Hide your children’s eyes from this tale, for
I
shall reveal to you the facts of a mystery that has stood unanswered
for
many, many generations: the true identity of Santa Claus!
Many hours have I spent pouring over the old tales
and
the ancient texts that preceded them. After piecing bits of
information
together from various sources, I am convinced Santa Claus is none other
than
Fionwë, son of Manwë and Varda!
“But why Fionwë,” you ask, “when Manwë
seems
the more logical choice?” Indeed, Manwë is a logical
choice.
Unfortunately, he must remain in Valinor until the Great End.
Aside
from this, there are clues that point directly to Fionwë.
Tolkien
says of Fionwë, “he was the swiftest to move about the
airs.”
Indeed, it would take a very fast speed to deliver gifts to all the
children
of the world in one single night. Tolkien, realizing the
importance
of Santa’s secret identity, chose to omit this fact from the final
texts
and change Fionwë to Eonwë, Herald of Manwë. No
one
would suspect the leader of the Armies of the Valar of handing out
toys.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there were some clues as to the
truth
that were so important to the tales that Tolkien could not remove or
alter
them.
It is well known to us all that at the end of the
First
Age, when Morgoth’s realm had been destroyed, that rich reward was
given
to the Edain, and that it was Eonwë who came among them and taught
them.
Indeed, Eonwë had great love and sympathy for Mankind. What
is
not widely known, however, is that the Herald/son of Manwë loved
children
most of all. He was surprised and pleased that, even with his
great
height and very large sword and shield, only a few were truly
frightened
of him. He spent as much time teaching them as he did their
elders.
Finally, though, Numenor was prepared and it was time to lead the
Armies
back to Aman. Often he came to visit the children, especially at
the
feast to Eru at the Meneltarma. It was not long, though, before
his
princely duties called him away, and it was a great while before he
came
to visit mortal children again.
It was long into the Fourth Age before Fionwë
was
once again able to visit Middle-Earth. He set foot at the Old
Havens
and walked to Minas Tirith, greeting those he met. Sadly, many of
these
seemed very frightened at his approach. When he entered the gates
of
Minas Tirith, there was a great uproar in the streets. Children
were
hid behind their mothers, and the men ran to retrieve their armour and
weapons.
Bewildered, Fionwë came before the king, who was also arrayed as
if
for war. It was there that it became clear to him: the men of
Minas
Tirith had thought his coming meant the Final Battle was at hand!
Indeed,
a great look of relief came over the people when they learned the
Armies
of the Valar were not just behind Fionwë. Disheartened,
Fionwë
returned to Valinor.
A long time Fionwë sat in thought, as years
went
by for the World of Men. He so much wanted to see the joy in a
child’s
face once again, but knew he could not. Elves had long since hid
themselves
from men, or come to Aman. He could not just appear in front of
people,
or it would scare them as much as his accustomed form had. Many
tried
to cheer him up. Manwë and Ulmo brought some snow into
Valmar.
Varda made him new reading stars so he could read easier at
night.
Amillo sang while Salmar played a joyous tune. Aulë
contrived
great devices to cheer Fionwë, and Yavanna brought many plants to
brighten
his halls upon Taniquetil. But lo! For all of this,
Fionwë
was grateful, but not soothed. Of all the Valar, he thought
perhaps
Namo best knew and Nienna best understood how he felt. However,
when
he left his room it was not to Mandos, the great Halls of Mourning,
that
he went. It was to Lorien, the home of Irmo, that his feet led
him.
For some time he walked, at times pacing around the
lake
Lorellin, and at other times walking in the gardens. It was there
that
he found his friend Olorin, walking unnoticed, or unseen, among a group
of
Elven poets, whispering softly. Fionwë smiled slightly for
the
first time since his return and sat down leaning against a lone
tree.
Shortly after, Olorin came over and sat next to him, also leaning
against
the tree. They talked for a long time about many things.
After
a while, Fionwë shared his thoughts with Olorin, as well as the
story
about his visit to Minas Tirith. Olorin seemed to find the
people’s
reaction amusing, and almost laughed. Fionwë lowered his
eyes,
and they fell on something around Olorin’s finger. A ring,
useless
now, except as a memory of old friends. “He’s been there.
He
understands what it’s like,” thought Fionwë.
