Angrboða, embraced by the serenity surrounding her steed, did not dare look down to the ground below as the air grew thin around them. Following Odin, Freya, their son Baldur, Eir, and Frigg, Loki as a stallion carried her on his back and they climbed towards Asgard. The shapeshifting trickster had somehow convinced her to come with him and all he had to do was to hold out his hand to her. His charm was undeniable.

Until that moment, the only man whose charms she had fallen for had been her first husband Thorsten. It was not an instant attraction for Angrboða as it had been for Thorsten. They had their first meeting at a yuletide festival in the village. Angrboða came from the class of thralls – people who were slaves or bondsmen with little to no rights to themselves or property. Her family was one of the first to suffer from famine when it hit the Scandanavian peninsula. Angrboða’s father had brought the lot of them – herself as well as a younger sister and brother – to the city of Naantali. Their mother had died from sickness before the famine came. As the first born, Angrboða had learned to fill a mother’s role in the family by caring for the younger children and making their hovel into something of a home. She was seventeen years old when their family came to Naantali and she quickly came to call this new place her home.

Considering the time of year, it was plain to see that this man with three children in tow was in dire need. The four of them were dressed in rags unfit to combat the winter cold. The younger children did not even have shoes. Fortunately for this impoverished family, Naantali was a community of karls – men who were free and knew a trade. Most could read and write at varying levels depending on their personal or professional needs. The famine had yet to touch the people of Naantali and it showed in the bounty on display. Fresh fruits baked into pies inspired the youngsters to take delight. Strawberries, blueberries, and lingonberries had been bountiful that year. And there were fruits the children had never seen before – called oranges and lemons. Angrboða did not care much for the strong flavor of the lemon, but she was told its flavor could be mellowed when baked into breads, biscuits, or pies. Angrboða loved to bake and cook, but only when it was her choice to do so freely. The task of planning and preparing meals for the family had fallen to her since their mother’s death and there were days Angrboða resented the work.

But today was not a day to work – at least not for her. Today, her father tasked her with minding the younger children while he would look for work and a place for them to shelter until he could build them a new home in Nanntali. Even though he did not explicitly tell her to find some way of feeding themselves, Angrboða took it upon herself to do so. They’d had nothing but a crust of dry bread between them to share on the journey and all stomachs were twisted with hunger pains. It was fortunate the yuletide festival was happening as that precluded any need to beg. The family’s humble origins were already made apparent by their attire. Angrboða didn’t think her pride could stand it if she had to stoop to holding out her hand as a beggar.

The village center was decorated with deep green garlands of holly and ivy. Here and there were placed sprigs of mistletoe made unmistakable by their white berries. Vendors of local merchants had set up their carts in a circle and each cart was decorated in its own fashion – some with shiny silver bells that tinkled brightly as merry makers passed by. Others were decorated with garlands and wreaths. Others still were draped with brightly-colored banners, making the place feel even more festive. If not for their grumbling stomachs, the younger children would have been immediately captivated by the toy maker’s cart. Angrboða took note of the marvels there and decided once they had eaten, the children would at least be allowed to look at the peddler’s wares even if they could not yet afford to make a purchase.

The smell of fresh fruit pies beckoned the three of them. Angrboða’s father had given her what little money they had left and she reached into her pocket to retrieve the coins. The baker’s wife looked them over and shook her head.

“No need for that today,” she said warmly. “In the spirit of the season, I’d take it as a blessing for you and your chittlin’ to eat them in good health.”

“How very kind,” Angrboða replied with an abashed smile. “But this is my brother and sister.”

“Ach, good of you looking after the wee ones,” the baker’s wife went on. She handed them each a steaming blueberry pie, which the younger children ate with such ardor they were hardly able to mumble a thank-you through the crumbs of crust and mush of berries in their mouths.

Angrboða managed to savor hers some. She smiled at the baker and his wife, then gave what could be considered a shallow curtsey. As she was about to turn with the children to leave, the baker’s wife beckoned her to come back.

Wrapping two loaves of freshly-baked bread in a clean towel, the bakers wife stretched out her arm across the table and handed the parcel to Angrboða.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Angrboða said humbly.

“Eat it in good health,” the baker’s wife said with a smile. “Now off you pop. There’s a marionette show about to start over near the tavern. If you go now, you’ll be able to claim the choice seats.”

Angrboða smiled back and went with the children to see a marionette show – whatever that was, she could only guess as she’d never even heard of such a thing.

As it turns out, Angrboða didn’t much care for marionettes. However, the show that followed was a short play performed by the children of Naantali. In fact, Angrboða and the two children were the only young people in the crowd which was made up of the presumed parents of the children on stage. The children earned their applause despite a few obvious foibles. One young boy had forgotten his lines. Fortunately for him, his older sister came on stage and whispered them into his ear. He dutifully repeated the words perfectly to a raucous applause. When it was finished, all the children came together on stage and all in a line they bowed together towards the audience. Whoops, cheers, and smiles all around was the response from an adoring crowd.

In all the excitement, Angrboða forgot herself for a moment and she failed to feel unknown eyes had fallen upon her. Thorsten had first spotted them at the entrance of Naantali. His ship had pulled into port at Kaarina upon return from a trading trip in Sweden across the Gulf of Bothnia. Years ago, such a trip would have been a raid. However, with the passage of time the Swedes and Finns had found a sense of kinship developing between one another. As ships sailed further out, the world was becoming a much bigger place. As the world grew large, their differences seemed to grow small by comparison.

Thorsten was both a skilled pilot and navigator and had aspirations of owning his own merchant ship one day, though he was told he’d need to develop better skill with numbers and accounting. He first spotted her littlest brother who would have been hard to ignore as the young boy was crying loudly from hunger pains. Thorsten couldn’t help but notice the boy had no shoes and his feet were blue, damn near black from the bite of frost. He watched as Angrboða set down her little sister, also unshod. The younger girl whimpered at the cold touching her feet. She cried softly as Angrboða stooped to pick up the boy.

The first thing Thorsten noticed about Angrboða was her kind eyes. Clearly, she was tired and had been carrying the children throughout the journey from wherever they had come. Yet she showed no resentment to the boy or his sister for the burdens they had both become on such a long walk. Angrboða had shoes, ill-fitting as they were and she felt a responsibility to help the younger ones along for they had no shoes themselves.

The family was far ahead of Thorsten and much closer to the gates of Naantali than he and his associates. Had they been closer together in line, he would have offered shoes to the lot of them as his heart was so moved by the sight of Angrboða’s kind and generous heart. However, the family was soon given admittance and he lost sight of them as they went through the gate.

But here in the square, he found her again. While everyone else was watching the children’s pageant, he was watching her. He noticed her shoulders were stooped – likely from carrying the weight of two children across however many unknown miles through the snow and ice. Still, she held herself upright with a sense of dignity. Had it not been for her humble attire, he would have thought her regal.

His admiration of her grew stronger as he watched her smile at the children on stage. She also smiled at the delight of her two young charges. Their happiness also brought her joy. Thorsten found this to be a rare quality in a person – especially one so burdened by the weight of poverty. That was the moment he knew he loved this woman. That was the moment he knew he must make her his wife. If she could create her own joy from the delight of others, that was a woman he wanted always by his side.

As the children took their final bow, Thorsten made his approach.