The stir in the Villa was palpable. Bjorn and Lagertha's presence caused an overflow of commotion that rocked the Royal Court and Winchester. Crowds flooded the streets and walls from far over Wessex, Mercia and Northumbria – even the Queen's niece finally made her appearance, whether it was the draw of the latest Vikings or the draw of marriage, one can only speculate.

Despite being a son of Ragnar, Ubbe was famous, but Bjorn – Bjorn had fables about him; Lagertha had myth surrounding her. With the added spectacle of their arrival with the beloved Bishop Heahmund, there was an air of mystery that the townspeople could not refrain from gossiping about. However, the scowl that plastered on Bjorn's face during his public appearances caused the slacked jaws to clamp shut quickly.

The baptism of Ubbe and Lhyrie had been postponed only a week, to make sure the weather remained fair enough, so they were not frozen to the riverbed once converted, something Lhyrie appreciated. Lagertha was quite understanding of their situation and of the realization it cemented Ragnar's dream in England. She was of course understanding of the first settlement here. Bjorn's permanent scowl was one part physically being in England and the other the notion of having a Christian brother. He could hardly look at them and or say more than a few words without his voice rising in anger. Meals were tense when taken together and they were becoming less and less frequent. The space between brothers was growing.

That morning the familiar white robes were laundered, pressed and set gently outside the doors of their rooms. Ubbe handled them like hot embers, tossing them out of his hands quickly.

"They're back," Lhyrie whispered, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him from behind. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and peeked around him to look at the bundle. He was tense, the muscles in his back tight with worry. "We're ghosts together," she reassured him. She felt him form a smile, his back drawn forward following the creases in his eyes.

Ubbe turned in her arms, the smile still lingered in his eyes but fell from his lips. "I have been having conversations with my father," he said, bringing a hand to run down the side of her face gently.

"What sort of conversations?" She resisted the urge to tease, glancing at the banister above their bed. She remembered very clearly seeing her mother there during Ragnar's birth. The dead were nothing to joke about.

"Our baptism," he stated simply.

"And what does Ragnar Lothbrok think?" She couldn't help adding a small smile.

Ubbe leaned in and kissed the smirk away. "He is proud," he said against her lips with a smile of his own. The smile faded slowly again and he drew her into his chest, hugging her close. "I think Alfred was right," he added at a whisper. She would have thought the realization would have lightened the burden from Ubbe's shoulders, but the tightness remained as he pressed themselves together. "Bjorn will not be pleased."

"He doesn't need to be," she muttered into his chest.

"He should understand our father is not in Valhalla." He pushed apart from her and started pacing, wringing his hands in indecision if not frustration. His brows were pulled tight, and it made Lhyrie ache again for the turmoil splitting him.

"Maybe Bjorn will see him in Valhalla." He stopped in his tracks and stared at her, confused. "And maybe you will see him in Heaven."

Ubbe shook his head at her and resumed his patrol. "It is not like that."

"You're not dead. You do not know how it is."

He added a scoff to his head shake. "We have to do this – for Ragnar," he said with absolution, cutting his hand down with emphasis. Lhyrie joined the bobbing of his head as he paced. "I don't want to lose a piece of myself," he added finally.

Lhyrie continued to nod. "A piece of you could be Christian with your father, yes?" She said softly, letting the words float between them in the room for a moment.

Ubbe sighed heavily and planted his feet. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and sighed again before taking the few steps back to her to scoop her face into his hands. "That is much too rational for this early in the morning," he grumbled lowly. She only laughed before he kissed her softly.

As if they heard them, the bells in the courtyard rang throughout the city and echoed off the walls of their room, hallowing their thoughts. Ubbe pressed his forehead to hers as he turned to look toward the window, out toward the dull thud of the morning alarms and their impending christening. He let out a groan.

Dressing slowly, Lhyrie felt naked without taking Ragnar with them this time. Earlier that week, they had baptized him separately in the chapel over a basin of Holy Water. What made the water Holy, Lhyrie couldn't tell, other than Alfred telling her he carried it back from Rome himself when he was younger. It just looked like water in a bowl. She did, however, hate seeing Bishop Heahmund holding Ragnar. She had half a mind not to hand him over to the bishop and just have Alfred do the ceremony. Is a king not just as given the grace of God, especially Alfred?

