Ivan wiped the sweat from his brow as he straightened, resting the butt of his sickle in the dirt. They had harvested most of the wheat crop, but there was still a lot of reaping left to do. All the Thryms were out in the field today, along with Tveir Racarl and his two sons and Loqé, Blader's Valkyrie handler. Ivan, Loqé, Tveir, and Audsen Racarl wielded the curved sickles, binding the grain into sheaves and propping them up. Karl Thrym was controlling the motorized reaper, slowly going through the field reaping the wheat. Hilda, Gunil, Freyja, and Hrodar Racarl, the youngest, bound up the grain behind the machine.

Every year at harvest, the Racarls helped the Thryms reap and thresh the grain in return for a share in the crop. The two families came together for several days of intense hard work and fun, delicious meals as the sun was setting. It was tradition, a time that made the work all worth it for the presence of others to lighten the load.

Last year had brought the first major change since Sofi Racarl's death, in that neither Blader nor Jorid had been around to help. Blader's absence was easily explainable. He was completing his post-Reenactment training before his first real deployment. Jorid's absence, on the other hand, had been rather unexpected.

"He told me he wanted to see the world," Tveir had said after Jorid's disappearance that summer, throwing his hands up. "He took off, didn't say when he'd be back. I think Blader's departure rattled him a bit, made him think he was stuck here."

It was only afterwards that they had learned why Jorid had left: he was the apprentice of the dreaded sorcerer Domar Tros.

The Racarl family had been devastated. As news of Jorid's part in the Reenactment hijacking and the subsequent war spread, the people of Njordesden had either reacted with sympathy or with horror to Tveir, Audsen, and Hrodar. And they had tended to react with horror and anger.

"What kind of father makes a child turn out like that?" Ivan had heard people whisper at the beginning. "What kind of men will those two younger boys be?"

Because Tveir ran the only forge in Njordesden, he still received clients, but they all knew the moment a rival forge was opened, he would lose it all. No one wanted to support the Racarl name, the name that was a curse in so many mouths, even if Tveir and his younger sons were completely innocent.

Audsen and Hrodar were both treated like outcasts at school. Hilda got into some fights defending them, and even Freyja had thrown a fist or two, which had led to Loqé teaching her "underhanded" fighting tactics to use when her opponent was bigger than her. "It's only underhanded if you already have the advantage," the Valkyrie had told Ivan when he had only half-jokingly said she was fighting dirty. "Besides, there are no rules for bullies to follow, so why should Freyja get hurt following a rulebook they won't use?"

"Honor?" Ivan had asked.

"She's already got honor," Loqé had said. "She's defending them, like a true warrior. That's honor enough."

Gunil and Karl were just grateful that Principal Sigrif, the same principal who had given Blader the chance to join the einherjar over getting expelled, had taken both Hilda's and Freyja's sides when it came to the fights. "It looks like your child started it," he had told the parents who had angrily pointed to their sons' and daughters' black eyes and bruises. "This school frowns on bullying more than it frowns on others defending those who are being bullied."

Ivan had written about this to Blader. "If Sigrif is so against bullying, how come he never took your side?"

"Jorid was manipulative, but he wasn't a bully," Blader had written back. "I can say that much for him. Not in the way you're telling me these other kids are bullying Audsen and Hrodar."

Ivan had been forced to agree with Blader on that point. Jorid manipulated Blader into taking the fall for things, but as Blader had demonstrated, Jorid stood no chance against him in a fistfight, and he had no power among his fellow students. He still hated how Jorid had manipulated his younger brother, but both Blader and Jorid, after what they went through on Thor's Bridge, hadn't looked to have other friends. Even Hilda had taken a step back from the girls in her year, preferring Jorid's company over theirs. The fireshock had affected those three in ways Ivan couldn't comprehend.

What Jorid had done to Blader had been nothing compared to what these other kids were doing and saying to Hrodar and Audsen.

But Jorid had shown his true colors when he joined Domar Tros in his war of chaos. Ivan felt sorry for Tveir, Audsen, and Hrodar, who bore the punishment everyone wished they could heap on Jorid.

But the Thryms' attitude toward the Racarls hadn't changed. True, if Jorid was to show up at their door, hospitality would be the last thing on at least Ivan's mind, but Tveir had done his best raising three boys after the death of their mother, one of which had been there when she had been blown up and retained traumatic memories of that whole experience on Thor's Bridge. No amount of therapy could train that out of you; Ivan knew, for he had shared a bedroom with Blader their entire lives and Blader had had nightmares for years afterwards. Karl and Tveir remained friends and so the families did, too.

