The frost blew its icy breath over the countryside overnight, the tips of the grasses white and dark clouds lingered in the skies. Lhyrie was spending the cool morning picking the last of the fall lavender that grew near the walls of the Villa before the snow officially took them. Ragnar was curled and bundled in a wrap tied around her, the warmth of him and her heavy cloak nearly caused her to cut this task short – she was still feeling weak but was determined to have the freedom by herself outside of her rooms and back into nature, regardless if that was just outside the gates.
"Don't work too hard," Ubbe had warned but refused to help her with picking the purple pyres. "Don't make me sneeze," he begged of her.
"I promise I will rest if needed," she assured him before heading out the doors.
It was the simplicity of the work that helped her mind rest. Now, as her days were filled with discussions and arguments, this brought her back to what she loved. With Björn and Lagertha here now, it was more politics than she wanted to be apart of. There were negotiations, for the lands still assured to them. But the discussions as to what the cost of those lands would be, were too much for her. There were also rumors floating of King Harald's ships being seen arriving along the coast again and heading back to York. Ivar was not seen with him this time. That was good news at least, Lhyrie thought. One less headache in England for them.
Her satchel was nearly full when Ragnar peeked awake and whined, hunger pulling him from sleep. "I know," she bounced, shushing him quietly. There was one more batch she could get done before he really started screaming.
Inside the gates and in the warmth of the Villa, she sat with him while he ate, resting her feet on the bench she perched herself at. It felt good to rest, her feet were aching even with the short amount of time on them. After Ragnar's feast, she made her way down to the Beaton's working quarters, winding and twisting the halls she started to know well. Pushing open the door, she jumped at the sight on the table.
"Sjöfn," she cursed at the mangled set of roots laying on the Beaton's workstation. She cradled Ragnar closer to her but stood in her spot.
"Oh yes," he commented from the corner, looking up at her shocked in the doorway. "Unusual looking thing isn't it."
The thing was similar to the twisted assortment of roots Hvitserk had in his bags at York. She scrunched her nose in distaste and made a note to try not to experiment this time as she moved from the doorway. "What is it?" She asked curiously, setting her bag of lavender tops onto one of the many shelves on the walls.
"Mandrake," he said simply.
"I've seen this before," she told him, approaching the table cautiously, not wanting to go further in detail with her encounter with it. Since her delivery, Beaton had been more enthusiastic in having her assist him on small matters. He was no longer scolding her but did make her sit when she worked; still, her small taste on the way into York might not sit well with him.
"Very powerful if ingested. Even deadly if not careful," he added.
"Does it help with pain?" She asked, trying to think of the application. From her personal experience, she wasn't sure what it could be used for. She was giddy and reckless, her inhibitions loosened.
"It helps with not realizing the pain is there."
"How so?"
"They see things which are not there… evil things." Hallucinogenic.
She thought back to York. It made her looser than ale or wine and much like the mushrooms she's had occasionally. She heard of having hallucinations from large quantities of mushrooms, but if a bite of this mandrake did something similar, she thought it was something that should be avoided.
She prayed that Hvitserk was safe.
"How is your bleeding?" He asked, pulling her mind from far away.
"My blood had stopped weeks ago," she told him curtly. She was thankful that he wanted her assistance with his practice but didn't like him prying into hers. After the abruption which led to labor, she had lost too much blood and had continued to bleed heavily several weeks after. Lhyrie had been making a tea every night of black hellebore which had relieved the courses.
"I don't approve of the use of your herbs," he said shortly. She had made the mistake of mentioning her remedy which led to a lengthy lecture of its use.
"Thank you, I've made a notation of the disapproval."
"I truly do not understand why you only accept half my help," he exclaimed, shaking his head.
"I only accept the half I agree with," she said over her shoulder.
He continued to shake his head. "I have made a notation of your disapproval," he responded. Lhyrie thought she saw a slight smile in his eyes as he said it and it brought a smile to hers that he was at least somewhat lighthearted with his response.
"I do apologize I did not make it to your conversion," he said out of the silence a while later.
"Do you practice much religion outside your medicine?" Lhyrie asked him, pouring her freshly ground lavender oil into a vial. She rarely saw him outside his quarters if it wasn't for meals or tending.
