Several days had passed without word from the scout's party. It might have been her anxiety waning over Ubbe's reaction when they finally did find Hvitserk, but the Villa was filled thick with the stress of waiting, as though it was a fog invading the grounds. Ubbe shared the brunt of the stress as it occupied his sleep and cut into his meals, amplifying the pressure he already felt with the Danes still situated outside Reading. If the scouts did not find Hvitserk soon, they would need to travel to them regardless of if Hvitserk was found first.

One morning, as Lhyrie tried to escape the growing whispers in the Villa of the Danes still in Reading, she strolled the grounds of the gardens, weaving the same path Alfred and her used to take for their morning walks. He had not asked her to join him since they had been back at Winchester; did he still get the luxury of quiet, tranquil exercise? Her own walk was hardly quiet. She took Ragnar, who was ogling at the trees looming overhead and the birds forming a song in them, his soft voice oohing and awing, seeming unnatural against the peace.

She paused, catching her breath and readjusted Ragnar on her hip. She didn't bring a sling to carry him, as he wiggled so much now he loosened the knots within moments, but her arms ached from his weight and she set him down to play in the grass as she stretched. He was always moving these days, and quickly crawled to a tree to pull himself up. Shakily he stood there, but dropped one hand from the bark, then the other before wobbling enough to fully lose his balance and fall. Without crying or whining, the quietest he had been all day in fact, he crawled back to the tree to try again. Lhyrie sat next to him and watched, holding out her hand for him to grab onto and take a few steps away from the refuge of the bark. He looked to her giggling, his blue eyes bright with excitement with his quivering steps.

She heard the procession before she saw it through the trees. Men were yelling, horses whining, with carriage or wagon groaning behind the kerfuffle. Lhyrie gathered Ragnar quickly in her arms and cut through a small path in the trees to the main road, curiosity or concern aiding her decision. She stepped out onto the gravel road several paces behind the wagon and band of men surrounding it, trying to peer through the guards manning the back. She tried to quicken her pace, to be nearer to the group, but already the weight of Ragnar dragged her slower and slower. By the time the wagon had made it into the gates, she had lost more ground than she gained; though she didn't need to be any closer to see the slumped figure of Hvitserk as he bounced along the jagged rocks, because even through the dust kicking up, she glimpsed him through the guards rocking on the back.

Her pace quickened a millisecond as her heartbeat bound in her ears. She was just steps outside the gates when she saw the guards hop from the wagon as it screeched to a halt by the main doors and drag the curled Hvitserk from his perch. She tried to quicken her pace further, but she was always five paces behind them, rounding a corner into the Villa as they shoved Hvitserk through the corridors and around another corner, further from her. He must be as light as air by how quickly they were pulling him. Repositioning Ragnar in her arms, she pushed forward up a stairwell. On the top step, she was narrowly able to see the guards force Hvitserk into the main hall.

Again she tried to hurry her pace, afraid the doors would slam shut on her just as she reached them, but they remained open. Few people were inside, no Ubbe, no Alfred; the noblemen who were there were huddled near the alcove, their whispers already starting. She stopped before crossing the midline of the room, pressing herself with Ragnar in her arms, against a pillar just behind Hvitserk so that he wouldn't be able to see her.

He had been dragged to the center of the stone room and stood shivering despite the warmth of the day, staring hard at his feet. He didn't try to run, didn't try to reason or beg to the captors who stepped away to join her on the walls. He looked like hell and smelled like he had been forced through it. His usually tidy hair hung in loose strands in his eyes, dirty and oiled looking more brown than blonde with the dirt or vomit clinging to it. Through the strands of hair, his eyes were sullen, bloodshot, and grey and unmoving from his feet, trying to keep himself steady. His face was as white a snow and his lips just as pale. Swaying lightly, he seemed as though he was uncertain on his feet, but the alcohol wafting from him was enough to make her own head rush in her spot, despite being meters from him. She was about to take a step toward him, to offer him a blanket if she was able to find one, when a door in the rear of the alcove ricocheted open and Ubbe stormed out of it, Alfred a step behind him.

His eyes were focused only on his brother. They were dark with intensity and only grew darker as he stomped closer to him, pushing past the fellow ealdormen who did not move for him. "Why, Hvitserk?" He growled, continuing his march until he was just before him, his eyes narrowing further. Lhyrie had never seen them appear black before, like Ivar's could grow, and they made a shiver run down her spine now. Hvitserk was trying to mutter something, but nothing came coherently.

