As Lhyrie rose the next morning, she felt for Ubbe beside her, but groped at air. Squinting her eyes open, he was already dressed, slouched over the map as he was the previous night. He was biting his lip in concentration.
Lhyrie stretched her arms over head and yawned silently. He didn't glance over at her. Propping herself up, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and felt the cool boards underfoot. As though her body finally had permission to act pregnant, her feet started to ache already and the cold floorboards felt divine on her soles. Despite the night, she felt like she walked miles in her sleep.
Ubbe did not look up as Lhyrie stood and walked the few paces behind his chair. His head was cocked slightly to the right, the lines under his eyes exaggerated as he squinted at the traces underhand. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned to place her head on his shoulder. He sighed heavily, almost allowing himself to relax and moved his hand tracing a northern boundary to cradle hers on his chest.
"You're up early," he whispered.
"As are you," she whispered back and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Have the figures moved from last night?"
He smirked. "No."
"You are as prepared as you're going to be being named leader yesterday," she told him, squeezing his hand. He liked to be prepared, but what could this same map tell him of the threat lingering westward.
"The witan can not doubt Alfred's decision."
"They will not," she reassured him and placed another kiss on his cool cheek.
Ubbe peered over at her and leaned his head against hers. He sighed heavily again, closing his eyes. "What are your plans today?"
Lhyrie stood, her back starting to ache from the bend and unwrapped her arms from him but moved to lean on the desk. "I am going to have a guard call for Ragnar to join us here," she said. Her fingers found Medeshamstede on the map and she wondered if she should just ride out herself to retrieve him.
"I agree," Ubbe said, taking her hand from Medeshamstede's spot. He laced his fingers in hers and the parchment left a smooth film over his fingers that was smooth against her skin. "He needs to be here."
"Then, I will show Hvitserk around. Perhaps he will join me working with the Beaton."
"He might be like Bjorn and stay in his rooms," he grumbled. There was still some harshness in Ubbe's voice regarding his brother but at least he no longer visibly grimaced at the mention of his name.
"It would do him well to actually do something."
Ubbe hummed in agreement as Lhyrie shifted her weight against the the desk. Her whole body seemed sore. Unlinking his fingers with hers, Ubbe wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her sit on his lap instead. It was marginally more comfortable and the chair groaned underneath them.
"This isn't the chair I fixed is it?" She asked, peeking below at the chair's legs. Four perfectly carved mahogany chair legs held them up and she breathed a little easier.
"I am sure that was kindling as soon as a maid saw it," Ubbe joked, the lines under his eyes softening.
Summer was beginning to rise and the days were warm when the sun was high, but now in the morning it was still cool and Ubbe's hands on her side were a welcoming fire. She could have snuggled right back into the crook of his neck, into his warmth, and fallen asleep. Lhyrie stifled a yawn that started to grow and it caught Ubbe's eye. He hugged her in closer.
"Go back to sleep, minn iss. There are still hours until break fast." Ubbe smirked and swiped a loose piece of her hair behind her ear.
"No, no," she dismissed and shifted herself slightly on him. The arduous work in the fields had leaned Ubbe more, the muscles in his legs were sturdier and stronger than she had known but not nearly as comfortable as before. "I slept restless enough back in this soft bedding."
"Me, as well."
Lhyrie leaned forward and placed a small kiss on his lips. "There is something that could tire both of us out enough to sleep…"
"You're with child," he whispered. Despite it, his hand moved to rest on her thigh. His fingers rested over the curled hem of her shift and stroked lightly.
"I was also with child three nights ago," she said, moving her hands through his hair. "And was most likely pregnant when we left Kattegat last year – so there were plenty of other times."
"Is that so?" An eyebrow perked up along with something beneath her.
"Yes," she smirked and pulled his lips to hers.
Ubbe did sleep briefly, but Lhyrie continued to shift restlessly, trying to curl the flat spot in the mattress back into her familiar shape. It didn't help. Sighing, she rose and again stretched out the soreness that was brewing in her toes. She forgot how much discomfort pregnancy held.