"We can not delay any longer," Ubbe told her, interrupting her thoughts. His gown pressed hard against the outline of his chest, looking even more awkward on him than just last week, as though the longer they waited to convert, the harder the Gods tried to keep them to.

"I know," she said softly, tugging on her wool boots. Now, she was dreading this. Not the philosophical tear in her beliefs – no that, she was slightly ashamed to admit, didn't mold her identity. She was almost nervous on how she might behave toward Bishop Heahmund. She had daydreamed of plummeting him in the mud like she had Ivar in Kattegat and stabbing him with a knife; or blood eagling him; or poking out his eyes with sticks. But that wouldn't sit well at a baptism. His punch still clenched her core, his memory still fresh like a scar, unhealing. She shuttered and stood, wiping the memories on her dress.

As she made for the door to push it open for them, Ubbe grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward him, sensing her mind elsewhere. "Hey –," He ran a hand through her hair and caressed the side of her face again. "We are ghosts together."

She cracked a smile, the image of the bishop rid from her mind. Wanting to delay the inevitable just a moment longer, she pulled his lips down to hers with more urgency than she realized she needed to and more fiercely than their current time constraint allowed. Her fingers weaved into his freshly coiled braid, begging for it to be undone and she burrowed closer to him, lips entwining urgently, desperately like she was holding onto that piece of him.

Maybe he could feel it too and that's why Ubbe didn't pull away, welcoming the moment of connection. His hands circled behind her head, tangling in her hair and slowly etched the lines down her back before settling on her waist as she explored his familiar mouth. After a time, he pushed down on her hips to gently bring her off her toes, breaking them apart, leaving them both breathless. Ubbe stayed silent but had a small gleam in his eye.

The bells tolled again.

"We should go," Lhyrie said, wiping her sleeve on the corner of her mouth, turning to leave again.

"I – I can't leave yet," Ubbe uttered quickly.

"Ubbe, we can't be late to our own christening."

"It's your fault," he snarked. He was adjusting the front of his gown, trying to hide the strain pushing out of the front. She pressed her lips together to hide a smile.

"Think of the Seer naked and let's go," she quipped. His face twisted in disgust at the image it conjured and Lhyrie laughed. She turned to leave again and jiggled the door handle.

"Lhyrie…"

She didn't turn back to him this time. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his head into her shoulder.

"The Seer didn't work…" he whispered.

His hands found their way to her breasts and his body pressed against her back; their problem stiff between them.

"We're late already," she told him, as he nuzzled her neck. Despite this, the kisses on her neck and his touch felt divine and she felt her nipples harden. Ubbe felt it too through her gown because he ran his thumbs over them and shifted his hips, and hardened member, a little closer into her.

"It won't take long," he reassured her, again rubbing a thumb over her breasts. They were so sensitive from Ragnar any small touch was electric and this was like a lightning storm.

"That's everything a woman wants to hear," she joked but her voice caught partially in her throat as Ubbe rolled a nipple between his fingers roughly. He dropped it swiftly at her noise in concern. Grabbing his hand, she placed it back on her breast and he squeezed, chuckling. "How quickly?" She moaned, her body starting to ache.

Ubbe kept one hand on her breast gripping it firmly, the other he used to bunch up her dress and flicked his own garment out of his way. His path clear, he wedged himself back behind her.

"Should we move away from the door?"

"Would it matter?" Ubbe moved both of his hands to her waist, begging to enter.

"There's a cross right here, Ubbe."

"We're with our Gods now," he joked. He shifted behind her again and looked up at the small crucifix that hung on the door. "That is unnerving." He coughed and his voice lost the jest, but his hands and member didn't waver from their spot pressed against her.

For a fleeting second, she thought that had done what the Seer could not, so she peeked back at him, remembering they still needed to join this God today. "Are we still doing this?" At her question she could feel Ubbe throb behind her, and he answered with a shift into her that made her groan and knock into the door. She giggled as he wrapped a strong arm around her and collided into her again, pressing her cheek into the cool wood of the door. It silenced her quickly, creating a low groan from her lips.

He was off his rhythm; frantic, a tidal wave with no crest that continued to build; their pace beating a tempo on the door. She tried to ignore Christ bobbing in her eyesight between the ripples of pleasure starting to grow low in her womb.

