A/N- Thank you to everyone who's read and especially to everyone who has left me feedback! I'm glad you're enjoying this as much as I am!

Chapter Two

"Alle ville herrer vǽre, ingen ville sǽkken bǽrre."

There are too many chiefs and not enough Indians - Danish proverb

As grateful as he was that his brother, and his brother's lover for that matter, had welcomed him back into the fold with open arms, Uhtred was quickly growing weary of this discussion. With the entire population of Dunholm seemingly packed inside the great hall, it was more suffocating than productive. The ale in their bellies lit a greater fire than the one burning at the center of their gathering - clearly the breeding ground for a rational plan of action.

And a blind man could see that this whole gathering was really just a thinly disguised pissing contest.

He sighed, casting a blank glance at Finan, who was seated several paces behind him with the rest of his men. Finan, ever reliable, lifted his eyes to the ceiling with a slight shake of his head. At least he wasn't the only one feeling like this entire gathering was a fool's errand. From the moment Bloodhair and Haestan had arrived in Dunholm less than a week ago, with the eternal idiot Aethelwold in tow, he'd sensed a shift in his brother and in Brida was well.

Ragnar had always walked with his head held high, proud and confident, and ready to charge into war with little more than an axe at his side. Brida was typically a little more sensible in that she preferred to pause, at least long enough to work through a sound strategy, before lunging in sword first. But with Bloodhair and Haestan's presence in their great hall, they itched with a bloodthirst that was difficult to set aside.

Uhtred was tired. Nearly too tired to bear the weight of where this discussion would surely lead. Heavy with regret and grief. Weary of the witch Brida kept captive in the stables. Terrified of the witch Brida kept captive in the stables. What he truly needed was not to sit in this hall, listening to aimless and faithless men argue about which Saxon fortress to claim first, but a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

He'd been at Dunholm for several months now and had only recently begun to feel wholly himself. The battle wounds and illness he'd barely survived through the journey from Winchester to Dunholm had lingered far longer than he was willing to admit, and even though they said nothing, his men had sensed it too.

And above all, he missed his children and he missed their mother.

"We will take every village and every hall," Bloodhair announced, preening around the center of their gathering like the horse's ass he was. "We will leave nothing but fire in our wake!"

He lifted both arms above his head in a victory he had not yet earned and still, the Danes roared, with Ragnar and Brida among the loudest voices in the entire hall. The sight of it was just as unsettling as the sound.

Unwilling to be outdone by his former adversary and surely one-time ally, Haestan leapt to his feet and all but shoved Bloodhair aside.

"We shall ride to Mercia and Wessex and seize it all!"

More shouts erupted through the hall as Haestan lowered his gaze pointedly to where Uhtred still sat.

"And then I shall pluck the lady Athelflaed from her perch and seize her as well and when I've finished riding her, every man here shall have his turn!" He grabbed his groin and shook it, thrusting violently into the air as the crowd around him roared louder, but Haestan's spiteful gaze never left its target.

Uhtred froze at the mention of that name. It was not a name to be spoken in a place like this, and by a man who wanted nothing more than to make her suffer just because he could. One comment from a pig like Haestan he could stand. It was the laughing and the jeering that nearly did him in. The way the entire hall erupted at the very suggestion of shaming and humiliating the lady. As if she hadn't been shamed and humiliated enough.

But what was far worse was the way Ragnar and Brida joined in, cheering and laughing just as loudly as the rest of them.

And even though every instinct inside him screamed to react, he kept it coiled for now. There would be a time and a place to wipe the smirk from Haestan's face once and for all, but it could not happen as long as Haestan remained allied with his brother. He was sure he would not have to wait too long.

A familiar accent managed to rise above the catcalls and whistling as he called out, "The bounty must be split equally amongst us. Trust me, there is much to be had and if we do not agree on the terms now, we will -"

Ragnar waved him off as he would a fly. "We shall talk of bounty when there is bounty to be had."

Aethelwold's face flushed red with an impulsive, haughty anger that Uhtred recognized all too well. "Mercia alone has more wealth than Dunholm and Hedeby combined."

