She wasn't certain what pulled her from sleep, but knew it was nothing in the low light of the room that did so. Ubbe was not beside her again as she felt for him and looking about the beginnings of dawn, he did not make the noise that woke her from sleep, for he was not in the room either. Rolling her head to the side, she stretched her neck from the crick that formed there after an uncomfortable sleep in the chair by the fire. Ubbe eventually woke her to move to the bed, but she felt she had been in that position for some time before he did so.

She was looking forward to working with Hvitserk again today. He was a good helper and she realized how much she missed his friendship. It was something they never fully regained when she returned from Frankia as Hvitserk had left shortly after that for his Mediterranean journey with Bjorn and then, well, she kissed him, and their relationship turned awkward. Once the drama with the Danes was over, he could settle here and finally be at peace and their friendship could resume to what it once was.

She dressed quickly, eager to start the day as Ubbe had already done so. His days would, no doubt, be filled with meetings and briefings now. Making her way to Hvitserk's quarters, she passed the mouse who made residence down the hall, making a note to bring him cheese tomorrow, and knocked loudly on his doors. There was no answer.

Pressing her ear to his door, she didn't hear any snores this morning. She knocked again and waited. Still no answer.

"Hvitserk!" She groaned under her breath.

Knocking again, her patience was waning. He was good with his word, so he should be ready. Was once good with his word, she reminded herself. This was a different Hvitserk. Who knows how he kept his promises now. Lhyrie rapped again on the door. The door remained shut and silent in the room.

She didn't want to barge in again, but her hand was on the door handle ready to pounce. She knocked once more with no answer. Meeting the end of her wits, she pushed the door open once again.

This time, as the door opened and the light swallowed the darkness of the room, there was no sleeping Hvitserk at the edge of the large bed. In fact, there was no sleeping Hvitserk even in the bed. His room was completely void. Lhyrie pursed her lips together and pulled her bag tighter on her shoulder. Where was he?

"Hvitserk?" She called. Perhaps he was in an adjacent room. No answer. She stormed through to the doorway of his dining room, but he wasn't there hiding from her, either. Twirling, Lhyrie bit her lip from concern. Where was he?

"Have you seen Hvitserk?" She asked a passing maid in the main hallway.

"Who?" They answered, stopping abruptly.

What kind of name is Hvitserk if not a Viking one, she wanted to shout at her. She swallowed, pushing back her impertinence. "My kinsmen who has been staying in these rooms?" She asked instead.

"Oh." The maid's face dropped with her eyes. "I have not seen him."

Lhyrie resisted the urge to roll her eyes and groan out of her frustration. Her search continues then. "Thank you."

She started to retrace her steps from yesterday, first starting with the kitchens. The cooks were busy preparing their meals, but no Hvitserk loomed above them stealing food. Turning, she went next down the cellars. Could he already be working with the Beaton? She found his workroom empty as well except for the jar of leeches left closed on his main table. She sighed, wondering if she should just wait for him here. He would eventually turn up to meet her here, wouldn't he?

Lhyrie sighed again and sat with a hard plop on a nearby bench. She didn't tear through her bag right away to start her work, instead bouncing her foot on the stone paver, trying to imagine where Hvitserk had ran off to. Perhaps Alfred called him to have audience, she concluded. That would be one of the most reasonable answers other than Hvitserk just getting lost within the Villa.

After some time of just pouting and kicking her feet, she finally started pressing the last of the calendula into an oil for her balm. Without the chatter from the Beaton or Hvitserk, the work was arduous and the oil she pressed was lame. Unsure of how much time she had spent pressing the last pile of the small yellow pedals, she rested again, stretching her fingers against the cool wood of the workbench.

Bells echoed throughout the concourse. It must be noon already, she thought, standing to stretch her legs as the last bell tolled. Maybe Hvitserk won't be joining her then. He has had plenty of time to do so, whatever his activity that held him earlier. Shaking off the disappointment, she continued her work, reaching to grab a comb of honey off a top shelf of the Beaton's stores. She will use it to work the oil with for a balm, if only it was easier to reach. Lhyrie pulled the bench over and stepped onto it to reach the honeycomb.

"Get down!" The Beaton scolded her, appearing suddenly in his doorway. She had to grab onto the shelf so that she didn't lose her balance from the scare. "You will fall," he said, coming to her side. Lhyrie used his shoulder to stabilize and grabbed the honey that she needed. She passed it to him.

"I would have been fine if you did not shock me," she said, still holding onto him to step down from the bench. He only shook his head.

"Where is your brother?" He asked, pushing her stepping stool back to its rightful spot.