"Why?" Ubbe rasped again, grabbing under his chin to pull Hvitserk's face up from his feet. Her breath caught in her throat as the pressure returned to the fading bruise on her cheek. She must have made a noise at the grab, as Ubbe's eyes left his brother and pierced at her, just over Hvitserk's shoulder. He dropped the hold of his brother and his eyes softened slightly while he took a deep breath, but they were still as wild as ever. Ubbe leaned forward and Hvitserk flinched. "I tried to give you a chance," he whispered harshly in his ear.

He did not mean to disappoint you, she told Ubbe wordlessly, bouncing Ragnar out of habit. He could not help it. Ubbe turned quickly on his heel and took a step toward the scouts who found his brother. Lhyrie recognized the man that had been in Alfred's study as he stepped forward. "Where was he?" Ubbe switched to English, the words sounding foreign now in the Hall.

Hvitserk attempted to pivot toward her, to see what had pulled Ubbe's attention away for that brief moment, but his unsteadiness tripped his feet and he fell in his spot. She wanted to rush over now, to help him to his feet and even took a step forward before Ubbe's eyes shot to her again, the look stopping the blood in her heart. Her foot went back to jam against the pillar.

"The town over," the scout answered quickly. "He was begging for drink outwardly."

Hvitserk peered over to her but quickly pulled his eyes away when they fell on Ragnar, who had thankfully been silent in her arms. He didn't try to stand again, instead looking insolently crumpled on the floor. He was whispering something to himself but she couldn't hear him properly, a repeated few words, his ashen lips moving in hurried waves.

She wasn't focused on Ubbe or the scouts. She wanted to steal Hvitserk away from the Hall, away from the prying eyes of the Wessex Englishmen that didn't understand him, away from his brother who couldn't sympathize with him any longer, away from Alfred who looked like he also wanted to save someone.

When Ubbe was done questioning the scout, he turned back toward Hvitserk and looked disgusted. Whether he finally noticed the ill state they had found him in or repulsed by him not even attempting to stand again, his face twisted in anguish. As he stepped toward his brother once more, Hvitserk's whispers became louder.

"I tried…I can't…" His mantra repeated. "I tried… I can't…" When Ubbe knelt in front of him and grabbed hold of his arm, his words became rushed and desperate. "I tried – I can't. I tried –,"

The look on Ubbe's face softened from ill contempt to worry that she had seen many times. An older brother flirted between anger and love, concern and nonchalance. "I love you, brother," he said softly. "I always have and always will."

"And I," Hvitserk interjected shakily.

For a moment she thought the declaration was helpful, until the look of concern twisted again on Ubbe's face. He had swept back a piece of hair from Hvitserk's eyes, had his fingers found the vomit that clung to it?

"You have just betrayed me for the second time in your life." His tone turned from caring to cruel.

She was glad she couldn't see Hvitserk's eyes as Ubbe said it, as they broke her own heart with the burning ache of Ubbe's voice that they were loaded with. She was sure Hvitserk started to have frustrated tears in his eyes, as her own eyes started to swell. Hvitserk didn't try to speak again, his own words stuck dry in the back of his throat. His head bobbed twice, trying to force something out, but nothing came.

Ubbe pulled back from him further, and Lhyrie was able to see clearly the look Ubbe's face twisted into again, as though he needed to stomp out a rat that was his brother. "Look at you," he snarled as he shook him, his lip turned up still in disgust. "Look at you." Hvitserk started shaking his head and avoided looking back up to Ubbe, but his eyes did not find his own ragged clothes, instead staring blankly at the stone floors.

"Get up." Ubbe barked, but Hvitserk didn't move, still shaking his head. "Stand up!" Ubbe's hands went back to Hvitserk, grabbing his stained tunic and heaving him up with him. Hvitserk no longer looked like he was made of air, light as a feather, but weighed with bricks as Ubbe forced him to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Ubbe," Hvitserk squeaked out, his tunic still in bunches in Ubbe's fists.

"No." Ubbe swallowed, dropping the hold of his brother with a shake of his head. Lhyrie could tell it pained him to hear Hvitserk say he was sorry – he had been waiting for those words from him, but the expression of disgust and distrust remained. "It is too late," he added grimly, his words spitting like fire. "I don't want to see you anymore, and I have nothing left to say to you." He pushed Hvitserk and turned him away from Lhyrie, shoving him toward the main doors, but Hvitserk's feet, now weighted with bricks, stopped. She half expected him to fall again into a heap on the floor. "Go!" Ubbe shouted, his voice, rough as rocks, bouncing off the walls to pellet Hvitserk. "You made your choice! GO!"

