Jack gasped aloud at the sight of the seven foot tall, bristly half-troll diving into the cold waters of the North Sea. He watched with a gaping mouth as Schlaup waded through the high, churning waters, calling out loudly in the language of the Northmen:

"My brothers! My sister!" Then it was Schlaup's turn to be shocked. "And Jack!"

"Hello, Schlaup!" Jack called, albeit a little weakly. He was drowned out by Thorgil and Skakki's crowing greetings and compliments at their brother, and the WHUMP! of Schlaup throwing himself on the deck of the longship.

His flaky white skin and bristly orange hair dripped water onto the deck as he grinned with crooked teeth at the crew.

"Hello," he said simply.

Skakki stomped over and slapped a broad hand on Schlaup's even broader shoulder. "Could you not wait 'til we were on land, brother?"

"Was excited," Schlaup told him, sheepishly.

And he had all rights to be. It had taken Skakki's crew a little under three weeks to reach the lands of Ivar the Boneless. They were just in time for Midsummer's Eve. All the Northmen on the ship were ready for the celebrations, but Jack was not quite sure how he should feel. He did not, after all, know how exactly the Northmen celebrated their Midsummer.

From the time they had beached in the fjord, Jack could have indeed thought that Midsummer celebrations lasted a week instead of a single day. Preparations were made all hours of the day, and every day, as the Northmen had no sort of Sabbath. Wreaths were woven, and halls, people, and animals alike were all bedecked with sweet-smelling grasses and flowers. The wooden doors of Ivar's remarkably sowbug-shaped hall were especially garlanded, with a vast array of plants. Schlaup's household, even though Ygdith and her daughters did not celebrate any of the eight blots, was still busy. Almost the entire male household of Skakki's halls had come along on the journey, after all, and there was much food to be made to feed all of them.

"Why did you all come?" Jack had asked Skakki one night, while Ygdith ran around in her expensive skirts, demanding the Northmen to stop washing their hands, immediately, because who knows what sort of foul demons that could attract! "Surely not all of these men wish to celebrate Midsummer with King Ivar."

"Nej," Skakki had replied. "We are not here for the Midsommarblot. We are here to collect more men for our summer raids. We will leave soon after the celebration, once you and Thorgil have started your trek North."

"Ah," said Jack.

"Yes." Skakki grimaced. "We have to survive somehow, Jack. Do not hate us for these raids. We will not be attacking your village, so rest easily."

Jack did not respond, nor did he recite any of his songs in Schlaup's halls that night. Sometimes it slipped his mind that while these Northmen were his friends, they were also warriors, many of the berserkers. These were the bloodthirsty people who destroyed Lindisfarne and gave Brother Aiden his melancholy.

In Jack's village, Midsummer's Eve was celebrated with a feast at the chief's house, and drink, and song. Bonfires were lit, and children wore woven garlands of flowers as they ran in and out of the chief's halls. Since Brother Aiden had moved into his little beehive, however, the celebrations were happening with far less frequency. Jack supposed his family only celebrated still because of his mother. And the hobgoblins, perhaps.

The only other Midsummer he had participated in involved the Devil, a great deal of fire, and a bit of human sacrifice. He figured the Northmen's celebrations were somewhere in between.

That was right, at least once the Moon was in the sky. But the Sun took a long time to fall in the Northland. While there was light in the sky, all was seriousness. Most of the day was consumed by law proceedings and judgements.

Jack was woken some time before sunrise on Midsummer's Eve by a cock's cry. With nothing to do until Ygdith and her thralls brought out the dágmal, Jack wandered around the grounds that had once belonged to Olaf One-Brow. Jack did not have many happy memories of these lands, not for the most part, but he still let his legs carry him where they would.