Shifting again, he hit deeper, causing her to shoot her left arm to brace further and a moan escaped her lips. He laughed and did it again, moving both hands to her hips to quicken their pace at this new spot. She tried to stay quiet, tried not to have her exclamations travel down the corridor on the other side of the thin mahogany they were pressed against. The bells rang again, his thrusts, her rap against the door, in time together. As the last bell rang, the wave crested between them, reaching their climax.

Ubbe pressed his forehead into her hair, his chest heaving on her back. She couldn't tell whose legs were shaking, but it could have been either of theirs. She pressed her forehead to the cool door, just as breathless.

"Sjöfn," he cursed, rising and shaking his legs. Lhyrie peeled herself off the door. She looked toward him lazily, feeling half drunk. He was staring past her at the crucifix on the wall. "Whenever I see that I'm going to think of this," he smirked.

"I really think that's blasphemous now," she told him, running her fingers through her hair and straightening her dress. "Now," she looked at him sternly, "we really need to go."

The path through the woods toward the river wasn't as groomed as the walking paths Alfred and her would walk for their morning strolls. Littered with sticks, stumps and pools, they had to dodge obstacles, hoping they didn't slip in the near frozen muck of the trail. Lhyrie leaned heavily on Ubbe, as her gown seemed to catch on every branch she brushed against, begging to be torn and have her plaster her face into the muddy underbrush.

After tripping once more on a stump, she grappled at Ubbe's arm and nearly toppled him over as well. "Are we even going in the right direction?" He asked, cradling her arm in his. They hadn't come across anyone else on the path toward the river and had not heard any voices in either direction for some time.

"Yes," Lhyrie said, eyeing a felled tree in front of them. "The path forks. Right is toward the fields. Left is toward the river. We will get there eventually."

"Eventually."

Lhyrie's dress caught again on a branch. Was Víôarr forcibly trying to keep her from converting, physically moving trees into her path, keeping her from the water and from this new God? The branch dug into her, threatening the seams to creak. "Wait, Ubbe." She clutched harder onto his arm, willing to plant his feet into the track.

"Are the trees trying to kidnap you?" Ubbe jabbed but stopped to let her free herself from her tangle.

"You kid, but it feels that way," she told him, shaking a fallen leaf from her hair.

"Or are you just trying to delay even further?" A smile creaked into the corner of Ubbe's mouth as he squeezed her hand.

"I think you did plenty of that earlier," she quipped back.

"A delay was not my intention. I was remediating an awkward situation."

"The fix was the main delay!"

"If you hadn't kissed me like that…" he teased, wrapping an arm around her and tickling her. In the slick mud, it almost caused both of them to slip while Ubbe tried to keep walking, pushing them forward. Lhyrie tried to tickle him back, but he was able to wrestle her hands down. Both laughing, their heads were down, enveloped in their teasing and focused on not tripping and falling together. Not aware if of their surroundings, they finally stumbled into a clearing. Looking up, the eyes of the congregation were on them.

Lhyrie gulped.

"Thank you for joining us," Bishop Heahmund greeted them in his low raspy voice. It curled Lhyrie's toes as they walked forward toward him near the bank of the river. Ubbe nearly had to push her.

They weren't the last to arrive, at least. When she didn't see the royal robes of Alfred or Judith, it allowed some moisture to return to the back of her throat. But the look that Bishop Heahmund was giving them for arriving late, and the manner of their arrival, was almost as though he had walked in on the activity that made them tardy.

Of the few people that were gathered were Lagertha and Bjorn. Their presence shocked her. Bjorn's rejection of the baptism should have driven him to the furthest part of Winchester from where they are now, away from his belief of their dereliction to the Gods – to their father.

The royal family joined them shortly after Lhyrie and Ubbe joined Heahmund on the rocky shores of the River Itchen. With a few tense nods between members of the court, Alfred and Bishop Heahmund, the later stepped forward onto the pebbles in front of them.

"Before being received into God's Holy Church, you must renounce your former errors," Bishop Heahmund began, silencing the low murmurs from the old men on the banks above them. His voice echoed off the trees and off of the river, reverberating back to them like they were bouncing off the stone walls of the chapel at Ragnar's baptism. His voice seemed to hold power now. Before, or even in the tent those many months ago, his voice was hoarse and low like it was fighting to be shared. Now, it flowed effortlessly out of his curved, thin lips. It made her nauseous.