Once again, Uhtred's pulse leapt and stuttered in his veins. He could not be sure if this continued discussion of Mercia was meant to antagonize him or if Aethelwold was truly so dense that he would willfully insert himself into matters that had nothing to do with him.

Ragnar, however, didn't hide his intrigue. "And you've seen this wealth?"

"Yes," Aethelwold nodded eagerly. "Aethelred himself lives in luxury inside Aegelsburg's walls. I cannot speak to the estate of Lady Aethelflaed in Saltwic, but if it is anything like her husband's, it must surely be taken as well."

Uhtred inhaled purposefully, releasing it just as slowly to maintain some pretense of composure. Even if the turd wasn't trying to goad him, he was still succeeding.

"You do not speak of rumor?" Bloodhair pressed him, stepping toward him with a menace that commanded all eyes on him. "You've seen it with your own eyes?"

Aethelwold, seeing an opportunity as plain as the nose on his face, grinned. "Yes, Lord. I have. I was there just a few days before coming to Dunholm."

This time, however, Uhtred was unable to mask his reaction. His head snapped to the right, levelling a hard glare at the man who'd been nothing but a thorn in his side since the day they met. What had Aethelwold been doing in Aegelsburg just days before joining up with the Danes? What other purpose could a visit like that serve but to incite chaos and treachery?

And like the fool he was, Aethelwold sneered.

It seemed as though he was the only one in the room, save for his men, that heard Aethelwold with a rational mind. They only thought of silver and how they could spend it. Such thoughts would only lead to quick ruin and certain death and Uhtred was not yet ready to knock at the gates of Valhalla.

"It will never work," Uhtred threw out casually, cocking his head to the side in thought. He could not hide his satisfaction when the sniveling grin slipped from Aethelwold's face.

Ragnar stilled from across the gathering fire, but he did not speak. Instead, Bloodhair charged on, ready to rage his way through any and every obstacle in his path.

"And why is that?" he demanded.

Uhtred shrugged. "Because once we have taken our plunder, we will all turn on each other. There are too many men in this hall who would like to be leader and not enough who trust each other. There can only be one leader, not three."

"Or four," Aethelwold seethed.

Uhtred lifted an eyebrow. "Or five, it would seem."

His gaze dropped to Ragnar, who still had not moved from his spot next to Brida.

"It must be Ragnar who leads," Uhtred nodded to him.

"And why is that, Dane-slayer?" Haestan spat out, subtly brushing his fingertips against the dagger at his hip.

He just huffed out a laugh. As if that would threaten him.

"Because Ragnar is the only one each of us can trust completely," Uhtred explained as though he were speaking to a child. "That is the only way this stands a fighting chance of actually working."

Rumbling echoed in the great hall as low murmurs of agreement spread through the room. At least the majority seemed to understand that the path to victory could not be paved by three would-be chieftains, each one working toward their own individual goal. And it was not familial bias that led Uhtred to name Ragnar as leader.

Ragnar was born to lead. He inspired the loyalty and faith of all those around him. People needed a man to follow and they needed to follow a man with ambitions worthy of their lives. Wealth and bounty may very well be worthy enough for some of the Danes here, but for Uhtred, for his men, for Brida, the fight needed to be worthy too.

Even Bloodhair and Haestan stalled in their pursuit. They knew Ragnar was the best choice, no matter how much they despised that truth.

Uhtred knew he would follow his brother to the ends of the earth and back, but when the discussion shifted to unseating Alfred, his heart plummeted into his stomach. As Ragnar outlined a good, sound plan of action that could actually work, Uhtred remained silent. There were times when Ragnar paused, looking to his brother for reassurance, for confidence, and each time, Uhtred nodded, but he could not speak.

Despite everything Alfred had done to him, despite all suffering he had caused him, Uhtred still could not bring himself to participate in his downfall. Wasn't it enough that he was finally reunited with his brother and with Brida? Why did the gods curse him this way?

The witch, a voice whispered to him. She is the cause of all your misfortune.

Yes, it was the witch who was responsible. The witch who'd bound his destiny so tightly with her black magic.