The one new, good thing concerning the harvest this year was Loqé helping them. Ivan, Karl, and Gunil had tried to talk her out of helping, but she was adamant. "I want to help," she had insisted. "I've lived in this district my entire life, and I've never worked in a harvest before. Besides, I'll go crazy if I'm not given something to do aside from paperwork." So they had given her Blader's sickle and she now stood in the field with them, working alongside Ivan. It hadn't taken Loqé long to learn the best way in which to wield the sickle as Ivan demonstrated. She was a fast learner, that Valkyrie.

Ivan surveyed the field, feeling satisfaction fill him at the bundles of sheaves replacing the previously rippling wheat. They were almost finished. Almost finished.

"You sorry you agreed to help out yet?" he asked Loqé, who had come to a stop beside him.

The Valkyrie flicked her eyes toward him, taking a moment to brush at the dark flyaway hairs stuck to her forehead. "No," she said. "I'm not, and I won't be."

Ivan narrowed his eyes slightly at her. From the moment he had first seen her, over a year ago, he had been infatuated by her steel grey eyes and incredible bravery. There was something about her, the simultaneous strength and vulnerability, that Ivan had felt drawn to. And it seemed she had been drawn to him – or, at least, to his family. Whether she saw in him what he saw in her, he didn't know.

"How's your leg?" he asked her. "Should you even be –?"

Loqé held up her hand, cutting him off. "Don't ask me that again, Ivan. My leg is fine. I'm not cleared for service again, but I am cleared for reaping grain." She bit her lip, glancing out over the field. Her eyes hovered for a moment on Freyja, who was binding a sheaf of wheat with an ease Ivan hadn't mastered until several years after his first time helping at harvest. "I feel so...useless, not being able to help. Not being able...to do something, anything. So this is a bit of a release, being able to help someone, somewhere."

Ivan pressed his lips together. Loqé had been fighting on the front lines until a blast from a rekkr rifle tore through her leg, rendering her unfit to serve and sending her back to Njordesden for recovery. Fortunately, her leg had managed to heal nicely, leaving her with only the faintest traces of a limp that she assured the Thryms wouldn't last. And so far today, Ivan hadn't seen her have any issues with her leg, with the exception being when Rollo, one of the Thryms' rag shepherds, had jumped and hit her leg, causing her to flinch and move away. He wondered if she was merely hiding the discomfort it gave her.

"Well, we do appreciate your help," Ivan told her. "This wheat...it's really our life."

Loqé looked at him, holding his gaze a fraction of a moment longer than he had expected. "Then we should get back to it, shouldn't we?"

The two hefted their sickles and continued to reap the last patch of grain standing, working together in silence. Ivan liked having Loqé's company – it made the harvest a little more enjoyable.

When she had returned to Njordesden, it had taken Loqé a while to come see them. Even though Ivan and Hilda had attempted to visit her at the main Valkyrie hall while she was still in recovery – they had been denied entrance but Eda, the Valkyrie healer, had taken their well-wishes to Loqé and told them that she was extremely grateful for their thoughts – Loqé had seemed hesitant to come out to the Thrym farm. It had taken Hilda and Freyja, stopping by the recruiter's office on their way home from school, to convince her to stop by, which she then had. And ever since, the Valkyrie had come by often.

A couple days ago, she had arrived with a letter from Blader, her face simultaneously alight with anticipation and sown with nervousness. The letter had detailed Blader's promotion to skjoldr and his acceptance of the position of commander on Magni's Mjolnir Squad.

"Karl," Gunil had murmured. "Blader's leading Mjolnir."

"I know," Karl had replied, somewhat hoarsely. There was such pride shining in his eyes. "I know."

That was when Ivan had learned his father had led the first Mjolnir Squad, the one that had taken down Dyr Gunar at the Battle of Folr Wood. The shield he had given Blader was the one the god Magni had given him after the battle. And now Blader had assumed othalan, had taken up yet another Thrym legacy as he assumed the mantle of leading the second Mjolnir Squad.

Why wasn't I told about Mjolnir before? Why wasn't I allowed to know Father's role in Folr Wood?

And that begged another question: Did Blader know? Before he was given this position?

Finally, the reaping was complete and the field was littered with the bound sheaves of wheat. Gunil and Freyja had stopped working early, to have time to prepare dinner, and now the rest of the Thryms, the Racarls, and Loqé trooped up toward the house. The evening sky was clear as they put away the equipment and did the evening chores before washing up at the outside pump and sitting down at the long wooden tables that had been set up outside for the meals.

"Gunil, everything smells delicious," Tveir commented, sniffing the air. "I don't know how you do it, after working all day."

"Well, when you're hungry, everything smells good," Hilda remarked, stepping over the bench and sitting down. "I'm not saying it's not going to be good. I'm just starving."