Ubbe shifted beside her and glanced ever so slightly at her before clearing his throat. "I renounce my belief in Odin and all other pagan gods," he began tensely. He kept his eyes focused hard on Bjorn, his choice cemented firmly now with his words.

Lhyrie looked toward Alfred, who looked stoic and tired in the morning light. She was expecting a smile or affirming head nod but did not receive one from him. Lhyrie cleared her throat herself and echoed the words behind Ubbe, trying not to have her voice be lost in the wind starting to swirl. The Gods had given her that small gift of foresight, was this Nott stripping it from her?

The bishop moved toward Ubbe and placed his hands behind his neck. He leaned forward as though he was going to kiss his forehead but only blew lightly with his breath. "With my breath, I do excise these evil spirits which inhabit you."

He moved in front of her, and she shifted uncomfortably. Despite knowing his hands were coming, she flinched at their touch. She thought she saw the barest flicker of a smile come to the corner of his mouth at her discomfort and she closed her eyes to keep her thoughts from becoming actions. His cool breath shot onto her forehead, and she flinched again. She could almost see his smile again with her eyes closed and she balled her fists slightly.

When she opened her eyes, Bishop Heahmund was no longer standing in front of her. In her moment alone, he had waded into the river carrying a chalice. Ubbe flicked his head toward Heahmund, signaling they were to move to their new mark. He took the first few steps into the water and turned back to extend a hand to help her in. The water felt like ice as it lapped against her wool boots as she waited for Ubbe. She dreaded stepping in.

The stones were slick with algae under her feet as they, too, moved slowly in the water toward the bishop. He wasn't deep in the water, perhaps only knee height, but with the polished rocks underfoot, she thought she was going to be completely soaked regardless. Again, they stopped before him, and she had to refrain from shivering from the cold. He had at least two layers of robes, Lhyrie saw. They just had the simple wool dress. She was certain the old men on the riverbank could see her nipples through the dress, as cold as she was.

The clouds overhead loomed low and birds danced in and out the grey puffs. Lhyrie had to stop herself from letting her mind wander and follow them racing among the curves of her old Gods. A fish nibbled on the hem of her dress, another jumped down river. Nature was begging to come alive, and they were sat planted and unmoving, fighting the current of the river turning about them.

He started chanting Latin that sounded somewhat familiar to Lhyrie from the masses she half heartedly attended over the course of the past eight months. Crosses were again made over them, water from the chalice applied to their foreheads and smoke wafted into their eyes. Over and over again, Latin and more Latin. Soon, the coldness of the river made her toes numb and it was hard to think of anything else. A final sign of the cross and affirming nod from Bishop Heahmund signaled the end of the baptism. Björn turned swiftly from his spot with a grunt. Back through the water they cut to the shore and Alfred called for Ubbe to join him.

Stepping up to dry ground, her foot slipped on a moss-covered rock, sending her back toward the icy water. A cloaked arm landed under hers and froze her more than the water would have.

Bishop Heahmund stepped on the shore with ease, keeping an arm under hers until he could help her out of the slippery bank. A hand moved to cradle hers as she stepped up and she pushed down the grimace that crept on her face. Dropping his hand promptly when she was on level ground, she wanted to dunk it in the river to cleanse it of his essence, but folded her hands together as Lagertha joined them.

"How do you feel, Lhyrie?" Lagertha asked her.

"Cold," she answered honestly with a laugh. She had planned on bringing a cloak with them, but with the extra activity before the ceremony their whole day seemed off. Lagertha and her began walking with the others back toward the city, leaving Bishop Heahmund to gather his things, which she was glad for as she thought the way Lagertha paused, she had wanted to wait for the bishop.

"This has been my third baptism I've witnessed, and I find them fascinating," Lagertha admitted.

"How so?" Heahmund's voice behind them made Lhyrie jump as trotted to catch up. He held out a wool blanket to her that she was hesitant to reach for, cautious for any gift he could give. She wrapped it around her fingers and nodded toward him in thanks but didn't throw it over her shoulders right away, despite the chill growing.

"The rituals are so captivating," Lagertha drew on as Heahmund fell into step next to Lhyrie.