He went out far, at first, out to the barley fields. They were small compared to the fields on Giles' land, since Northmen could not farm most months of the year. The days were too short, and too cold, for too long. Still, for being a tanner's wife, Ygdith managed to keep the fields in good shape. Jack supposed she made Schlaup and her daughters take care of things. The young bard smiled to himself as he thought of Ymma and Yltha bent over and sowing barley, instead of being treated like the queens they figured themselves to be.

He walked out of the fields, and, heading back towards Schlaup's long wooden halls, found himself approaching the pig pens. There, by the fence, where Braveheart— the Bard— found Jack after flying off when they entered Ivar the Boneless' lands. In the fence, long-legged and pink-skinned sows snuffled along the ground, searching for something delicious to eat. Jack was pleased to see that the pig pen's were very clean. The pigs were pleased too. The sows Jack had cleaned and fed wild mustard to so many years ago were all long dead, so none of the pigs in the pen recognized him. All the same, when he stepped inside their pen, they crowded around him, nosing at his waist bag, trying to find a treat or two. As they butted him gently, he scratched them idly behind the ears. He left them after a while and wandered into the storage shed by the pig enclosure, and marvelled at how much smaller it had seemed when he was a boy. He looked up, and saw the rafter he had clung to and sang as Golden Bristles screamed underneath him. And where he stood on the floor was where he hugged and crooned in the hulking troll-boar's ear.

There is of course, only so much you can look at in a storage shed. And only so much pleasant reminiscing you can do in a place where you were once in thrall. It was hard to ignore the unpleasant memories in some of the places he wandered into. The stables, where he cut Golden Bristles out of his cage, causing Lucy's imprisonment. The main hall of Schlaup's home, where many terrible things happened when Olaf was its owner. Right in the door, where he vomited after eating the ghastly graffisk. The corner on the East side of the hall, next to hearth, where Lucy sat and wandered around her own mind. All the places where Jack received a sharp kick from one of Olaf's numerous children. And all the places where Thorgil poked and prodded and pinched, where she had yelled and screamed, her face flushed red, her chest heaving in her blood-rage.

When the rest of the household was waking up, they found Jack already dressed and ready and sitting on one of the long, low benches lined up against Schlaup's numerous trestle-tables. Schlaup looked overjoyed at how bard-ly Jack looked in his flashy clothing— Skakki looked a bit put-out, still in his rumpled clothing from the day before. Jack was wearing the clothes Partholis had gifted him before he confronted Father Severus that day so many winters ago. A swan-white tunic, and green leggings underneath it. He wore sturdy, dark leather shoes and wool socks dyed a brilliant blue. The white tunic had cuffs and the neck embroidered in gold and silver thread, and the neck was fastened by a pin of golden mistletoe. The boy had not decided what cloak he should wear: St. Columba's, or the one from the light-elves. He had both laid out on his bedroll to grab as he was walking out the door when it was time to go to the celebration. To better fit in with the Northman, Jack had a soft leather band on his head. It was picked out in red thread; the small stitches formed several salmon above his brow.

Once everyone else had eaten and gotten dressed, (Jack was delighted to see that Thorgil was also wearing the enchanted clothing she received from the elven queen), Jack had a few last things to do before he was ready to arrive in King Ivar's halls. He had Thorgil's help, to have him further seem a Northman.

"Skakki has told me that this is from Miklagarðr, from those who call themselves Byzantines," said Thorgil, holding up a blown-glass phial, filled with a black substance. "He gifted it to me for a ghastly purpose."

"What purpose?" asked Jack, wondering what she could possibly do with whatever was in the cloudy-blue glass of the little bottle.

"There is a new religion, among some of the Byzantines. Their women go veiled, and they line their eyes with this mixture. Apparently the men of Miklagarðr find it charming," Thorgil said. "That is why Skakki gave it to me: he said it will attract some men. I do not wish to use it, so I thought I would put it on you. We Northmen line our eyes in a similar way, so wearing this may help you seem like one of us."

"I'm sure most of them will remember me. Has the tale of Queen Frith faded so quickly?"

