Týr followed me. His intense gaze made my pulse quicken, and I had to fight my body’s urge to flee from it. Not out of fear, though. His attention sent a wave of heat through me, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that feeling.
“Why are you wearing trousers?” he finally inquired. “I rarely see Norse women wearing them outside of battle.”
I blinked up at him. That was why he stared? “Convenience. Dress skirts hinder my movements when I’m out in the forest. Is that a problem?”
Some found it strange, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he said yes. Mother had designed this style of dress for me. It hugged my figure just right, so it would remain feminine enough to prevent too much harassment from others about “appropriate” attire. Though, just being my mother’s daughter keeps most from saying anything, in fear of her wrath. One day I’d be as feared and respected as her.
Týr seemed momentarily taken aback by my question. “No, of course not.” His striking gaze flicked up and down my body in a way that sent heat coursing through me. “In fact, I think it’s quite fitting. You have nice legs.”
I bit my lip and turned my gaze away, my face growing hot. While most tried to at least feign indifference, that had been the first compliment I’d received for wearing these clothes. And to receive such from a god…
Silence fell over us once more. I wanted to ask questions, ones that steered away from me, but I bit them all back. They were questions to know him better, beyond his god status. But what right did I have to inquire? After his own curiosity about me faded, he’d be gone, and I’d fade into a vague memory of his.
“Why aren’t you married?”
I tilted my head, surprised by such a question. “Say again?”
“Erik was seeking your hand. By your age, I would have expected you to be married by now. Or are you a widow?”
The purpose behind this question eluded me. Why would he care if I was married? “No, I’m not exactly a widow…”
His brow rose, and he tilted his head as if to urge me to continue.
I chewed my lip and looked down at the ground. I had wanted to avoid this, but since he asked such a direct question, it wasn’t something I could avoid now.
“If you spoke to anyone in town, they’d tell you I’m cursed.” I gestured to my face. “When I was a child, I obtained this scar from an accident. It’s made me… less desirable to many men who have looked at me. However, there have been a few who have been willing to overlook it, and I’ve been betrothed three times. But each time, before the marriage ceremony happened, they died. So, no one has wanted to risk marrying me for some time.”
Silence. Deafening silence.
My gut twisted. I didn’t want to look up at him. I’d see either disgust or pity, and I didn’t want to deal with either.
“But Erik does?”
I jerked my head up. Instead of disgust or pity, I only saw contemplation. I didn’t understand this new reaction. “It’s a bit more complicated. Because of your help, our family is seen more favorably. Others are now more willing to try to gain my father’s approval, thinking maybe the curse is lifted.”
I played with a loose thread on the sleeve of my dress. “Erik, though, is trying to mend what his father broke—or what he thinks his father broke. My father doesn’t fault Erik, but for some reason won’t agree to marry me to him. Erik has made two attempts and my father has turned him away each time. He’s been trying to convince me to change my father’s mind, but”—I shrugged—“He’s a fine enough man, but I’m not interested. So if my father has no intent to arrange a marriage with Erik, I won’t push for something I don’t want.”
Týr mumbled something to himself. It sounded like a negative reaction to the idea of an arranged marriage. I would agree with him, but that’s how it was. I would be lucky if my father picked a man for me whom I liked, or even be allowed to pick a man myself, but, given my lack of reciprocating prospects, I’d since let that ridiculous, improbable dream go.
I smiled. “But this all worked in Leif’s favor. He was in negotiations with Jarl Rune for his daughter Frida’s hand. After you stepped in, the jarl accepted without any further negotiations.”
“That makes you happy,” Týr observed.
“My brother is completely smitten with Frida. And she cares for him back. I know they’ll be happy.” Even if me finding what they had was slim, I could be happy for them.
“You will have that,” Týr said.
I wished I could agree with him. But between my curse and my father rejecting marriage proposals, I was sure I’d become a lonely völva.
We continued on to the four other locations I needed to pick from. Conversation was difficult as I tried to feel out what was and wasn’t fine to discuss. Týr inquired about my family, including our relations with the jarl and why he’d chosen my mother to go to battle instead of my father, which was an interesting discussion, since I didn’t know much on the politics about those decisions, more just what my parents spoke about to each other and I’d overheard.
Týr was kind through all this, never pushing when I wasn’t comfortable answering a question, nor cruel when I admitted I didn’t know. It was a stark contrast to what I expected from a god of war. And the warmth I felt being around him, was… unfamiliar. That wasn’t true. It reminded me of the warmth I’d experienced before with one of my betrothed, but it wasn’t quite the same. It was… more intense? It didn’t help; I didn’t understand what about this interaction had caused it.
When I had collected everything I needed, we headed back to Runavík. But when we came to the outskirts, Týr stopped and gazed out into the horizon.
“I must go,” he said.
I painted on a smile, ignoring the prickling disappointment in my chest. My small moment where I was someone special enough to walk beside a god had ended. It was inevitable that reality would return. “I wish you luck with whatever it is you need to do. And thank you for taking time out of your day to spend a moment with me picking herbs.”