Peeking over at Ubbe, he was still asleep as she rose out of the bed and moved to open their luggage on the desk he had used earlier. The maps were flown about, shifted from their activity before moving to the bed and she crouched low to pick up one that curled onto the floor. The parchment was smooth under her fingers and it felt worn with time. It wasn't the main map of England Ubbe had spent so much time over. Unraveling it, she flattened it down on the desk and glanced cautiously over it. It was a detailed map of rivers and a lake near a town. If it wasn't on nice parchment, she would have thought someone scribbled over the paper, drawing lines this way and that. She looked over at the wider view of England and found the similar lines of blue just North of them, the Danes still West of the town detailed here. Is this where they were heading? Shaking her head, she tried not to think of it. That was Ubbe's job now – he was sorting through the pile and details.
Pulling her bag open, she took out a simple working dress she brought with her and threw off her shift. It landed next to the still sleeping Ubbe, who snored lightly, his chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. She smiled and was grateful he was here with her this time. He didn't see her belly growing each day or how her waddle seemed to form from nowhere with Ragnar. That time that was lost would be made up now.
Or would it as the Danes lingered West? He named himself head of the army so he would be with them to negotiate, as he told Alfred. Her heart dropped. The world was a dangerous place and Ubbe seemed to place himself in the middle of it. And the southern Danes were ruthless from what she heard. They would not compromise like Harald did so easily. It will come to a war. She shook her head again, shaking away the fear that creeped up if Ubbe wouldn't be present again and leaned against the table.
No, she goes where he goes. She told him that when he arrived in Winchester. She would go with him, to whatever end, to wherever the army goes, to whatever was necessary – pregnant or no. Glancing back at the map and at the black mass of Danes situated to the left of their tiny speck on the parchment, she willed the resolution to be easy and they could continue their life normally, but she gulped and again felt her stomach drop. To whatever end, she reminded herself as a knock came to the door.
"Come in," she called. A maid popped her head in the doorway and her eyes instantly went to Ubbe still sprawled on the bed. His trousers were off and laying lazily next to him. The maid turned red, rushing to shut the door. Lhyrie dug into the luggage still open in front of her and threw a tunic at Ubbe, covering him. He didn't move. "You can come in, it's alright."
The maid hesitantly creeped the door open again and stood small in its frame. "I thought I heard you awake."
"Yes, we were," Lhyrie said, with a slight smile. She dug through the pack again, searching for cord to tie back her unruly hair. Running her fingers through her hair, the knots from sleep and sex were many and her fingers tangled on them, winching in discomfort.
"May I run for a comb?" The maid asked as Lhyrie stuck the cord in her mouth, gathering her hair into a quick braid. Lhyrie shook her head and finished the braid before the maid could open her mouth again to ask.
"I do need a favor," Lhyrie said, pulling the knot tight behind her head. "I need a messenger to Medeshamstede for my son to join us here. Would you be able to arrange that?"
"I can talk with the kings guard, ma'am," she answered in a rush, just as Ubbe let out a rumbling snore that shook him awake. He blinked awake and squinted at Lhyrie before he realized she wasn't alone and he grappled with the tunic she had thrown over him, making sure he was covered. "Is there anything else?" She asked, trying not to look at the fumbling Ubbe.
"No, thank you. I believe we can manage the rest."
The maid bowed her head slightly before ducking behind the door and shutting it promptly. There must have been another maid there as Lhyrie could hear the muffled conversation between them trying to force itself through the door. Ubbe found his trousers next to him and shimmied into them before another series of rushed knocks came from the door. Another maid peeked cautiously in.
"Yes?" Lhyrie asked her, pulling on her own boots.
The maid hesitated and glanced over at Ubbe, who was now standing with his back turned, his head craned down tightening his laces. "The King is calling."
Ubbe turned to face her, continuing to tie his pant strings. The maid must have thought he was still exposed as she flinched with the movement and felt relieved at his dressed sight. "I will meet with him shortly," Ubbe answered, his voice rough just waking from his sleep. This maid bowed her head in exit as well and clicked the door shut in swift motion. "You could have woken me," he said to Lhyrie.
"You were covered," she smiled over at him.
Rolling his eyes, he came back to his desk and kissed her lightly. His eyes fell over the newer map Lhyrie had found for a moment before turning his back to it, stretching against the rigid wood. "Was I asleep long?" He asked, trying to look through the closed curtains for sunlight.
