As predicted, travel was slow; slow enough she wished for the wagon and the bumpy terrain of the Newbury road instead of the back of a horse, as she was sore from the rocking upon the saddle. It took nearly a fortnight to travel, as Hemming delayed their trek near Lundenwic, mesmerized by the river and paths that met there. She couldn't see what drew him to the town that was built into the bend of the river, as it seemed dreary and busy, although, it was much like Kattegat was when she was younger, bubbling and bursting with potential.
When they finally made it to Medeshamstede and onward, further to the lands the three thousand warriors could settle, she was exhausted. The baby began to press on her and kick more frequently, the jostle of the horse no doubt jostling them as well and that discomfort in addition to the tear she felt leaving Ubbe, left her mind jumbled.
As they passed through Medeshamstede, she rode in front with Alfred so that the townspeople could see her and hopefully recognize the familiar face of the ealdorman's wife. She couldn't hear them, but the discontented grumbles from some of the townsfolk, including the blacksmith's wife, could be seen plainly on their faces as the group travelled through. She would be grateful if no discourse would arise from their settlement here. But, she remembered, the Danes were a force, outnumbering the population of Medeshamstede three to one if any discourse would form. No, they would prosper here.
They crested a hill, the whole of East Anglia sprawled out in front of them, traveling all the way to the water between their homeland, and she could feel the weight lift off of Angantyr's shoulders has he took a deep breath next to her. They dismounted and walked the plush green lands until Alfred halted them.
"These, my friends, are your lands secured by Ubbe, son of Ragnar," Alfred's voice called out. The men were quiet as a mouse, but his voice could not reach them all. Her heart pulled back to Winchester with the thought of Ubbe, as she was confident most of the men's raced there themselves, picturing the combat that won them this land. "May our Gods prosper together in unity."
That was one of the agreements settled. The Danes did not need to convert as Ubbe and Lhyrie had needed to – the pagan Gods could have this part of England.
Hemming clapped Alfred on the back, as he and Angantyr stepped forward, their mass of men joining them. Lhyrie did not. Neither did Lagertha, who crouched low to take soil into her hands. The men passed them, excited and hopeful. Some talked about traveling first back to Denmark, while others were planning their houses to be built.
Lhyrie wondered when they would travel back. Alfred would want to see them settled, as he did when she and Ubbe first settled here. She groaned; she didn't have that much time – Ubbe didn't have that much time for her to waste. Hell, she could give birth at that rate if their travel was just as slow going back to Winchester.
Pressing her lips together, she tried to wipe away the ill thoughts and enjoy the look on the men's faces as they passed, but it could not be rid of. Her mind was dragged back to Ubbe. He should be here to see this, not just her, not just Lagertha or Alfred. He worked tirelessly for this. This was his dream from the beginning. He should be here.
Someone bumped her shoulder, and it pulled her from her thought. Lagertha was beaming next to her, the smile on her lips wider than Lhyrie had ever seen it.
"You should be proud," Lagertha exclaimed. "You did this."
"Ubbe did this," she answered, pulling her brows low.
"You both did."
Lhyrie wanted to shake her head, but Lagertha pulled her forward, back into the flow of the men traveling down into their new lands. Lhyrie plastered a forced smile on her lip as the men continued their excited murmurings, determined that she did not want her foul mood to disrupt their joy.
A few days later, Lhyrie walked through the small community the men had fallen into. Most of the men were starting to build their residences, but it was mostly their tents pitched next to a pile of timber and stones. Men filled their roles as needed, hunting, sowing or cutting lumber, and there was a smith already burning his fires hot in a makeshift forge. Lhyrie passed the warmth of it in the cool autumn day and met Hemming as she walked. He was insistent on a sacrifice tonight, which Lhyrie thought Alfred would oppose, but he did not. They could hold on to their Gods, of course. The practice of sacrifice was no different than the practice of taking communion.
