A young Davyn was excited. The dwarven tunnels were uncharacteristically alive with lights

  and decorations. It was his favorite time of year. Yule had finally arrived.

  Even in the deep passageways of the dwarven keep, he could taste the crisp air of winter.

  This was due to the intricate system of ventilation the dwarves had developed. As hardy as

  they were, they acknowledged the importance of being able to breathe fresh air. Giant

  copper and iron pipes curved up then drove vertically through the mountain to the surface.

  The vents were very obviously named “air shafts”, but Davyn and the other dwarven

  children had another name for them – “boom shafts”.

  Not only did they provide passage of air from above, but the booms of thunder as well.

  Thunderous blasts of sound as Thor beat his hammer in the skies. Davyn loved the noise.

  He envisioned Thor above their mountain keeps, looking down in pride. Banging his

  hammer as they did the same deep in their mines and at their forges. Thor was very active

  in the weeks approaching Yule, which made Davyn even more excited. Today was no

  different; the booms echoed the halls, shaking them at random intervals.

  It was a rarity for dwarves to have guests. Dwarves preferred mining and blacksmithing

  over travel and would only occasionally go to visit other halls to see their kin. It was even

  more unusual to host non-dwarven guests. Dwarves aren’t exactly famous for their

  sociability. But Yuletide was different. Even to the solitary dwarves, it was a time of

  abundant merry-making with kin and friends. Every year, one of the great dwarven Thanes

  would send out invitations, open their hall and try to outdo the previous years’

  celebrations. Guests received a serious honor by being invited. Those who did not received

  a serious insult. Davyn was proud that he and his da were some of the first guests to arrive.

  Too excited to contain himself, Davyn’s stubby legs carried him as fast as they could into

  the great hall to explore. He looked around in wonder, his senses overwhelmed by the

  decorations. Fine silver and gold chains draped between the massive pillars, which held up

  impressively vaulted ceilings. Holly vines wove through the chain, showing off clusters of

  waxy red berries, their emerald and crimson popping along the metal. Tiny silver lanterns

  were attached every few feet to pleasantly illuminate the floor below. Runes, the Dwarven

  form of magic, were carved into each of them to keep the flames ever burning. Their light

  danced off the metals, casting designs all around the room.

  Beautiful weaponry hung from the walls, polished to a sheen which also reflected the light.

  Shields, axes, war hammers, and more all hung as a display of exceptional craftsmanship.

  A Thane’s way to brag without saying a word. The occasional bear pelt hung between them,

  another sign of wealth and strength. Davyn ran his hand along the perfectly set long tables

  and was reprimanded by one of the workers. His mood unaffected, he took off in a run as

  the worker pushed him towards the hall exit.

  A boom echoed through the shafts. Davyn stopped to listen. The boom was followed by the

  loud grinding noise of gears and metal moving. He knew what that meant. More guests

  were here.

  Davyn and his da arrived as guests and were honored to have been invited early by their

  host. Not surprising, as this year it was Davyn’s close kin who were hosting. ‘Close’ was a

  relative term to dwarves when it came to kin. Thane Brandr – he was an uncle or cousin or

  something. It was always hard for Davyn to keep them all straight. Yule celebrations ran for

  twelve days, with guests normally being hosted during the final days. The anticipation of

  the arrival of the other guests had been killing Davyn. He turned the corner and ran straight

  into the back of his da, Herryk. The gruff dwarf peered over his beard at Davyn.

  “Runnin’ in or outta trouble, lad?” Herryk glared down at him as he asked.

  “Neither.” Davyn blurted back.

  “Aye, not be believing that from ye.” Herryk kept his grim expression, but Davyn could see

  the laughter twinkling in his da’s eyes. His da loved Yule as well. Herryk grabbed him by his

  arms and easily lifted Davyn onto his massive shoulders to watch the newly arriving guests.