"Not but a few minutes."
"Good." His head bobbed and he started to look anxious. His fingers tapped on the desk he leaned against, his shoulders tense with uncertainty.
Lhyrie stood and pressed herself to him, wrapping her arms around the tension brewing in his shoulders. It didn't seem to help. "Alfred has your support. He would not have made you general if he did not."
"The Danes will not leave for silver and gold," he sighed. The tension moved in between his eyebrows and he rubbed out the spot there.
"Everyone wants gold and silver."
"That number would drain Wessex of every piece it has."
"Survive the witan first," she said, gulping her words shortly after saying them. "Then you will find what motivates them besides pillage," she willed, kissing his shoulder.
He breathed deep again. "I must speak with Alfred before his men are assembled." Although his feet did not move.
"Go." Lhyrie cradled the side of his face and the tension lifted for a moment. "Be with the King."
Ubbe leaned down and placed another simple kiss on her lips before turning to gather the maps behind him. Lhyrie sat back down and tore through their luggage again. Her medical bag was somewhere in the pile. Resting on the bottom of the bag, her fingers gripped the worn leather strap that fit the hollow of her shoulder and she tugged. The bag broke free, towing an extra tunic in its depth. Lhyrie stuffed that back down.
"Will the physician take to you bringing him to help you?" Ubbe asked, as Lhyrie hitched the bag to her shoulder and stood again. She didn't think he would ever say his brother's name again.
"Beaton took to me," she smiled, recalling the first months at the Villa working beside the physician and her trying to count the number of eye-rolls and sighs the weathered man threw to her. She would now consider him a friend. "Hvitserk needs to be involved in something – to occupy him. It would be at least productive."
"Productive," Ubbe echoed halfhearted, glancing toward the door.
Ubbe accompanied her down the hall toward Hvitserk's rooms but did not linger in the sunlight creeping down the corridor toward their feet. "I'll see to you after," he told her following a kiss on her forehead in farewell. She knew he didn't want to stay, to converse with his brother on the other side of the door, and she sensed the apprehension he must have felt leaving them alone. His eyes stared hard at the door handle.
Lhyrie pulled his eyes to her. "I know where you will be if I need you."
One final peck and she was alone outside of Hvitserk's door. Leaning her ear closer to the door, she tried to hear if he was awake. Would he pace like Ubbe did some mornings? No snores floated through the wood, so perhaps he was awake and silent. She wished a maid or guard would pass by so she could ask them if Hvitserk had left his rooms this morning, but the only company she shared was with a mouse down the hall. Pressing her lips together and grinding a boot into the stone floor, she finally knocked. No call came through the door. She rapped again, slightly louder. A low snore followed.
The sun pouring in down the hall showed it to be well after break fast already, she needed to get started before the vendors and field workers started outside the gates. On their ride in, the dandelions and calendulas were in full bloom in the fields. She needed to replenish her stores of both, and she wanted to make a balm of calendula for wounds now that it was available. Another snore floated her way. She huffed and banged on the door, scaring the mouse away.
"Come on, Hvitserk," she muttered, her hand on the door handle. Another snore. Curse it, she thought and swung the door open.
She should have waited for him to wake or had a maid enter first, for as soon as the door swung open and hit the back wall in a hard stop, the light from the corridor poured into the dark room, basking it in warmth and landed on the sleeping Hvitserk and his spot on the floor next to the bed. He was laying still on his back, his mouth slightly ajar with another snore rolling off his tongue, legs and arms splayed open in comfort, completely naked. If the door hadn't slammed back against the wall, she would have grabbed it and swung it shut as quickly as her glance at the bare sleeping Hvitserk was. Instead, she dropped her bag with a heavy thud cursing at him, a vial hopefully not breaking as she did so, and flung her head to be back in the corridor, redness creeping into her cheeks.
"Ragnarsson!" She called, her face still turned away from the sleeping one. She hoped Ubbe was far enough away, otherwise she was certain he would round the corner quickly at her call. A snore cut short as Hvitserk jolted awake and grumbled at the sunlight tickling his toes. He then saw her, door ajar with the illumination, and loudly cursed himself, with the sounds of him scattering to his feet and grabbing something to cover him following shortly after.