She sighed and wiped her hands free from the layer of dust that she grabbed from her hook on the shelf. "I had hoped you might be able to tell me. Hvitserk was meant to meet me, but he is nowhere to be found."

"Alas," the Beaton sighed himself, "I have not seen him. Do you need help with your balm then?"

"No, no," Lhyrie dismissed, pushing past him to start dissecting the piece of honeycomb. "I have what I need now," she smiled at him. He rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath as he walked away from her, back to his station.

Lhyrie smiled again and forgot about the missing Hvitserk, instead warming up a knife to cut through the crystallized honeycomb. She did think of him once the knife was warm enough and as she began stripping the honey from its sleeve, thinking on how he would have loved to lick his fingers of the excess pooling off the knife, stealing it from the jar the golden goo was traveling to. She wouldn't need all this honey for the calendula balm. She would take a small jar of honey for him for when she found him, whenever that would be.

Several hours later, with several tins of calendula balm emulsified neatly in a row, Lhyrie was satisfied. She did save a small jar of plain honey just for Hvitserk and tucked that tight into her medical bag but left the balms to settle on the workbench she had spent all day slaving over. Her mind started to worry again, as she traveled back through the Villa to their rooms, wondering what trouble he could have gotten himself into now.

She paused by his rooms. The door was shut, of course, and it seemed just as silent as this morning. Lhyrie knocked hard, her worry turning into anger through her fists. No answer again. She huffed and, instead of bursting through the doors to search his rooms again, she turned on her heel and rushed down the hall to her and Ubbe's.

Her hands were still warm, the outrage with Hvitserk pooling there, as she entered the already warm room. Ubbe had another fire raging in the hearth and today it did not warm the coolness from her workday but add the feeling of restlessness to her body. She buzzed from it.

"Have you seen Hvitserk?" She asked. Her words came quickly, fueled with her internal fire matching the one in the hearth. Ubbe perked up from his spot as she shot the door open. He pressed his lips together but avoided her eye, shifting restlessly in his spot. Lhyrie threw her bag on the bed.

"Why?" He asked, drawing his brows tight. He went back to sharpening his knife.

"He should have been with me today. I couldn't find him." Lhyrie went to wash her hands in the basin of water on the chest, hoping that would clear the warmth still there. It didn't help. Ubbe cleared his throat and shifted again. He was overly restless. "What is it?" She spat.

"Hvitserk is traveling to the Danes," Ubbe told her calmly, setting his knife in his lap.

"I told you he was going to help me last night." She crossed her arms with a huff. Her anger started to move from her hands.

"You said a task did him well. So, I asked him to be a scout," he said simply, almost dismissively. He sat put in his chair and picked up his knife again.

She wanted to laugh at his words but the fire that was moving inside her cut it short. She should have stayed on the other side of the bed, but her feet pulled her closer to the fire, adding to her anger growing. "You were to go to them – did you just want to torture your brother instead?"

The knife dropped in his lap once more and his jaw rose hard to look at her. "If he can negotiate with them, he can stay in Wessex. If he can not, he returns to Kattegat."

"That is just cruel, Ubbe."

"He accepted the terms."

"Of course he agreed!" Her hands flew up, a shadow slapping across his face. "What choice did you give him?!"

"I have given him every chance to change, and he has not!" Ubbe shot up from his spot, his chest heaving now. "This is but one more chance." His hand flung down with emphasis. The knife still in his hand caught the light of the fire, sending a streak of light through the room.

"And what if they kill him? What would happen then, hm?"

"Well then he is dead." His head cocked slightly to the right in a very Ragnarsson way. She could picture Ivar saying the same words in the same way.

With that, she couldn't help but let out a low laugh and shook her head. Taking a step closer to him, she leaned in and sneered, "You should just kill him yourself. It would be more satisfying for you."

She shook her head again before turning away from him and away from the warmth of the fire. But before she could turn, a hand was under her chin snapping and forcing her face back to his. His grip was strong under her jaw; there surely would be a mark on her lower cheek in the morning from his thumb digging there. Ubbe had never been physically abusive with her but she knew he had it in him; he was too much like his father. She counted the seconds for a strike to come from his other hand but one never came.

They stood still for that moment, frozen in place; his breath came fast, hers pinned in her chest from shock. Being only inches from one another, his blue irises were darker than normal, his back turned from the fire behind him, but the whites of his eyes were blood shot and strained. His eyes were still piercing, adding to the veil over them and, despite the harsh look he was still glaring at her, his breath started to soften as the grip under her chin relaxed. She resisted the urge to yank her head away from him the moment she felt it release, instead keeping her stare hard into his darkened eyes. His hand went to his side and flexed away the unusual grip.

