"Now tuck it in, with the soil," she instructs. "Be gentle."
She watches her son's small hands – streaked with black dirt – obediently push the tender loam around the seedling's slim stalk. Still a little more roughly than how she would have done herself, but Thor can reduce them all to mulch for all she cares. He leans back into the hollow of her crouched position when he finishes, and she smiles into the top of his blond head, though he cannot see her face.
"Well done, Thor."
He peers up to beam at her, unknowingly reciprocating her expression.
"Your turn, Loki?" She says.
Her other one – crouching beside them so patiently! Her adoration almost swallows her whole – nods enthusiastically. His own smile squishes his cheeks upwards into almost eclipsing his often-solemn eyes.
Five saplings later, a courier – a young man – is there with a message that must pull her away from them. After nodding her thanks and dismissal, she asks her sons earnestly: "Can I trust you two to continue this for me? I have to go meet with some people in charge of other realms for a while. Gunvert will remain with you." The nursemaid nods from beside the bed of pink gladioli.
The two also nod up at her, resolutely – she knows they will try plant all the saplings before she returns. She touches the tops of their heads softly before she whisks away.
"Oh. My dears..."
Perhaps it is a shame, from the perspective of a gardener (or of general aesthetics), but she presses her lips together to hold in laughter. They watch her expectantly, nudging each other.
"You've done a wonderful job! Thank you."
Her sons beam through dark soil stains and the scent of bruised grass, exchanging proud glances. The wildflowers – evolved for winter, so weeded out previously to make room for new summertime florae – waved scruffily in the breeze next to the five earlier saplings. She praises the neatness of their work, noting to herself to ask the gardeners later if there are spaces elsewhere for the intended plants.
The soil is cool against her fingertips as she sends magic into the ground. She imagines the energy absorbing into the wildflower roots, like rainwater or nutrients would. Now, her sons' winter plants would flourish better than the originally planned ones, when otherwise Asgard's warm weather would stunt them.
They are heading to Somewhere Else – they often are, these days – but they always stop at her garden if it is on the way. This morning, she said she was to meet with the Jotun commodity exchange committee.
Loki nudges Thor's shoulder. He points at the bed of remarkably tall wildflowers – lush reds, sugary pink, cloud white with bursts of baby blue – as customary.
"Remember? They thrive, with her magic."
A corner of Thor's mouth tweaked upwards. "Of course I remember."
That was customary, too.
Thor is heading to Somewhere Else – he often is, these days – but stops to stare at the garden. His heart clenches to think that she tends to it no longer. And now Loki, too, cannot see their old handiwork of mistaken shrubbery and soil.
The wildflowers barely hold themselves upright, like spent soldiers. They look strangely undersized. Like magic had been lost.
Thor bows his head when he walks on.
Prompt 1: "Character A and B accidentally destroy something. Character A says they must own up to it. Character B wants to run from the security guards"
Prompt 2: "You're in my spot"
Prompt 3: "Planting a new garden/In a garden"
