The strain lingered.
Their bed was shared, the meals taken together but words were brief. It was unlike the tension of when she first arrived back to Kattegat because at least they could tolerate each other's presence, if it was not just for the sake of Ragnar. Even so, their days were spent mainly apart.
Lhyrie spent most of her time with Beaton, working with him in his quarters with Ragnar, prepping his winter stores and learning what he would teach her. She also asked Lagertha to continue training her. If anything, her spar with Ubbe told her she needed to sharpen her skills again. Those days left her sore and too exhausted to spend any extra energy bickering.
He spent his days with Alfred – their friendship continuing to strengthen as well. She would often find him gone from their bed already or dressing while she peeked her eyes open in the low morning light.
"I'm meeting Alfred," is all he would say if he saw her eyes open at him. "Go back to sleep."
She could tell the confidence in them was becoming unbreakable and she prayed to her new God Alfred wouldn't break his promise of not using Ubbe to his own gain.
One morning, when he was there upon her waking, she stepped hesitantly out of bed as to not disturb his snores. Lagertha and her were going to train. As quietly as she could, she gathered her things and went into the adjoining dining room to dress without waking him. She peeled off her shift and her cross hit her chest, the coolness of it making her chill. Taking the cross in her hands, she stared at the gold piece. It reflected the moonlight through the window, looking green in the shadows. She wondered if it was worth it, losing her Gods, and dropped the cross back to thud on her chest.
As she pulled a thick tunic above her head the door behind her opened, making her jump.
"Sjöfn," they cursed together.
"I thought you had gone," Ubbe grumbled.
"No," she said curtly. "Didn't you notice your son is still here?"
He clicked his tongue. "I thought you were forcing me to bring him to meetings."
"Meetings?" It came instinctively.
He didn't answer and reached around her to grab an apple on the table. Taking a bite, he tossed it in his hand and said simply, mouth full, "Harald is moving."
"He's coming here?" She asked. Again, the question came naturally, like they had been speaking normally for the past two weeks.
Ubbe flicked his eyebrows up and pursed his lips together before taking another bite of the apple. "You need pants," he pointed before walking out and shutting the door again.
She huffed and pulled her trousers on, belting them quickly. Slipping on her boots, she pulled open the door for her answer, but Ubbe was dressing himself. He was turned away from her and didn't hear her, stripped naked from the tunic he wore to bed, and was gathering his trousers. She couldn't help but stare at his body, the muscles cut deep and strong in his legs and back. Resisting the urge to rush over and rub his shoulders or squeeze the curve of his naked rear, she crossed her arms and waited for him to lace.
"I can take Ragnar with me," she said after a time, making him jump. He turned, confused as to why he hadn't heard her standing there, and ran a hand through his hair. "He'll need to nurse, unless you can find a servant to care for him."
"Where are you going?"
"Is Harold coming here?" She countered.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "He may be. He wasn't satisfied with the raid here last time." He paused and waited for her answer to his question.
Lhyrie took the few steps over to the chest that stored their weapons and grabbed her sword from underneath the litter of freshly fletched arrows Ubbe had been making. She sheathed the weapon onto her hip and palmed the hilt, looking back to him. "Lagertha and I are training."
"You need to let your bruises heal," he commented casually, throwing on a vest. For some reason, she felt her face flush. She had a nasty bruise on her right buttock following a fall on gravel with her first training session with Lagertha and it stung with every step she took.
"If Harald's coming, I need to train."
"No, you don't."
"Go to your meeting," she told him with a sigh. "I have Ragnar." Turning, she went to wake him to nurse before heading out.
"No, you don't," he said again.
She pivoted. "What?" She snapped, too forceful for the early morning.
He brushed her shoulder as he came to the bassinet side. "I will find a nursing servant," he told her at a whisper, picking up Ragnar from his sleep. He yawned lazily and curled back into Ubbe's shoulder when he cradled him there. "Go bruise your other ass cheek," he jabbed, not looking at her.
Normally she would have poked him or playfully slapped his arm with a smile, but she wanted to slap him across the face, the urge to linger upon his naked behind thoroughly gone. If her son wasn't in his arms, she might have. Instead, she stroked Ragnar's back, accidentally grazing Ubbe's fingers, and lightly planted a kiss on the top of her son's curls, before turning swiftly for the door.
"I think we'll be by the river," she said over her shoulder at him, pushing the door open.
"I don't see why we're doing this," Lagertha told her a few hours later, their brows flushed with sweat even in the coolness of the day. "You are still as sharp as you were in Kattegat."
"I tire too easy," she huffed, rushing Lagertha. Their axes clashed and Lhyrie forced her backward, breaking them apart.
"The rush of battle solves that."
Lhyrie shook her head. "The body still has its own limitations, regardless of battle heat."
"Well," Lagertha panted herself, lowering her weapons. "I need to rest even if you do not. I am a great deal older than you and my age has caught up with me."