"Nay," said Thorgil. "But you have changed greatly since then, Jack. You are Dragon Tongue's apprentice, truly, but you have come into your own. Most will barely even be able to tell you are Saxon."

"Ah," Jack breathed. "Well, then make me look as much like a Viking as you can, I suppose. Try not to put my eyes out, dearest."

Thorgil leaned in close, and ringed Jack's eyes in black. It was rather unlike the shieldmaiden to be gentle, but she breathed steadily and smiled as she took care of making up Jack's eyes. Once Thorgil saw the kohl on Jack, she declared that it looked so decent that she would wear it as well. Her gentle air shucked off, as quickly as it descended.

She looked very comely, Jack thought, dressed like the princess she should have been raised as, her grey eyes lined in black, bracelets sliding over one another and chiming on her wrists. Her scars and her sun-marked skin only made her look stronger, and more wise. Her scars from her fight with the troll-bear in Jotunheim flushed bright red, showing that she was quite excited for the day's celebrations. Her raiment was gaily colored, and she wore her hair unbound, the gold of it streaming down her back. She was clothed in the brilliant blue tunic and scarlet leggings from Partholis, and she had kidskin boots on her feet. Though she was dressed like a man, it came to Jack's mind that he had never seen a lady so beautiful. Thorgil wore a green cloak was pinned with a silver clasp on her left shoulder, to keep her sword arm free. The cloak was covered in embroidered designs of coiling vines and leaves: it reminded Jack of when the Forest Lord's subjects buried her in their slow, green arms. (He decided not to tell her that.) Around her hips was a belt of leather and gold, her sword and scabbard hanging from it, the hilt of her weapon bejeweled with gems from the hoard the Shoshone had gifted her. The only thing around her long neck was Olaf's silver Mjöllnir charm, strung on a long gold chain.

Jack was not left out when it came to bedecking himself in jewelry. When he mentioned that he did not have anything bright and suitable enough, Schlaup dashed out of the room. He stomped quickly back in, a wooden box in his hand.

"You need something shiny," the half-troll said. "You take what you like! I have enough to spare, little Jack."

"I thank you, Schlaup!"

He did not appreciate being called little, but he still took some jewelry out of the box. A few thin gold rings, and a necklace strung with amber beads.

It was a matter of a few minutes, and the whole household was ready to go. As everyone filed out of the hall, they each took a garland of plants to wear. Thorgil had a crown of woven grass. Jack wore a necklace of sweet-smelling lavender, and a crown of yew leaves. (The yew leaves made him look even more wizardly— he had decided to wear St. Columba's robe.)

It did not take long for the group to get to King Ivar's halls. They travelled down the road that ran alongside Schlaup's lands and the adjacent forest. Jack, Thorgil, Skakki, and Schlaup led the way along the path. Behind them were several of Skakki's brothers, and a few of his sisters. One of the older boys was sitting on the seat of a covered wagon. No one would tell Jack what was inside it. Of the tanner's wife and her daughters, there was no sign. They did not wish to celebrate Midsummer alongside the Northmen they were now a part of.

It was at Ivar's hall that Jack was at first disappointed with the celebration.. As they watched a man argue that he deserved more silver for the goat he sold— and Ivar the Boneless' ignoring of the plea— Jack leaned over to the finely dressed shield maiden at his side.

"I would have thought Northmen would have a more lively celebration on this day," he whispered lowly, in Saxon, just to avoid any offended Northmen. Best not to offend these warlike people, after all. Most of them were armed.

"Most of the day is like this," Thorgil told him. "The thing will last several hours, and we will get all this seriousness out of the way. Then night will fall and we shall have our bonfire and our fun."

"Fun," Jack repeated. "Say, when we were children, and on that beach outside Alfheim…"

"Ja?"

"Did you really mean it when you say you battle with trolls during Midsummer?"

"Why would I lie to you, Jack?" said Thorgil, with a wolfish grin. All her grins were wolfish of course, but this one especially. Jack could not quite tell whether or not she was joking.