It was those dark thoughts that weighed on him as his brother once again declared him a Dane. He repeated it, not necessarily because he believed it, but because he wanted it to be true. He wanted to forget the way his fate was irrevocably tied to Alfred's. He wanted to forget the oaths he'd sworn, the promises he'd made because it was just easier that way.

Declaring himself a Dane would not make him forget and he knew it.

Perhaps that was why he found himself seeking out the turd. He needed answers and he hadn't needed to look very hard to find them. Aethelwold sat leisurely inside the nearest alehouse with one hand clutching a cup as the other awkwardly slid up the skirts of the woman sitting on his lap.

Uhtred lifted his eyes to the ceiling and blew out a deep breath. The turd would never learn and he would never change. And so he sank down on the stool next to him under the guise of false pretenses.

"Ah, my lord," Aethelwold lifted his cup to him in drunken greeting. "Good to see you up and about. I was told you were unwell for quite some time."

Uhtred did not give him an inch. Instead, a light grin touched his lips as he reached for his own cup of ale. "And I see you are as stupid as ever."

As the jovial grin slipped from his face, Aethelwold shoved the woman off his lap and leaned in menacingly, effectively proving Uhtred's observation correct. Uhtred smirked at him and took a long pull from his cup, taunting the pig's ass without needing to say a word.

"You cannot disrespect me here," Aethelwold murmured, his eyes narrowing into dark slits. "I am allied with Bloodhair and Haestan now and they are not particularly fond of you, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, slayer of Danes. I am sure they would not need much reason to fight you."

Uhtred huffed out an amused laugh, but his eyes never left the sorry excuse for a man sitting to his left. "Bloodhair and Haestan would never fight anyone over you and if that is what you believe," he shook his head and lifted his cup in a mock-toast, "then you are even stupider than I thought."

"Do not call me -"

He leaned in closer, forcing Aethelwold to instinctively retreat like the coward he was. "What are you playing at?"

Aethelwold lifted his chin in defiance. "I am playing no game."

"You are," Uhtred prodded. "Joining up with the Danes? It is a game and you will not win."

"Trust me, I do not see it as a game. It is an opportunity."

Uhtred cocked an eyebrow and chuckled. "Ah. So you want to claim Alfred's throne for your own then?"

Rage flashed across Aethelwold's sneering face. "I am going to claim what has always been mine. I would think you of all people would understand."

"Your place is in an alehouse in Wessex with a whore in your lap. I suggest you go there before you find a sword through your throat."

Even that not-so-subtle threat was enough to bring the dog to heel.

"My place is on the throne of Wessex with a crown about my head," Aethelwold bit out and slammed his cup down onto the table. "Aligning myself with the Danes will only bring about Alfred's downfall sooner."

"And what of your visit to Aegelsburg then, hmm? What purpose could that visit serve if not to plot mischief?"

Aethelwold's lips spread in a knowing grin. "Not to fret, Lord Uhtred. The lady was not there. I am told she prefers her own company over her husband's."

Good, Uhtred thought, better she keep as much distance as possible between her and the bastard who calls himself her husband.

"I was purely paying my good friend, Lord Aethelred, a visit before joining my allies in the North. And," Aethelwold allowed slyly, "of course, while I was there, I encouraged my good friend to consider his own alliances and his own ambitions after I become king of Wessex."

He shook his head and blew out a deep breath. "Of course you did."

Aethelwold seized on the moment Uhtred took another drink from his cup and leaned in. "This is not a game to me, Uhtred. I will reclaim what is mine and I do not care if you get in my way."

Uhtred downed the rest of his cup's contents, set it on the table with a heavy thud, and pushed to his feet. "Your stupidity never ceases to amaze me."

He did not wait to hear the turd's cocksure response. There was a bed waiting for him, although he suspected he would be hard-pressed find any rest tonight.

THE NEXT MORNING found Uhtred bleary-eyed and just as exhausted as he was the day before. Rest had only found him for a few precious hours at a time and he'd spent most of the night tossing and turning, unsettled by the events of the day before. Not even morning ale and a meal with his men could cure the churning in his stomach.