He blushed slightly caught in the revelation. "No," he answered honestly. "I would much rather find God here than in church."
Lhyrie paused for a moment and felt goosebumps fall over her arms, despite the layers of clothing and Ragnar making her flush. How many times had she felt Eir over the years while she was healing? She hoped this new God would grant her the same serenity eventually.
Much later, after her feet could not bear the weight of Ragnar curled on her chest much longer, and her hands cramping from the pulling and twisting of leaves, she went back to place Ragnar comfortably in his bassinet and for her to rest as well. To her surprise, Ubbe was in their rooms instead of with Lagertha or Bjorn.
"How was your day?" She asked him, pulling him away from rewrapping one of his axes with a new cord.
"Umpff," he grunted unceremoniously and went back to his work. "You were gone a long time," he commented without glancing up.
"You can ask the Beaton, I sat while I worked," she promised, unwrapping the bundle of cloth securing Ragnar close to her. It felt good to shed some layers as sweat had started to stick to her with the work. The newborn was, of course, fast back asleep and she laid him softly into the wicker bassinet at the bedside. "Do you remember about the plant I found before York?"
Ubbe looked up with a snicker. "I remember what happened after," he laughed briefly.
"Beaton had one on his table today - mandrake," she told him, not that he cared what it was called. "He said it caused people to have visions."
"Many things do that."
"I just nibbled it, and it made me altered…" She dragged on, removing more layers.
"And…?"
"I'm worried about Hvitserk... It was in his bags."
She heard the wood creak under the strain of his axe. "Hvitserk was clean."
"If he was using it to cope with – with everything, I'm worried he might have spiraled," Lhyrie explained. She sat on their bed and looked toward Ubbe, who was still facing away from her. "Especially if he's with Ivar."
"It is not my worry," he forced through clenched teeth.
"He's your brother –,"
"I don't want to hear his name from you again," he snapped lowly. His back was tense turned from her. "Why do you care?"
She rolled her eyes. "He's your brother," she said again.
"Exactly." He set the axe down on the chest and stood, knocking the stool away without care. "He's not your brother."
She sighed heavily and crossed her arms. Ubbe began pacing slightly. Again, she rolled her eyes. He wasn't angry yet, but he bordered it. "Why?" She asked simply of his behavior.
"He betrayed me with you and betrayed me with Ivar. He is no brother to me," he said sharply. "It does not matter what he does to himself."
"I thought we all had moved on from – m – that." She almost uttered me but felt a rush of embarrassment, almost childish with the idea of boys fighting over her. "Black eyes and that..."
He rubbed his right temple feeling the past bruise. "Maybe I haven't forgiven him." He sounded far away, reliving the punch or strikes against him.
Lhyrie stood from her spot on the bed and walked toward Ubbe. She rubbed his shoulder, and he planted his feet under her touch, the anger that brewed diminishing. "I know," she whispered, nudging her chin onto his shoulder.
Ubbe shifted slightly and she fell more comfortably onto him. "Have you heard about Magnus?"
"Who?"
"My latest brother," he told her, taking a step back together so that they sat back onto the bed. "Queen Kwenthrith and my father's child apparently," he said with little enthusiasm.
"You don't seem convinced," she smirked, snuggling back into him.
He rolled his eyes up with a puff. "I think Bjorn wanted to find a new brother," he sighed. "He knew some Norse and has blue eyes."
"Have you seen him?" She yawned, feeling the labor of todays work.
"They stopped by while you were out."
"Hence the lovely mood," she jabbed his ribs playfully. Sitting down again, the weight of her feet caught up with her and she yawned unwillingly.
"Sleep, minn iss," Ubbe told her, hugging her closer. "There is some time until supper."
"No, no," she shook him off.
Ubbe cocked an eyebrow. He drew her even closer and started leaning backward, so that they were laying down on the bed. His hair fluffed around him as his face plastered into the mattress. "If you do not sleep, at least lay with me."
"Can we at least turn for the pillows?"
"No." His mustache twitched with his exhale and, despite his words, he reached behind him to grab a pillow to place under her head. She raised her head enough for him to slide the pillow and the crook of his elbow behind her then she dug into his comfort once again.
