Author’s notes:

This is a fictional story set in a fictional culture. I gave it a Late Iron Age Nordic setting, which would notionally have been somewhere on the southern Scandinavian Peninsula in the early 700s CE. The culture would therefore have been subsumed into either Norway or Sweden in the succeeding centuries, leaving no trace. It’s not meant to reflect the practices of any actual Nordic cultures past or present. I am aware that little of the story fits the actual historical record, and it isn’t supposed to. I have even taken liberties with the life expectancy of that time and place. I did minimal research and found that there is little readily available (i.e. Wikipedia) information for the area in the century just prior to the Viking Age anyway. Please don’t try to make this story fit with what you know about the historical cultures of that time and place.

Oak trees don’t grow as quickly as the story demands, but I don’t know of a fast-growing tree which would grow in Scandinavia and bear some form of beneficial fruit or nut so quickly. Please allow some poetic license or divine intervention in this regard.

The style of the narrative is intended to sound stiff and old fashioned, as if it had been written a long time ago in a now-dead language and subsequently translated more than once.

The sexual aspects of the story are not graphically explicit. Please seek elsewhere for sex.

It was a happy day. At dawn, a girl was born to Sven and his wife. Gretl was as perfect as any parents could hope a daughter would be. Her bright, blue eyes had tracked her father’s as he held the squealing newborn up to the new day’s sun to receive Sól’s blessing.

News of the birth spread quickly, and the following Sunnudagr afternoon, Rolf and his eldest son, Lars, had sailed down the fjord to visit the new parents and plant an oak tree as per tribal custom. Gretl knew not what that meant.

The oak took root, grew strong and straight, as did Gretl.

In summer, the Rolfson tree now shaded Gretl as she milked the family’s goats, prepared vegetables for cooking, or spun wool into yarn her mother could turn into winter clothing.

Gretl would gather the acorns from the tree as summer came to a close, marking the beginning of winter.

The tree’s new buds would signal the coming of spring.

Her Rolfson tree had been a constant companion for Gretl throughout her childhood. Yet she knew not what that meant.

Gretl was a good and obedient daughter. She helped her mother with her younger siblings and tasks around the house. She helped her father with chores in his furniture shop. She learned to sharpen his chisels and saws. She learned how to package the many small parts which he shipped with his finished products.

She understood her place in the family. The eldest child, teaching her siblings to feed the chickens and collect their eggs, to milk the goats, to clean out the animal pens. How to spin wool into yarn for mother.

Mother taught Gretl and her sister Freya how to knit and make cheese and cook. She told them, “a husband can forgive nearly any flaw in his wife, but not bad cooking.”

Life on the homestead was unchanging for Gretl, until one summer Laugardagr.

“Mother,” said Gretl.

“Yes, Gretl,” replied her mother.

“I think something is wrong with me. Freya and I were bathing in the fjord and my chest felt different. Do you see these lumps? Freya’s chest does not have these lumps.”

“Ah, Gretl, this is normal for a girl your age.” She kissed her daughter on the forehead. “You are becoming a woman. Soon you will have a husband and you will bear children for him. Do you remember how I fed your youngest brother when he was a newborn?”

“Oh, yes, mother. You told me he was drinking milk from your breasts. Like the baby goats drink from their mothers.”

“Exactly, child. Your breasts will grow, like mine did when I was your age, so that you may feed your children. It is a wonderful gift the gods have bestowed on women since the dawn of time.”

And Gretl was thankful for her mother’s reassurance.

Gretl continued to grow. She was proud that her breasts were becoming large like her mother’s. She felt sure that her breasts would hold plenty enough milk to feed strong, healthy babies for her husband.

Yet she knew not what that meant.

One morning, when Gretl had grown nearly as tall as her mother, she awoke with an unusual pain in her belly. She went about her morning chores. Getting her younger siblings up and fed. Making sure the chickens got fed, the eggs got collected, and the goats got milked.

Then she went to her mother. She knew her mother would be able to help.