Suddenly his eyes widened. He jumped up and
exclaimed,
“An old man! That’s it!” Olorin sat there smiling as he
watched
Fionwë run through the garden, leap over the smaller side of lake
Lorellin,
and race to Taniquetil to make his case to Manwë. An old
man! He thought to himself. Even Sauron did not suspect
five old men!
It was not long before Fionwë stood before
Manwë.
His father could tell that he had an idea that would make him
happy.
Calmly Fionwë explained his plan to Manwë, and Manwë
listened
intently. Agreeing that Fionwë’s plan did not constitute a
direct
interference in the affairs of Men, Manwë gave his son leave to
begin
preparations.
“However,” Manwë added, ”While in that guise
you
must remain in Middle-Earth, and you may only go forth in that form
once
a year. Once you shed it, you may not wear it again until a full
year
of Men has passed.”
Eagerly Fionwë went about the
preparations.
He enlisted the aid of all he could. The Elves were the most
eager
to help. The Noldor set about making toys of all kinds; however,
they
let the Teleri make the toy boats. The Vanyar set about to
writing
poems and songs. Even Aulë and his Dwarves got
involved.
They made fine jewelry and crystal tea sets, and sturdy items like
plates
and tables as well. Everyone got into the spirit. The
preparations
were well under way. Fionwë had another problem, though.
“What is wrong?” Olorin asked one day.
“If I can only take this form in Middle-Earth, I
must
be there when I take it. But if I take the form as soon as I
arrive,
someone might see me, and my cover is blown. I need somewhere
from
which to leave, and to arrive; a staging point for my deliveries.”
“Well,” said Olorin thoughtfully, ”I know of a place
you
can take up your form safe from prying eyes. You can transport
everything
there, and the inhabitants won’t mind at all. Quite a sturdy
people,
they are. Their land appears to have become the most northerly of
Mortal
lands over time. I think it would be quite safe among them.”
“The Shire?” Fionwë asked.
“Indeed! The Shire is the perfect place, and
the
Halflings, or Hobbits as they prefer, are just the people to help
you.
They’re quite generous and hospitable.”
Fionwë laughed. “The Shire it is
then! Now all I need do is pick a day.”
“Hmm,” Olorin said. “For that, I suggest we
consult Namo.”
Fionwë went to Namo that same day. At
first
reluctant to speak, Namo told Fionwë of a great holiday that had
come
into practice since his last visit. It was a day of love, giving,
generosity,
and sacrifice. That day was Christmas.
“Indeed,” said Fionwë. “That would be the
perfect day for me to deliver our gifts.”
Summer came to the World of Men, and Fionwë
prepared
to embark. He wanted to leave early to prepare a small house in
the
West farthing of the Shire; he heard from Olorin that was a lovely
countryside.
As he prepared to leave, Aulë and the Dwarves
brought
forth a great sleigh loaded with gifts. The sleigh was
beautifully
decorated, with mithril skates and a chassis the shining color
of an autumn sunset. On the reigns hung tiny mithril
bells that had a sound like shimmering light. It was then that
Fionwë
saw how much he was taking with him, and realized he could no more make
it
suddenly appear there with him than he could appear himself in front of
a
person.
“Certainly you didn’t think to carry it around the
world
yourself, did you?” laughed Aulë, thought not cruelly.
“Well,” Fionwë smiled, “I hadn’t considered
that.
Perhaps I shall need some help pulling this sleigh as well.”
Fionwë
laughed.
“Thorondor and some eagles would be the best
bet. Nice and strong,” Tulkas said genuinely.
“And big,” chimed in Estë. “He will need
something not so conspicuous.”
At that, Oromë and Yavanna gathered from all
over
Aman all creatures that were smaller than the Eagles, yet strong enough
to
pull a sleigh. Many animals were turned away, from the great
hunting
hounds of Oromë to the Oxen that fed in the Elven pastures.
Then
Nessa brought forth a tiny animal that barely looked strong enough to
carry
its own weight, let alone pull a sleigh. She called it a
reindeer,
and from the looks of it, it had a cold. Smiling, Fionwë
blessed
its nose, hoping that would help, then suggested it be taken to
Estë
for proper healing. He was about to choose the Mearas, when, out
of
the corner of his eye, he saw how fast the tiny reindeer ran and how
high
it leaped. Laughing, Fionwë said, “If you can find me eight
more,
twice his size and even half as fast, I shall choose them to pull my
sleigh!”
