It would have been hard not to spot Alfred in the massive crowd. He wore capes adorned in gold, the largest cross she had seen and his rugged, pointed crown as the frozen rain started to pellet. He looked stately beyond his years strutting across the courtyard to mount his steed.

They had waited for what seemed like hours, positioned in the courtyard ready to set off to situate the army for an eventual meeting with King Harald. A mix of sleet and rain drenched the group and despite Lhyrie's thick tunic, leather and fox fur cloak, she was soaked and freezing. She would have rather ran to the battle-site to provide her warmth.

"Lord Cynheard, you will not be leaving with us today," Alfred's voice rang out and echoed among the walls. A murmur passed through those waiting. "You are arrested for treason." The nobleman was forced from his horse as Alfred swung his around the courtyard, yelling a cry in Latin. "Forward!"

They filed out of the gates. Lhyrie's horse fell into step behind Lagertha's and Ubbe rode beside her. His presence here confused her. She was surprised he hadn't positioned himself next to Alfred. With the longer days spent together, she was sure they would have had a council while riding.

Their party stopped near where the intended battle was going to take place and she could see the labors of Ubbe's long days. Catapults lined the back edge of a field that was scorched with ash and timber. They would have the advantage of the high ground of the uneven earth, the burned field providing an obstacle in itself.

She made to disembark her horse but noticed Ubbe fidgeting from his perch.

"What are you doing?" She asked him, dropping a bag of tenting at her horse's feet.

He clicked his teeth and hesitated. "I need to wait until the army is settled."

"For what?"

"Going to Harald."

Lhyrie grabbed her satchel and swung it over her shoulders before grabbing the reigns of her horse. Lagertha stopped unloading her things and stared at them.

"What are you doing?" He asked her flatly.

"Wherever you go, I go too. Whatever you do, I do too. Don't you remember?" She reared her horse to look at him.

Lhyrie could see the image of her last set of negotiations in Ubbe's eyes and he shook his head hard. "No, you're not coming."

She folded her hands in front of her and stared hard at him. "I go where –,"

Ubbe groaned heavily, and they waited in silence for the camp to quiet in the unrelenting rain.

They were easily welcomed into Harald's camp once they maneuvered the traps and palisades surrounding it. Shouts of "Ubbe!" rang out occasionally and her mind flashed to the dream she had months ago of his name being chanted by thousands of men. The hairs on her arm stood on end. She pressed her horse forward to follow Ubbe's lead until they were in the middle of the camp where Harald emerged with his arms open.

"Ubbe! Son of Ragnar Lothbrok," he exclaimed, his smile wide as Ubbe swung down from his horse. They embraced momentarily, somewhat awkwardly with their height difference and the slick mud underfoot. Ubbe turned to her and offered his hand as she slid from her horse. "Welcome, welcome," Harald added, looking over Ubbe's shoulder to her. She wondered if he remembered her or if she was just another face from a fire.

Harald guided them through the camp as if he was giving a tour, pointing out people Ubbe might have known or heard of. A man and woman dressed in furs walked toward them as he was pointing, and they caught his attention. "This is Jarl Olavsonn and his wife Gunnhild. He has been at York." They clasped arms as Lhyrie stood on the fringes, slightly behind Ubbe. She was starting to think he was right of her not to come as she was a step behind them on their tour.

"Oh," Ubbe laughed, "I remember York." A gleam appeared in his eye. "What a time we had." He reached over and looped his arm in hers, pulling her closer to him so that she was in front of him now. She nearly flinched at the suddenness of it. "This is my wife Lhyrie," he introduced. His hands slipped to her waist, and the feeling made her breath catch in her throat.

She smiled and shook hands with Olavsonn and Gunnhild, ignoring Ubbe's choice of hand placement since they were arguing. Gunnhild was nearly as tall as Ubbe and Lhyrie shrank in her shadow as she talked about hearing the tales of the Ragnarssons.

"It was indeed a sight to see," Lhyrie interjected, glancing up at Ubbe, who was still smiling.

Harald turned and ushered them toward a tent filled with tables and chairs. "Bring some drink. We are among friends!" He called to no one in particular. Harald sat at the head of the table as Ubbe pulled out a seat for her and filled the spot between them. Gunnhild sat across from her.