“Mother,” said Gretl.

“Yes, Gretl,” replied her mother.

“I have had this pain in my belly since early this morning. It has been getting stronger.”

“This is good news, Gretl. It means that you will be a woman very soon.” She kissed her daughter on the forehead. “You know that I have to rest for a few days each month?”

“Yes, mother, and you have me take on more responsibilities at those times.”

“Yes, Gretl. All women go through a period each month when we must rest. And so will you. This is your first time, so I will show you what to do.”

As her mother had predicted, Gretl got her first period later that day.

One evening, Gretl was preparing carrots under her Rolfson tree when her mother approached. “Gretl dear,” she said.

“Yes, mother,” Gretl replied, looking up from her task.

Her mother sat on the bench beside her. “Tonight I will need to rest.”

“OK, mother, I will take care of father and my siblings for you.”

“Yes, Gretl. But there is something else you must do for me now that you have become a woman.”

“Of course, mother.”

“Tonight you will lie with your father. He will teach you what you will need to know when you lie with your husband. Just as my father taught me when I was your age.”

“Yes, mother.”

That night, Gretl went to her father’s bed and laid with him, and he taught her what a husband and his wife do in bed.

Yet she knew not what that meant.

The months passed. Gretl had her periods of rest and laid with her father when her mother had hers. Gretl grew to enjoy the time she spent in bed with her father and looked forward to those nights when she felt closest to him.

One day, Gretl and her mother were milking goats beneath her Rolfson tree. Two other goats were nearby.

“Mother.”

“Yes, Gretl.”

“Father has been teaching me what I must do with my husband when we lie together.”

“You’re a good girl, Gretl, and you will be a good wife for your husband.”

“Yes, mother. But I look at these goats and I see what they are doing. Are they not doing the same thing? Yet they are out here in the sun, and he has mounted her from behind as she stands there. They are not lying down in a bed in a dark house.”

“Are you a goat, Gretl?”

“No, mother, I am not a goat.”

“Your husband will not want you to behave like a goat, Gretl.”

One mid-summer day, Gretl had taken some goats to the high meadow. She had packed a lunch and had spread a blanket out to lie on and enjoy the warmth Sól provided while the goats got to enjoy eating the flowers which grew in the meadow.

Gretl decided to take off her clothes and enjoy Sól’s warmth caressing her entirely. She lay back and let Sól bless her as she had been blessed at her birth.

Gretl was no longer a naked newborn squealing at the dawn. She had grown into a woman. She felt her breasts, now large for feeding her children. She lowered her hands to where her legs met. The area was now covered in short, coarse hair.

This was where her father had taught her that she and her husband would join once they were married. He had joined with her and showed her what she and her husband would do in their bed. And this was where her children would be born from her womb. She had witnessed her mother giving birth to her youngest brother.

Gretl looked forward to joining with her husband and bearing children for him as wives had done since the dawn of time.

Yet she thought there must be more to know. She thought her father hadn’t taught her all that there was to know about a husband and wife joining. That her mother must not know. That her parents could not teach her what they did not know.

Gretl lay, naked, on her blanket among the flowers in the high meadow and considered this thought.

“Sól, guide me. Please teach me something my parents do not know,” she implored the goddess.

Sól heard her and beamed down on her, warm and gentle. Gretl continued to brush the hair between her legs idly back and forth as she felt Sól’s blessing upon her.

Gretl felt happy. The area between her legs began to feel good in a way which was new to her. She spread her legs farther apart and continued to caress the hair there. She decided to pretend that her fingers were her husband and that he was joining with her in their bed as her father had taught her he would do once she was married.

Now Gretl began to feel a new sensation, one which she had only barely begun to feel while lying with her father in his bed. And she knew. This was what she had been seeking. The knowledge her parents didn’t have and couldn’t teach her.

Gretl let the feeling wash through her and thanked Sól for granting her this knowledge. Afterward, she laid back and enjoyed the feeling of joy she felt. “I want to teach this knowledge to my daughters, to Freya, to all women.”