Her feet found her there, standing next to Alfred with the night falling fast on the crowd that had gathered for the sacrifice. There used to be a buzz she would feel around the ritual but now all she could feel was a heaviness in the air that forced her feet to drag in the dry grass.
She was surprised Alfred pulled her witness the act. He came out of curiosity; his mind open to the practices of other religions. Lhyrie wondered how the nobles in Winchester would feel if they found out Alfred had witnessed a sacrifice. They loved him, but would that be the turning point in their love for him?
They situated themselves next to Angantyr near the bowls that had been set on the weathered grass and next to the pyre that been built out of the precious wood they needed for their homes. Fires illuminated the space and dotted places in the crowd where they had made torches. The men were giddy and when the crowd parted to make way for Hemming singing a chant to Frigg, they grew silent.
Lhyrie realized Lagertha was not present in the crowd that had gathered, but as Hemming came into view, a drum wrapped around his waist, beating to an echo of his words, did she notice Lagertha trailing behind him, her face covered in soot and blood. A chill ran up her spine and the hair on her arms prickled up as though electric. Lhyrie could still not feel the stir and mysticism that normally flew about a sacrifice, but the heaviness that had pulled her here was gone.
The chanting stopped and the men who had been swaying or shuffling their feet stopped and the world around them grew silent. The wind stopped its motion, the birds stopped their song and the crickets stopped their clicks as a horse was brought forward through the crowd. There was no fear in the animal's eyes as Lagertha drew the knife from the sleeve around her hip.
Alfred's brows pulled together tight in worry as the realization of the sacrifice was unfolding. Was he regretting the decision to see this now?
It was Hemming's horse, she saw. The gray of the steed's mane matched its masters. As the horse dropped its knee to the ground, it still did not look as though he feared death and rose its neck to stare into the eyes of his master.
Again, a wave of chill ran over Lhyrie. She had been present at the sacrifices at Uppsala when she was young and at those times those that were sacrificed were done so willingly – even the animals appeared to hold the same sanctity in the act. Besides Uppsala, every other sacrifice had the animals running scared of death with the handler's forcing them to the alter. But here, in this field in England, the animal was willing, the flow of the Gods felt in him even now.
She should have turned to Alfred, to see if he was still comfortable witnessing the death of the animal, but her eyes were forced to watch as Hemming began chanting again with Lagertha joining him. Their prayer intwined together and the words floated above the crowd reaching high to the skies above them like sparks from a fire. Then, the electricity, the rush of feeling closer to the Gods, came crashing back into her and Lagertha turned into the gódar from the Dane's camp. He – she – turned toward her and stared hard and knowingly back into Lhyrie's eyes. She couldn't turn away no matter the will of Alfred next to her. The gódar nodded, a small sly smile on their lips as they drew the blade skyward, and the light off the fires reflected in it.
And then, Lagertha returned to bless the blade that she held in front of her, a blinding fire dancing in the sheen and the light illuminated her painted face into a mask. Hemming crouched low to the side of his steed, stroking the back of the animal fondly. Only then, did the horse falter for a moment, trying to cast a look upon Hemming again, before turning back toward Lagertha who was now crouching low before him.
Alfred cut a deep breath in and tensed rigidly next to Lhyrie, so much so she thought he was going to start convulsing out of shock. She then turned toward him, afraid he would drop to the ground. She could not have the men witness if the King were to faint. Her eyes missed the pull of the dagger but it was reflected in Alfred's open gaze. Lhyrie looped her arm around his, a small feeble attempt to keep the King upright if he was to faint. His eyes flicked to hers, pulling them from the animal and his breath returned to his chest as he took a strong pull inward. Lhyrie did the same and the smell of fresh blood flooded her nose.