Lhyrie nodded along to Lagertha's musings about the baptism, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't see Ubbe. He had counseled with Alfred almost immediately after dredging from the water. This was one of the rare moments since his arrival in Winchester she wasn't with either him or Alfred. It made her uncomfortable.

Already, the walk back seemed easier. The muck wasn't trying to drag her down, the branches not hugging her in. The only harshness was the company she held. A few times, his shoulder brushed hers as she was flanked between Lagertha and him. Despite her best efforts of lagging a step behind, he always seemed to slow as well, a sort of gentlemanly nature, not that she thought he had any sort of notion in him.

And so, they walked back, Heahmund and Lagertha chatting comfortably among themselves, Lhyrie uneasy between them, staying silent or interjecting polite "I sees" or "Ahhs" as needed. She eventually threw the blanket over her shoulders and avoided closing it at her neck in case it tied itself tight. It itched her skin.

"Lagertha," Heahmund cleared his throat and looked across from Lhyrie. "May you excuse us, so we may walk alone for a moment?"

Her skin crawled and her feet planted in their spot as they stopped unwillingly. His did the same. She didn't know all the sins, but was it a sin to injure a bishop? She flashed a pleading look to Lagertha to stay, but she walked a few paces in front of them, leaving the silence to linger.

Heahmund began walking again, but slowed his pace to a crawl, drawing out the torture.

"I can understand your anger with me for your circumstance of being here at Winchester."

She didn't answer.

"Can you understand my anger and frustration following York?"

Yes, she could. But remained silent.

"Did Lagertha tell you I spent time with Ivar?"

She was hesitant on speaking, but slowly answered, "It was rumored here that you were seen leaving with him on the boats from York." She kept her gaze downward, focused on the trenches of mud in their path back.

"Ivar is complicated," he said simply. "And has more anger than anyone can hold." They walked in silence, letting the birds sing above them. He added softly, "I hope with God's grace, you may be able to forgive me for my past errors."

"God's grace is not immediately granted." She said as neither a statement nor question. It made him chuckle, a strange croaking rasp that startled her.

"As long as it is worked on."

Later that evening, Ubbe dangled a cross in front of him. "We have just been promised eternal life."

"I don't feel any different. Do you?" She asked him. They were seated following their first feast as Christians in their private rooms, enjoying solitude away from Lagertha and Bjorn for the time being.

He raised his eyebrows and twisted his mouth down. "No," he said simply. "We now have to wear these crosses," he added quickly, throwing the one he was toying with over his head. Rising, he grabbed the other necklace that was on the table and took the few steps over to where she was seated. "It is said that our new God died on the cross for our sins."

Placing the cross over her head, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. Before turning back to his spot, he leaned back and looked at her, taking in the new metal hanging from her neck.

"What sins?" She asked him softly.

His eyebrow twitched up at her question. "Well, we have committed a few, I am sure," he said with a small flick of a smile. He plopped back down with a creak of his chair and began inspecting the new jewelry again, staring hard at the cross like it would give him answers he needed from it. She began wrapping it around her fingers as well but stared intently on Ubbe.

His attention shifted from the cross he was handling, to his armring on his wrist. His eyes flashed heartbreak. Tearing it off his wrist, he threw it on the table with a rattle. "Now I do feel different," he said harshly, looking anywhere but at the armring he just discarded.

"You swore that to your father, not to our old Gods," she said quickly.

His eyes flashed to hers and his lips and nose twitched in indecision by her words. Swiftly, as though it was in fire, he snatched the armring from the table and wrangled it onto his right ankle instead. A color returned to him that faded when he took the armring off only for that brief moment. His breath came a little easier as he sank back into the chair and gave her a nod as he sighed heavily.

Lhyrie's hands moved from her new cross to her wedding band. "We have been hand fast near a year," she said, twirling the band on her finger.

Ubbe perked up at her statement as it drew him away from his fascination with his cross. "We left for England after Yule. Have they – we -," he corrected, "had Christ mass?"

"That is soon I think," she said, calculating the months that seemed to run together in their months apart. "Since we were not properly married, we should under this God."

"Why would you say we weren't properly married?" He leaned forward on the table and tilted his head at her between the candles separating them.

"We didn't have witnesses."

"We had the Gods."

"They are not our Gods anymore."

"So," he said, cheekily, rising and walking back toward her. "If we were not properly married, we definitely sinned."