"Are you calm now?" He asked. His brows gave the faintest twitch up in question.

She did feel calmer, the shock of his motion ridding the anger that had built but she didn't want to admit it to him. "Do not touch me like that again," she warned low, her eyes still unblinking from him. He smirked and she let him keep that, despite some anger creeping back up into her throat at the look he gave her as he turned to sit back in his chair. As his back was turned to her for a brief second, she ran a hand over her chin and stretched her jaw, but quickly concealed to a cough as Ubbe looked back to her. His eyes were softer, but still held some harshness as she was sure hers still did as well.

"Can we discuss this now?" He asked.

The calm that had been present evaporated rapidly and anger started again in her toes. "What is there to discuss?" She fired quickly. "Hvitserk is already gone. You made that choice without me."

"That choice was made as head of Alfred's army," he sighed, exhausted. "He is Viking. Other than me – or y –." You, he was going to say but cut short, shaking the thought and words from his pressed lips. "He is the only other one who might speak with them. It was a calculated risk we agreed to take."

"And the pressure put on his success?"

"A necessary motivator." She scoffed hard and thought her head would never stop shaking in disagreement. "He needs to become responsible for his actions, Lhyrie. He has been gifted too many passes."

"I think you would behave just as he would if you experienced what he has," she gritted.

Would he though? They were alike in so many ways, but Hvitserk was always softer; behind the glimmer in his eye was a fraction of sadness waiting to take over at any moment. When Ivar had Margrethe killed, Ubbe would have killed Ivar without a blink if he was Hvitserk, regardless of if another blade or two would enter his own skin – just as the moment he learned Lagertha killed his mother Ubbe pounced in the hall. Ubbe didn't believe her words and followed her comparison by the knowing stare he was giving her.

"I don't agree with the ultimatum," she said finally. Her words were still forceful, but the tension faded in her fingertips. "He needs a space to feel welcome, not be forced back to Hell."

"He is not welcome here," he said slowly, picking at his blade again.

Her blood began to boil once more. "You are holding your grudge like an axe against him."

He smirked. "I like my axe."

Her head shook again. "Something has changed within you," she breathed. "Maybe it is the violence of the position for which you now hold, but something has changed."

"Hvitserk stopped being my brother the moment he refused to side back from Ivar," he snipped. "That is the only thing that has changed."

"You were never one to torture anyone," she said after a time. "You have lost your sympathy."

"He needs to be the one to change," Ubbe defended again, seeming to ignore her last comment. "Not I."

"Perhaps both," she spat sharply. Crossing her arms, their argument washed over her and her residing anger turned to tension that rose from the bruise starting to form on her jaw to rest between her brows. The sigh that left her parted lips released part of that tension. She should have moved her feet to sit somewhere other than her chair next to Ubbe, to the desk seat on the other side of the room, to the far side of the bed, to the empty rooms of Hvitserk's down the hall, but instead the feeling of the floorboards underneath her feet drew her to the nearest spot. The tension further left her has she leaned back in the chair and let the warmth of the fire consume the warmth of her fading anger.

"When I said Hvitserk needed a task, I meant something small," she sighed, her harshness dissipating. "I believe Hvitserk will fail at a task this large."

Ubbe peered up from his knife. "I appreciate your insight." He worked the knife absently in his hands and added, "I trust your instinct, Lhyrie, that is why if he needed a purpose, I sent Hvitserk for this mission."

She nodded, understanding his reasoning, while she tried to ignore the second half of the ultimatum he gave Hvitserk in order to complete his mission. "I was not upset with you, only the situation of thinking Hvitserk abandoned me."

Ubbe nodded this time and blew a puff of air from his lips. He pulled his eyes from the fire onto her, and they traced the line of her jaw. His eyes pulled together in regret. "I never wanted to touch a woman out of anger, and I have failed that twice," he gulped. "I should not have done that."

Lhyrie paused. Ubbe physically towered over her, standing half a foot over her and weighed at least double what she did; it was not unfathomable his size would cause her an injury at one point, let alone if he was angry. At least he didn't go mad with anger, like a berserker could. She wondered who else he regretted putting hands on.

Giving a heavy sigh again, she peeled off the back of the chair and stood. "I will make for bed," she said, feeling exhausted from their argument. Sleep would allow the rest needed for the remainder of their argument to cool. Before she crossed between their chairs, Ubbe clasped her hand gently with his and rose himself.