Her skin still prickled with the feel of the Gods and she felt as though she, herself was illuminated by their blessing. She could see the winds rushing around the men and swirling in the center of which they gathered. She could see the drip of the blood into the bowl that Lagertha had scooped to catch it, dripping with the gold promise of fruitful crops upon this land as she turned her eyes back into the circle. Alfred was steady hooked into her arm, and he straightened more as Lagertha stood, dipping the hlautteinar into the bowl and raising it before her.
With the flick of her wrist, the blood first sprinkled onto the ground before her and onto Hemming still crouched in the center of the ring. She then turned to face them, blessing Angantyr. Pausing before Alfred and herself, she hesitated, but then flicked the bundle of branches at Lhyrie, droplets of blood landing on her forehead, cheeks, and hair. Lhyrie hesitated, wondering if she should instantly wipe the blood away pretending it burned her from the seemingly false god she had denounced, and turned toward Alfred to see how he would react. He also had drops of blood on his cheek, an incidental blow from her blessing and his eyes were plastered wide. He didn't wipe the blood away and neither did she.
"Come," she told him, peeling his eyes away from Lagertha continuing to throw the blessing. "Let us drink." He nodded his head weakly, before craning back to look at Lagertha as Lhyrie dragged his unmoving feet from the spot he planted on the ground.
The crates of ale the Danes had brought with them were cracked open already, froth and foam bubbling from them and dripping into cups and onto the earth. Lhyrie grabbed a glass and handed it to Alfred as another was poured for her. Alfred did not raise it to his lips and it hung low in his hand as he continued to take in the sights around them. The men were dispersing now, moving to the tables set up in the firelight, a glass in their own hands, smiles and excitement still on their lips. Lhyrie lightly knocked her glass onto his so that it pulled his attention back to her.
"To health," she said, raising her glass in front of her.
"Yes," Alfred agreed, the grip on his glass tightening to rise in front of him. "May this land be blessed." He sipped cautiously, letting the bitter ale pass through his lips. Lhyrie took a sip of her own glass. The ale did not taste as strangely as it did the first time she drank the ale back at the Dane's camp. It felt like comfort, like a warmth spread through her as she took another sip.
They stood in silence for some time, both of them looking about the camp and of the festivities happening around them. Alfred, thankfully, still had the awe of mysticism around him and it had not twisted to disgust or fear upon his face. He was appreciative of different cultures and clearly enjoyed learning more about their differences.
Drums started somewhere and the food that had been roasting on their spigots were plated. Suddenly, Hemming appeared out of the darkness to stand next to Lhyrie and she jumped at the surprise.
"Sorry, friend," Hemming laughed, sloshing the ale from his own cup onto the ground and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "There is a table set near my tent for the feast," he said a little too loudly near her ear. "Please, join us." He stepped away and motioned back to the dim lights of his tent.
Alfred's ambivalent stare turned to a smile on his lips as he took another sip of his ale before clapping his own arm around Hemming to walk to their meal. Lhyrie trailed behind them, continuing to look about the camp. She had never been to a sacrifice and feast with this many people all celebrating at once. Uppsala didn't even have this many men. The pulse, the wave of belief was overwhelming and the gooseflesh that appeared on her arms during the ritual rushed through her again. Her eyes found Lagertha once more, like a spotlight in her mind. She was continuing her blessing, tossing it to the men still waiting to receive it. Lhyrie felt drawn to go back to her but she kept her feet in line with Alfred and spent the meal silent, trying to rid the prickle of her skin away.
She was bumping along on horseback two days later. Lagertha had to shake her from a restless sleep with the song of the morning birds still strong to wake her from her cot. She was surprised Lagertha had chosen to return to Winchester with them, especially appearing quite at home with her fellow Vikings. But Lhyrie remembered, nothing Lagertha was to do should surprise her – she was as unpredictable as the winds.
Lhyrie stretched and yawned, the sun warm on her back in the cool morning. Their pace was already quicker than their journey East and that filled her with joy. She would be back to Ubbe quickly. Her legs ached already. Leaning as far forward as she could on her horse, she grimaced at the ache and tried to will it away. She did not want to stop their group for her to stretch every few hours, she would not be any cause to slow them down.