Ubbe took a step backward and crossed his arms with a huff. His face was still a different portrait than normal, not quite as harsh as a moment ago, looking more disappointed than angry, but he stood firm, his decision, and therefore Hvitserk's, cemented. With a nod of his head, he ushered two scouts from the pack they huddled in. He said his next words twice, once in Norse and then English. "Have him gather his things; he is to leave Wessex immediately."

Hvitserk gulped in his spot, still unmoving and frozen, facing away from Ubbe toward the oak doors that remained open, but his shoulders hiked up in tension as his brother spoke. They further tensed when the guards stomped behind him and pushed him forward. He glanced over at Lhyrie just before the first shove toward his next journey and she pressed her eyes closed to blink away the tears that would surely stream down her cheeks. The pleading look in his eye stayed with her and further broke her heart. When she opened them again, Hvitserk was no longer in the Hall, but Ubbe stayed in his spot, arms still crossed in the center of the room.

Lhyrie wanted to rush over and slap him, to try to pull the strange mask that enveloped him off so he could see clearly – that his brother was sick with grief and needed help, that this action was not a personal vendetta against him. Her feet would not let her, her heels glued to the pillar they backed against. She could only glare at him, trying to burn the façade away, but he did not look toward her, his eyes instead moving from the door to the spot his brother had been standing, then quickly whirling back to Alfred with a sharp nod of his head. Alfred cleared his throat, and nodded back, approving of the action. She had never wanted to slap Alfred before, but the feeling tingled her fingers. How could he be as cruel?

They started talking, Ubbe, Alfred and the scouts, their voices mingling together into a cacophony that resonated against the stone walls. She couldn't pick out the English within the noise as it seemed to grow louder, adding to her aggravation. The noise grew and grew until it peeled her heels from their spot. Instead of rushing over to Ubbe and Alfred huddled together, to scream and shout at them for what they had done, her feet moved in the opposite direction, out the doors and down the hall. She didn't see Ubbe glance toward her as she swept past the oak doors.

She first went to Wynnflaed's rooms to leave Ragnar with her. Lhyrie was grateful she was there after telling her she wasn't needed today; she took Ragnar from Lhyrie's arms without question. Was the ragging turmoil plastered on her face? Then turning out as quickly as she had come, she had to stop her feet from running to Hvitserk's rooms. She needed to stay levelheaded, and running would not help that. She prayed to whoever would listen for him to still be there by the time she crossed the Villa. Fortunately, two scouts were still outside his doors, standing guard. One tried to wave her off, but she pushed past him and started banging on the door.

"Hvitserk!" Her knuckles thumped hollow against the wood.

"Drit og dra!"

She ignored the profanity. "Open the door!" Her hand was on the handle but did not push it open. "Hvitserk, please," she added softer.

"No." She could hear him rummaging through the room. Was he actually gathering his things or just destroying the room? "Go away."

"I'm trying to help you."

"You didn't in the Hall."

She stomped her foot and her mind flashed back to Kattegat after Ubbe tried to attack Lagertha. She hadn't helped him then either and Hvitserk sounded just as Ubbe had then, defeated, betrayed and angry. No, she didn't help Hvitserk in the Hall, but she also could not have defied Ubbe with the noblemen watching.

"I know," she answered. "I'm sorry." She thought the rummaging stopped from inside the room as it was now quiet. The door creaked open an inch.

"Why are you here?" He asked. She could only see one bloodshot eye peek through the crack.

"Just let me in, please," she whispered, leaning on the doorframe.

He didn't budge at first, hesitant incase the guards, who were ignoring them but still flanked her sides, would pounce and drag him from his rooms instead. "No," he huffed and moved to shut the door.

Lhyrie jammed her hand in the opening before he could click it shut. The guard to her right moved to almost block her from entering. Did he think she would just stand here if she asked him to open the door? What did he think she was asking in Norse? "I won't be long," she told him quietly. "And I will not aide him out the window." He didn't want to move, she could tell by the jerk in his foot as he stepped back, but she squeezed by and pushed the door open a hair more. Hvitserk was no longer standing near the door; he was tearing through his bag on the bed, emptying the contents instead of adding to it.

