The life around the villa remained much the same, despite the electricity of the new King, and no notice of Lhyrie's return to society was made by anyone, including the court. Not that she expected such. She was, as Prince Aethelred so told her, a heathen and an outsider. Her removal from their way of life was probably better for them, more carefree, less fearful; less of a reminder of the threat that still remained at York.
Alfred made an effort for her to be included back in the ways of Winchester, but he also had the new responsibilities of the Kingdom upon his young shoulders, and thus she was but one more strain upon him. Despite her freedom from her rooms, she stayed mostly confined in them still, as not feel the eyes lurking upon her of the townspeople, to avoid the shift in the air around the Villa. And, the season still remained unseasonably cool and the fires illuminating her rooms provided more comfort than any conversation she could share.
Despite this, Queen Judith insisted on Lhyrie joining her one afternoon in the ramparts above the courtyard. It was a gloomy day, with fog filing the air and the dew lingered under the sleeves of her dress, the chill in the air giving her goosebumps. The dowager queen's niece was due in the Winchester – the potential bride for the new King, and the Queen was dressed in the finest clothes Lhyrie had seen her in since her husband's passing.
"The weather has been strange since Aethelwulf left us," Judith commented, almost absentmindedly, focused somewhere among the low clouds.
"The north winds are strong," Lhyrie added, as politely and absently as she could. She didn't like small talk to begin with, let alone after being forced to engage in it. She instantly regretting saying 'north', as the word had been avoided since York and the Northmen, with people instead used 'far'. "The far winds are strong." She disliked the saying.
She could feel Judith stiffen beside her, leaning on the railing of the rampart, looking toward the dull afternoon sky. "I'm sorry, my lady," Lhyrie gulped quickly, no actual apology in her voice.
"The wind is from the North," she breathed quietly, just above the blowing winds, which tangled her long hair. "I am from the North. Did you know that?" She asked just as quietly.
"I am sorry for York," Lhyrie said to her, the dowager queen's eyes still fixed on the nothingness but clouds around them.
"It was not you," Judith told her, turning slightly toward Lhyrie, even though she did feel she was responsible. Lhyrie had joined Ubbe and Hvitserk and Ivar in the interrogation of those poor boys, the planning of the overthrow of the city, the conquering of York. Even though her sword was not swung on the taking of York, her words were very much apart of it.
"But it was your home." She could not imagine how she would feel if Kattegat was burned and pillaged by those deemed foreign. She would be full of rage, wishing to defend her hometown, she wondered if those born in royalty would. "Would you do anything for it?" She asked without thinking.
Queen Judith paused, she rolled her shoulders back in a regal stance. "That is why I went with my sons and husband to the front lines – to defend her."
She flashed back to York, the camps, the nausea in the waiting for battle. She did regret it. They could've made negotiations before it, as if they did, she wouldn't be here now, without Ubbe, alone and pregnant speaking a strange tongue.
"Do you wish you did more?" She asked swiftly, without repent.
"I had my words," she said, "Women have no need for a sword. Our words can cut daggers if needed."
It was Lhyrie's turn to pause. Despite her recent stance of battle and not swinging a sword herself, she still felt if Kattegat needed defending, she would be on her shores defending her, using more than just her words to support the city she was raised in. "Of course, my lady," she said, cutting her own daggers in the encroaching clouds around them.
A guard came up behind them and whispered something to the Queen just out of earshot of Lhyrie. She did notice a movement of guards scattered around the concourse, their heavy footsteps deadened in the heavy fog. She could feel the Queen tighten beside her.
"Are you alright, my lady?" Lhyrie asked, careful her tone wasn't too inquisitive.
"Yes," she said, equally as careful. "The guards have noticed a company in route."
It would be strange tone to take if the company was her niece and future daughter. Prince Aethelred positioned himself on the edge of the courtyard. Clearly something of danger was coming. Despite the unknown, she felt butterflies in her stomach from the suspense.
"The guards would not be on such high alert with the arrival of your niece," Lhyrie stated, not a question in her tone, noticing the ever encroaching men of metal around the courtyard. Clearly if something was happening, the Queen's guard would whisk her away rather than whisper in her ear.