The clasp of her cloak hung in front of her as she stretched and plopped back onto her chest in a hard thump as she sat back. It was then she realized that was the only percussion on her chest and not the heavy metal of her cross. Her eyes grew wide and Lhyrie's hand flew to her chest and tried to feel for the heavy trinket, but she only grasped at the metal clasp. Lhyrie cursed silently as she looked down, trying to see if it had fallen into the mound of fabric that bundled under her growing belly. Again, she grasped at nothing that was the emblem. How long had she been with out it? She couldn't remember the last time she felt it hanging from her neck as she had grown accustomed to the foreign weight.
"Where have you gone?" She muttered to herself, letting go of the reigns of her horse and patting the cloth encompassing her. Still nowhere. Groaning, Lhyrie snatched up the reigns again and sighed loudly. Lagertha turned her head to look back at Lhyrie. She had been slightly ahead of her the entire journey and slowed her horse down so that they were alongside one another.
"Restless?" Lagertha asked.
"You may say that." Lhyrie sighed again. No, Lagertha didn't need to know about the lost necklace.
"Part of me longed to stay," Lagertha continued. "It was wonderful to see Ragnar's dream come alive again."
Lhyrie shifted in her seat again. The leather was tough under her and she wondered how many days were left until they were back at Winchester. The strain on her body put a strain in her mind and she didn't feel like making conversation right now. Despite it, Lagertha kept her horse in line with Lhyrie's and continued her conviction. She was talking about the sacrifice now and Lhyrie's arms prickled again as they had that night.
"Why – why didn't you stay?" Lhyrie asked, rubbing the chill out of her arms.
"I must return to Kattegat. To see if my son was successful in gaining the throne for himself."
That you stole from Aslaug, Lhyrie wanted to comment, but held her tongue. She was no longer resentful to Lagertha, but she tended not to think about those days. Instead, Lhyrie nodded.
"Will you stay with them?" Lagertha asked. "To retire to farm?"
Lhyrie paused. She could no longer picture the life Ubbe once imagined for them. Of reaping the harvest soon, of the winter being warmed by the fire of the ealdorman's house, of the song birds singing in the spring air before the first blooms bud. She could not picture them in Kattegat either. Lhyrie may have forgotten the pain around the regime change in Kattegat, but Ubbe would not have.
"I do not know," Lhyrie swallowed. "That is something to discuss now that the war has been avoided." Lagertha smiled weakly and they continued their journey in silence.
Luckily, Winchester was but a few days away with their quickened travel. The gates were a welcome sight as they rose in the horizon and relief flooded her as Lhyrie slid down her horse's saddle and her feet hit the packed dirt of the courtyard.
She did not wait for the stablehands to take her horse, she could not wait a moment longer to get inside the stone walls to check on Ubbe, to check on Ragnar. Lagertha reached for her reigns and wrangled in the riderless horse of Lhyrie as she bound off, through the gates with her cloak bellowing behind her in the autumn winds. Her legs shook from disuse as they walked through the grand doors, but she pushed beyond it, her legs getting stronger with each step against the stone.
Ragnar was napping when she knocked on the door of Wynnflaed, and not wanting to disturb him, smoothed his curls before turning back to Ubbe and her rooms. The door creaked open as she pushed the heavy oak ajar. The two nuns at the edge of the bed praying snapped their heads up to her, their cheeks turning red as the dust settled around Lhyrie in the doorway. Ubbe seemed as though he had not moved from his spot, laying as still on his back as the day she left him. Lhyrie pressed her brows together and gulped.
"You may leave," she told the nuns as she moved from the spot in the doorway.