"In Hel's name, Lhyrie!" He gasped, securing a blanket around him. She finally pulled her head back to look at him. He was nearly as red as the covering he chose out his embarrassment. She bet she matched his flush. "You could have knocked."
"I did," she scoffed. "Several times."
"Thrown something?" He offered.
She lifted her medical bag off the floor and felt the bottom, hoping her vital of lavender oil didn't break and leak her hard work. "Like this?" She asked, tossing him the bag. It was quite heavy, filled with more supplies than she normally carried. Before leaving Medeshamstede, she wanted to be prepared with her stores, no matter what the call from Alfred was and packed it to the brim upon leaving. He caught the bag with one hand to thud to his abdomen, careful not to have the blanket fall from his waist.
"Odin's beard, no," he laughed, weighing it in his hand. "That would have squashed me. What is in here?"
"Supplies that need replenished," she said, crossing her arms. "Get dressed and I'll show you around the Villa if you help me." Hvitserk looked down at the bag quizzically, biting his cheek. As he looked up slowly with an eyebrow cocked, Lhyrie had to blink away the image of Ubbe making the same look this morning. They were too similar to be on ill terms, she thought. He nodded his head cautiously, as though Lhyrie would drag him from the room as soon as he said yes, even wrapped in the bedsheet. "Dress," she told him, taking the steps between them to grab her bag out of his arms. "You can not walk around the Villa like that." She walked back to the doorway and pulled the door shut this time.
He took longer than he needed to dress, she felt. Leaning against the doorframe, several maids passed, and she saw some of Alfred's advisors scurrying down the far corridor, their heads bobbed low and whispering to one another. Had the witan started already? The mouse scurried by her, seeming to join the commotion starting somewhere in the Villa. She sighed, wanting to start the day herself and her stomach rumbled.
They would need to get food from the kitchens, especially for Hvisterk. Based on the number of ribs poking out of his upper abdomen, he needed to eat. He never had trouble eating in the past – he always seemed to have an apple or piece of bread tucked somewhere on him to nibble at, but it looked like ages that he had anything extra to pick from. Even at their awkward dinner last night, he finished his meal rushed but had no extra helpings. She would ask a maid to always have something for his rooms. As she made the mental note to ask the next one she saw, Hvitserk pulled the door open, making her jump. She hadn't heard his footsteps close to the door.
He wore a Wessex style tunic, one that draped over his torso, tucked into the belt cinched around his shrinking waist. If she thought Ubbe looked awkward in the style, Hvitserk looked like he was a different color altogether. She gulped down a laugh that wanted to escape her lips and began walking.
"We are in the North portion of the Villa," she started, leading him down the corridor.
"Fitting for Northmen," Hvitserk added.
"Feels like home," Lhyrie laughed. She stopped at the end of the hallway and waited for a rush of men to pass. One looked up and nearly stopped in his tracks seeing Hvitserk but was pushed along in the scurry. Yet another six-foot-tall Viking Alfred welcomed to the Villa.
Hvitserk caught the unwelcoming stare and withered slightly, but then threw off the feeling of discomfort, as he quipped, "This isn't flattering, is it?" He asked, smoothing down his tunic.
Lhyrie smiled, glad he still held onto some of his wit and looped her arm in his, pulling him toward the kitchens. She pointed to structures out of the leaded glass windows into the changing, winding streets of the accompanying town. She was sure he wasn't paying attention, instead focused on the waft of bread getting closer.
"Why are some streets blocked?" He asked to her surprise. He was following her points.
"Alfred wants to change the layout of the town, so it is easier to navigate." She pointed near the abbey and to the four streets that met and diverged into six separate paths. "See how congested that spot could be?"
"Hmm," Hvitserk mused, clicking his teeth. "Does he not have more pressing things?"
"Many trusted advisors can do many things."
"Is Ubbe one of those?" He asked, his voice soft with bashfulness.
"He is starting to be," she answered. "No, he is," she corrected herself quickly. "Alfred has him leading his Army."
Hvitserk chuckled softly to himself. "That is a good role for him," he said. His eyes were still pulled outside, staring at the Abbey. "When father returned and challenged us to be King, I was surprised when Ubbe stepped forward. He never struck me as being a King. He can lead but holds no power."