"A Viking ship was seen on the river days ago," Judith admitted, not looking toward Lhyrie, who straightened her stance quickly.
Her heart began to race. She was surprised she had not heard the rumors twirling among the Villa, a Viking ship so close would have trudged up some fear. "We are not awaiting the arrival of your niece, are we?" Lhyrie asked quietly. She wasn't sure if she was fearful or excited.
"No, we are," Judith answered with a small, lifeless smile. "The guards believe it is just a scout. This, of course, is precautionary," she motioned to the soldiers in the courtyard. "Only God knows what would happen if that scout crosses path with my future daughter."
The Viking ship must be Ubbe's, she was near certain of it. For the first time in months, she was confident her life would continue with his. She knew how life was traveling with a crew; it was slow and tedious. As much as she wanted Ubbe here at Winchester, he also needed to lead his men, and that takes time. Lhyrie drew a long breath and sent a prayer to Odin to keep him safe near the river. Hopefully, the King's men didn't take the matter into their own hands and transport him here in a cage.
And so they waited, what seemed like hours but the soldiers hadn't moved, nor had Aethelred from his spot. Her nerves only grew as the excitement built, excitement for whichever party arrived first: the Queen's niece or the Viking. She was hoping at least one would arrive today and break the eerie silence hovering about the Villa.
More movement began to sway within the troops lining the walls. Whispers began to grow, with many squinting out into the fog. The fields in front of the Villa were an immense cloud. Lhyrie could hardly see in front of the main gate from her position, let alone what the men were curious about. She noticed Aethelred nod and the gates swung upon, but nothing was there. The sounds of metal, of men shifting their weight fluttered and drifted back to silence.
Then ever so softly, the clack of hooves drifted from far away. The sound echoed off every nook in the courtyard and sent a chill down Lhyrie's spine. It was the sound of a single horse, tired and weary, a slow barge of feet. Archers notched their bows pointing into the unknown.
"Friðr!" A hoarse voice called from the clouds. Another shiver radiated down her spine. "Friðr!" He called again. Peace. The soldiers were shifting again, anxious with fear. Lhyrie could feel the tension in their bows as their strings were pulled ever tighter, the strain felt under her own fingertips.
Through the fog, the slight outline of a horse and rider emerged. The rider's arms were out open, palms facing up, a confidence in the stance that reminded her of Ragnar. His hood was pulled up, the green cloth shielding his face. Her breath caught in the back of her throat.
Despite the difference in circumstance, her mind flashed back to the day in the Great Hall, after Lagertha had taken Kattegat, when Sigurd and Ubbe rode home alone and aware of only the unknown. Except this time he appeared to be unarmed and her nerves rocketed ever higher. She could not see his axe on his waist nor a sword. Creeping closer to the gate, the tension could be cut by a sword if he had one.
"Halt!" Aethelred demanded in Saxon. The rider continued, the archers moving their bows with him. Her hands shot to grasp the railing in front of her. "Halt!" Aethelred demanded again, slightly flustered. The rider was completely inside the courtyard now when the horse stopped. She breathed a sigh of relief, but the arrows were still locked on him, his arms still out.
"Peace," the rider said in Saxon, slowly moving to lower his hood.
The only thing she could think of was how thin he looked; or how tired he looked, the stress of the past months worn on his skin. She wanted to scream and run to him, but a rush of wind behind her told her a guard had moved behind her. Not daring to pull her eyes from the courtyard, she stayed forward. Any false move from anyone now and she could risk an arrow in him.
"I only want peace," Ubbe said hoarsely. "And my wife to be returned to me."
Aethelred paused for a moment. "Ubbe, son of Ragnar," he said after a time. "My men would have escorted you here if we had known."
Lhyrie could see Ubbe's mouth twitch in an unweary smile. "In fact you have," he coughed. "Your scouts could be tracked if I was blind," he stated bluntly. "Perhaps, it is unnerving for you that I am not imprisoned." Ubbe had moved his hands in front of him, holding onto the reigns of his tired horse and leaned slightly back, a hubristic posture for having a hundred arrows pointed at him.