And, as Finan, Osferth, and Sihtric shared a glance, it seemed his day was about to get worse before it even really began. He took a long gulp from his cup, mentally preparing himself for whatever was to come, and the air hung thick around them before Finan finally spoke.

"My lord," he started hesitantly, his Irish brogue catching on each syllable. He glanced at Sihtric, who nodded, and then pressed on. "I came here to rest and eat and drink and perhaps find a woman, not necessarily in that order."

Uhtred blew out a breath with a nod, which only served to spurn Finan on.

"None of us came here to join in a battle against Alfred and Wessex. Those are our people, our homes, our families -"

"My wife and child are in Wessex, Lord," Sihtric cut in sharply. "I cannot fight against Wessex."

Uhtred nodded wearily and ran a hand over his face. He had anticipated this - it was a wonder they had not said something sooner. Their logic was sound and reasonable and by gods, he could not blame them. They had given him nearly everything they had for years, fighting for Alfred and his causes faithfully at his side. How could he ask them to flip their loyalties this way? How could he expect them to follow him blindly into what would surely be the biggest mistake of his life?

At the end of the day, he knew that if he pressed the matter, if he required it, they would follow. But they would not be willing, their hearts and minds would not be in it, and they would most likely lose their lives because of it.

Perhaps he needed to rethink his own declarations as well.

"If we are to fight, Lord," Finan continued, his voice nearly shaking with resolve. "Let it be for a cause we can fight for. Let it be for a cause we can be proudto die for."

"Yes," Osferth's careful, timid voice called out from across the table. "All this talk of raiding against Alfred...it does not feel right, Lord Uhtred. And I do not much care for Bloodhair and Haelstan. If I am to die in battle, I do not want it to be next to one of them."

He nodded once more but all words had left him. How was one supposed to respond to this anyway? It was only fair that they give him a few minutes to digest both their dissent and his breakfast.

"Give me a moment," he gestured to the half-eaten meal in front of him, noting the apprehension creeping into Finan's eyes.

Perhaps his mind was already made up. Perhaps stalling, dragging this out, was only to soothe his aching conscious. If he acted as though he was torn, it would be easier to convince himself that was true. If Ragnar or Brida, gods Brida - if they knew how easily he could be convinced to leave them, if he'd be lucky if all he received was their disgust and not a sword through his throat.

And maybe that alone was why he and his men would be better off leaving Dunholm sooner rather than later, although he had no idea where they were supposed to go from here. What purpose they could possibly serve. He could not see any of them resting easy for months, let alone years, without the call of the battlefield.

And maybe that was why his heart leapt into his throat at the sight of Father Beocca and his sister, Thyra, ride through the gates of Dunholm.

"Is that my sister?" Ragnar exclaimed, pushing through the gathering crowd and yanking his sister right from her horse and into his waiting arms. "Oh, look at you. You are so beautiful."

Thyra pushed back at him playfully with a wide grin and Uhtred could not help but smile sadly at the display. There was a time when he used to feel as though he belonged alongside them - Ragnar, Brida, even Thyra, who was still so rooted in her Danish heritage, regardless of her marriage. Now, though, he felt like he was on the outside looking in.

Still, he stepped forward to embrace his sister and kiss her cheek. "Hello, Thyra. It is good to see you."

"And it is good to see you," she told him softly. "My brother."

Something in Thyra's eyes unnerved him. While they held their usual, slightly unnatural gleam, there was a sadness in them, coupled with what seemed like relief to see him. It confounded him, even in his happiness to see her.

So he turned his attention to her husband, who had already slid off his horse to greet him. "Father Beocca. It is good to see you as well."

They embraced for a moment, and Uhtred felt it again - the heaviness he'd seen in Thyra's eyes, he felt in the priest's embrace. Something had happened. Something, other than the reason they were about to give, had brought them here.

"What brings you here?" Ragnar called out from behind him, with an arm slung around Brida's shoulders.

Beocca shrugged a little too easily. "My wife wished to visit one brother while making sure the other was still alive."

At Ragnar's pointed glance, Thyra nodded emphatically with a shy grin.

