige in the eyes of the Hobbits.
Soon our wizard had attached his box and embarked, and the team speeded in a joyously rhythmed jingle.
- I'm told Tuckburroughs is besieged, His brown cousin said, in a cloud of soaring sparrows.
- Only the Thain would be able to coordinate the fight across the Shire! We have to pass and entrust him with the weapons! The grey wizard said.
- Then we must be quick, The brown mage smiled while vigorously shaking the reins.
Much to the delight of the children - but with a certain apprehension on the part of Myriamel - the reindeers provided a powerful effort, and the elven vessel seemed to slide on a cloud of light snow. And, curiously, the sledge floated limply, following the rays of the protecting star, which seemed to indicate the right direction.
.oOo.
When the improbable carriage reached Tuckburroughs, the situation was not brilliant. It seemed that winter had concentrated there most of its attacks, to bury the soul of the Shire under an ice grave.
The Tucks, who had first fought and turned snowdrifts into walls of snow, had been overwhelmed, forced to abandon the village and to retreat into the ancient smial. But all the doors and windows were now blocked by a thick layer of hard snow. The defenders, at first delighted with this protection, had understood that they were besieged, could no longer make use of their bows and arrows, and now could only rely on themselves.
The Wolf King had established his throne at the foot of the ancient larch, under which the Tuck, on fine days, rendered his ordinary judgments. The venerable tree overlooked the hill under which were excavated the galleries of the Tucks. Twilight was approaching, and already the beasts were digging on the hill; the fortress would soon be invested.
Yet the wolves had reckoned without the two old men's fighting spirit. Their decision taken in a moment of consultation, the beautiful green sledge swerved as the reindeer herd made a supreme effort to force the siege. The bells burst into a song of joy, as the sled was accelerating in a dizzying way. The over-excited brown mage shouted "Yo-ho-ho!" while whisking the wolves that dared to approach. The occupants of the sled felt themselves transported with a fighting cheer, while the wolves moaned and dispersed.
But the Wolf King was not the least of the vagrants. He howled to call his guard and got ready to leap and swallow all that fresh flesh.
He should have known better, because the grey wizard did not mean to play a minor role in front of his cousin. He had prepared this moment for a long time, and took from his box a package carefully labeled "Dagnir Carcarotha". When he brandished his sword, a flash of red light cast a fiery glow on the whole sled, as if the flame of hope and life itself had been revived.
The king of the white wolves, in his pride, caught in his mouth bristling with yellow fangs, the fying "gift" dropped by the grey wizard. The monster burst into hundreds of purple and green sparks, which scattered around it to pursue the wolves of his guard.
The grey wizard, very satisfied indeed with his little trick, distributed many other "gifts," which the young hobbits began to throw around the giant larch, and even in its branches. The feathered friends of the brown mage dropped some of them at the bravest wolves, that also exploded in sheaves of purple glows. The whole hill soon resembled an immense firework, the age-old tree shining with a thousand lights, surrounded by the mysterious bundles of the two old men.
The enchanted sledge finally stopped near the illuminated tree. Myriamel was delighted; her little one seemed fascinated by the magical spectacle that marked his birth; she even surprised herself with throwing a few small packages to widen the circle of light around the hill. A family of squirrels descended from the larch and entered into conversation with the brown mage. A couple of badgers, who had taken refuge between the centenary roots, also came to his aid, and soon he was able to guide the fine team on the hill disfigured by the wolves.
While the grey wizard unloaded the sled's incredible contents, his cousin was frantically digging the ice. Thus was cleared the duct of the great fireplace of the Tucks' smial. Cautiously, the children slid along a rope, followed by the baby in a wicker basket, then Mrs. and Mr. Timber.
The brown wizard did not want to drag on - he had to fly back to his beloved forest. But he confided to his grey friend, a most precious package: that was green seedlings with beautiful red stars.
- They are called Poinsettia. You have to plant them all around this larch!
The grey wizard did so under the eye-catching supervision of his brown cousin. When he finished, the grey got up massaging his bruised back:
- I imagine they are useful in the fight against wolves? These horrors are allergic to it, maybe?
- "Not at all," replied the brown, distractedly. But I find them very pretty in winter. It is important!
At last the grey wizard bade farewell to his fantastic cousin, and the marvellous sledge flew away one last time, under the bewildered and already somewhat nostalgic glance of Cabochon and Grazer.
.oOo.
The grey wizard buried a few more traps around the hill and lingered a little to complete his enchantments. No one had ever seen a tree so beautifully garlanded with lights on a night of birth!