"So, Ubbe," Harald leered as glasses were shoved on the table in front of them. "What are you doing fighting for the Christians?"

"King Alfred offered us protection," he looked toward Lhyrie and reached for her hand. "And the lands in England my father fought for."

Ubbe kept his hand in hers and she wondered why he was feeling physical. Perhaps he thought if he kept his hands on her, she couldn't be torn from him during this parlay. Regardless, she didn't mind it, as Harald's looks toward her seemed like he was poaching.

Harald's head bounced with Ubbe's words, and he raised his glass. "I understand, I understand," he muttered, before cheering, "Skol!"

"Skol." Lhyrie raised her glass and took a small sip. It had been months since she had Viking ale and it tasted bitter and strange to her now.

Harald set his glass down slowly and peered at Ubbe. She gulped at his stare and questioned the ale they just drank, but no one seemed to be foaming at the mouth. "You, Bjorn and Lagertha, and Lhyrie," he added, tilting his head toward her in a way that made her skin crawl, "should join us. We have a formidable army."

"And what would happen then?" Ubbe asked, his voice rough. "You would capture us and hand us over to Ivar," he said without a question in his voice.

"No, no, of course not," Harald shook his head of the accusation and took another sip of ale.

Olavsonn piped up. "King Harald has already told me that after our successful raid here, we shall all return to Kattegat and overthrow King Ivar!" He said with glee.

Part of her was torn at the notion. It would be great to see Ivar overthrown from Kattegat, but her, and now Ubbe's, bond with Alfred was too tight. She took another sip of ale and squashed the idea.

"King Alfred's army will not be so easy to overcome as you suppose. It may be better we find a compromise," Ubbe said carefully. She swallowed.

Olavsonn and Gunnhild snapped their heads toward Ubbe with looks of confusion plastered on their faces. Harald stared hard and unmoving at him. Compromise was not a word Vikings used. Discourse was settled in battle and blood. Ubbe held Harald's eye.

"Why would you want to compromise?" Olavsonn asked, perplexed.

"Because I am a Christian," Ubbe said slowly, looking toward the man opposite him. He let go of Lhyrie's hand and held open his hands on the table as if to show them a cross held there. "We have been baptized."

Harald looked like he was seeing Baldur rise from the dead and his voice shook with his head as he said, "I can not believe that. You! A son of Ragnar Lothbrok!" Harald forced away the table and began to pace, turning his back toward them. Tension was rising within the tent and Lhyrie could see Gunnhild shift uncomfortably, ready to pounce if needed. If a fight broke out now, there was no way Lhyrie could take her.

"Yes, me! A son of Ragnar Lothbrok." Ubbe snarled at him but kept his voice low, away from anger. "I know my father would have understood."

Harald continued to pace outside the tent, squishing mud under his steps. He dodged in and out of her vision behind Olavsonn and his wife. "What kind of compromise?" He asked at last, stopping with his back still turned toward them.

"Tell us the weight you need in gold and silver to go and leave Wessex," Ubbe said evenly.

"Very well." He turned back toward them and set his jaw. "Come back tomorrow and I will tell you and your Christian friends what you must pay."

Ubbe downed the last of his ale and pushed his chair back in the soft earth without a word. Lhyrie set her glass down gently and rose to match her husband. She wasn't aware of it before, but her heartbeat was in her ears with nervousness, and she hoped they weren't as red as they felt. Ubbe again took her hand in his as they weaved through the group that had gathered around the tent and found their horses tied where they left them. Worried they would heckle them if they heard Ubbe's outburst as being Christians, Lhyrie kept the dagger that was concealed under her cloak close to her.

"How do you think it went?" She asked him once they were safely out of the makeshift gates.

"Better than expected," he rubbed a hand through his beard. "I at least thought he would threaten me. I'm glad he took the bait easy."

"What of Olavsonn?"

He scoffed. "He will turn his alliance to anyone who can promise any sort of gain. He is no threat."

"Gunnhild seemed strong willed though," she noted.

"And tall!" He laughed, pressing his horse into a trot. Lhyrie pushed hers to match and they rode back to their camp.

Upon their return, dusk had fallen. Tents were set and the waft of meals cooking reached them as they rode through. Despite being close to Winchester, they had decided to camp near the field incase Harald decided to attack early tomorrow instead of waiting for the messenger of gold that would never come. Lhyrie found Lagertha and dismounted. She had set up the tent for them and was now having stew with Heahmund. Ubbe went straight for Alfred.