"It is true," she affirmed, looking from brother to the other. "I wished to see both of you - I've missed you so."

That seemed good enough for Ragnar, but it was not quite enough to convince Uhtred.

"Come now," Ragnar gestured with his head toward the great hall and tucked his sister in closer. "Let us get you some food and some drink. We have much to catch up on."

Uhtred watched them as they passed, with Brida right behind them, and was about to join them when he felt a hand on his arm. The priest stood a few paces to his left with a solemn expression in his dark eyes.

"My lord," he murmured lowly. "Perhaps there is a place where we can go to talk?"

It wasn't a question as much as it was a request, and Uhtred had learned long ago that it was best not to keep the priest waiting too long. Careful to make sure this shift in mood had gone unnoticed, Uhtred led the priest back to his breakfast table, where his men still sat. At a quick gesture of his head, they stood, gathered what was left of their meals and their drinks, and left them to the table. Beocca did not waste any time and sank down onto the bench.

The air was heavy between them, thick with anticipation because Uhtred knew that whatever it was the priest was about to say - it was not good.

"Father," Uhtred pressed, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced around to make sure no one was listening or watching their exchange and only found his men standing a respectful, but purposeful distance away.

The priest nodded with a brief smile that faded just as quickly as it flashed across his face. "I am here for the Lady Athelflaed."

All of the air seemed to leave his lungs at once. Some secret part of him had known this, had feared hearing the words for reasons he could not quite comprehend. Now, all he could do was sit here at this table and let whatever news the priest was about to bring crash into him.

"What about her?"

With a nod, the priest leaned forward, clearly sensing that Uhtred would hang onto every word he said. "She fears her husband will kill her, and her child as well, and I fear she may very well be correct."

Uhtred squeezed his eyes shut as the memory flooded over him.

"Lord Uhtred," her once-solemn face seemed to light up at the sight of him. "You have risked everything because you came when I called you. I cannot thank you enough."

He crossed his arms over his chest, careful to keep the distance between them. "I only wish he had survived, Lady."

A sad smile lifted her lips, then faded. They stood in silence for a few moments, and Uhtred could no longer set aside what he knew to be true, what he knew of her true reason for wanting to flee with Erik as far as he could take her.

"Lady," he began slowly, unsure how to tread on these unfamiliar grounds. "Surely, there must be some way to -"

Her sharp, nearly shaking voice cut him off. "There is nothing that can be done. I am to return to Mercia," she glanced down at her hands as her bottom lip began to tremble. "And, I fear I may have only made my circumstances worse."

He had not known which new piece of knowledge was worse: that she was with child or that she feared for her life, and now, the life of her unborn child as well. Because he could not bring himself to focus on the former, his attention shifted firmly to the latter. And because he could not deny her - he had never really been able to deny her anything - he'd sworn yet another oath. It was the only oath he'd ever given freely and it seemed the priest was here to collect on the lady's behalf.

The priest flashed him an understanding smile and folded his hands tightly together at the table as he leaned in. "I can only tell you what I have seen. Although what I have seen, and what Thyra has seen, is bad enough, I fear what has happened behind closed doors is far worse."

He paused at that and swallowed hard, as if the memory alone was worth a lifetime of nightmares. Uhtred nodded wordlessly for him to continue because his voice had left him.

"Thyra and I were to visit Mercia at the behest of Alfred. There were rumors whispered in Winchester that his daughter's husband was mad and that he spent his days drunk in Aegelsburg. Alfred was concerned, and rightfully so. When we arrived, it was clear that something was not quite right and then at supper, Lord Aethelred proceeded to drink his weight in wine and insult his wife in front of us at his every opportunity. Some of the things he said...they are unspeakable, Lord, and I will not repeat them here. I even threatened to take what I'd heard back to Alfred, but Lord Aethelred was not moved."

The priest ran a hand over his bald head and squeezed his eyes shut at the memory. "He called the lady a whore and the child a bastard right in front of us. He did not even care we had heard it."

Uhtred let out a slow, controlled breath. His hands clenched into tight fists underneath the table and itched for his sword. And yet, the priest was not finished.