Despite being just inches from her, his mind was still far away. She had hoped with the baptism, there would be one less strain causing the thin lines under his eyes, but they only seemed to grow. She reached out and stroked his cheekbone and the beginnings of one of the new lines near the blue of his eye.
"What is it?" He asked, barely above a whisper.
"You're changing," she said softly, moving her hand through his hair.
He smirked. "Didn't you say growing old does that?"
"Yes," she drew on. "But I didn't think it would touch your soul." His eyebrows drew together in confusion, but Lhyrie shook her head and her thought away. She leaned the two inches into him to kiss him softly and then said, "Those haven't changed."
He leaned in again and kissed her, his free hand cradling her head as he did so but then started to travel lower down her side as his tongue danced on her lower lip.
"I thought I was meant to be sleeping," she asked him as he pressed themselves together.
"I also said lay with me." His fingers caressed her lower back and tickled, making her arch into him and she could feel him warm and ready. He smiled. "But if you would like to sleep, please sleep."
She paused a beat, making him hang on her decision. The seconds tortured him. "I can sleep after," she said against his lips.
Some time later, Lhyrie curled into his bare chest and twirled the cross she was still getting accustomed to hanging there around her fingers. The metal was weighted differently from anything Viking and still felt foreign in her hands. She wondered when this new God would help that feeling fade.
"Now you're supposed to be sleeping, minn iss," Ubbe said, taking the cross from her hands and enveloping hers with his own calloused fingers. He had fallen asleep briefly, his light snores made his chest rise and fall in smooth rhythm. She rose with his chest as he yawned.
"Have you felt this new God yet?" She asked him.
"No," he answered simply, and popped his lips in amusement. "There was Odin, of course, with my father and at some sacrifices. Why do you ask?"
"Something the Beaton said today about finding God in his healing. It reminded me just how many times I had felt the Gods, in healing and elsewhere."
"Hmmpf," he muttered, the buzz echoing in his ribcage. "You do not need God to heal. Your mother taught you that. Not him." His fingers tangled with hers and he squeezed them tight, reassuringly. "Tomorrow," he cleared his throat and sat up slightly, "Alfred asked me to teach him how to fight."
"He told me he was going to ask you," she said, gently undoing the lacing of their fingers and dragging a finger around his palm.
"Is your dagger still sharp?" He asked.
"I never did trim your beard," she poked him. "So, yes."
"Bring that with you tomorrow. Alfred asked another favor."
"First lesson is not to be afraid," Ubbe said, picking up an axe and examining it. He pointed to a tree and added, "So go and stand by that tree."
Lhyrie snickered and bounced Ragnar in her lap. Oh, don't scare him, she thought. She sat with Ragnar and the horses, resting comfortably on the wagon they hitched out to a spot in the dense woods, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. It was the ideal spot, really to train him. This would be the ground he would fight on, Ubbe would be the people he fought against.
Alfred looked toward the tree, toward Lhyrie then back at Ubbe. "Why? What are you going to do?"
"You asked me to teach you how to fight, hm?" Ubbe asked him, striding up to the King and flipping the axe in his hands. "I can teach you how to fight to stay alive, but if you are afraid, you are already dead." He knocked Alfred in the head lightly with the end of the axe. "So… go stand by the tree," he directed, turning back himself toward the pile of weapons he chose this axe from to grab another.
Alfred turned slowly, perplexed still at the instruction. Lhyrie gave him an encouraging head bob and smile from her view upon the wagon, which seemed to help his feet move, but he turned several feet from the tree to face Ubbe again. He merely pointed for Alfred to step further back and then turned himself to grab another axe from the pile. The King huffed and continued to walk backward.
When Alfred's heels were grazing the tree's roots, Lhyrie called out, "He's there!"
Ubbe turned swiftly on his heel, and in one motion, one fluid arc of his arm, heaved an axe at Alfred.
Alfred dropped, terror in his eyes. He looked back toward the axe then toward Ubbe, worried another axe would be flung toward him. Still crouching, he held out his arms, defenseless. "Ubbe!"
"Do not be afraid," Ubbe told him simply, flipping another axe in his hands.