She was finishing her meal when Ubbe came back into their tent and scattered papers on a makeshift table. He sighed deeply. He looked tired, the long days catching up to him. With him came the cool breeze of the evening and it sent a chill through her.

"Lagertha saved some stew for you," Lhyrie told him, grabbing a blanket to wrap around her shoulders. She pointed to the covered bowl next to her. He grunted and rubbed his eyes.

"I ate with the King," he mumbled. "They're not sharing the tent, are they?" He asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"No, Bjorn and her have their own tent."

"Good," he said, plopping on a rug near the back edge. He tucked his knees into his chest and placed his elbows on them to bury his head in exhaustion.

She was going to ask if he needed anything but knew she needed to let him rest and process. She set her bowl down on the makeshift table and peered at the papers Ubbe set there. They looked like a layout of the field. There were markings for the catapults, lines of rank for their army and notes for Harald's. In the corner, however, there was a lone symbol away from the rest and was marked with a rune.

"Ubbe," she looked toward him, "What is this position up on the left edge?"

His head peeled from his knees. "That is you."

She shook her head, and looked back down at the papers, trying to make sense of the curves and dashes. "No, no. I am up on the front line."

"No," he corrected, "You will be there."

"No," she countered, her finger jamming into the front of the map, "I will be next to you." She looked up and stared hard at him from her spot. "I will die with you."

He sighed and rubbed his brow. His knees dropped so that his legs curled on the floor, and he leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing into hers even from their distance across the tent. "You will live for our son."

She swallowed hard, and for the second time today, felt the hairs on her arm prick up. "Ubbe –,"

"You will be responsible to light fire to the back line if the battle is lost."

She paused. "If I light the back line, that will trap our army."

"Exactly."

"No, no, Ubbe," she started to plead. Her voice shook uncontrollably. "I refuse it."

"You will be there if I have to tie you to the tree," he snipped quickly. He twisted his arm ring on his wrist and started again softly, "If the battle is lost, you will try to find Alfred or Aethelred – whoever you see first. You grab them and light the line. Then warn Winchester, take Ragnar and flee as far as you can."

Her head shook and her vision blurred. "No."

"Lhyr –,"

"I will not leave you to die."

"If it comes to that, yes you will."

"No!"

"By God, Lhyrie!" His hand slammed down on the ground and his voice shook against the walls of their tent. "Do not make our son be an orphan like we have." His voice cracked when he spoke, and she could see the faintest glean of tears in his eye as he stared into hers. "I love you too much to have both of you die tomorrow."

"If I look for Alfred and Aethelred, I can look for you," she pleaded as tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked them away.

"You may hate me and want to counter every action I request," he said bluntly, still spinning his arm ring absentmindedly. "But I've loved you for as long as I can remember, and I decided this for the sake of your safety. Do not fight me on this, this time."

Her heart broke for him, for their family and for the choices that aged him of late. Not just the manual and physical labor of overseeing the battle plans, but the personal turmoil of keeping them – Lhyrie and Ragnar – safe. After everything they have been through, the years moved before her eyes. She had loved him since she first met him and he reminded her of that little boy in that moment, determined and righteous, and trying to take on too much responsibility. And, as determined as he was, he would tie her to a tree just to make sure his point was made.

His face was still set hard, like he was expecting an argument from her, as her feet landed in front of him, just as it was when they first met, and it made her smile. Crouching down to be eye level with him, his face softened.

"I do not hate you," she said quietly, bringing her hand to lightly caress the side of his face. She ran her thumb over his cheek. "I have never stopped loving you." Leaning forward, her lips gently found his.

Breaking apart gently, she whispered, "I don't agree. But I will do this as you have asked me to." She touched her forehead to his and draped her other hand around his neck. "I'm sorry for my anger lately. Your choices have always led you back to me."

Ubbe stroked the side of her face and ran his thumb over her lips. It pulled her forehead off his. "You are always forgiven," he said softly. His lips found hers again, desperate and urgent, as his other arm wrapped around her waist to pull her to sit on his lap.

