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Deep beneath the mountains of Svartalfheim
Lies the land of the duergar,
The underground home of the dwarves
Whose life is spent making and building
Many wonderful things for themselves
That mortals and gods alike may covet.
The duergar give no gifts;
Nothing comes in an open hand for their work,
Their sweat, their toil, their creative spark.
They value this too much to give away,
And so they drive hard bargains.
When the made the necklace Brisingamen,
Most fair jewel ever wrought,
Freyja the goddess of love saw it,
And her heart cried out for it.
The price laid on it was the most valuable thing
That she owned, in exchange for their
Most valuable thing. So she agreed,
Gave them her body for four nights -
For what is more valuable to Love than this -
And considered it a fair price.
When later she received the mockery of Asgard,
She but touched her jewel and smiled.
And this is what the duergar would ask us:
What is your price? What do you hold most dear?
What would you give for it? The answer rings on every anvil
In the dark heart of Nidavellir.
From the "Pagan Book of Hours",
Order of the Horae
This work is licensed
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 License.
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