"The lady came to us in the middle of the night and shook us from our sleep. Even in the darkness…" he trailed off for a moment, swallowed tightly, and then pressed on. "Even in the darkness, her injuries could not be missed. She had been beaten, Lord. Severely. And viciously."

He felt as though he had been socked in the stomach. Of all the things he had expected the priest to say, it was not this. Something so unimaginable. So abhorrent and despicable. For the life of him, he could not bring himself to picture her face - the bruising, the devastation, the blood - and it was all he could do to keep himself from leaping from this table, finding the first horse he could get his hands on, riding into Aegelsburg, and driving his sword right into the bastard's face.

"My lord," Beocca's quiet voice called out to him. "I do not know for certain - the lady would not say when Thyra asked, but...I believe he beat her and then forced himself on her. The look in her eye...I've seen that same look in Thyra. It was wild and desperate and petrified...we could not refuse her."

It was a wonder his stomach did not empty itself all over this table. He was going to be sick, he was sure of it. He was going to put his fist through the nearest beam, he was sure of it. He was going to kill her husband, he was sure of it.

"She asked us to bring her to you because you are the only man she can truly trust."

At that, his senses shook back to life and his gaze shot up to the priest. "She is here?"

"She is," Father Beocca confirmed with a sad nod. "We left her a safe distance away - she's made camp there with several of her men."

"And the child?"

"She sent the child to a nunnery in Saltwic with two her of servants. She believed her husband would not suspect she'd separate herself from her child. He will be searching for the lady herself, really, and she believed the child was safer apart from her than beside her, and I fear she may be correct."

In some respects, the lady was far safer in Mercia than she was in Dunholm, and surely she had to have known that. But if she was that desperate, that terrified, that harmed, there could be no doubt what the priest was saying was true.

Sensing his thoughts, the priest leaned in yet again. "I tried to convince her to go to Alfred but she would hear none of it. And, in the moment, it was more important to get her away from her husband than anything else. There was no time to think of a less foolhardy plan."

He couldn't blame him - couldn't blame any of them. In the heat of the moment, the sheer panic of it, he could not imagine he would have done much different. However, sitting here in Dunholm, he had knowledge they did not.

"She cannot stay - at least not for long," Uhtred murmured under his breath. "Haestan is here and he has not forgotten her."

The priest's eyes squeezed shut as his head dropped into hands. "Oh...this is...I fear I have made a terrible mistake. I never should have listened to the lady - I should've begged her, pleaded with her -"

"And she still would not have listened," he reassured the priest. "I know the lady just as well as you do. She could never have been persuaded."

With a tight nod, the priest blew out a deep sigh and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "I believe I speak for the lady as well when I say I did not bring her to Dunholm to cause you trouble, Lord."

"I know."

The priest shook his head with a mirthless laugh. "I have done what was asked of me. I do not know what else to do."

Uhtred nodded solemnly and inhaled deeply, his hands clenching underneath the table. "I know."

"What will you do, Lord?"

He stared at a crack in the table for a moment, his thoughts tangled and tossed in the scatter. "How much distance sits between her and Dunholm?"

"A little less than half a day's ride."

Uhtred nodded, satisfied with that knowledge. A safe distance away, that was for sure. At least for now. "I need a moment. Once I've decided what to do, I will find you and send you to give her my message."

For a moment, Father Beocca shot forward, leaning into his elbows with concern and disbelief written on his face. "My Lord, you cannot refuse her. She said you have sworn an oath. She asked me to bring her to you because she said you are the only man she can truly trust. You cannot abandon her now."

Uhtred's eyes fell to his clenched hands resting on his lap underneath the table. It pained him that the priest would think so little of him, would think him capable of disavowing his word and his loyalty. There was never a question of whether he would help her. Even if he had not given an oath, he knew he would've been riding out to meet her anyway.

The question was a matter of how and when.

"Do not worry, Father," he told the priest firmly, feeling the promise of every word surge through him. "The lady need not worry either."

Destiny, maybe that's what this was. Best to look it in the eye.