Lhyrie pushed into him, wanting to, needing to get closer; the desire of late peaking and asking to be released. Her hands missed the prick of his shaved sides, ached for the tangle of his braid, longed for the smooth feel of his warmth growing underneath her. Her tongue met with his and she melted into him as his hands trailed down her back to hold firm under her ass. She still had the bruise from her training with Lagertha and it made her gasp when he squeezed.

"How does that bruise feel?" He groaned, kneading the spot again. She answered by bringing her lips back to his and tasting his tongue.

His hands stayed there, groping and lingering on her thighs before following the curve of her groin. His fingers traced the seam of her trousers and it rubbed against her center, begging for her to grind into them. They lingered there teasing, achingly.

"You have a hole in the stitching," he broke apart breathless, looking down at their laps, not that this hole was visible where his hands were between them. He tried to wiggle a finger into the opening he thought was there and she squirmed above him.

"I just mended these," she whacked him on the shoulder.

"You didn't do a very good job." His finger must have burst through because she felt a coldness on her inner thigh.

"This is one of my only pairs!" She swatted him again.

"Mend them better," he told her with a smile and pulled the fabric further.

Immediately, his fingers found her wet folds and slipped between them, a thumb placed lightly on her pubic bone. His other hand pressed on her low back, anchoring her to him and she kissed him again briefly before his thumb started to circle, forcing another gasp from her lips. Smiling again, he kissed down the line of her jaw onto her neck and continued to draw circles.

Lhyrie closed her eyes as he nipped on her neck, his beard tickling her as he planted the slow marks. Her need was growing, the warmth building in her core with each pass of his rough thumb. As his forefinger trailed down through her folds and pushed into her, she thought she would overflow. She moaned and rocked into him, welcoming the feeling, urging for more. Pressing her forehead to his again, he curled his finger in her, and it made her shiver.

"Ubbe, please," she begged, her voice weak. She wanted, she needed, to feel more than just his smooth fingers.

"Eager," he smirked, slipping another finger into her easily and stroked both forward. His thumb continued to spiral, throwing her into a blur. "It hasn't been that long."

"We are on the eve of battle," she gasped. She couldn't concentrate on much, with her mind waxing and waning in pleasure, but knew she needed him free. Her hands rushed to the band of his trousers, and she pulled.

"No, no," he nearly scolded, smile in his voice. It made her tremble. "I'm not done."

He continued to curl his fingers as her walls clenched around him and her hands went back to brace herself on anything of him she could grab. She thought his shoulder might break under her grip as he started to pump his fingers, slow at first and then faster and faster to time with her ragged, panting breathing, all while his thumb still pressured her clit. Her head dropped to the crook of his neck, and as her hips rushed to meet each blow of his hand, she rode the wave of her budding orgasm until she was shaking.

She didn't even realize his fingers stopped moving until her breath started to slow; her mind was still writhing, flooded with intensity. Ubbe moved the hand that was anchored on her low back and tilted her chin off his shoulder to kiss her deeply. A moan lingered in her, and his fingers twitched in her again and she broke apart in protest. His fingers slid out of her and she dripped from him.

"Please," she whimpered, palming his bulge hard between them. He jerked and as she kissed the sharp line of his cheekbone, her hands pulled at his waistband.

He didn't stop her this time and his trousers slipped off easily. His cock was throbbing, flushed red and beading with seed already. The sight of it made her see stars in itself and she needed to feel its warmth, its softness. She ran her fingers up its length and he groaned, bucking under her touch. She stayed there, the lightest pressure to the sensitive spot under his head and twirled.

It was his turn to beg and he buried his head into her chest. A hand gripped tight onto her bottom and she was certain there would be a new bruise there come morning from his hold. She inched closer to him and rolled her hips so that her wet warmth ran over his. Another groan irked out of him.

After much too long, she shifted and slowly lowered herself onto his length with a sigh and shiver. With Ubbe's previous doting attention, it was easy to allow him access to her deepest parts. She wanted him there, to feel the rhythmic bump against that spot that would send her into whatever afterlife she now believed in. Despite this, her already sensitive areas turned into a lightning storm if she went further than shallow rocks. She lowered an inch deeper to test her boundaries of pleasure and it made her moan into his hair.

With that, Ubbe couldn't help himself; his hands went to her waist to push her down to his base. Her eyes rolled back and she stifled a cry out of ecstasy. Fingers turned to claws on his shoulders and dug into the fabric of his tunic. She could feel every part of him, every line and vein tight against her.