Audsen sat next to her, licking his lips. His resemblance to his brother was remarkable and a little eerie, especially in his eyes and slender build. Hrodar was the only one who had his father's broad build and firm features, since Jorid looked like his mother and Audsen looked like a mix between his two parents.

Everyone took their seats on the benches and began passing dishes down the table, loading food onto their plates. Once the clatter of dishes had settled down, there was just silence as everyone ate.

Ivan glanced down the table, at his parents, his little sisters, the Valkyrie, the blacksmith, and his two sons. Harvest was when they all came together, when classes were canceled to allow the kids to help their families, and when all the work they'd done over the past year came to fruition. If only Blader was here, everything would be perfect.

But Blader was off fighting the war, the war that had yet to touch Njordesden. The only effects Ivan had noted was the decrease in Valkyries due to most of them being called away to service, the departure of several kids who had followed Blader's example and joined the einherjar, and the fluctuating prices and occasional scarcity of food and supplies. But Njordesden was far enough out of the way, far enough from the main point of action, and far enough from caring, that if it wasn't for Blader's involvement, the reminders of Jorid's allying with the enemy side, or Loqé's eventual departure back to the front lines, Ivan could forget the war was even happening.

But that was now, while the war was being fought in Alfheim and Svartalfheim with only smaller skirmishes in northern Midgard. What would change when the war shifted frontiers, when Midgard was the center point of combat, Ivan did not want to find out.

"So, Freyja," Ivan asked, breaking the contented silence. "What did you think of your first official harvest?"

"I liked it," Freyja declared. Her fair blonde hair had been bound back into two tight braids, although she preferred to wear it loose. "It was nice, being out in the fields all day, although it was long work." She smiled at Loqé. "We share the same first harvest!"

Loqé laughed. "That we do, Freyja. May there be many harvests to come!"

"Here, here," Ivan echoed, and Loqé glanced at him for a moment, her laughter fading into a smile.

"The harvest is good this year," Karl said, glancing at Ivan with slightly narrowed eyes. "The winter will be good."

Tveir nodded. "It looks like you'll have enough to sell, too."

"We will," Karl agreed. "With the war, Ivan and I decided to plant more wheat, to ensure we could sell enough to buy the rest of our supplies and perhaps make a little more, just in case." He glanced up at Loqé. "Thank you, Drengr, for your aid. Are you sure there is no way we can repay you?"

Loqé shook her head. Although Ivan and everyone else had stopped using her title in favor of her name, Karl insisted on maintaining use of her title as a sign of respect. First, it had been Recruiter, but now her title was Drengr, despite the fact that Loqé was currently working as an einherjar recruiter until she was cleared for combat. "No, I don't need any. The Valkyries provide me with anything I need. I thank you for allowing me to help. Being reduced to limited official duties has been driving me insane."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Ivan said, smiling at the Valkyrie. She returned his smile and turned back to her meal, leaving Ivan to linger his gaze on her a little longer. Then he mentally shook his head and glanced down at his plate. He had had to admit to himself shortly after meeting Loqé that he was smitten with her. But what she would think of that, Ivan didn't know. So he didn't speak about it.

I'm a farmer. She's a Valkyrie. We are too different.

Ivan wished they weren't.

The sound of hoof beats caught everyone's attention, and they twisted on the benches to see a set of four horses trotting toward them. The riders were all dressed in strict military uniform, backs ramrod straight as they rose and fell to the trot. Ivan preferred to sit the trot, personally, but Blader had told him that einherjar were told to rise to the trot instead when on formal business.

The group quieted, sentences trailing off into nothing as the einherjar rode towards them. Karl, Tveir, and Ivan all rose questioningly, waiting as the einherjar reined to a halt and the leader dismounted, stepping toward the table as his eyes landed on Karl.

"Karl Thrym?" he asked. "Retired einherjar of vordr rank?"

"Yes," Karl answered, narrowing his eyes. "Why have you come?"

"You have a summons from the god Magni Thorson, in the name of the High King," the einherjar replied, holding out a thin letter. Karl took it from him almost suspiciously and opened it, Ivan and everybody else looking from the riders to Karl and back to the riders again as he read the letter.

Finally, after what felt like a long silence, Karl looked up at the einherjar in disbelief. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "I'm being summoned back into service?"

Ivan felt his eyes widen in shock as his mother covered her mouth, Hilda gasped, and even Freyja looked alarmed. The Racarls seemed to freeze, and Loqé stood, her face pale and her knuckles white as she clenched her fists.

"Yes, sir," the einherjar replied. "The High King is summoning back retired einherjar to take supervisory and instructing positions, to free up other einherjar for combat."