Lhyrie's brows pulled tight after his final statement, and she walked them further down the hall to move on from it. "Your father challenged you all to be King?"
"That's right, you weren't back yet." His eyes grew wide and a grin formed on his face like he was about to perform. Sigurd had been excellent at telling stories, but Hvitserk had an ease if he told them. He told her of how the crowd had formed around Ragnar with his return. "I can't remember if it was outside the gates or the Hall's courtyard," he admitted. Hvitersk's details were never very concise with his stories. "But he asked who wanted to be King and Ubbe stepped forward. Father told him to kill him and the throne was his. I actually thought he was going to…" he trailed off, pulled back to the day in Kattegat. "I almost wish he had. Maybe none of this would have happened."
Or it would have been an arrow in Ubbe's back from Lagertha. Lhyrie shuttered at the thought and wiped away the past and speculation. They were near the kitchen now, the smell of warm bread and steaming fruits stronger than ever. Rounding the corner, Hvitserk perked up, himself pulled away from the alternate timeline and he breathed in the odors deeply from the kitchens ahead of them.
"I am starving," he gushed.
"I thought so," Lhyrie laughed and guided him into the kitchen to grab a handful of food.
After Hvitserk assembled an array of breakfast, Lhyrie continued her tour of the Villa. As they passed by the throne room, Hvitserk nearly tripped on his feet looking back at the doors. The doors were closed, no doubt the site of the witan being assembled, and arguments could be heard through the thick wood. It was then Lhyrie remembered that Hvitserk had been here once before, after their first battle with Aethelwulf. When they were looking out at Winchester, they had overlooked the courtyard where Sigurd had died. Had all five brothers assembled here before that dreadful feast? Hvitserk's eyebrows pulled together in sorrowed remembrance, but quickly stuffed more blueberries into his mouth, ridding the look from his face.
Lhyrie continued her walk, down the winding paths the Villa had to the courtyard. Vendors had set up their stalls and a juggler was in the center, performing his tricks. Hvisterk's face melted into a smile and he laughed openly at the jester. Thankfully the entertainment distracted from the memory of this place for him.
"Come on," she told him, linking her arm around his to drag him from watching. "The dandelions can not pick themselves." Outside the gates, few people lingered, and her field of dandelions and calendula were untouched. Hvitserk felt like he was weighed with air as she pulled him along, deep into the growing flowers. He grabbed a calendula close to him and brought it to his nose.
"What do you use this for?" He asked as Lhyrie opened her bag for him to place the petal in.
"The cooks use it in their broth, but I will crush it to make into a balm. It is good for healing the skin."
"Hmm," Hvitserk mused and continue to pluck, his hands full of the small yellow flowers. "Do you need the stems too?"
"Not unless you want to make a crown," she teased, placing a stem behind her ear.
They gathered more than enough petals, her bag overflowing from the soft volume after a short while. Hvitserk stuffed several handfuls in his pockets as the rest remained scattered in the field. "Where to now?" He asked, rubbing his nose. It left a streak of yellow.
"To Beaton's work quarters," she answered, wiping her own hands on her dress then wiping the sweat growing on her forehead from the warming sun. "The physician," she clarified. "He has a station near the cellars."
The juggler was still performing in the courtyard as they passed back through and again Hvitserk wanted to stop, but Lhyrie pulled him onward. The picking of the flowers was the easy work, crushing into a balm would take hours.
Beaton did not blink when Lhyrie arrived with Hvitserk in tow, perhaps he was grateful there was someone else to get the vials off the taller shelves for her so that he didn't need to be interrupted. Hvitserk didn't take long to master how to extract the oil from the petals, working swiftly by rolling the tiny petals with his long fingers, applying just enough pressure as to not bruise the frail skin and collecting the small amount of essence. When her mother first showed her the tantalizing process, she felt it wasn't worth it, but with the now years of her practice and application, she appreciated the method. She only hoped Hvitserk wouldn't ridicule her like she had done her mother their first hours pressing lavender.