  There were many, as expected. They were wet, also as expected with all the booming from

  above. Dwarves of every clan Davyn could think of. Banners and shields displayed a

  rainbow of clan colors and insignias. Fire breathing dragons, snarling wolves, growling

  bears, and more ornamented the respective clans. His kin from the mountains were

  covered head to foot in armor, while his cousins from the hills were mostly bare-chested

  and coated in tattoos under their furs. Each dwarven caravan hauled carts full of shining

  presents. Packed to the brim with colorfully painted boxes overflowing with gems, precious

  metals, and toys.

  Then started the dwarven welcomes; a combination of cheering, cursing, embracing,

  insulting, and fighting. Friends and kin reuniting, in most cases, after a year. A warrior’s

  embrace of the forearm here and new insults being hurled there. Two brothers headbutted

  each other as a greeting, their beards barely containing their smiles.

  Then entered the Wood Elves. Davyn could not remember the last time they came to a

  celebration. This was a high honor. The elves couldn’t be more juxtaposed to the dwarves.

  Covered in perfectly fitting furs and leather to protect from the cold weather and rain, they

  were graceful, slender, and tall. All wore neutral expressions and were clean shaven with

  high cheekbones and long, elaborately braided hair. Davyn thought they all looked like tall

  children compared to his bearded brethren. He also heard they spend most of their

  summers naked, but simply couldn’t believe it.

  High King Cuiduligh led this Wood Elf clan, donned in brown warrior garb with a crown

  composed of tiny floating balls of light. They freely circled his head like fireflies. Davyn

  knew him only because his da taught him all the expected lords, quizzing him every day

  before their arrival. Davyn whined over and over of why all these names were important,

  but now understood the exercise’s value.

  The elves’ neutral expressions couldn’t last in the presence of the dwarves’ revelry. They

  brought with them no carts full of gifts, or any gifts to be seen at all. Davyn found this

  strange and heard many other dwarves commenting similarly, albeit much more

  insultingly. Davyn didn’t have the patience to stay for much longer and went to find the

  other dwarven children. Guests continued to arrive throughout the day. All were welcomed

  and ushered towards the great hall.

  A giant bell rang, announcing the start of the festivities. Guests filled the great hall,

  hundreds seated at the long tables. Their host, Thane Brandr, sat in his newly made throne

  at the head of the hall. The entire throne was gold and adorned with colorful gems. Intricate

  runes were carved into it, dimly glowing with a pleasant jade hew. At the end of the arms

  were two giant rubies, large enough that the Thane’s hands rested upon, but could not

  close, around them. Even though Brandr was kin, Davyn’s da had reminded him he was

  grumpy and foul tempered. Davyn was to be on his best behavior. The streaks of gray

  through the Thane’s beard and hair, accompanied by his ever-present scowl, reminded

  Davyn of this instruction.

  “Welcome to my great hall!” Thane Brandr bellowed out as he stood. “It’s our pleasure to

  welcome ye as honored guests. May the company be great, the jokes be clever, the fights

  be challenging, and the mead be ever flowing.” To this he raised his drinking horn and the

  hall erupted with “Skál!” He let his guests calm down. “The Yule festivities start tonight and

  will carry on for three days. Remember, ye drink with dwarves so pace yerselves.” There

  was raucous laughter and slamming of fists on tables at this, with most dwarves already

  being many drinks in. A large warrior covered completely in fur, Davyn recognized

  immediately as a berserker, patted a hand on the keg he had rolled to the table just for

  himself.

  Thane Brandr started again, “Gifts shall be placed in the center for the final day.” He

  motioned to the dwarven servants to move the middle tables to make space.

  Dwarven Thanes and Jarls were announced one by one as they emptied their carts into the

  middle of the great hall. With each presentation, fists banged on tables – the dwarven form

  of applause – and cheers went up. Davyn helped his da carry their gifts to the center.

  Drinking was in great effect, combining drunken revelry to the noise of the gifts being piled

  up. Finally, High King Cuiduligh was announced, and he approached the middle.

