Happy 1st of December, everyone!

As my little Christmas present to the Hobbit fandom, I'm writing an advent calendar of short ficlets (the aim is to keep them under 1000 words) that chronicle this special time of the year throughout the lives of our dear Dwarves. I will be posting a new story every morning GMT (which should mean it is posted on the correct day in most time zones) with the last one going online on Christmas Eve. Many of the customs described here are German or Nordic in origin. Head over to my tumblr where I'll be posting corresponding pictures for most things and of course feel free to ask if anything is unclear.

I hope you enjoy the advent calendar and it adds a little to the festive spirit that can be so elusive in our busy lives.

The Yule Pyramid

"Do you like it?" Eydís asked, crouching down between her sons.

"It's so big," Thorin whispered. It felt like you should whisper when you saw something so beautiful. Frerin just stared, his mouth hanging open and his eyes as big as gold coins.

Thorin craned his neck and looked up, up, up to where he knew the ceiling of the great entrance hall was, so many stories above. He couldn't see it, could only make out the flickering flames of the large oil lamps and up there, beyond circle upon circle of lamps, there were the great blades of the rotor, slowly turning and making the figures below them hurry along on their endless journey.

"Do you want to have a closer look?" Thráin asked and Thorin nodded eagerly. Frerin beamed up at him at first and took a step forward, but then hesitated looking at the life-size wooden figures in front of him. He reached out a hand, Thorin grabbed it, and with his elder brother's support the youngest son of Durin was more than ready to go exploring. They walked towards the great Yule pyramid together, Eydís and Thráin a few steps behind their young sons. Thorin took care not to lead his brother too close to the fire, knowing that Frerin could never resist the brightness of the flames.

Each one of the wooden figures wore different clothes and carried different tools according to their position. There were pickaxes, shovels and hammers. One of the figures was even leading a skewbald pit pony.

"Look at the others as well," Eydís encouraged them.

Thorin looked up to the second round platform that was slightly smaller than the first and turning a little above their heads. More figurines were marching around in circles, but they were tradespeople, stonemasons and carpenters, weavers and seamstresses, and even a toymaker.

"Everyone is represented on the Yule pyramid," his mother explained. "Because we are all working together to make Erebor beautiful."

"And on the top is Mahal with his almighty hammer because all that we do is for the praise and glory of the Maker," his father added.

"Why do we only put it up for Yule?" Thorin asked. "It's so beautiful!"

"Because Yule is the time of the year when it's darkest," Thráin said, pointing at the light shafts that were now nothing but dark caverns. "And we can all use a reminder of the warmth and the light. So we celebrate the Feast of Light every year and the pyramid is one way to show our appreciation for all that we love."

They stood together as a family, watching the wooden miners on their journey for a few minutes.

"It's not really a pyramid though," Thorin observed, scrunching up his nose. "The base is a circle, so it's a cone."

"Oh look who paid attention in geometry lessons! Quite right, dashat, if you consider the turning plates, it should be called a Yule cone, but have a look at the lights. How many do you see on this level?"

Thorin had to run around the whole thing to actually be able to count them, so he was slightly out of breath when he answered.

"Eight, amad, there's eight lights!"

"So if you connect the lights as the outer points of the base, what shape does that make it?"

Thorin thought about it for a moment.

"That's an octel... octi..."

"An octagon," his mother corrected gently. "So that would make it an octagonal pyramid."

"And do you know how it works?" Thráin asked, looking at his sons with pride. "What makes it turn?"

"It's magic!" Frerin blurted out, still mesmerised by the endless procession of the wooden miners.

Eydís smiled and Thráin chuckled, but Thorin rolled his eyes.

"We're not Elves, Fips, we do mechanics, not magic."

"Can you explain the mechanics?" his father prompted.

Thorin bit his lip for a moment, thinking hard.

"So all the fire... that makes the air hot, like how it's always hot in the forges. And then the hot air goes up and it wants to keep going up, but then there are the rotor blades and the air tries to push them out of the way so it can go up and when the blades are being pushed they move the axle in the middle and then the axle moves all the platforms attached to it and then it looks like the miners walk in a circle."

He had to take a deep breath after that speech.

Thráin ruffled his hair fondly.

"Very good, Thorin. You're just as smart as your amad!"

"I want to be like amad!" Frerin cried, his lower lip quivering.

Thráin laughed and swooped him up into his arms.

"You are just as beautiful as your amad, Frerin," he said, gently touching foreheads with his youngest son.

Standing there between his parents, looking upon the beautiful Yule pyramid, Thorin couldn't wait for the Feast of Light to come so they could celebrate with all the people in Erebor.