Once the pair closed the door behind them, Lhyrie's fingers brushed the sheets of the bed linen. Ubbe's chest was rising softly and evenly. The broken fingers of his hand appeared set and healed, the scars upon them pink but whole. His right eye was still swollen, but not as purple as when she left and the wounds on his face were healing nicely as well. Pressing her lips to his left cheek, the bones underneath were solid and no longer fragmented and she breathed an even bigger sigh of relief. Someone had trimmed his hair while she was gone, but it was still long and his braid unkept. She would tidy that when he was awake.
Sighing again, the days of travel pulled at her legs, and she collapsed in the chair by the fire. Her legs were tired, but her mind was not. It raced in unanswered questions. She should have gone to the Beaton, to check in with him about Ubbe's progress, but her legs would not move. Instead, Lhyrie grabbed the stitching she had neglected and worked her fingers making the floral patterns on the white cloth to quiet her mind.
"Lhyrie…"
She jumped at the hoarse croak of her name and looked up to see Ubbe pushing himself up stiffly with his good hand. "No, no, don't –," she fumbled, but by the time she pushed herself out of the chair, Ubbe was already upright, leaning against the headboard, the fire reflecting in his open eye.
Hi," her voice shook as she sat on the edge of the bed next to him. Her hand cradled the cheek she kissed earlier, and she expected him to wince back in pain, but he did not as the smile grew on his face. He seemed to melt, any pain and any stiffness that Lhyrie thought he might have had from living on the straw mattress disappeared as he gazed onto her face longingly. It had been so long since she had seen the blue of his open eye and it moved rapidly over her face as he studied her features once more.
"You're back," he whispered. His voice was still hoarse, but she was just happy he could speak without coughing. A tear lingered on her eye-line as his hand wiped a piece of hair behind her ear and his gaze moved to her growing bump.
Ubbe leaned forward, a slight nod of his head that pulled a wince with the movement. He tried to hide the rush of pain as his lips brushed against hers but his breath cut hard. Lhyrie pushed away.
"Sit back," she told him. "Do not try too much."
"I have the strength," Ubbe said lightly, a smirk flashing on his grin as he readjusted himself. He would push too quickly, she knew he would and he would fight every ounce of rest she would try to make him do.
"Do not force yourself." Lhyrie scanned him again, and the bruises on his face seemed to fade further than when she first walked into the room. He was progressing well.
"I want to kiss my wife," he grumbled as his hand went behind her head again and pulled her forward. His beard was unkept as any and tickled her, but his lips were soft and warm on hers. She lingered there, surrounded in a comfort and ease that had not been present since the fight and she closed her eyes to welcome it.
"You are not to do that again, Ragnarsson," she warned, gently pressing her forehead to his. Again, she thought he would retract in pain, but he pushed into her and closed his eye, breathing her in.
"I can not promise," he chuckled. A genuine smile formed on her lips for the first time in ages, and she was happy again. Ubbe felt like home to her and without him she was lost. "How was it?" He asked, wrapping her close. Lhyrie shifted and rested her head on his shoulder. He was skinnier and she could feel the ribs under his skin as she sank down, but still, she was enveloped in a comfort that only Ubbe could provide.
"You have secured the land and your father's dream," she whispered. "There will be Vikings here for a millennium." Ubbe sighed heavily and Lhyrie rose with his chest.
"They are east of Medeshamstede," she continued, "You will have your hands full."
"I see," Ubbe mused. He took a deep breath and sighed again, Lhyrie rising with his chest. "You told me not to get any outlandish ideas while you were away," he said after a moment.
"I did," she smirked.
"What if we did not return to Medeshamstede," he questioned.
"And where would we go?" Lhyrie countered. What was he thinking this time, she wondered.
"I have given Alfred much of myself." Ubbe's voice was airy and soft and it almost made her snap up to look at him fully, but his palm pressed flat against her belly as the baby kicked it. "I can not continue to give more to England."
She stayed silent to let him finish. His words were chosen as though he had had time to think about them. Were the thoughts all he had when he was healing? Lhyrie's mouth went dry with anticipation.