  “It seems you have caught us without carts to present.” High King Cuiduligh addressed

  Thane Brandr cooly. Brandr scowled at this. Cuiduligh continued, “It is not the way of the

  Wood Elves to drag carts around, but we are honored to celebrate with our dwarven

  brothers nonetheless. It is our pleasure to drink with you. “Skál!” He raised his drink to this

  and looked around the hall. Davyn noticed the last word was obviously foreign to him and

  came out clumsily.

  Thane Brandr sat motionless long enough that even Davyn felt the awkwardness. Then, he

  lifted his horn in salute and drank. Dwarves banged on tables, but nowhere near as loud as

  for those with carts. The drinking carried into the night with the normal dwarven gambling,

  tale telling, wrestling, and fist fighting. The elves joined in none of it, staying at their own

  table and speaking in hushed tones.

  Davyn awoke far too early in excitement for day two of the celebrations. He had strict

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  instructions from his da not to get out of bed before the lantern light came under the room

  door, which would be accompanied by the announcement of “hot coffee”. This would

  indicate the start of the day’s events. Davyn promptly ignored the instructions and got out

  of his bed.

  “Nay, lad.” A strong hand grabbed Davyn by the scruff and pulled him back into the bed.

  Frustrated, he squirmed, lost, and went back to sleep.

  Later that morning, well rested and well fed, Davyn was more than ready for the day’s

  festivities. The drinking started back up immediately. The event of the day was the lighting

  of the Yule log. ‘Log’ was a loose term, as it was the larger part of a massive oak tree. It took

  dozens of dwarves utilizing a combination of chains, pullies, carts, and sweat to move it

  into the great hall’s enormous hearth. Dwarves were everywhere trying to help with the

  endeavor, both a great honor and a good way to sweat out the booze from the night before,

  along with what was currently being imbibed.

  Once in place, the Yule log gently began to smolder from the existing fire. Davyn loved to

  watch it every year. With its crackling flame it created a scent like no other. Filling the hall

  with a pleasant aroma of wood and smoke. If it burned for the full remaining days, then all

  in attendance would have a year of good luck. A piece of the log from the previous year was

  brought out on a cart of pure gold. With great ceremony, Thane Brandr added it to the fire.

  A cheer and banging on tables rose from the crowd. The runes in the framing stonework of

  the fireplace burned red in response to the fire, including the image of Thor’s hammer

  which was carved into the keystone. The drinking continued.

  Guests came in and out of the great hall throughout the day. Gambling games such as

  Liar’s Dice and Hnefatafl were set up on the long tables with varying piles of gold for betting

  besides each dwarf. Drums, lutes, and lyres were played to fill the hall with music.

  Occasional fist fights broke out either due to gambling losses or the various pranks most

  likely happening. Every year, Davyn’s da both reminded him and warned him of the Yule

  pranks. Dwarven pranking was a Yule tradition, but there were always those who ‘pulled a

  Loki’ a bit too much. Davyn remembered one year when he was offered a Trollkrem

  dessert. After greedily accepting, he was surprised to find his mouth full of wool, not

  cream. He promised himself never to make that mistake again.

  The fights which did break out were good doses of slugging one another, followed by others

  breaking it up, ending with the warrior’s embrace, toasting, then returning to gambling and

  drinking. There were no weapons allowed in the great hall, but Davyn knew each dwarf had

  concealed some on their persons, just as he did. Da insisted on teaching him how to

  conceal to be ready for times of emergency. Far more concerning was the grumbling about

  the lack of gifts from the Wood Elves. A few elves mingled with the dwarves, but most sat

  together at their own long table. They gladly drank the dwarven mead but refused all

  invitations to gamble or fight. Davyn could feel the growing tension.