"That is not something my most gracious King would want," Aethelred countered. Despite his young age, he was maintaining his composure well, his first time one-to-one with a Northman, and son of Ragnar at that. "We have, after all, cared for your pregnant wife while you have been gone."
"Where is your father, Prince? I would rather negotiate with him and not a boy."
Aethelred snickered lowly. The tension remained fixed in the center of the courtyard. It reminded her of a duel, their stance paces apart, eyes locked to one another. However, the multitude of arrows fixed at one opponent quickly dismissed that thought.
"The King is in consilium currently," Aethelred told him, "And can not break it to receive you. I assure you, my brother sends his full regards."
Ubbe chuckled. "Is this Christian hospitality?"
She drew her breath sharp. He seemed too reckless, too confident; as though this was his stronghold, and not Alfred's. Perhaps he had thought he had taken Winchester once… then she remembered Sigurd died in this courtyard. How was Ubbe grieving for his brother, not long ago celebrating with him here? Was Sigurd's ghost following him in the fog? Unless Ubbe had troops moving to overtake Winchester, this was only a façade, one needed to confront his the place of his brother's death and of where Lhyrie was torn from him.
"Of course not, son of Ragnar," Aethelred added with a soft smile. "Please, disembark your horse. We can provide you dry clothes if needed while you wait for the King."
Ubbe groaned as he slowly lowered from his horse. She heard his knees creak as they straightened on the uneven ground. "I would to prefer to know my wife is safe," he grumbled, feeling for the small bundle that rested behind him on his horse. He pulled his axe from blankets and Lhyrie could feel tension grow in the bow strings still aimed at him.
"I can not permit you to have weapons at this time," Aethelred said sternly. He shifted uncomfortably in his spot, but maintained composure in his voice.
Ubbe flipped his axe casually and laughed a cool, low laugh. For a moment, Lhyrie thought he was going to throw it at him in spite, that same look he had while his brothers were blood-eagling Aelle. Judith shivered next to her, as though she felt it too.
"If those are your terms," he added slowly, and lowered his axe back to its resting spot. Lhyrie could feel Judith release the breath she was holding, and felt the the tension lessen around them. In fact, the fog was starting to lift and streaks of light fought to break through. "Now… where is my wife?"
The guard was still behind her or Lhyrie would have ran to him then. She had half a notion to push past them anyway but the arrows still fixed on Ubbe in the courtyard halted her thought. Surprisingly, the Queen cleared her throat. "Please, Aethelred, let us fully welcome Prince Ubbe."
Aethelred nodded and the archers loosened their grip, the stress and strain of the past hour relieved. The fog still clouded some of the courtyard, as it took Ubbe a moment to find where the Queen's voice rang from. He bowed his head slightly toward Judith and caught his breath when he saw Lhyrie next to her.
A smile erupted from Lhyrie when they locked eyes for what felt the first time in a lifetime. Longer the time felt now than when she returned from Frankia, longer than the years spent young in Kattegat. Each heartbeat that past now took eons until they could touch, to embrace, to spend together. She tried to hid her pure relief but it was the warmest, fullest she felt in months and it beamed through her.
"You are with child," Judith reminded her, softly. Then cheekily added, "He can come to you." The Queen then turned on her heel, down the rampart stairs, her guards trailing behind her, leaving Lhyrie standing awkwardly in the palisade, much like Ubbe alone in the center courtyard.
Alone now, she couldn't resist. Carefully, much too slowly than she wanted, she took the steps down the rampart stairs. The steps were stone and too slick for her to move fast, especially with her awkward gait, she needed her full concentration.
"Should I wait another six months while you climb down?" Lhyrie jerked her head up to see him at the bottom of the stairs.
"Please don't," she smirked. Ubbe flashed a smile and bound up the steps. Despite the small stairway, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He smelt like dust and sweat and everything she wanted.