Alfred's eyes shot towards hers and she tried to give him a look of encouragement; to tell him that he was safe, and that this was necessary. But she really wanted to cradle him like she was holding Ragnar at that moment. The fear in his eyes was unfathomable. So, she nodded to him, trying to elicit all the emotions she wanted to express, and Alfred rose from his position and took a deep breath.
Ubbe nodded at him and hurled another axe. Alfred dropped again, but when he rose and looked back at the tree, he saw this axe imbedded neatly next to its counterpart and he breathed a little lighter. Lhyrie flashed him a smile for validation when he glanced once more over to her when he stood. There was less fear in his eyes this time and Ubbe gave him a hard nod in recognition of it before he sent yet another axe toward him.
They spent several hours, after a few more axes were stuck into the tree, working on steps and jabs. Alfred had basic instruction on sword fighting, but he admitted that Aethelred was more the soldier than he was. Seeing Alfred handle an axe for the first time nearly knocked Lhyrie from the wagon. He swung it and she thought he was going to impale it back on himself. The look she shot Ubbe made him grab it quickly from the King's hands. He would never handle an axe, only defend from one.
Ragnar slept for most of the lesson, snoring softly in the makeshift bassinet beside her. He did wake and nursed as Ubbe tripped Alfred after commandeering his sword, forcing him onto the wet leaves matted to the ground underneath them. Ubbe offered a hand to Alfred, helping him up and gave him a pat on the back as they walked over to her and the wagon.
Alfred looked exhausted. She wasn't sure if it was the new haircut or the training, but he looked older and worn. His fingers were dirty and bloody as he took a swig of water that Ubbe handed him and there were marks under the neck of his collar. But he was laughing, the white of his smile a contrast to the dirt and leaves sticking to the sides of his face.
"What did you think, Alfred?" She asked him, patting Ragnar on her shoulder. He let out a belch that made all three of them laugh.
"Different than anything my father taught me," he admitted, his breath still coming heavy. He took another drink of water. "I have to ask," he turned toward Ubbe. "How can someone not flinch when an axe is thrown at them?"
Ubbe suppressed a smile and raised his eyebrows at her. He twitched his head toward the tree in silent question. She smirked.
"You're taking the babe?" Alfred asked concerned.
She hopped off the wagon and held Ragnar close to her, giving Alfred his answer. He gave an exasperated huff. Ubbe walked a step behind her, taking the axe off his belt and flipping it in his hands. She stopped before the tree that had five axes already imbedded in it; she wanted to pull them, to give Ubbe a clean target, but didn't and turned to face her husband. Alfred had followed them and leaned against the tree next to which Ubbe stood. He crossed his arms nervously for them.
It had been years since she had done this, let alone holding her child. Now, she was second guessing not passing him to Alfred, but quickly rid that thought from her mind. That sort of doubt is dangerous in instances like this. To fear death was dangerous. Whether her death was in a millisecond when Ubbe threw this axe or in a millisecond fifty years from now, she did not fear it. She took a breath and nodded. Ubbe did the same.
She saw the axe fly from his fingers, the rotation clean along its axis, the weight balanced perfectly by him. After one rotation she thought it embed high, closer to the line of axes already in the tree. She was a good deal shorter than Alfred, Ubbe would have used his other marks to throw. Midway through that rotation, the axehead dropped from where she thought, closer to her head height now.
The handle flew by her right ear, sweeping a piece of her hair up into her eyes. She didn't flinch, but her breath was pinned in her chest. The blade imbedded itself in the wood neatly, lower than the rest in the grouping.
"Was that payback?" She breathed, once her lungs allowed her to.
"What for?" He smirked, meeting her halfway between his spot and the target.
"Right ear for right ear?" She tugged her lobe. Ubbe tucked the piece of hair that sprang loose behind it and smiled.
"I wasn't aiming for you, just near you," he told her and kissed her lightly. He paused and stroked Ragnar's curls. "He didn't move, did he?"
"It's not as though he knew an axe was flying toward us," she answered.
Ubbe looked up toward the sky. The clouds were moving fast above them but plenty of daylight still remained following Alfred and his sparring. "How long has it been since you trained?" He looked toward her but didn't want to pressure her.