  In the evening, carts decorated with green gems and gold plates were brought into the hall

  pulled by Yule goats. Beautiful creatures with golden bells hanging from their knotted,

  curved horns. Dwarven children lined up to get a ride on the carts, pulling past the great

  hearth each time for luck. Dinner consisted of enormous Yule boars. Wild caught, which

  was a treat for the guests. Drunken Yule singing echoed through the halls with drinking

  horns and fists banging on tables. Ghost stories were told late into the evening. Davyn fell

  asleep by the fire, eyes towards the elves who still sat alone at their table in the corner.

  Davyn could not contain his excitement on day three. His da had to grab him three times

  and pull him back to his bed. It made no difference; today was the greatest day. It was the

  day the gifts were opened.

  Davyn held his da’s hand and pulled as hard as his little legs would carry him towards the

  great hall. But something was wrong. Even the young Davyn could sense this. Dwarves

  were lining the hallways, looking grim. Not normal ‘dwarven hungover’ grim, no. These

  looks were ‘killing grim’. Herryk moved in front of Davyn and started pushing them through

  the crowd. At first, he received some glares, but they were quickly replaced with nodding of

  heads accompanied by “Thane Herryk” as dwarves moved aside. Herryk’s guard joined

  him in moving into the hall. Davyn still followed, knowing this wasn’t a good sign.

  They entered the great hall. Thane Brandr was in the center, yelling. Dwarves yelling, or

  making noise in general, was not a strange thing. What was strange to Davyn was the fact

  that Thane Brandr was standing in the middle of the hall. Then it hit him – that was where

  the gifts were supposed to be. Now, there was nothing but an empty floor and a yelling

  Thane Brandr. Herryk pushed them to Brandr.

  “Ye come here without gifts, drink our mead,” Brandr sputtered with rage, eyes wide, “and

  ye steal our gifts. Bairn’s gifts.” High King Cuiduligh looked at Thane Brandr

  dispassionately, almost bored. Unsurprisingly, this enraged Brandr even more. “Ye have

  forgotten the old ways. Aye, not even my throne was safe from ye group o’ thieves.”

  Davyn looked to the head of the hall and saw the statement was fact. The throne was gone.

  “You dare call the High King a thief?” Cuiduligh responded with narrow eyes. Davyn could

  feel the venom in his tone. His elven warriors stood behind him, as grim faced as elves

  could be. Herryk moved closer to Brandr.

  “Aye, I call a diamond a diamond and coal, coal,” Brandr spat. “Ye and yers have broken

  the rules of hospitality.” Thane Brandr turned to the dwarven host, “Ye have witnessed it.

  My challenge is fair. A challenge of blood.”

  “This is how it is to be?” High King Cuiduligh asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Aye, the way it’s to be,” Brandr responded. He yelled for his hammer, which his warriors

  brought. “And yer weapon?”

  “This,” Cuiduligh held out a single hand, slightly open and holding something between two

  fingers. His motion caused Brandr to lift his hammer in defense, then he paused to squint

  at the item. It was about the size of a child’s ball but shaped like a rounded triangle. Its

  body pointed upwards with brown slate-like scales forming the cone.

  “And what in the bloody Hel is that?” Thane Brandr barely got the question out. Without

  warning, Cuiduligh threw the item at the middle of the floor. It struck with a flash of light.

  Before anyone could react, a plant appeared from where it had landed. Small at first, but

  growing vertically. A brown stalk grew beneath the green, rapidly enlarging. The more it

  grew, the more offshoots appeared from it. Exploding outward, covered in green needles.

  The enlargement was so sudden that Thane Brandr’s guard had to pull him out of the way

  before being struck.

  It grew until it almost hit the ceiling, then stopped. It was the largest and most beautiful

  pine tree Davyn had ever seen. Picture perfect in every way. The elves behind High King

  Cuiduligh started to whisper and lights danced around the tree, which already filled the

  great hall with the fresh scene of pine. The dwarves stared, dumbfounded.

