The Love We Grew

“Hey!” Freya shouted. “Don’t touch that!” Perhaps she should have more sense than to yell at a strange man encroaching on her property, but she was more concerned with her basil buds at the moment. The man looked surprised to see her. He wore clothes she didn’t recognize, with a cloak made of the richest blue she had ever seen. He was devilishly handsome, with a face and body that looked as though it was sculpted by the gods. She would’ve blushed at his handsomeness had it not been for the emergency at hand. “Are you deaf? I said don’t touch that.” She yelled again, only this time it was directly in his face. He only stared down at her, his 6-foot and 2-inch advantage on her 5-foot small frame only upsetting her more. “Sorry, but what am I not supposed to be touching?” He asked, incredulous. “My basil buds!” She pushed him away then, revealing the squashed plant that had been beneath his feet. It was completely unsalvageable, even with her superior gardening skills. She was renowned for having the best herbs and vegetables for several villages over, but even this was beyond her. She dropped to her knees and touched it tenderly, anyway, trying to find some way to save it. “Oh,” The man said, offering no other words. “Who are you and what are you doing in my garden?” Freya demanded. The man just looked away, observing their surroundings. “I’m sorry about your plant. You have… a nice garden.” He said after a moment. Freya frowned. She couldn’t sense any mockery in his tone, but the way he said it unsettled her. She put a hand to her hip. “So, what do you want?” She demanded. The man cleared his throat, seeming to consider her before speaking. “I need a place to stay, and I’ve been traveling for days.” She stared at him, waiting for more. He said nothing else. “Well,” She said slowly. “What do you want me to do? Let you stay here?” “If you’re offering,” He said, a ghost of a smile dancing across his full lips. She frowned. “I don’t know if that’s—” “I’ll work for you,” He interjected. She pursed her lips. Her father had died last Winter, and she only had so long to live on what little money he left behind. She tried to make ends meet by selling her herbs and vegetables, but that could only go so far. She had been hoping to expand her garden this year to increase her product, but she could barely work the till and it seemed to be a waste of time to try at this point. She was better off working with what little space she had than hurting herself trying to work the abominable thing. But maybe if he was willing to work for her… Wait, was she really considering allowing this man to live with her? She needed help, but would she really be willing to take such a huge risk? Before she let herself give in to indecision, she allowed desperation to speak for her, hoping she wouldn’t regret it. “I don’t have much,” She said slowly. “I have a spare room and some clothes that may fit, but other than that food is scarce and there’s hard work in your future.” He shrugged. “It’s better than moss for a pillow and berries for food in the forest.” She nodded. If this man could till the ground and help her expand her garden, she would be able to make enough to support herself. Freya laughed aloud. She was getting ahead of herself. “What’s your name?” She asked. “Odin,” He replied. “So, what kind of work am I in for?” She took a moment to assess him. His clothes were practically rags clinging to him, the only decent thing being the beautiful cloak, and despite his strong frame and brooding looks, she could tell her was weary to the bone. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’d rather not have my new laborer collapsing on me.” She turned from him, starting toward the cottage. “Follow me,” She called, not waiting for him. She had some leftover stew from the night before, and she supposed he could use a warm and hearty meal. Freya stoked the fire and set the pot of stew onto the stove. Glancing at him and seeing his filthy attire yet again, she guided him to what used to be her father’s room and instructed him to change into whatever clothes he deemed fit. She had already sold everything of value, so she wasn’t concerned about what option he went with. When he was finished changing, he sat at her small table. It was mismatched and broken down, like most things in her small cottage, with a wobbly leg and three chairs that didn’t match. There used to be a fourth, but that had broken and been repurposed as firewood during a particularly harsh winter. Now she was all too aware of her home, which could practically be described as a hovel. She pushed down the shame welling inside of her, reminding herself that this man was pretty much a traveling beggar, and he would be none the wiser. At least, she hoped that’s all he was. She gave him a sidelong glance. Just who was he? After dishing him out not one, not two, but three huge portions of stew, to which he wolfed down in minutes each, she attempted a conversation. “So, where do you come from?” Freya asked. “North,” Odin said. She waited. “Spring doesn’t come nearly this early where I’m from.” He looked back down to his empty dish. “It’s nice,” He said, his voice almost a whisper. His eyes met her gaze once again. “What about you?” He asked. She waved around, gesturing to her place was explanation enough to answer that. “No, I meant to ask what your name is. You never mentioned it.” “Oh,” She said. “Sorry, my name is Freya.” A faint smile touched his lips. “How pretty.” Heat rose to her cheeks and he cleared his throat, seeming to remember himself. “Anyway, work?” She shook her head, “Yes, sorry. I need my garden expanded. Do you know how to work a till?” He shook his head and she sighed. “That’s fine, I’ll teach you.” 