Lhyrie looked past Ubbe's shoulder toward Alfred. "Too long," she admitted. "But I need to do it, strength or no."
He rolled his eyes at her and started to protest that she didn't need to train if she felt weak, but Alfred cut in, "What was the ear for an ear?" He asked curiously, passing a look between the two of them. Lhyrie laughed.
"She shot an arrow at me –,"
"Saved your life –," she interjected.
"And it nearly caught my ear," Ubbe coughed. "Our rings are made from that arrow."
Alfred looked taken aback at that thought, perhaps he pictured the body of the soldier the arrow was torn from. "Well," he said, shaking off the thought. "Thank you for the demonstration."
"Ubbe and I were going to train for a moment," she told Alfred. "Could you hold Ragnar, or do you want me to put him in the bassinet?"
"No, of course," Alfred said without hesitation and moved toward Lhyrie, his hands open to receive the infant.
She handed Ragnar over to him awkwardly. He was holding him like a sack of grain that had a leak. He had probably never held a child before – most noble men never had to. Alfred was bouncing gently like he had seen Lhyrie do, but it just seemed forced. She turned hesitantly away to grab her shield and sword from the pile near Ubbe.
"He's okay," Ubbe whispered to her when she was next to him and then peered over his shoulder at the two of them bouncing rigidly amongst the trees. His eyebrows flicked together briefly.
"He's okay," she whispered back.
He nodded hard and grunted, palming the axe on his hip. "Are you ready?"
Lhyrie shifted her shield on her arm. For something that once felt so familiar, it now felt laborious and cold dangling on her arm. She gripped the leather bracer tight and heaved it into her chest with a thud. Her sword felt better in her hand. Her fingers fit the grooves worn with time, the leather old and soft under her palm, the weight more accustomed to her arm.
She slowed her breath and nodded. "Yes." Shifting her feet in the dead leaves underneath, she tried to feel the hard earth stiff under them. "Don't go light on me," she told him, raising her sword to him and crossed to her side.
"When have you known me to under-do anything?" He asked cheekily, flipping his axe. He sidestepped too and they were stamping a circle of dried leaves underfoot.
"Under communicate perhaps." Her words left her before she could control them, and she could see Ubbe's face fall flat after she said them.
"I thought we had moved on from that," he said, drawing his lips thin. His eyes flicked to Alfred but were swiftly back to her.
"Maybe I haven't," she said forcefully with a tilt of her head. Her breath and her words were coming fierce and fast. She wasn't sure why the wave of anger was suddenly present, but knew it wasn't unnatural and it came from deep within her. Using that rush of anger, she lunged forward.
Clashing with his axe, he threw off her sword and sent her stumbling with the odd weight of her shield. The smirk that came to him pushed her to regain her footing to wipe it off. She stabbed again and he jumped back to avoid her.
"I told you nothing happened," he huffed, side stepping another jab by her.
"Was that the same with Margrethe?" She lunged again and their weapons clashed and hooked. Shoving him with her shield, his axe sprang loose from her sword, and she turned quickly on her heel to stab again at his other side to be blocked again with another axe.
"I thought we had moved from that too," he gritted, finally swinging his axe instead of just blocking. She ducked to avoid his axe and swung her sword at his feet. Jumping to avoid her sword, he landed awkwardly on his ankle with a groan, but continued with his axe raised in her direction.
Her breath was coming quicker, ragged and labored. Each new strike made her shield weigh tons more than the move before and her arm ached; her shield started to lower. Ubbe took notice because his blows were getting higher, forcing her shield up to match, to tire her more. It only fueled her.
"You didn't answer," she puffed, stabbing at his side. He twisted out of the way of her sword, but it caught on his tunic, tugging at it briefly.
He let out a cool breath with a sneer. "What was the question?" He heaved, swinging again near her head.
"Was it same with Margrethe? Being nothing?" She took the moment he paused to ram her shield in his face, knocking him backward to the leaves. She didn't have a moment to celebrate her small victory, however, as Ubbe sprang to his feet and began circling again, his eyes fixed on her. The look reminded her of the one he had when they blood eagled Aelle and it unsettled her. He didn't answer and continued to circle.