Standing just in front of her, they were both silent as he stood and he ran his hand down her cheek. His eyes were soft, his eyelashes as light as the whites of dandelion seeds ready to blow into the wind keeping your secret. His fingers ran over the spot they previously gripped on her jaw and she nearly winced. There was some soreness there already. Ubbe shifted uncomfortably before her at her reaction, then bent his head slowly down to her cheek. He pressed his lips softly to the spot where his thumb had been. They were cool on her skin and, despite the fire just to her right, a shiver went down her spine. His lips passed to the other side of her jaw, pressing away the soreness starting, before brushing over her lips and hovering there, not quite in a kiss but a breathing in of one another, a sharing of each other's space.

"I love you," he whispered, his lips grazing hers.

Lhyrie nodded finely, their lips meeting again in brief passing, but she couldn't find the words to say it back right now; the pulse starting on her left lower cheek was distracting. Instead, she pressed her lips to his fully and felt him relax more under the kiss. Despite a pull in the back of her mind telling her no, she pushed further into him and let the softness of his lips part hers as she melted deeper. The night passed with the only raised voices being those of lovers.

Wynnflaed and Ragnar made their journey to them easily and quickly. They arrived at Winchester and into the sanctuary of the Villa less than a week after the messenger was sent to retrieve them. They heard no commotion of the pending Danes in Medeshamstede and there was no added alarm through the countryside as they journeyed. Perhaps Hvitserk was doing well then.

Lhyrie was able to breathe easier with Ragnar in her arms. Some tension had built since they journeyed back to the Villa, of the threat of lingering war above southern England, was eased with her wiggling son held close to her. Lhyrie was rolling him a leather ball on the rug in their rooms, Ragnar blowing bubbles on his lips, when news of a scout returned from Ubbe's party.

Ubbe was away, of course, in some meeting with Alfred. The scout went there immediately, no doubt to inform them. Her news came from a maid rushing in, out of breath, alarming of the single horseman returning.

"Of what news?" Lhyrie asked her, picking Ragnar off the rug. He instantly squirmed in her arms, begging to be put down and unrestrained.

"I do not know," the maid huffed, her breath still sharp. "They are in the study."

Lhyrie took that information as an invitation to join them, and swept passed the maid in the doorway, moving as quickly as she dared with the fighting Ragnar in her arms down the narrow staircases to Alfred's study. She should have left him with the maid, she realized, standing outside the doors, as he started babbling the nonsense noises and squeaks he liked to make now. She shushed and bounced him on her hip, knocking with her free hand on the door. It swung open immediately with every set of eyes focused on her and the babe in the doorway.

A Wessex guard was collapsed in a chair at the center table of the room, draped across the table itself, his arms spilled open. If it wasn't for his heaving back trying to force air into his lungs, she would have rushed over to him, concerned he wasn't breathing. A dozen noblemen stood about the study, their blank stare hard and unmoving on her and Ragnar. No one spoke, with the only noise in the room being the hard breathing of the scout.

"I –," she started.

"Lhyrie!" Alfred smiled at her from a huddled corner, breaking the men's silence. A few of the heads bobbed in recognition of her name, though most of the faces she did not recognize in the crowded room. "My mother was called for as well," Alfred played off her interruption. "We are still awaiting her arrival." Only a handful of the group fully accepted the King's words, the others started whispering as Ubbe came to her side, through the wall of unrecognizable men. He motioned out of the doorway and the door closed as swiftly as it had opened for her.

Pulling out a chair at the center table, Lhyrie felt like the congregation's eyes were still completely on her as Ragnar let out a laugh. She shushed him again. "No place for a baby," she heard whispered about. "No place for a woman."

"I should call for Wynnflaed to take him." She looked up at Ubbe next to her from her spot in the chair. "I was not certain what I was walking into."

Ubbe smirked and knelt beside her so he was face to face with Ragnar. He made a silly face that made him giggle again. The grumbles from the group around them began again but Ubbe only smirked once more. "No," he mumbled. "Do not do that."

Just then, the doors opened again and Judith walked in. Her eyes widened in confusion as she saw Lhyrie with Ragnar on her shoulder but softened as Ragnar giggled at the bejeweled dress she was wearing. The scout lifted his head from the table, pulled with the noise out of his own exhaustion.

"What happened?" Ubbe stood and shifted his weight between his feet, crossing his hands over his chest. It was a different character than the father making his son laugh a moment ago.

"We found the Danes outside Reading," the man puffed, darting his eyes between Ubbe and Alfred. Ubbe raised his brows in impatience, signaling to continue. The scout gulped and began again, his stare now focused on his King. "Over two thousand Danes."