Lhyrie nodded and wiped her brow. Her breasts started to regret not tearing Ragnar from Ubbe's arms as they ached with stored milk. Lagertha passed her a sleeve of water that she drank longingly from and plopped herself on a nearby rock. They were by the river, the serenity of the babble calming her mind.
"I need to release my milk anyway," she told Lagertha, who laughed.
"The joys of motherhood," she reminisced. Lhyrie went to turn from her as she tore off her leather and lifted her tunic, but Lagertha stopped her. "It is nothing I have not done myself, there is no reason to conceal."
Lhyrie pressed her lips together but nodded. It is something every woman did but never admitted, so there should be no shame. It was refreshing Lagertha acknowledged it. She began to milk and instantly felt relief, she almost moaned. Lagertha laughed again.
"Sorry," Lhyrie apologized. "This has been overdue."
"Again, nothing to worry about, dear." She paused for a beat. "Ubbe has been tense lately," she commented.
Lhyrie gulped. "Yes," she answered simply. "Old wounds."
"I took Torvi under my wing." Lagertha looked up toward the grey clouds and stretched her arms above her head. "You remind me of her." Lhyrie drew her brows together in question. "She had a complicated past – with men. Just move on. Don't let the past dictate the future."
Lhyrie started to ask more about Torvi but stopped as a gallop was heard coming through the path toward them. She covered herself quickly and both women moved their swords to their laps. Bishop Heahmund broke through a bush near the path, his horse whining with a halt.
"Good day," he greeted both women, sliding off his stallion.
"What do we owe the pleasure?" Lagertha asked him with a smile. She perked up upon seeing him, the exhaustion of the morning seemed to be lifted. She was beaming.
Lhyrie felt a tightness in the back of her throat and her hands remained on her sword. Despite their talk following the baptism, her feelings toward him hadn't diminished and she could still feel the first rush of blood he caused between her legs when his eyes found hers. She nodded to him in greeting, but no smile grazed her lips.
"May I enjoy your company to pass my free time?" He asked them. He was looking toward Lhyrie, but something in his voice was directed to Lagertha and she blushed. Without an answer, he sat next to Lagertha, and she passed him her water.
"How did you know we were here?" She asked him.
"Ubbe told me."
Lhyrie nearly dropped her own water. He wouldn't be so cruel as to send Bishop Heahmund to torture her, would he? "Has strategy ended for today, then?" She swallowed.
"For the most part," Heahmund answered. "They are reviewing texts now." Who they were, he didn't elaborate, and he stretched his legs in the long grass. "Are you finished here?" He asked, passing a hopeful look between the women.
Lagertha looked toward her. "Lhyrie is begging to be trained more," she told Heahmund. "But I am too worn, so we are resting."
"I am fresh," Heahmund offered.
"I couldn't poss –," Lhyrie began, declining his proposal but Lagertha cut in.
"That would be marvelous!" She beamed to Lhyrie. "And a different technique."
Lhyrie stared daggers into her, but she took no notice. Headmund seemed to, however. "Lhyrie, if you need to res –,"
"She was just saying she needed endurance…" Lagertha said for her.
Lhyrie sighed heavily and reluctantly gave in. She forced a smile and stood hesitantly. The world spun as though it was unsure of what she was about to speak. "One round," she told him, grabbing her axe and sword.
Heahmund stood and sauntered back to his horse to grab his sword. Lhyrie gripped her weapons tight, and shifted back and forth on her feet, waiting for him to set his stance. It was an intimating sight once he did. His sword was long, erect and sharp plastered next to him, his legs already braced into a lunge and his eyes switched to the man she knew from the tent. Hatred and anger and death dwelled in his dark eyes making them darker. She shivered.
His sword was heavy, and he was slow to swing because of it. That was the advantage of an axe, it was lighter, and the weight made it easier to whip around the body. She was able to duck or outright avoid most of his swings without blocking, the levels of her movements making her breath come fast. It aggravated him, she could tell. The shadow in his eyes growing, a scowl on his lips forming.
Lhyrie jabbed at him with her sword and then attacked with her axe in quick sequence, forcing the fast movement of his long sword. He whispered under his breath something she couldn't hear and they stepped apart, pacing for a moment. A smile came to her and the scowl grew on him. He charged.
Their swords clashed again fast. Up, up, down, side, up. Her axe entered the fray too and he blocked those, a swirl of metal. While their weapons continued to meet, Lhyrie forced his feet backward in the long, wet grasses. As he stepped back, Heahmund stepped on a rock and lost his balance enough to miss a block of her axe that wrapped around to his back. Her axe tapped his back where her blade would have met his left kidney. Heahmund dropped his sword in the grass and raised his hands.
From her seat, Lagertha clapped and beamed at Lhyrie. She slid her axe down in her hand and sheathed her sword on her belt, feeling accomplished. Heahmund bent to pick up his sword as she went back to her rock and took a swig of her water there with a satisfying sigh.
"Thank you, Bishop Heahmund," Lhyrie told him, sincerely, as he came back to sit next to Lagertha. "That was very insightful."