She snickered lowly, fueled again by the fire that lingered deep. "You freed her." She swung her sword high, and his axe met hers at their apex. "Did you sleep with her then?"
Ubbe snarled roughly and rolled his eyes but didn't answer. She was about to knock her shield into him again, but he used the blade of his free axe to pry her shield down. With her lessened strength, her grip faltered, and it dropped at her feet with his axe stuck to it. Her sword slipped from his axe above them and clashed low again near her hip.
Lhyrie's breath was coming too heavy to her chest. They clashed several more times and she spun to avoid a slash by him which led to stars floating above his head once her feet stopped moving. She must have lost color because Ubbe lowered his axe completely and his eyes flashed from aggravation to concern.
"You proved yourself, Lhyrie," he said, breathless himself. "We can stop."
She shook her head violently and regretted it almost immediately. The stars floated amongst the trees. Flicking her sword up at him, she cheeked, "That's not an honorable surrender."
"It doesn't matter."
She cocked her head at him and scoffed. "That's not what we would want to demonstrate to Alfred, hmm?" She had almost forgotten he was there, Ragnar in his arms like whale jelly, on the edge of their discourse. "I think it matters," she spit, rushing toward him and whipping her sword toward his belly.
Ubbe turned to the side of her blade, wrapping his axe and wrist around hers as she passed. The pressure of the lock made her drop the sword and he swept his foot under hers as she let it go, knocking her backward. It was the same move he did with Alfred earlier. But unlike Alfred, her head didn't knock against the hard mud underfoot.
The cut of his foot positioned himself so that he was next her when she started to fall, and he caught her with one arm, inches from the earth, the blade of his axe wedged under her chin. Lhyrie gulped.
Their chests were heaving in time together and she could taste metal in the back of her throat from exhaustion. Part of her told her to fold in his arms and the other to keep her stare stern and unmoving. Their eyes focused nowhere but the other's irises, their breaths loud between them.
"You proved your point," he snarled finally, still gasping. His axe remained unmoved under her chin. "And, no, I didn't sleep with her then," he snipped.
He whisked his axe away to hook onto his belt and held his hand out to her. Her breath was still heavy along with her legs, but she didn't take it. Ubbe scoffed and rolled his eyes at her. In one motion he stood and placed his hands under her arms, picking her up and setting her down on her feet unsteadily. Turning, he grunted and removed his other axe from her shield.
Lhyrie wiped her hands on her tunic and closed her eyes briefly. Her breath was still shaky either from nerves or fatigue and she tried to calm it. Spinning, she put on a smile and walked toward Alfred and Ragnar, holding out her hands for her son. "Wasn't that fun?" She asked in a singsong voice for her son as Alfred passed him to her.
"Are you alright?" Alfred asked lowly, looking past her shoulder to Ubbe, who was still facing away from them.
"Of course," she answered, rocking Ragnar instinctively. "Why wouldn't I be?" She flicked the piece of hair that sprang loose from the axe throw behind her ear again and she noticed her hand tremor slightly. "That was nothing," she shook him and the tremor off.
Alfred eyed her cautiously but nodded. Ubbe threw a sack of weapons onto the wagon and it made both of them jump. "We need to go," he grumbled, walking toward them to grab the last pile of weapons. He heaved it onto his shoulder without a further look at either of them and trudged back to the wagon. Jumping up onto the box seat, he clutched the reigns tightly in hands, the whites of his knuckles seen clearly across the yards that separated them.
"You need cleaned up," Lhyrie laughed at Alfred. He smiled and his face softened from his concern.
She resumed her spot in the back of the wagon, riding with Ragnar next to her in the makeshift bassinet. Ubbe and Alfred were chatting carelessly in front just as they had on the way to training. Alfred seemed like a different man now, not just with the haircut that littered the floor that they left; he had a different confidence with which he held his shoulders. He was looser and more trusting – axe throws certainly can build trust. Alfred let out a howl and clapped Ubbe on the back, their friendship growing.
The bumps of the path ticked time slowly for her and she dreaded the tension that would ensue once Alfred departed. Lhyrie knew her words cut deep but she didn't regret them. She only prayed this strain wouldn't last.