"I served my time," Karl hissed, stepping closer. "I served my time, and I served it damn well."

"Yes, you did," the einherjar agreed, not budging. "I'm sorry, sir, but we are at war, and sacrifices must be made."

"Don't tell me about sacrifices," Karl said threateningly, his face darkening. "Don't tell me about sacrifices! I gave up my childhood to war. I gave up my father to war. And now you want me to give up my family, all in the name of the same bloody war?"

"You have no choice in the matter," the einherjar said firmly, a hard edge coming into his voice. "You must report to the Valkyries tomorrow for departure."

"No," Ivan said, his objection coming without any thought on his part. "I will serve for him. I will take my father's place."

"Ivan, no!" Gunil cried. "I can't lose you, too."

The einherjar looked sympathetic, even as he shook his head. "No. If your father could be replaced, Commander Blader Thrym's service would have been enough. But this is not a draft, this is a summons. You cannot volunteer for your father." He looked back to Karl. "You will report in tomorrow."

Karl drew back. "What about the harvest?" he asked. "We haven't finished the harvest. At least give me that. Let me make sure my family is provided for."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you must report tomorrow," the einherjar repeated.

Loqé stepped over the bench and walked toward the einherjar, her eyes hard and fierce. "Karl Thrym will be given three days to finish the harvest and ensure his affairs are in order." She flicked her eyes over the einherjar in a sharp, almost demeaning manner. "And you will record that he has been given the leave of those three days, and change his departure date in the system for the morning of the fourth day following this."

"On whose authority?" the einherjar challenged.

"Mine," Loqé flashed back. "Drengr Loqé. I will vouch for him. He will depart from Njordesden in three days' time, on my honor."

The einherjar paled slightly. Drengr outranked einherjar in almost all situations. Loqé lifted an eyebrow at the soldier, her expression fierce as she stood between the einherjar and Karl Thrym. "I didn't hear a 'Yes, Drengr,' einherjar."

"Yes, Drengr," the einherjar muttered. "Three days' time, no more."

"No less," Loqé snapped. "I will be following up to ensure you changed the departure orders, einherjar."

The einherjar mounted back up, looking displeased with Loqé's interference, and the four rode off. As soon as they were out of earshot, Freyja broke the silence.

"You're going to war?" she asked Karl, her brow furrowed. "Like Blader?"

"Yes, Freyja, I am," Karl said heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Tears sprang to Freyja's eyes but Ivan noticed his youngest sister struggling hard to keep them from spilling over. Hilda bit her lip angrily as Tveir looked to his two sons. The three of them stood quietly, stepping over the benches and walking toward the barn to get their horses. None of the Thryms said anything to them.

Gunil moved toward Karl and he caught her in his arms, holding her without saying a word. Freyja and Hilda stood, beginning to clear away the dishes. Silently, Loqé joined them, looking like she wasn't sure whether to leave or stay, but didn't want to ask permission to do either.

Ivan took a breath, forcing himself to move. He could think about the consequences of this summons later. He could think about what this would mean for him later. Right now, he needed to do something, anything, to distract him.

Taking one of the platters of food, he followed Hilda into the house, where she had already begun putting leftovers into containers for storage. "Put it there," she snapped at Ivan, gesturing to the table without even looking at him. "Freyja, start washing. Loqé and Ivan can finish clearing the table."

Freyja complied, taking the empty platter from Ivan as Loqé brought in a bowl of potatoes, setting it down at Hilda's direction. The two headed back outside.

Karl and Gunil still stood outside, their faces drawn. Loqé and Ivan finished clearing the long table in silence, which carried over into the house. Aside from the clink of plates as Freyja washed and the sounds of Hilda sliding containers of leftovers into the cooler, slamming the door after each trip, the house was deathly silent.

After the last trip, Loqé glanced at the girls cleaning and then looked at Ivan. "I should go. I need to talk to Eirnn."

"I don't think there's anything you can do," Ivan said quietly.

Loqé pressed her lips together. "I don't think so, either," she whispered, grabbing her sheathed sword from beside the door. Strapping it back onto her belt, she headed outside, Ivan following her. As the door swung shut behind him, the Valkyrie turned to face him. "Ivan, don't walk me into town. You need to stay here."

On any other night, any other occasion, Ivan would have protested. But tonight, he saw her point. "Okay," he said quietly.

Loqé looked like she wanted to say something, but then didn't. "Goodnight, Ivan," she said instead, and turned to walk away. After only one step, however, she paused and looked back, her eyes miserable. "I'm so sorry."

Ivan watched her go until her figure faded into the road and he could see her no longer.