Indeed, eight more were found, and finally all was prepared.
Fionwë arrived in the Shire in late
November.
The reindeer, sleigh, and gifts were to be brought in
mid-December.
So quickly did Fionwë traverse the airs that his coming forced
snow
clouds further south than it was usual for them to go. Many
places
that once had never heard of snow now had a few inches of it.
Children
were in awe of this marvelous white powder, and went out regularly to
play
in it.
The Hobbits had known of Fionwë’s coming and
prepared
a house for him, near a large hill where still there lived a prominent
Hobbit
family. The Hobbits proved generous indeed, and were eager to
help
Fionwë in any way they could. They held a great feast in his
honor,
and the prominent Hobbit family even decorated a large tree they called
“The
Party Tree.”
It is told elsewhere of the Valar’s secret love of
Hobbit
cuisine, so I shall not go into details here. Needless to say,
after
several days of such feasting, Fionwë’s once tall, slim form of a
jolly
old man had become, well, hobbitish in shape. Strangely, that
seemed
to make him appear all the jollier.
The day had come for the reindeer and sleigh to
arrive,
and they had not. A thick fog had rolled in from the West, and
Fionwë
suspected that was the problem. Many days more went by without a
sign
from the West, and Fionwë grew worried. Finally, on the
twenty-fourth
of December, early in the day, Fionwë looked up into the sky and
saw
what appeared to be a red light. As it came closer, it seemed the
red
light outlined the shape of a large eagle. Indeed, it proved to
be
five large eagles. Four held a reindeer in each claw, and the
largest
one, Thorondor, carried a sleigh behind him. In his talon was a
reindeer
with a glowing red nose. The Hobbits chuckled at that
sight.
The Eagles set their cargo down and perched.
“We thought your reindeer would need their strength
if
they are to pull with all their speed tonight,” said Thorondor, ”but if
it
were not for this little one, we would not have found our way through
this
fog. However, perhaps, being Varda’s son, you should be more
careful
about what you bless.” There was a hint of laughter in the
Eagle’s
voice.
Fionwë laughed heartily, and felt his
hobbit-sized
belly shake like a bowlful of jelly. “Hohoho! Imagine my little
reindeer
with a cold getting a glowing nose!”
“There are some papers with songs on them that King
Ingwë
wished me to deliver to the Hobbits. He calls them
‘carols.’
They are in your sleigh. Also, Irmo wishes me to tell you that you will
have
no problems with being seen by children tonight. He says visions
of
,.. something-or-other,… will be dancing in their heads. Urwendi
has
also agreed to take it slower returning to the Gates of Morning, so no
worries
running out of nighttime either. She thinks what you're doing is
very
nice.” At that, Fionwë’s cheeks became a rosy red.
Finally, the time had come for Fionwë to depart
on
his journey. He waved good-bye to the Hobbits as he took off, all nine
reindeer
pulling a sleigh with a round driver inside. He delivered all his
toys,
choosing to land on the roof because he could slip in easier and quiet
through
the large chimneys, and because he did not want to leave sleigh marks
and
hoof prints where anyone could see them. Upon finishing his task,
he
returned to the Shire to enjoy the fruits of his labor. When the
Sun
came up and the children awoke, their eyes filled with wonder and joy,
as
well as the eyes of the parents who did not remember putting such toys
under
their tree. When the adults saw their gifts, though, they were even
more
stunned. Even after many centuries, they knew such craftsmanship
to
be Elf work.
Since that time long ago, Fionwë has continued
his
tradition. Every year around the end of November, he goes to the
Shire,
and many places feel cold and see snow they wouldn’t any other
time.
The Hobbits hold a feast every time, and his thin shape becomes
hobbit-like
once again.
Many legends and misunderstandings have arisen, of
course.
A few astute watchers see a glimpse of his red-nosed reindeer heading
northward
on his way back to the Shire, and assume he lives in a cold
climate.
The Shire is actually a lovely place in all seasons. Some few
have
even attempted to follow the course they think he took, and arriving in
the
Shire, take its inhabitants for Elves, when they indeed are
Hobbits.
And, of course, as jolly and old as he may be, Fionwë is no Elf.
That is the identity and story behind Santa
Claus. Now Mrs. Claus, that’s a story for another day… :}
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