She woke with the birds chirping. The tent was still dark in the wake of the night, but the rustling of camp stirring woke her out of her light sleep. She heard the drums of shields tossed on the earth, small shouts from the far side of their makeshift station, and the whirl from the collapse of tents. A soldier rushed by just outside their threshold, his steps and chain mail filling the quiet space and it shook what tiredness remained from her and replaced with fear of what was to come.
Ubbe sprang up and rubbed his heavy, tired eyes, the sound of the soldier jolting him from sleep. "G'morning," he greeted, his voice rough from sleep.
"Good morning," she yawned back, taking his hand and squeezing it hard as if it would keep him from leaving and commencing this fore-coming battle. He leaned over and kissed her, his lips cold from the night.
Rubbing his eyes again, he gave a sigh and looked toward the flap of the tent, expecting someone to rush in to wake him. "I feel as though I am late already," he said with a groan. He squeezed her hand again and then planted a kiss on her forehead before standing and shaking out the sleep in his legs.
Lhyrie stayed under the covers of a fur, refusing to start the day, but watched as Ubbe gathered his armor and weapons. His silhouette was sharp and dark against the light now trying to filter through the tent sheets. She drank him in; every line of muscle, the arch of his shoulders, the elegance his fingers held, the fall of his braid down his back. Gulping away the worry that built in the back of her throat, she tried to burn this view of him in her memory; of him crouching low, the curve of his spine rounded tight as he picked up his axe and examined the handle. It was him raw.
She wiped away the puddle of tears that formed from her eye-line and stood slowly. Her shift was light and the winter morning brisk, but she didn't pull a fur over her shoulders. Weaving toward Ubbe, she wrung her hands in nervousness and wrapped her arms around him when he stood. Pulling down his lips toward hers, she kissed him with the evocation of all their previous kisses. And still this kiss was not enough.
He broke apart, a weak smile hovering over her lips. "We can not delay this one, minn iss."
She nodded shakily. "I know," she whispered, placing a light peck onto his cheek. His beard tickled her chin and again she pushed back the worry from her mind. "Let me help you dress."
"I don't have –,"
"We have the time," she urged, pulling the pants from his hands. "No one is bursting through to find you yet."
"I feel like a child," he laughed, stepping to the heavy wool pants she held open for him. Slowly, she pulled the waistband up, her fingers brushing the back of his thighs and he drew his breath in sharply. "This is going to be torture," he half groaned as her hands moved in front of him to tie the strings at his waist.
She didn't answer, but smiled without looking up at him and took her time tying the laces tight. Reaching over to grab the padded green tunic he picked, she weighed it in her hands. It weighed more than Ragnar did with its extra leather and weaving stitched together. She had added leather strips to the already reinforced shoulders when they heard Harald had arrived at York, and she ran a finger over it then. "This brings out the blue in your eyes," she commented, guiding it over his head when he bent down for her.
"I already have blue eyes," he said, winking one of them at her.
"The green makes them bluer," she corrected, pulling down one long sleeve. Tunneled underneath the reinforced shoulders were sleeves of woven leather instead of bracers and her fingers lingered over the pattern as she pulled it down. Her fingers grazed his wrist and he grabbed her hand before she moved to his other sleeve. His other hand cradled behind her head and he pressed his lips to hers hard.
She wanted to stay there, to be lost in his lips until someone did run through the tent to grab him for the battle, but broke apart.
"We can't delay." Pressing her lips together and avoiding the pleading look in his even bluer eyes, she wrangled down his other sleeve. He ran a hand over his mouth and shook his head as she moved to pull the edge of the tunic down past his hips. "Is this hay?" She asked, rubbing the bottom of the tunic's rough crochet.
"I think so," he said, his voice gruff. "Thankfully, its only there and up near the shoulders. It's terribly itchy."
"It would be hard to scratch with swords swinging at you."
"Yes, it would," he said dryly. Her hands were still on the bottom hem of his tunic and he cleared his throat, pulling back to the task at hand.