The dealing of the law was performed for many hours, though not all was judging. A bit after the midday meal, a few bearded and important looking men, including Skakki, began to talk about the summer raids. Where they were going, who would be coming, what spoils would come home, and how they would be dealt out. Jack scowled throughout the whole discussion, though he did not leave the hall. That would have caused a scene, and produced many unhappy Northmen. And there was no going to the life force for refuge. Though nearly ten winters had passed, King Ivar's halls were still haunted by the presence of Queen Frith. Had Jack attempted to call to life, he feared he would come into contact with something far more cold and far less pleasant. Jack just sat quietly and sang under his breath. And if they were songs of gentle breezes and swift gusts instead of tales of famous kings and warriors, that was only known to him. He contented himself with watching inexplicable puffs of air knocking off hats and lifting up tunics. At least for a while.

Jack was shaken awake and greeted with the sight of tables laden with food some time later. It seemed that he had fallen asleep somewhere in between the discussion of the summer raids and the chanting of Ivar's (rather awful) court skald.

"Come," said Thorgil, as she pulled Jack up from his seat. "Before Treefoot eats all the lamb!"

Ivar's job as karl, or king, was to provide for his people. Now, after the plight of Queen Frith, he had not been very good at fulfilling his job. However, his court attendants and advisors took care of things for the most part. So when Jack was led up to the display of food he was not disappointed.

The long trestle table groaned with the weight of all the food resting upon it. It was more magnificent than what Jack's chief put out for celebrations, but still worldly and normal, unlike the fare put out by Partholis' court. Then, Jack decided to stop his thinking of past Midsummers, and focus on the one right in front of him.

There was meat of all kinds, and no corners were cut. There was lamb, and duck, and ox. There was chicken, and pig, and even capercaillie. There was also a great deal of fish. The breasts and flesh and legs and tongues and brains of the animals were all laid out in a delightful display, surrounded by greens and fresh summer berries. Further down the table was a selection of other fruits and vegetables: things Jack recognized, like turnips and carrots and onions. He even saw some of the salty black things called olives he had once sampled in Fonn's greenhouse in Jotunheim. Next to all this, there was bread. Thick, dense, and dark loaves, as well as soft, white ones. There was butter and jam and clotted cream to spread on all of it. Next to all this was an assortment of sweetmeats: tarts made from sweet strawberries, seedcakes and bannocks and honeyed rolls. It was a bit too early in the year for apples, but there were still apple tarts, made from boffins that had been soaked in water. There was even flummery, the best kind, with nutmeg and cream.

Jack grabbed a trencher from the front of the table, and slowly made his way down, putting whatever caught his eye on the hard piece of bread. He figured he would be returning to the table more than once.

And then, because it was a Northman celebration, there was a good deal of things to drink, most of it intoxicating. However, most of it was watered down, for some reason. Thorgil filled two earthenware cups with sweet mead, which they took back to their places on the benches. Besides the mead, a large drinking horn frothing with ale was constantly travelling along the hall, being passed from person to person.

Shortly after Jack finished his meal, he noted that many of the men and women who had been feasting were filing out of the hall.

"Where ever are they going?" Jack asked Thorgil.

"Did I not say?" the shield maiden said, standing up, preparing to leave herself. "Trolls!"

"What do frost giants have to do with Midsummer's Eve?"

"Why, battle, of course!"

"Were you not joking about that?!" cried Jack.

"No! How did you suppose we were going to get to Niðavellir?"

"Er… ponies?"

"No! Trolls!"

"When was that decided?"

"I sent a raven to Mother, as soon as we got here. Some of her louts are going to fetch us tonight."

"When, exactly?"

"I'm assuming after they have fought for a bit… and after I've gone for a while, as well!"

"What am I to do?"

"You will not fight?" Jack shook his head. "Then you can watch! Write some poetry about your darling dear."