Odin proved to be a hard worker. In days he had finished the tilling, and it took them only two weeks to nearly finish the planting. They never talked much. He didn’t seem like the conversational type. This worked just fine for Freya, as she loved nothing more than to listen to the sounds of spring. The singing of birds, the brushing of leaves against the wind, the trickle of the creek. It was all enough to make the worries and hardships of winter slowly melt away, leaving her feeling almost giddy with excitement. Even before her father died, she loved gardening and had taken it up as a necessity, but it became one of the things she enjoyed most in life. She had been afraid that that love would die when she had to do it out of survival, but she still yearned for it whenever she was away, so she supposed it would take many more years before she needed to worry about that enthusiasm dissipating. Odin didn’t seem to care one way or another about the garden, but he still put in effort and was a great listener. He seemed far too intelligent for a mere traveler, and she often wondered about his past. Sometimes she would catch him stealing glances at her, which in turn made her blush every time. He was sweet to her, and never encroached on her personal space. Most of all he seemed to respect both her and her garden, and she liked him for that. Freya’s initial bravado when they had first met fizzled out shortly after she got used to his presence, however, and now she could barely muster casual conversation. She had always been on the more timid side, and only spoke boldly when it came to things she was passionate about.  

While Freya was finishing up planting the last of the seeds, three men appeared at the forest’s clearing. They all wore cloaks, carried swords at their hip, and were striding to her with intent. She scrambled to her feet, tightening her grip on her spade and hand rake. It wasn’t much, but it was something at least. The tallest spoke first. “Well, what do we have here? You all alone?” He jeered. Without thinking, she sent a panicked glance back to her cottage. Earlier, she had sent Odin to the creek to fetch water, and now she was alone. She cursed herself for giving herself away. He laughed and continued, “A little girl in a cabin all alone in the woods. Say, what do you suppose she has on her?” She braced herself. She knew it had only been a matter of time before her solidarity produced a dangerous situation like this. She had no way to defend herself, and no man to protect her. Briefly, she thought of Odin, but would he get back in time? Just how long ago had she sent him away? “Looks to me it isn’t much,” The one to the far left said. “On the other hand…” He looked her up and down pointedly, and she shivered. She took a step back, and they laughed. “Hey now,” the final man said. “We won’t hurt you.” He took a step forward, crushing one of her rosemary sprouts. “We just came to… admire your garden.” He said, not taking his eyes off of her. She started to shake, fear muddling her thoughts. What should she do? Run? If so, where? This cottage was all she had, and she wouldn’t have a clue where to go. She took another step back, and the tall one grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?” He breathed. “Why don’t you be a little more hospitable and,” He took his sword from its sheath and pressed the tip against her belly. “Show us your valuables, eh? We don’t have to make this messy.” Freya fought back tears. Suddenly, the man was yanked back, and he let out a howl of pain as a fist met his face. He was down and out cold in a second, and Odin stood over him, rage radiating off of him. “You trampled her rosemary sprout,” He said quietly, anger edging his voice. The man who had been staring creepily at Freya was next. Odin had him on the ground and screaming curses, clutching his freshly broken arm. “How dare you touch Freya,” He growled. The last man took a step back, arms held out in front of him in surrender. “Hey now,” He said. “We surrender, we’ll just take our friend on the ground there and leave.” Odin didn’t move. When the man realized he wasn’t going to attack, he and his companion lifted their friend and left, tripping as they scrambled to get away. Once Odin was sure they had completely fled, he turned back to Freya and took her hand gently. He checked her arm and then lifted it to check her stomach. She reddened and pushed away. “What are you doing?” She demanded. “Checking for wounds,” He said. “I-I’m fine,” She stuttered. She looked to her feet. “Thank you,” She whispered. The tears she’d been holding back sprung fourth and she fell to her knees, sobbing. She cried for the fear that had overwhelmed her and for the danger and uncertainty she faced. When those tears were gone, she let tears of relief fall freely. If it hadn’t been for Odin, they would’ve at best left her with nothing. No, more than that, if it hadn’t been for Odin, she wouldn’t have had been able to do what she needed to to make ends meet. Odin kneeled beside her, and she leaned into him, soaking in the feel of his sun warmed shirt against her tear-soaked cheek. After a while Freya pulled away, attempting to gather herself. This mysterious traveler had become so important to her, and she was scared of what that meant. What was Odin to her, anyway? A companion? A friend? Something more? She shook her head. No way, he was hardly more than a stranger. “I’m okay now,” She said, her voice hoarse. “Thank you for everything… I’m sorry for the trouble.” Odin hesitated, then cupped her chin and lifted it until her eyes met his. “I’m glad I was here. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Her breath caught. He was so close… He stood then, bending over to check the trampled rosemary. “Is this salvageable?” He asked. Freya scooted over to where he was and gingerly cupped the plant. “I think so,” She said, thankful for the distraction and grasping at the excuse to ignore the confusing feelings his closeness had stirred in her. His hand covered hers as he gently said, “teach me?” And so, she did. 