Pushing his forehead to hers, he breathed deep. "Why didn't you tell me," he whispered almost pleading, one hand cradled the back of her neck, the other around her growing belly.
"I didn't realize."
"I should have never taken you with us." She knew he had been replaying that night every night she wasn't with him. No wonder he looked so worn down, his thoughts were beating him thin.
"Let me tell you something Ubbe," she said sternly, pulling him to look into her eyes. She had months to think too. "I will not be left behind. Wherever you go, I go too. Whatever you do, I will do too. Even to the ends of the earth. You will wear me like an axe on your hip."
A smile creeped on his lips, nodding softly. "Is that right?" He kissed her softly then paused, "Don't tease me with the thought of you on my hip," he groaned into her hair.
She cradled him close and kissed his forehead. "What took you so long?" She whispered, not truly caring for the answer now that he was here.
"Kattegat." He answered too quickly. "Hvitserk and Ivar are going to attack."
"Should we go to them?" She asked cautiously.
"No," he shook his head, hiding something from her. "They do what they want."
Ubbe's head was still buried in her hair and she couldn't see his face, but his voice sounded cold and she could see his eyes piercing anger with his words. The tension between Ivar and him following York worsened, she guessed. It was not the time to ask about the discourse. The baby shifted restlessly in her belly. She smiled. "Give me your hand," she demanded.
Ubbe perked up and held out his hand. Lhyrie placed his palm against the baby's kick. A smile flicked the tension from behind his eyes.
"It has been ages since Heimdallr has been this active." The baby kicked again.
"Heimdallr?" Ubbe asked, not wanting to look up from the small pulse pushing against his hand. "Please don't name him Heimdallr."
"I've been dreaming of the sea -," interrupted by a rush of metal steps.
"King Alfred commands your presence," a guard grumbled.
"Commands?" Ubbe countered. He was being too aggressive, Lhyrie thought. She knew very well how the months passed with resentment, it boiled in her as well, but this attitude would not win favors with the court, even with someone as understanding as Alfred.
Ubbe grabbed her hand and squeezed reassuringly as they followed behind the guards. This man was different than the man that rode in on the tired horse. He was reinvigorated, fresh – hopefully more level headed, but there was still tension gripping his shoulders. He had six months to think about these negotiations – more so than the hours after York.
Following behind the guards through the maze of the grounds, Lhyrie wondered for the first time, if the ghosts of their conquest here followed them too, following Ubbe back in these halls. Was Sigurd trapped here with her all this time?
Her thoughts were stopped by the heavy door of the great hall before them. It was Alfred on the other side, she told herself. Unlike the dread of when she spoke with Aethelred, she was more at ease with the man sitting on the throne now.
The doors opened with a rush of mustiness that the hall enveloped with disuse lately. Alfred was standing next to the throne, a shadow in the dimness of the large room. Only a handful of candles were lit, casting a low light in the grand room.
"King Alfred," Ubbe spoke slowly and carefully, "I am -,"
"I am aware of who you are."
The words were too stark from Alfred. Her ease left her body. Heimdallr squirmed restlessly, sensing her. Ubbe straightened and remained silent.
"I have every intention of honoring my grandfathers pledges of land."
She shouldn't be shocked by his actions. Alfred was smart, he clearly thought of every outcome prior to speaking, this conversation no different. She did not expect that proposition, however, given the Viking fear that still radiated through the Villa.
"My court does not agree with this decision," he added. "But, I'm not foolish enough not to recognize your potential for my kingdom."
Of all the possibilities, Lhyrie did not think this was would come from when Ubbe came to her. She didn't think they would be able to leave without restriction out the gates of Wessex, but acres of land to settle in England was nowhere near her thoughts. For one of the first times she's known him, Ubbe wasn't sure of what to say. She squeezed his hand and never wanted to let go.
As the birds sang and the flowers bloomed into sweet bliss, the first of the Viking harvest was planted the following year. Lhyrie cradled Ragnar to her shoulder as the return of summer swept through the English countryside and she breathed in the wind curling her hair. Ubbe gave the horse pulling their cart an encouraging pat and they arrived to the start of their next adventure together.