His cuirass, his tough unmoving leather armor, was beautiful. Strips of lighter tannery were woven on top, crisscrossed into a pattern and fit perfectly to him, carving out his waist and broadening his shoulders. She clasped the six buckles on his back achingly slow, her fingers refusing to lace any faster, working up to the last clasp at the base of his neck. When she was done, her hands went instinctively to run over the intricate weave of the leather, caressing his upper back. It was then she noticed her hands were trembling lightly.
"Where is your belt?" She asked him, shaking her hands out before turning back in front of him.
"I don't need one," he said, grabbing an axe and jamming it into the holster on his low back.
"You're only going to carry one axe?" She asked, her voice cracking slightly.
"I have two hands," he teased, holding them open. The look she must have given him forced him to swallow and he pointed to a piece of leather next to another tunic.
"Thank you," she told him, wrapping the leather around his waist and pulled a knot tight with an adamant sigh. He hung another axe on his hip and gripped his favorite tight in his right hand. "Boots."
"You need to dress too," Ubbe raised his eyebrows. "I can place my own boots after you dress. Where are your pants?"
"Remember you ripped them last night."
"You don't have another pair?"
"We are not even half a day from Winchester."
"I have a spare," he sighed, digging through a pile of his things and came out with a pair three of her could fit into.
"I'll just wear a dress," she said turning for one of those she did bring. Ubbe caught her hand and pulled her back to him.
"You can not navigate the field in a dress," he answered shortly. He tilted his head at her in question on if she was going to argue but she shook her head slightly.
Ubbe moved the sleeve of her shift from one of her shoulders, his fingers lingering on her collarbone, and it fell down her arm easily. She shivered from the morning cold. Moving her other sleeve, he suppressed a laugh.
"What's funny?" She asked, stepping out of the puddle of her shift on the floor.
"This might be worse torture," he chuckled, holding open his pants for her to step into.
She crooked a smile and stepped into them. They hung from her as he drew them up and he traced the line of her quadricep as he did so. She got goosebumps in the growing light. Ubbe pulled the strings as tight as he could and they still begged to slide off her hips.
"I'll just wear a dress," she gave an exhausted sigh.
"No, you will not," he shook his head and grabbed another belt, pulling it tight around her.
"I also need to breathe," she choked.
"Sorry," he mumbled, loosening it slightly. "Where's your tunic?"
"In the corner with my leather," she pointed and then rubbed her arms from the chill.
"You are not wearing mail?"
"You're not."
"Did you bring it?" He asked, his voice sharp. He picked up her tunic and leather and scanned the pile next to it, looking for the links of metal.
She didn't want to answer. It was heavy and she was in no physical shape to wear it especially if she wasn't going to be part of the actual battle. It was under the dress he then picked up and gave a satisfied exclaim as it jingled in his hands.
"You're wearing it," he said simply.
"Ubbe, it –,"
"I couldn't live with it if something happened without it."
"Then you need to keep me beside you."
"That's not happening either." She rolled her eyes and groaned as he shoved the tunic over her head.
Thankfully, her mail wasn't as heavy as she remembered, and it hung loosely on her frame despite the thick golden tunic she wore underneath. Her leather was dark like Ubbe's and fit well on top of the added layers of warmth and protection. She had laboriously stitched swirls into the front panels in a lighter tannery and intricately added studding around them. Running her hands over the stitching, Ubbe pulled the strings tight behind her and she smiled, finding the similarity in colors their armor held. She wished she had crosshatched leather to match his, and the thought planted in the back of her mind for later. Her simple, matching belt was next and Ubbe notched it around her waist with a definitive head nod.
As he tied her bracers, his fingers floating over her wrist, she wanted to rip everything off of them and start fresh but a horn blew in camp and pulled her back. Their moment of serenity broke, and their movements quickened as Lhyrie grabbed her boots and slid in them quickly. Ubbe did the same. She did take time to adjust a bracer in her wrist and noticed Ubbe staring softly at her, a slight crick of a smile on his face as though it was his turn to drink her in.
"What is it?"
