When Kings Were Kings, and Shields Were Shields
Och, shades of Alex Sanders.*
In 1995, the Théodsmen of Winland (America = Old Norse Vínland) together raised Garman Lord on a shield, thus making him King of Winland.
Well, King of Théodish Winland, anyway.
In 2022 Lord stepped down from the giftstool (= throne) of Winland, and the Théodsmen together raised Thórbeorht Éaldorblótere on a shield, thus making him the second King of Théodish Winland.
Well, second sitting king, anyway.
Raising someone to kingship literally, not by coronation or by enthronement, but by lifting him on a shield, is a hoary Germanic custom attested by several Classical writers.
Talk about articulate symbolism. The king is the shield—protector—of the people, but it is the people—symbolized by the dright ( = warband) that uphold the king. Lifting someone on a shield is a pretty profound image of mutual dependence.
We may elevate you above us, but it's a contingent elevation.
Beware of a fall.
I don't often catch my friend and colleague Théodsman (and lore-master) Hildiwulf Scop out in matters of ancient Germanic lore, which he knows backwards and forwards, with a comprehensiveness that I can only describe as Talmudic.
(“We're the Orthodox Jews of Heathenry,” he tells me, which comparison itself has much to tell.)
Ah, but. When he promptly answers “Sitting” to my question, “When the king at his king-making is raised on the shield, is he standing or sitting?” I can only find myself in disagreement.
I've got documentation, too.
Because—wisely—they didn't trust their compatriots, the emperors of Byzantium hired Germanic mercenaries to protect them (the so-called Varangian—literally, "barbarian"—Guard), and numerous Byzantine kings were raised to their kingship in the Germanic way—on a shield.
Byzantines being Byzantines—i.e. nearly as self-obsessed as modern pagans—there is, of course, ample documentation—even illustrations—of this rite.
All of them depict the king standing on the shield.
Hildiwulf's answer may reflect current Théodish practice, but that's not how the ancestors did it.
When what we do today differs from ancestral precedent, what then? This question is inescapable for the modern pagan, and brooks no single answer. Certainly our responsibility here is to be honest, and to ask ourselves the hard questions.
Sometimes there's a fit reason for the difference. In these overfed days, I suspect, kings tend to be a little more, um, ample than they used to be.