The men around the room stared to whisper to one another, focused just on the number of the group and not the circumstance of what the scouts found. "Quiet," Ubbe barked and the room rang quickly in silence. "What else? What of Hvitserk?"

The guard met Ubbe's eye at the mention of his brother's name but looked down swiftly following the brief incident. He pulled his lips tight together and took a moment to answer, trying to find his words. Ubbe looked like he was going to jump across the table to shake the answer out of the man, rocking back and forth on his heels, his fingers tapping the table restlessly. Lhyrie's nerves skyrocketed, despite holding Ragnar in her arms. What happened that could cause such stressed report?

"Hvitserk went to them alone," the guard eventually said slowly, still looking down at his hands on the table. "At least, we thought he went to them," he gulped. "After two days, he didn't return. We surveyed the Danes again, but he was not amongst them."

"He was killed then?" Ubbe gritted through his teeth. He was leaning fully on the table now, pressing his palms into the knotty wood, the tension noticeable through his arms and down his back even through his tunic.

"Prior to Hvitserk we had sent another messenger, Ansgar, and his head was returned to us. I do not believe he is dead."

Ubbe grunted and bolted upright, his back cracking as he did so. Running his hands over his mouth, he turned and nodded, thinking. He locked eyes with Alfred, who nodded as well. Ubbe cleared his throat, turning on his heel to face the scout again.

"Find him," he ordered sharply. "Assemble a band, elect a leader amongst you and find him. He can not be far."

The scouts eyes faltered, the wind just returning to his lungs after the hard ride or run or both, but he nodded hard at the order and pushed his chair back as though it was an order to sleep instead of work. The yellow Wessex tunic, lined with metal, tinged with his hurried steps out the door and Ragnar, who had been quiet throughout the talk, began to babble again.

"Shhh," Lhyrie swayed him gently in her spot, begging for him to be silent and to mimic that of the room.

Lhyrie did not feel smug being correct that Hvitserk would fail. She just felt sadness for him and wondered if he was safe, wherever he was. Was he already on his way back to Kattegat? Or did he go to York to see if Björn was still there? Or would he hide wherever Lagertha had secluded herself to, as she was still missing herself. Were the Danes torturing him and that is why he didn't return? She shook the last thought from her mind. No, they would have just killed him like the other scout. Wherever Hvitserk was, it wasn't where he was meant to be.

Shushing Ragnar again, she looked over to Ubbe, who was pacing slightly in the cramped room, facing Alfred. His hands were still up by his face, trying to form a plan. He was trying to will the resolution from his mind. The back of his tunic looked to be made of stone, rigid and firm from the tight muscles underneath. She hoped he wasn't being too hard on himself for this misstep, but the dozen eyes on him for his next decision weighed heavy. She hoped they would relax soon.

"Once Hvitserk is found," he said, turning to the center of the room. Clearing his throat so that it was strong and bounced off the noblemen pressuring him, he added, "I will travel to the Danes personally and finish this. I will not return without a compromise. I swear to you." With his last words, he turned back to Alfred and said them to him only, as if no one else stood before them.

More murmurings passed around the men. Several nods of agreement, others with apprehension still plastered on their faces shifted in their spots, waiting for words from the King. They did not come. Alfred merely nodded in recognition before turning out the doors that opened immediately for him. The rest of his advisors shuffled out behind him, passing Ubbe, still central in the room, without a second glance. When they were alone, he let out the breath he was holding and pressed a palm to his forehead. Lhyrie rose then and stood by his side.

"I hoped he would change," he said with an edge, his voice cutting through the room even as he spoke only above a whisper.

"I know." Ragnar pulled the collar of her dress and forced it into his mouth, jerking her head to the left with a groan. At least it made Ubbe smile slightly. He reached for Ragnar, tearing him away, unhappily, from his latest chew toy and set him on his hip, swaying naturally.

Despite being only past noon, Ubbe walked back to their rooms with her and Ragnar. Discussions must be done for the day after the scout's discovery. They will resume tomorrow, with Hvitserk being the focused concern. She hoped that now that Ubbe saw Hvitserk fail, he would not actually hold him to the ultimatum he had given him prior to leaving for the Danes; that he would take her forewarning that he would fail into consideration and retract that stipulation.

But as he walked slightly in front of her with Ragnar bouncing and giggling back at her, she remembered what Hvitserk said the first night they were back in Winchester. Lhyrie had asked him why he didn't change allegiances from Ivar to Ubbe when given the opportunity.

"I made my decision. That must stay my decision, no matter the outcome. That is why I didn't not switch – I could not," he had said, resolute in his choices, even if they were incorrect.

Hvitserk and Ubbe were too much alike.