He shook his head, the glazed look still in his eyes. "I love you is all," he said, moving a piece of hair that fell in her eyes. She still needed to braid her hair.
Just then, Bjorn lifted the flap of the tent, sunlight pouring in. She squinted her eyes to it as they both looked back toward him.
"Good, you're awake," he said briefly, the fabric of the makeshift door falling on top of his head.
"Are they moving yet?" Ubbe asked, his brow pulled tight, a bitter contrast from the look he had moments before.
"No, but they are gathered for the messenger. It won't be long."
Ubbe nodded stiffly and creaked the wood under the axe handle on his belt. His mind was elsewhere, perhaps with Harald's camp waiting for the messenger that would never come. He nodded again. "Have you seen the King?"
"No," Bjorn cleared his throat. "You were my first stop this morning."
"I'll go to him," Ubbe said quickly, his face sharp. "I'll find you shortly," he turned to Lhyrie and planted a quick kiss on her cheek before following his brother out of the wake of the tent flap.
The stillness in the tent felt strange once she was alone. The bustle outside, the soldiers hustling dragging their horses, pulling their armor to the impending fray, was boisterous compared to the silence she was left with. Gulping, Lhyrie turned to find a cord to tie her hair back for her braid when Lagertha parted the tent's flap and again sunlight poured in.
"I came to see if you needed assistance," she said softly.
"Thank you for the kindness," she told her, trying to hide the annoyance with the disruption of her quiet before the storm. "Ubbe helped me lace." She found a piece of cord to bind her hair and wrapped it around her fingers. "Did you sleep well?"
"Oh," Lagertha sighed, "Sleep never comes to me before battle. You had a good night," she said, eyebrows raised. Her last sentence was neither question nor statement, and her tone held no jest. Lhyrie's face flushed and she was unsure of how to respond. Their tent was next to theirs, of course their activity from last night was heard. Instead, she placed the cord in her mouth to hold it while she quickly pulled her hair into a single braid.
Her hair secure, Lhyrie grabbed her sword and fixed it on her belt. Looking around, her shield must have still been with her horse as it was nowhere to be seen and she already felt vulnerable without it. Her medical satchel also wasn't where she put it yesterday and she pulled her brows together in thought.
"Have you eaten?" Lagertha asked her, a mother's concern in her eyes.
"I don't have an appetite before battle. I'm surprised I'm not nauseous," she said with a laugh. Her hand went to grip her stomach out of reflex and realized she was nauseous the last times because she was pregnant then. Her hand flexed before it landed on her stomach and she shook it off, instead brushing off a line of dirt that pressed into her pants from kneeling for the cord.
Lagertha moved toward her and reached to pull up the collar of her tunic. The act of it was more intimate than their relationship called for and it startled her. Her fingers brushed the marks Ubbe left there last night and the redness crept back into Lhyrie's face.
"Thank you," her words stumbled from her lips and she felt hot embarrassment rush into her ears. As Lagertha pulled away, she noticed her nail beds had blood staining them around the edges. "Did you make a sacrifice this morning?"
Lagertha looked down at her hands and rubbed the dried iron that stayed in her crevices. "A small one, yes. To Odin," she nodded.
Lhyrie mimicked her head bob and whispered, "That is good." They needed help from every God today. "I'm sure Heahmund has prayed already," she added aloud.
"To his beloved God," Lagertha commented, her voice harsh and pulled far from the tent.
Lhyrie pressed her lips together to refrain from prodding further. It wasn't her place, especially before a battle, to dredge up conflict. Three horns echoed throughout the camp and both of their heads shot toward the tent's entrance.
"We should make ready," Lhyrie swallowed hard then her breath cut sharp, her feet not wanting to pull her from the tent. Lagertha was halfway out when she stopped and looked back at her. "I should wait for Ubbe," she told her.
"He will find us on the line," Lagertha said, twitching her head to the side toward the forming front ranks.
A knot formed in her stomach and tightened her feet to the ground. "No," she shook her head. "I will find you there. He will see to me here."