"I am glad to be of assistance," he huffed, taking a swig of water. The darkness from his eyes had faded back to his blue, but she still did not want to linger in his presence.
They sat in silence as Lhyrie and Heahmund caught their breath from their exercise and Lagertha twirled a stick that was nearby. "I should get back to the Villa," Lhyrie said, breaking the silence. "Ragnar will be hungry."
"We will join you,' Lagertha answered for Heahmund. She placed a hand on his thigh but tore it away quickly.
"No, no," Lhyrie said, shaking her off. She had caught Lagertha's slip but averted her eyes from them. They could have their time alone now. "I will be fine walking back myself." Heahmund jumped up to see her off, but again Lhyrie shook him off. "Really, please. The quiet will be meditative."
She took her time, the briskness of the day catching up to her after the sweat dried on her skin. Welcoming the coolness, it reminded her of home and the Viking chill that never left until summer was at its peak. She paused. Could she call Kattegat home anymore? She was hardly there eight months before sailing to England following returning with her parents from their travels. She has been in Winchester longer than that. Now Kattegat belonged to Ivar and she couldn't picture the ruin it would turn to.
It seemed like corridors were always barren lately, her footsteps echoed as she walked on the stone. Noblemen were huddled in conferences instead of crowding the hallways or scuffling in hordes, whispering quickly to one another as they passed. The pressure of Harald must be growing.
She pushed open the door to their rooms and held her breath, unsure of what she would find. Instead of her husband, she saw a maid laying with Ragnar as he blew bubbles on the rug.
"Where is Ubbe?" She asked her. The maid didn't answer and she wondered if she switched to Norse. Lagertha and her were speaking it while they were training. "Where is my husband?" She asked again, impatience waning.
"With the King," the maid squeaked nervously, rising from her spot on the mat. She was about her age and Lhyrie hadn't seen her before. "I had been nursing Ragdner – Ragnar today," she stuttered, her eyes downcast.
"Thank you," Lhyrie softened. She was still covered in sweat and mud and must have looked most disheveled in front of her. She melted into a chair and took a few moments to rest before removing the layer of filth.
Ubbe didn't return to their rooms until well after dark. He pushed the door open with a bang that made her jump and said nothing as he stomped behind her.
"You were gone a long time," she commented, not looking up from her stitching. He grunted and tore his tunic off, throwing it in the corner near her. "Thank you for sending Heahmund."
"He asked for Lagertha," he grumbled before cursing and his boot went flying. Lhyrie peered over her shoulder. He had a cut on his forearm he had bandaged but with the blood pooling on it, it looked like it had reopened. Fumbling with the end, he was trying to pull the knot tight.
"Do you want help with that?" She asked.
"No," he said gruffly but cursed again. Dropping the bandage, he looked up at her and grimaced. "I can not tie it with one hand," he admitted lowly.
She refrained from smirking. Standing, she grabbed her satchel from its post. It had been ages since she mended any thing but her own wounds and her fingers were twitching to heal. He shifted as she sat next to him on the bed and took his arm into her lap.
Peeling the bandage from what was starting to clot caused Ubbe to squirm with pain, but thankfully the rest of the wound wasn't as torturous. It was a shallow cut, almost looking like a burn with splinters rotated around its edges. Scanning up to see if he was done squirming, Lhyrie noticed pieces up into his beard and face as well.
"What were you doing?" She poured a vial of witch hazel onto a cloth and blotted the wound. He sucked in his breath hard but didn't move.
"I am overseeing catapults," he cleared his throat but gave no further explanation.
She applied a balm of rosemary to the underside of his wrist and massaged slightly to loosen pieces of wood embedded there. He twitched. "Sorry," she mumbled, engrossed in a piece wood in his palm. Pausing for a moment, she reached in her bag for a clean bandage and let her free fingers linger over the smooth skin of his wrist. Beneath her fingers, his heartbeat was strong and firm, steady and warm. Despite their tension, she wanted to press the spot to her lips.
Ubbe cleared his throat again. Forcing that image back, she wrapped the bandage neatly around his arm, taking her time to ensure it was smooth and even. His breathing was shallow as she wrapped the fabric around his arm but the muscles in his legs were tense, not wanting to relax.
"Catapults?" She asked, pulling the ends tight, the knot small and secure. Now that she wasn't absorbed in her work his explanation processed to her.
"Alfred has me setting the battle plans for when Harald arrives." He flexed his hand and rotated his wrist, testing his arm for pain. "Thank you," he appreciated, still feeling his range of motion.
Lhyrie nodded and stood, wiping her hands on her trousers and moved to place her bag back in its spot. "That requires a lot of trust, overseeing strategy."
"At least one person has that in me," his voice snipped low.
She turned quickly but he was facing away from her, removing his other boot. Forcing an argument down, she went back to her stitching. "When do we ride out for Harald?" She asked, her voice shaking slightly, trying to rid itself of annoyance.
"He is not camped yet," he answered shortly, swinging his legs into bed.
Lhyrie waited for more of an answer but one never came. She sighed silently to herself and continued to mend a pair of her trousers.