"During the fight I called upon Odin to give me strength." Goosebumps rose on Lhyrie's arm as she pictured the gódar from that day, morphing into the two men she saw. She knew it was the Allfather and Ubbe's words cemented it. "I saw the true Gods then and cannot continue to live under the false one."
Lhyrie nodded, remembering the stir of the sacrifice from a few days ago. "The Danes did not need to convert."
"I honored my father with those lands," he said slowly. "I want to honor another piece of him." This time Lhyrie did sit up and look at him. "I want to go West."
She shook her head, words failing. "There is nothing West," she managed.
Ubbe smirked. "The Golden Lands."
A shiver ran up her spine. There were only fables of the land that was west and bountiful. It was but a dream as England had once been a dream. They could sail to ruin and never find it. Or they would reach the impossible. Lhyrie swallowed the dryness that had formed on her tongue as Ubbe continued, "We can see if any Danes would join us. And go to Floki in Iceland first."
Ubbe was ecstatic, his voice bright to match the gleam in his eye and Lhyrie could hardly hear his continued plan as she took in the joy plastered on his face. Her heart lifted a beat as her own joy shone that he was well enough to think of these crazy ideas. Of course she would agree to travel, to explore, with him. She would go to the ends of the Earth with him.
"When do we sail?"
Ubbe's smiled widened at her response and he leaned forward to kiss her as deeply as he could manage. "Tomorrow," he whispered, glee in his voice as he shifted in his seat.
"Are you strong –," she started.
"I will send the fastest messenger back to East Anglia. They will have two days to decide and gather and then we will set off."
"But Ubbe if –,"
He continued without missing a beat, "If we leave now, you will birth our child in the land Floki found."
Lhyrie sighed and ran her hand down his face. No matter what she could say, he would push past all pain to gather the strength he needed to see something finished.
"I can not linger here longer," he added lowly.
Lhyrie nodded. She understood. When she saw Odin and felt the presence of Eir, and then later, the other Gods in East Anglia, her own identity seemed torn – it had seemed torn since their conversion. Now, with her losing her cross, it felt that the last thread that tied her to Alfred was lost.
"Alfred will not be pleased." She would miss him and his friendship, as he had done so much for her, and for Ubbe, the nearly two years she had been in England.
Ubbe's face lost a moment of the excitement. "He will support anything I ask of him," Ubbe said just above a whisper. He would miss Alfred too. "It is best for all of us."
Lhyrie leaned forward and kissed him again. She felt at home near him and would feel at home no matter where their feet landed or if they lived the rest of their days on a boat trying to find the lands he dreamt of. Just then, Wynnflaed knocked on the door, and inched it forward to show Ragnar, standing shakily as he gripped onto her hand. Ragnar's face lit up when he saw her and he shuffled his feet, letting go of Wynnflaed's hand as he took shaky steps toward the bed.
"Mómó," he giggled, stopping in his path to rebalance himself. Lhyrie giggled herself as Ragnar reached the end of the bed, pulling on the fabric of the blanket to aid him in the final steps to her feet. Lhyrie reached down and picked him up slowly. He had grown so much since she had last seen him. Hugging him close, he called mama again, her heart melting with his words.
"Oh, I missed you," she gasped, squeezing him in again tightly as her other child kicked inside her belly. Ragnar squirmed and lightly poked her belly as he had felt the child move.
"Bror," he giggled.
"Yes, maybe a brother," she smiled.
Ragnar turned toward Ubbe and fell forward onto his shoulder. Ubbe winced in pain, but wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in close. Ubbe's armband and the bracelet Hvitserk had given her that she had forced on his wrist before she left, clinked together as Ubbe hugged Ragnar in close. Lhyrie sent a prayer to Eir for overseeing Ubbe's healing while she was gone and felt comforted once more that the Gods were present for them. They would need them in the future, for whatever their travels would bring. For now, the straw bed they gathered on was their ship and they would sail into the future together.