Lagertha gave her a questionable look but exited the tent regardless. Lhyrie breathed slightly easier when the tent flap whipped shut behind her, though another horn blew somewhere in the camp and her worry brewed again. Should she join them? She didn't know where the back line was to light if Ubbe didn't find her. Hesitantly, she braced herself and ducked outside.
The sea of soldiers around her was dizzying. The army swirled, rushing to and fro, most in a wave toward the battlefield with anxiety plastered in their eyes. A soldier ran into her shoulder and knocked the wind out of her with his heavy armor, and another nearly pushed straight into her, forcing her into step with them. Surely, they would carry her right to the lines if she let them. She could picture Ubbe's expression if he found her there, Hell burning bright in his eyes, the look infinitely worse than his search for her following York.
Setting her jaw, she turned and pushed against the soldier shoving her toward the field. "Move!" She glared.
He staggered and paused enough for her to breakthrough the stampede. Lhyrie made for where her horse was hitched last night, weaving through the army piling in front of her. Her horse was munching on carrots when she found her tied to a post with a handful of other horses, away from the fray, far enough from the intended battle as to not cause alarm. Her shield wasn't with her. Lhyrie cursed aloud.
"What was that to Odin?"
She jumped and turned on her heel to the voice behind her, her hand gripped tightly onto her sword. Heahmund peered under his dark brow at her.
"My shield is missing," she told him, still flustered. She turned back to her horse, and patted the blankets on her back, hoping to find an answer there. Heahmund took a step to join her at her horse's side, she nearly flinched and cleared her throat to try to hide it.
"Purple and yellow?" He asked of her shield, trying to recall it from their spar.
Lhyrie nodded and peeked around to the brush and trees surrounding them, trying to see it concealed there, but came away with nothing.
"Your husband had it."
She paused a beat, confused. "When did you see him?" Would Ubbe take her shield just to make sure she didn't join the line? Simply, yes.
"Not long ago," he answered. "Have you seen Lagertha?"
"Not long ago," she echoed dryly. His mouth twitched weakly, and she regretted using his words. He looked tired and gaunt. With the clouds now hovering over the sun peaking over the treetops, the shadows under his eyes were caverns.
Heahmund adjusted his dark armor and nodded. "I've been instructed to take you to your mark."
"Why?" Her voice came brashly and quick, not a tone she should have taken with a bishop.
The laugh that came from him was hoarse and raspy and she stared coldly at him. Why wasn't Ubbe bringing her? Even if this was decided while they were not speaking it would be cruel not to see her prior to battle.
"Ubbe is doing final preparations," he answered. Her glare continued, not accepting his answer. "He will come to you after."
"Why not Björn?" she asked too quickly of his presence here. She was still uncomfortable in his company and her already anxious state couldn't accommodate another stressor.
"I don't know, darling."
She flinched at the word. The woods faded and she was back outside York after negotiations, Ubbe beaten and bloody on a cot, Heahmund with her push dagger in his shoulder. He rushed her and punched her hard after saying those words and the breath left her again in her spot. She gripped onto her horse to steady herself as she staggered backward, feeling the past blow. A wave of nausea flooded her, and she ducked to her side to dry heave, warmth or the starting petering rain pooling on her brow.
"I do apologize," she said, standing and wiping her hands on her leather. Heahmund was staring at his feet, his face shallow and expressionless, avoiding hers. Was he transported there with her or was he thinking about how many times he called Lagertha that with a different meaning. Regardless, she shifted her feet restlessly as calls of order were heard bellowing above the settling army.
Heahmund opened his arms and gestured to his left, motioning for her to begin walking. She hesitantly stepped forward to the unknown, her feet barely scraping the grass as they moved.
They were moving around the back of the army, around the giant catapults that lined the back edge of their ranks. Coming closer to the field, she realized the fog that was starting to build wasn't fog, but smoke. The field had been burnt prior to their arrival, but spots were lit again, their smoke bellowing upward toward the heavens. Fires were lit by the catapults already, eager to ignite the bundles waiting in their traps. She coughed and continued to wherever her mark was.