Over the next few weeks, the plants weren’t the only things that grew. Her feelings for him deepened and she wasn’t sure what that meant. What was love, anyway? Was it how her heart fluttered when she saw him return from fetching them water for the garden? Was it the way she admired how he quietly whistled to himself while he pulled weeds? Was it how she couldn’t help but ramble on and on about the new seeds she eagerly waited to bloom, and the fact that he listened? All she knew was that his presence had become as important to her as the garden had, and she didn’t know what to do with herself because of it. She often found herself catching glances of him, and when he noticed all he would do is smile. She thought he looked happier now than before, too, but she couldn’t be sure. One day, he took her hand and led her away from the garden. He wore the same rich blue cloak he had worn on the day they met. “I want to show you something,” He had explained, though gave her no hint as to what or where it might be. They passed the creek and climbed up a hill. She didn’t normally wander far into the woods or past the creek. She had no hunting or self-defense experience whatsoever, and she had always stayed on the main trails leading to the nearby villages to sell her plants. Now she found herself nearly euphoric as he guided her up the hill. When they crested the top, her breath was taken away when she saw what lay in front of her. Flowers of all colors dotted the meadow as far as the eye could see, all scattered together to create a symphony of beauty so breathtaking she could hardly believe her eyes. “Odin…” she whispered, taking a step forward. Tears brimmed her eyes and she whirled to face him. “It’s so beautiful.” She laughed then, spinning. She knew she was acting like a child, but she hardly cared. She skipped and spun and danced, stopping every once in a while to admire the flowers around her. She called to Odin and he came. She sat on the grass, and he laid down beside her, his chest to the sky. She followed suit and sighed with content. “Thank you,” She said, sun warming her face as she closed her eyes. The light shifted and she opened them to reveal Odin sitting over her, an intense look in his dark green eyes. “Listen,” he said. “I’m leaving soon.” She froze. First, it felt as though a trickle of ice danced along her insides. Then, a sharp jab of pain in her gut. Her heart ached as she said, “What?” Her voice was barely audible. It was all she could get out. Odin’s gaze didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I have to leave. I’m planning on doing so now. I just wanted to say good—” “I love you,” She blurted. And she meant it. She did love him, and she couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving. “I…” He cleared his throat, looking both perplexed and happy somehow. “I didn’t realize, but I…” He set his jaw. Before she knew it, he was kissing her. He pulled away just as fast as the kiss had started. Her head spun as he spoke, “I love you, too, Freya. More than you realize. However, I still have to leave.” Her heart sank. Before she could say anything, he spoke again. “I swear I’ll come back to you.” She pulled him down and they lay side by side, holding each other. “When will I see you again?” She asked. He kissed her forehead. “I don’t know, but it will be a long time, if you’re still willing to wait.” She nodded against him. He held her tighter. “Thank you,” he said. They lay like that longer than Freya could count. Finally, Odin sat up and reached out a hand, pulling her up with him. He returned her to her cottage before giving her a final kiss. And with that bittersweet parting, he left. She watched him walk away until she couldn’t see him anymore. She watched until the sun was setting, and even until night had fallen. As she turned to go back into her cottage, she finally noticed that he had placed a flower in her hair. It was white and light pink, and it looked like a peony. She had mentioned to him once that they were her favorites. She clutched it gently against her chest. Yes, she would wait. As long as it took. He would find her weeks, months, maybe years from now, tending her garden. And she would make it a sight to behold upon his return.