"And who is that?"

"Me, of course! The tale of Thorgil Silver-hand needs a new verse!"

Jack hated watching people fight. Sparring was all in good fun, and helped you defend yourself. But actual fighting? Battles? Blood and carnage and death… these were not things a servant of the life force condoned. Most jotuns were good, kind, and honest creatures. Some of them acted even better than the Men Jack was acquainted with. He did not wish to see them slaughtered, no more than he wished to see the Northmen cleaved in two. (As was wont to happen, when struck with a troll's swing.)

Even so, Jack followed Thorgil out of the hall. He figured out what was under the cover of the wagon they had brought to Ivar's palace: rough clothes, armor, and the weapons everyone had to leave outside the hall. Jack changed into a homespun tunic and trousers, taking off all his finery and placing it in his pack, (which was also stowed on the wagon). He wore a leather breastplate and greaves, and St. Columba's cloak over the whole ensemble. He also carried the saint's staff, and a small dagger was strapped to his hip. The weapons were not really needed, as Schlaup would be sitting next to him on the battlefield, ensuring that no troll would come and harm him. But it was nice to know that he had a bit of protection.

Thorgil was dressed much more protectively, as she would actually be fighting. She wore a steel hauberk over the rough, weather-stained clothing she had traded for her elvish finery. Over the woven rings was a breastplate, etched with protective runes. She had bracers around her wrists, and thick leather gloves protecting her hands. Her mail-coat covered her thighs, but over her calves and shins were metal greaves. Skakki weaved her hair tightly into a braid that trailed halfway down her back. Slung over her back and 'round her front were two wooden shields, gruesome faces painted onto it in blue woad and lime.

From his bluff overlooking the battlefield, Jack watched the Northmen sing and sway as they lit and built up their bonfire. They beat on drums and crowed loudly. Then, quite suddenly all was quiet. Regular men— the group including Skakki— retreated to the back of the field as the berserkers passed around a skin of bog myrtle-brew. Everyone, that is, except Thorgil. Thorgil could no longer fall into a true rage like the berserker she was born as, but she still fought viciously and without much thought for strategy. Even though she was out there fighting, the jotuns were not likely to hurt her. Trolls were long-lived, and most of the warriors would remember the shield maiden as the little berserker they had played Dodge-the-Spear with. They would not harm her too terribly.

A few moments after silence fell, from the other end of the field, there came a terrible roar. Somehow, without Jack noticing, Glamdis' forces had amassed at the summit of a hill a league or two to the north.

When Jack gasped at the sight of the army, Schlaup smiled his jumbled-up smile, and patted Jack on the shoulder. It practically drove him into the ground. He tried not to wince, if only to keep the half-troll appeased. "Trolls. Very stealthy!" Schlaup said.

Jack nodded. The army on the hill was not stealthy, not in the slightest. The jotuns, not one of them under seven feet tall, gave one more ear-shattering war cry before rushing onto the battlefield. The Northmen bellowed back at the trolls, and bolted towards the bristly, orange creatures.

A trained and militaristic group of Northmen warriors would have done something sensible during a troll-charge. They would have swung the shields off their backs in one smooth movement, erecting them so that the jotuns could not strike a proper blow. They would shove spears through the chinks of the shield wall, with the hope that a few trolls would impale themselves on them. With that, they would really begin the fighting, slashing at the ankles and wrists and necks of the troll hoard.

Berserkers were trained warriors, but when consumed by their rage, they had no mind for tactics or techniques. Mindless slashing and blood and carnage was their only technique. Hit, strike, and stab until they died, or you did the same first. Because of this, it was hard for Jack to keep an eye on Thorgil.

He had took her words to thought: her saga could use a few new verses. He had sang her story when he was a lad of thirteen summers, and Thorgil not much older than him. Since the first verses he had come up with, the both of them had experienced many new things, and bested several new enemies. There were new tales to tell, more stories of her bravery and her magic. So he kept his eyes on Thorgil's figure as she slashed and yelled and revelled in the glory of battle, hoping for poetry fodder.