"It is just ahead," Heahmund reassured her, their first words since setting off. As he said them, Lhyrie spotted her shield leaning against the base of a large oak tree several paces from them. Stepping closer, she noticed her bow and medical satchel were also piled neatly next to it.
"The line starts to your right at this bundle," Heahmund said, pointing to a large bundle of sticks and grasses a foot or so from the tree. A torch and flint were gathered near it. "It will encapsulate the field if lit. Light it when you and the King are on the other side of the oak tree."
Lhyrie gulped and nodded. "God save the King and Wessex," she said softly without enthusiasm.
"Yes," Heahmund added, "may God grant us His favor." His voice held slightly more spark than hers did in the dull morning and he turned to leave then spun back to her to reach for her hand quickly. She nearly pulled it away, but his hand enclosed onto hers. "Lhyrie, I pray God has mercy on my soul." His eyes were dark and she saw his own suffering linger there. She wasn't sure what emotion he wanted from her, so she nodded her head slightly before he dropped her hand and sauntered back through the tall grasses to join the army, the back of which was only a hundred yards from her spot.
With Heahmund gone, she peered around the oak tree to the bundle of twigs, grasses and tar that were the ignition point if needed. Spanning outward, she noticed the faintest line of sheen woven through the dense wood. That will be what will go up in flame, she thought. How did Ubbe think of this?
Rubbing her brow and sighing, she sat next to her shield and popped open her medical bag, wondering if Ubbe refilled her supplies too – he gathered everything else, including an apple, a bannock and a sleeve of water that were also in with the pile of her things. She had plenty of wraps and her balms she pressed with the Beaton were fresh, but she was low on sutures if needing them. They were so close to Winchester she doubted she would even need to use her bag in the field but cursed herself silently for not refilling properly before leaving.
She crunched on the apple and looked toward the bird that was singing in the branches above her. If not for the army approaching their camp, the spot was peaceful, and she could have stayed there to waste the day. A murmur rushed through the army and it disrupted what little peace she found. Standing, she threw her satchel over her shoulder and gripped her shield hard in her hands as hurried footsteps barreled toward her.
Ubbe broke around a tree to her right and the hold on her sword dropped. His breath was coming in fast waves and he placed his hands on his knees to try to catch it. He looked like he had just ran the perimeter – his hair was plastered down to his forehead, stuck to the sweat pooling on it; his face pale and flushed at the same time. He peered up at her.
"The line starts to your right," he panted, pointing to the familiar bundle.
"Yes, Heahmund gave the instruction."
His chest heaved still, but he stood tall and took the few steps to close the gap between them. Taking her shield from her hands, he set it gently to their side and scooped her face into his palms, pulling her into a deep kiss. She melted under his touch and pressed back into the tree trunk, the rough bark pulling at her braid. He stepped forward and pressed into her, their leather preventing the closeness they longed for. He tasted like salt and smelled of smoke and tar and she wanted to never know of anything else.
Ubbe pulled apart and as their foreheads came together, he whispered with his eyes closed, "Find me after."
She cradled the side of his face in her hand and pressed their lips together again gently. "To whatever end."
"You'll be able to see the field from here," he rasped, his breath still coming fast. "Use your bow if it is clear."
"I'll berate you for stealing my things later."
He smiled against her lips. "Don't shoot an arrow at me for it."
He kissed her again desperately, his whole body tense with need. The way his hips jerked involuntarily into hers she thought he would take her right on the tree with the men so close. Her core started to ache for it, but he broke apart.
"After, minn iss," he gushed, as though to read her thoughts. His head whipped to the back line and his eyes showed apprehension as he turned back to her.
"I will find you after," she said, her voice suddenly shaky.
He kissed her again briefly and squeezed her hands hard. He turned, his braid arcing behind him as he wove through the men to his station near the side to light a part of the field. Lhyrie crouched and threw her bow and quiver over her shoulder.
She went toward the bundle to examine the torch and lifted the baton the same time Ubbe grabbed his. Shoving it into her bag with the flint, she waited for the battle to begin.