Sól continued to beam down on her.

Gretl noticed two goats nearby; one had mounted the other as she had seen many times. “Do you have another lesson for me, Sól?” she asked. She watched the goats as they joined in their way.

When they had finished, Gretl got up on her knees and bent forward like a goat, she rested an elbow on the blanket and reached her free hand back toward where her legs met. She again pretended that her fingers were her husband. The feeling of great excitement returned and she was soon feeling another flood of joy flowing through her. Her back arched and her body quaked with the sensation.

As the pleasure climaxed, she again thanked Sól for her lesson. When she was through, she flopped forward onto her breasts.

“I will teach my husband this, and he will teach my daughters. I will have to teach Freya once she has become a woman, but before she takes a husband.”

She napped a while and awoke as Sól was preparing to say goodnight.

Gretl smiled at Sól. “If it is OK for a mother to feed her children the way goats feed their children, then surely it is OK for a husband to join with his wife the way goats do. If I want to behave like a goat, then my husband will behave like a goat with me.”

She got dressed and led the goats back home.

One fine autumn afternoon, Gretl was gathering acorns beneath her Rolfson tree when her mother approached. “Gretl dear,” she said.

“Yes, mother,” Gretl replied, looking up from her task.

“Tonight I will need to rest.”

Gretl looked confused. “What? Already? But I have not yet had my period of rest this month.”

“You haven’t? Are you sure?”

“Yes, mother.”

Her mother beamed with pride and kissed her on the forehead. “Oh, this is joyous news, Gretl. It means that you are going to bear a child for your father.”

“I am?”

“Yes, just I bore my first child for my father. This is wonderful.”

“Am I not your first child, mother?”

“No, you are your father’s first child. My first child is your uncle Dag.”

“Uncle Dag is my brother?”

“No, child, he is your uncle.”

“Does he know you bore him?”

“He doesn’t need to know who bore him; he only needs to know who his father is.”

Through that winter, Gretl’s belly became large as her father’s child grew within her womb. She was happy to give her father another child, though she felt it odd that she would be expected to think of the child as her sibling rather than as her own child.

That spring, Gretl gave birth to a boy. When the pain was worst, she loudly invoked the names of several of the gods, asking their blessing on her and her newborn.

Torsten was as perfect as any parents could hope a son would be. His bright, blue eyes had tracked his father’s as he held the squealing newborn up to the day’s setting sun to receive Sól’s blessing.

News of the birth spread quickly and a few days later, Rolf sailed down the fjord to assess Gretl and her newborn, to see for himself that Gretl had produced a healthy child. When he was satisfied, he sat on the bench beneath the Rolfson tree, speaking with Gretl’s father. The men shook hands and Rolf sailed back up the fjord.

Gretl knew not what that meant.

Throughout the following year, Gretl nursed the child. Thanking the gods for granting her the gift of motherhood. Now knowing that she was prepared to be a wife to her husband, a mother to his children.

By the following summer, Torsten had been weaned from Gretl’s breasts and was beginning to walk. Gretl was watching her sister Freya playing with him, showing him how to feed the chickens.

“Gretl dear,” called her mother.

“Yes, mother,” Gretl replied.

“Come, sit.”

Gretl sat beside her mother on the bench beneath her Rolfson tree. “Gretl, what do we call this tree?”

“We have always called it my Rolfson tree.”

“Do you know why we call it that?”

Gretl had never thought about it; it had always been her Rolfson tree. “No, mother.”

“It is because young Lars Rolfson planted it for you when you were a newborn.”

“Why would he do that, mother?”

“To show that he intended for you to be his wife when you were ready. It is a sign of betrothal.”

“Lars is to be my husband?”

“Yes, Gretl dear. Lars will be coming to take you as his wife on Sunnudagr.”

“And Torsten?”

“Torsten will remain here with his father. Your sister and I can take care of him now that he no longer needs to suckle at your breast.”