She was a hard thing to keep his sights on, however. She moved in between trunk-like legs and swinging arms, stabbing and crying out in rage whenever a weapon came close to hitting her person. Interspersed with this, she jumped and cried out in joy when she saw a lout she recognized. Deep growls of troll laughter rolled off the battlefield, which was quite disconcerting to hear. In her earth-colored and homespun clothing, she blended in as she weaved in and out of the crush of bodies. The only thing that gave her away was the glittering of her sword hilt and the shine of her hauberk in the light of the large bonfire still burning in the middle of the field.

The fight went on until the sun began to rise in the East. As the first red fingers of dawn reached across the sky, one jotun let out a guttural cry, which others took up. In one movement, the jotuns rushed across the field, travelling North and West as the lights of the bonfire burned low. One of the trolls grabbed a figure from where she was still attempting to stab them, carrying the warrior off as well.

"I will take you to them," Schlaup said after a bit, pointing to where Jotunheim lay, in the same direction the trolls were running. He grabbed Jack and placed him on his broad shoulders. Jack wrapped his arms around the half-trolls thick neck as he took off running, his long strides carrying him to the troll camp in a few short minutes.

Schlaup did not carry him into the camp, where the trolls would be able to see that he was not able to speak with his mind. Instead he put Jack down just outside of the sight of the sentries.

"Is this farewell, Schlaup?" Jack asked.

The half-troll nodded. "You will go to Jotunheim with just my sister. Not me, and not Skakki. No Ygdith."

"And what a shame that will be," Jack said quietly. Louder, he said, "Then I will see you another day, Schlaup! May the life-force hold you in the hollow of its hand."

Schlaup nodded. He looked around for a moment, then seemed to make a decision. He picked up Jack, and squeezed him very, very tightly.

"Best luck, little skald. Come back soon!"

Jack said that he would, but Schlaup bounded away so quickly that he was not sure if the half-troll heard him.

Before striding into the camp, he put thoughts of peace in his mind. He did not wish for any trolls to attack him. Along with this, Jack called, "I mean no harm!" as he came within earshot of the first sentries.

We know that, apprentice of Dragon Tongue, uncoiled the whisper in his mind. Come, we have some who expect you.

No troll touched him, but rather they gently herded him towards the biggest tent, in the center of the field. It was made of thin, white fabric that flapped gently in the breeze that seemed omnipresent in this part of the Northland, being so close to the sea. He fussed idly with the neck of his tunic, and brushed a few flecks of wet grass off his leather breastplate.

Come in, little skald. Do stop fussing with your tunic!

Jack put on a nervous smile and ducked inside the tent. The first thing he noticed was that the tent was considerably cooler than the temperature outside— maybe because of the fabric it was made out of.

The next thing he noticed was a seven foot tall troll-maiden, baring her teeth at him in a smile.

"Jack," Fonn said in her low, gravelly voice. She had just stood up from her seat on a pile of furs, which her sister was still sitting on. Forath was smiling (if that is what you could call it) just as much as her sister, though she only said her greetings mentally. Thorgil was sprawled against the broad expanse of Forath's chest, letting the troll-maiden brush through her golden hair with her fingers and a comb made of a whale's bone, getting the flecks of blood out of the warrior's hair. There was still blood… everywhere else, but Forath was doing her best. "It is good to see you again. And it will be delightful to have you as company as we travel back to my mother's halls."

The young skald ducked his head and smiled, saying that he was just as pleased to have the daughters of Glamdis as company.

A/N: No beta for this, so please forgive me for any typos. I'm essentially done with classes for the rest of the year, so I should be able to churn these out more quickly now. As always, a favorite and a review are always greatly appreciated! The next thing you see from me will most likely be a Bagginshield thing, so keep your eyes peeled. See you soon!