"Let me hear you, minn iss," he panted, his voice rough and airy. His hands stayed firm on her hips, unmoved in their pressure and insistence to have her come completely to him every time. His hips thrusted up to hers with every rock she gave and it wedged him deeper into her. Another cry came to her lips that she almost suppressed but let it through. He smirked and met her hips rougher. "You have more than that," he goaded.

She slapped his shoulder weakly and one of his hands moved up to behind her head for a handful of her braid. He pulled gently, exposing her bare neck again to bury his lips in. He suckled, leaving marks of blue on her neck until her moans and groans and squeaks were a blur. He left her shivering, shaking and hardly rocking anymore, but when she opened her eyes once she caught her breath, Ubbe was smiling, satisfied. He was still firm within her but his grips between her hair and hip were now light caresses, soothing, sweet touches.

"You have more than that," she tried to prod with some breath left in her voice, but it still came as panting.

"You don't," he snickered, nuzzling her cheek. In lieu of his words, he throbbed inside her and she whined at the feel.

"Get me with child," she purred into his ear, finding the urgency she felt was still unmet.

She couldn't see his face, but the noise that came deep from him surely had his eyes aflame. The hand behind her head flexed and pulled her back. His lips enveloped hers swiftly and he knocked her backward so she was against the soft furs lining the floor of the tent. She was encased by him and they were still joined below the waist. His lips again went to her neck and she arched against him. Teasing, he circled his hips and it sent a shockwave through her core.

"If you need me to stop, stop me," he said, stroking her hair lightly as it fell out of her braid around her. His cock twitched as he said it. She pulled his lips to hers again and forced her hips up into his in answer.

Her mind and body were a whirl of him from the start as she hit another peak with his first deep thrust. He was everywhere on her; the smell in her nostrils, the taste on her lips, the feel in every cell of her body, the word torn from her throat.

He dug deeper, deeper into her with each frantic move as though Harald would burst through the entrance any moment. Shuttering, he groaned and swung back onto his heels, all while pushing her knees up tight into her stomach. She felt so full she would burst from him once he hit his crest. Another, or the same continual wave of orgasm continued to rock her. It curled her toes and flayed her hands uncontrollably as she tried to grab anything to ground her. She clawed his hand on her knee as he let out a gasping, aching cry that tingled her already electrified skin.

He jolted and collapsed back to be level with her, his body writhing with the hot release into her. His rhythm ended with slow, spent thrusts just as stirring as the rest of their act and it made her twitch in her final climax. Their foreheads pressed together, their breath coming in fast draws between them. They stayed breathless, connected as such while Lhyrie rubbed his back, drawing circles around his shoulder blades.

"I do hope you get with child again," Ubbe said some time later as she curled into him. She thought he had fallen asleep after they shared the spare bowl of stew. "You restarted your courses a fortnight ago, yes?"

"You kept track of my courses?" She asked, looking up at him, but just saw a mass of his beard.

"Well…" he puffed out his cheeks, "We were told to avoid women the second week after since they would get with child."

"Some women do," she nodded, "but not all." She played with a line of hair trailing down his abdomen that tickled him as his breath cut short. "I will make sure not to take my hellebore."

Ubbe took her hand from his belly to stop her light touch and laced his fingers through hers. She rose with his chest when he let out a heavy choked sigh that he quickly covered with a cough. "Can you name him Sigurd?" He asked quietly.

A coldness ran through her and she propped herself on her elbow. The pained look in his eye was the only thing that stopped her from poking him hard in the chest. "I don't like that talk, Ragnarsson."

"The name or – ?"

Again, she resisted the urge to slap his shoulder despite his jest. "You will be there to name him," she said sternly.

"If I'm not –,"

"Stop –,"

He stroked her hair softly and her demeanor softened as well. "It is just something to consider," he offered.

"I don't want to consider it."

"Again, if you don't like the name, we won't use it," he joked. She poked him this time. "But we can decide that when they're born."

She kissed him lightly before curling back down onto his chest, satisfied he would stop talking about his potential death. "If it is a girl, I like Siggy."

"That's unacceptable," he said, trying to hide the smile in his voice. "Only I can make demands."