  “Happy Yule, Great Thane Brandr and to our dwarven friends.” Cuiduligh said with a

  stunning smile and a slight bow of his head, his right hand touching his chest. He raised his

  hands wide and removed his glamour spell. The gifts returned under the newly formed tree

  in miraculous splendor. The lights dancing around the tree twinkled upon the gifts, many of

  the gems casting fractal beams throughout the entire hall. The dwarves let out a collective

  gasp, then an enormous cheer. Many banged the concealed weapons they had drawn on

  the floor or tables. Davyn stopped being surprised long enough to giggle to himself around

  the ‘no weapons’ rule. The noise in the hall was deafening.

  “Ye dare pull a Loki on me?” Thane Brandr shouted over the noise at Cuiduligh. The

  dwarves stopped cheering and silence returned. Brandr glared while still holding his

  hammer. The head of the hammer hit the ground beside him, his one hand resting on top of

  its handle. He placed his other hand on his sizable gut and threw his head back in a roar of

  laughter. The dwarven cheering and banging started once again. Guards laughed with him,

  then took the Thane’s hammer away for good measure.

  “Well done. Well done,” Brandr said while wiping tears from his eyes.

  “We thought long and hard how to both honor and surprise you,” High King Cuiduligh said,

  his eyes smiling.

  “Ha! Aye, that ye have. Loki himself would be proud.” Brandr turned and saw his throne

  still missing. Turning back, he said amiably, “Ye made yer point, ye may return my throne

  as well.”

  “That was never part of our prank, Great Thane. We have no knowledge of it,” Cuiduligh

  stated evenly. Brandr paused for a moment, not sure whether to believe him.

  “Ye bunch of upstarts,” Herryk yelled past Davyn. Davyn looked up and saw his da was

  furious. His fists were clenched and his jaw set. Both Brandr and Cuiduligh paused and

  waited. “Do any of ye kin how long it took for me to plan? The dwarves I had to pay off?”

  Cuiduligh and Brandr looked at each other. Cuiduligh was the first to smile.

  “Do ye kin how heavy that chair is? We needed to craft strength runes into all our chains,”

  Herryk angrily explained. He recruited a group of dwarves to sneak into the hall in the early

  hours to lift the throne with chains. With the enormously high ceilings, no one had

  bothered to look up. When the tree grew, its height and the dwarves’ angle continued to

  block the throne from view. Both Brandr and Cuiduligh laughed mightily at this. Brandr

  slapping them each on the back for their amazing efforts. The two pranks were brought up

  throughout the evening. The elves joined the dwarves in gambling, dancing, and fighting,

  preferring to fight other elves rather than the stocky dwarves. Many dwarves came to

  congratulate Herryk, who festered with rage at being upstaged.

  The final boars were brought out for dinner. Davyn’s cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing

  so much. His da had let him drink what he wanted that night. Davyn’s head swam as he

  giggled to himself.

  Booms filled the hall, but they were no thunder. Rhythmic clopping noises numbering in

  the thousands, as if a host of riders were above them. The stomping was accompanied by

  ferocious howls and snarls. Hungry packs searching for their kill. The hall fell into complete

  silence listening to the procession above. After some time, it passed. Once it faded into

  dark silence, everyone in the hall looked to the hearth. There, the Yule log continued to

  burn bright. Cheers and banging rose up as tankards and horns were hoisted into the air.

  Davyn joined them, for he knew that night they were safe from the Wild Hunt.

  Toasts were made. They drank to óeinn for victory and power to the king. They drank to

  Skaei for their mountains to be full of treasure and for their keeps to stand strong. They

  drank to Thane Brandr for wisdom. Finally, Brandr raised toasts of his own; for surviving the

  Wild Hunt, to departed friends and kin, and to all his guests’ health and luck.

  Davyn drank with them.

  “Happy Yule da!” Davyn yelled above the noise. Herryk responded with a scoff. Davyn

  giggled and made merry. He loved Yule.