Though he seemed to enjoy himself, eagerly asking questions as they worked, curious at the dusty cartons scattered around the space. He even helped the Beaton dissecting leeches, their language barrier only mildly impeding the process with just one flung leech in her direction. Hvitserk laughed as she squirmed away from it, its mouth opening and closing at her before he came to scoop it into his stained hands, happily letting it bite him. At the end of the day, the Beaton and him seemed to communicate just fine with their points and grunts.
"You do not need to walk me to our rooms, Hvitserk," she said, her feet suddenly feeling the weight of standing on the uneven stone slabs of the physician's workspace. He had walked straight past his own rooms. "We are only down the corridor."
He was silent for a moment as he continued to walk by her side. "I want to thank you for today," he said softly. "It was nice not to be alone in my head."
She knew that feeling – she lived there after her mother's death before Ubbe helped pull her from those thoughts. Sometimes it takes someone to physically tear you away or out of the abandonment one recluses themselves to during the times like Hvitserk has experienced. Between the deaths of his parents, his brother, and partners, let alone the stress of living under Ivar and the dissolution of his relationship with Ubbe, she could not imagine being all alone.
"Will you join me tomorrow? I can show you technique."
"Are you going to turn me into a healer?"
"You were always hurting yourself when you were younger," she teased. "It would be good to treat your own wounds."
Hvitserk laughed and the shadow that had creeped into his face softened. "It was very peaceful – the work."
"You threw a leech at me!"
"It escaped," he answered quickly, hiding a smile. "Yes, I think I will join you tomorrow."
"Please be dressed this time," she laughed, reaching the end of the corridor. Her hand rested on the door handle, and she turned to look at him. "It is nice to have you here, Hvitserk."
The corner of his mouth creeped up and the last of the sadness in his eyes was wiped away. "I feel like I am meant to be here."
Lhyrie smiled. Her plan might work. "Good night, Hvitserk."
To her surprise, Ubbe was already back in their rooms, sitting before a fire he made. With summer creeping close, a fire wasn't needed during the day, but dusk was falling bringing in the cool of the night and she was chilled from working in the cool cellar of the Beaton's quarters. Ubbe peeked over his shoulder at her and she went straight over to warm.
"You're back sooner than I expected," she said, kissing his cheek and plopping in the chair next to him. "I thought you would be throughout the night."
Ubbe sat comfortably in his chair, one leg outstretched to the hearth, the other propped on a crate. "It wrapped up neatly an hour or so ago."
"There were no objections?"
"A few," he sighed, his attention caught by a snapping, flaming log. "But in the end, everything was agreed upon." His brows flicked together, and he gulped before looking over to her. "How is Hvitserk?"
"He said he will help me tomorrow as well."
Ubbe grunted and nodded. "A task did him well then?"
"Yes, a distraction."
"Good," Ubbe mused, nodding again while starting to play with his mustache. "That is good."
"The physician and him got along easily," she told him, but his attention was pulled back into the flames. "Of course, they couldn't really understand each other," she laughed. She continued to tell him about their day, dragging on and on and a smile formed in his eyes. "What is it?" She asked of his look.
The barest smile formed as he looked back to her and rested his head against the wood backing of the chair. The fire reflected in his eyes was striking. "Your accent is back," he answered, continuing to fiddle with his mustache. "I hope this resolution is quick for I want to stay in your voice forever."
She smirked. Yes, she noticed her lit was different after speaking Norse with Hvitserk all day. As they were now, Ubbe and her tended to speak it with one another, but it was different speaking it to someone else as Ubbe's own accent from speaking English all day in the fields was slowly fading. It had been nearly two months now since Bjorn and Gunnhild left. "Do you think we will get more Vikings to settle our land? Then imagine speaking Norse all the time."
"What if the Danes want to?"
Lhyrie's tiredness suddenly left her, and she perked up in her spot. "Is that your plan?"
"I'll speak with the scouts tomorrow, and then yes, I will go to them."
She wanted to correct him, to say they would meet with them, but held her tongue. He would argue that she would absolutely not be joining him; that it was too dangerous, especially because she was with child and that he would not have anything happen again. And she did not want to argue tonight. Instead, she melted back into her chair and enjoyed the warmth pouring from the fireplace. The warmth made her eyes droop quickly, despite the sun just barely setting, her time in the field and cellars catching up to her. She slept in the chair and did not hear Ubbe leave and walk down the hall to Hvitserk's rooms.