"Why are you here?" He grumbled again as she shut the door.

"I –,"

"I don't need you to find another task for me to fail." His head rose from the bag he was digging into. He was as pale as a ghost, the redness of his eyes jumping against the white, but it only made the cold stare he was giving her worse. Her stomach flipped.

"I did not suggest that you lead the negotiations. He took my meaning wrong," she sighed. "I meant working with me or in the stables."

Hvitserk laughed a cool, haunting laugh that curled her toes. He was back to the shell they had met their first night back in Winchester, but more weathered, more desperate, more broken. "You were always trying to help when you weren't needed."

"Stop, Hvitserk. Cruelty does not suit you."

"Cruelty…Did he do that to your cheek?"

She swallowed. "Another misunderstanding."

Again, he gave another lifeless laugh as he found the package he was looking for. She recognized the bag; it was one of hers she moved his mushrooms to. Tearing the bag open, he dug out a sliver of mushroom and popped it in his mouth.

"Hvitserk!"

"They are mine," he sniveled, clutching the bag close.

"How did you get those?" His brows pulled together tight as he shoved the smaller bag back into the depths of his main sack. "Did Ubbe give them back?" He didn't answer and continued to shovel his belongings back into the bag. "Hvits –,"

"It's not very well guarded," he said quietly, still adding his things to his bag. "I snuck in a few nights ago," he admitted. "Your babe looked so peaceful sleeping."

A chill ran over her as something unsettled her if Hvitserk entered their rooms at night. A desperate man could do desperate things. "Give me the bag back, Hvitserk." Though it did not appear as full as when she had possession of it, she still wanted it far away from Hvitserk. Holding out her hand, she waited but he closed the bag tight. She stepped forward. "Please."

"No," he grumbled, his voice low. Pushing past her toward the door, he swung the bag over his shoulder. Lhyrie caught it and pulled both of them toward her, trying to free the bag from his grasp. "They are mine," he sneered, yanking the bag back toward him. Lhyrie nearly lost her balance but still kept hold of the leather.

"You are sick, Hvitserk," she tried to say calmly, still trying to wrestle the bag from him. "They are not the cure."

"You do not know what it is!" He nearly yelled. He was inches from her face, still grasping the bag but not fighting her for it. If she thought the smell of alcohol from the Hall was strong, she was bathing in it now with his breath so close. "You do not know what it is like with Ivar in your head."

"I know these will not help," she gritted, giving another tug at the bag. It rocked Hvitserk into her and they collided. He had lost weight but was still solid and it knocked the breath from her.

"Let go, Lhyrie."

"No!"

"Stop –," Hvitserk let go of the bag, and his fingers collided with her cheek in a hard slap. She dropped the bag and staggered backward, her breath catching short in her chest. The pain radiated up her cheekbone and into her right eye, and she clutched there instinctively. She peered up at him slowly. He didn't appear distraught like the contact was accidental, instead his jaw was set hard and his eyes showed determination.

"Go to York," she breathed, trying to will the sharp pain away. She wondered if there was a cut there; it felt hot like skin was broken. "Maybe Bjorn is still there." She moved past him, brushing his shoulder. He tried to grab her hand to spin her back toward him, but she used what might she had to pull her hand from his. "I hope you heal, Hvitserk," she said without looking toward him. Lhyrie pushed the door open, and she realized how dark his rooms had been, as the light blinded her now. "He is ready," she told the guards. Whether it was true or not, she didn't care then, she just wanted him out of the Villa.

Still applying firm pressure to her cheek, she turned back to her own rooms and ignored the steps receding in the opposite direction. They didn't sound like a struggle to leave, but she didn't turn her eyes to watch.

She did wish the best for Hvitserk, and hoped he finally acquired the happiness he deserved, but she understood Ubbe's thinking that it could not happen here, with the history present between all of them. The chasm between brothers would not be fixed, the slap of whatever betrayal occurred to divide brothers could not be rectified now, and perhaps the separate lives they would journey on would never see it through. Lhyrie grieved the life that could have been and often prayed to one God or the other that Hvitserk found the spark that dragged him from his torture.

Back in her rooms, her eyes pulled her to watch out the window as Hvitserk travelled up the main path out of the Villa and eastwardly, a lone horse given to him for his journey to wherever he would go. News eventually reached them that he did go to York and departed with Bjorn back to Kattegat. She never discovered how his story ended but knew he would find his peace in an unexpected way.