Then he sent down the packages and the victuals before introducing himself also by the chimney, which did not go without hardships!
When he landed on the slabs of the Great Hall, in the middle of the packages he had brought, he was covered with soot. An ovation followed this unconventional entry.
The Tuck ordered a big party. The fall of the Wolf King and the distributed victuals contributed much to revive the forces and the morale of the defenders, but the wizard suspected that the presence of the newborn hobbit, saved with his family from a certain death, was the real marvel which gathered the inhabitants to overcome this terrible ordeal.
The chimney could at last be lit again. During the vigil, the wizard's memory was sollicitated for tales of old. Late into the night, the replete guests gathered and sang tunes of Ancien Arnor, and the wizard discovered that many elven enchantments had transformed, while passing from the Dunedain to the Hobbits, into funny ritual ditties, apparently senseless, but with a strange incantatory power.
Several bottles, stored since the marriage of the Thain's grandfather, were opened for the occasion. Unfortunately, it appeared the vintage had altered – indeed it smelled like an old wine and sparkled like a beer. Yet some jolly jokers indulged in tasting the dubious beverage – its fine air bubbles revealed to enliven the festive spirit of the guests. It goes without saying that this happy brewing coïncidence, committed by an obscure winegrower by the name of Domper Hinion, was afterwards elucidated, improved and enjoyed at Tuckburroughs, for every party worthy of the name.
.oOo.
Josso Timber, after seeking a bit of courage at the bottom of a well-deserved white beer mug, consulted the Thain and, on his advice, came before the worthy wizard to present his new-born. He approached clumsily:
- With all respect, Myriamel thanks you for your gentle and proper care! And also thanks to this inronmongery of yours, all we Hobbits are to kick this filthy white wolves brood beyond the Brandywine! So to honour your Wizardship, if I might say, we Timbers would be honoured you would be so kind to be appointed wizard-parent of our little one!
Abashed, the wizard overcame his embarrassment and took the baby in his arms. Everybody around supported and insisted lively! For a moment, it seemed many wrinkles had faded at the temples of the old wizard, who passed his callous hand on the newborn's head, while a soft glow haloed around the child and his protector:
- I still have many names in the tongues of Elves, Dwarves and Men…
The wizard smiled at the small restless form, who was wailing and mistreating his grey beard:
- Yet let it be! So in High Tongue I will be Adar Nostomereth2. That doesn't sound so bad!
And a toast was made to the health of the baby Hobbit and his Wizard-father.
.oOo.
Epilog
The day after, the Thain had the mysterious parcels opened. The Hobbits discovered a true arsenal – torches that burn all night long, wolf traps forged by the Dwarves, metal collars to protect de hounds, iron peaks that do not break in utter cold, and various remedies and soothing victuals.
The grey wizard uttered some words of liberation on the main doorway, that opened free of its ice gangue. Then the army of the Tucks could muster the whole Shire and methodically repell the white wolves.
The huge snow falls that had buried Eriador during this memorable winter, were followed by a slow spring thaw, that ended all of a sudden at the end of april. An unprecedented flood filled the Gwathlô vale, drowning the great city of Tharbad, commercial crossroads of prime importance.
Yet the tradition of distributing gifts for Yule, the feast of winter solstice, survived the catastrophe, and the many tests that were to follow. That is how this tale came to us, somehow baroque but undoubtedly authentic, a tale about a birth celebrating the renewal of light and hope, under the protection of wonderful forces.
Oh, of course, this adventure has been re-assimilated and transformed by the people that fought for the cultural and religious supremacy of our world…3
But you have certainly guessed now, dear reader, who is hiding indeed behind the legend of Santa Klaus…
.oOo.
NOTES
1 Which is winter 1311-1312 according to the Shire Reckoning.
2 Small elven translation, at my risk and expense:While translating Christmas as « the fair of nativity ».
Santa Klaus "The guardian of Nativity": Adar Nostomereth in Sindarin, and Atto Nostameren in Quenya
Quenya : atto, the father nosta, the birth meren, the feast.
Sindarin : adar, the father nostor, the birth mereth, la feast.
3 The feast of Nativity imposed itself only lately in the Christian Canon. A roman emperor first instituted a syncretic feast by joining the winter solstice feast (Yule by the celts, Jôl/Jul in Germany-Scandinavia), the roman feast of the undefeated sun's birth (sol invictus) and the feast of the Mithra cult, celebrating the birth of the god and the victory of light over darkness.