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mickume

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The fat man who held Lhyrie regained his composure after the blow to his privates and charged at her, swinging his arms, trying to grab her neck. She dashed out of his path and stuck her foot out, tripping the man into the water. He flopped his arms frantically and struggled against the water, as if the mythical eels were dragging him down – he couldn't swim. Lhyrie turned her attention to Ubbe and the other man, ignoring the waterborne struggles of her captor. Blood was pooled on the grass in front of the fallen man and leader looked like a raging bull at Ubbe.

They were circling each other, like sharks waiting to attack, swords drawn at each other but not engaging. Lhyrie stood on the outskirts, nervously wringing her hands. Ubbe looked awkward with a sword – he preferred an axe; it was weighted better. But his blue eyes burned red like the blood on the grass staining his bare feet. He lunged first, jabbing his sword to the side of his opponent but the man blocked it and swung off his blow. He jabbed back at Ubbe, sending him backwards to dodge the attack and he nearly tripped over the man dead on the grass. Lhyrie gasped, watching him struggle with his balance. Ubbe regained his footing and swung at the man, nicking his sword arm. The man grimaced in pain but fought on, clanging his sword against Ubbe's.

Lhyrie wondered if the fat man had a sword, she couldn't remember seeing or feeling one on his waist. Nevertheless, he was floating face down in the center of the lake now, his sword most likely sunk to the bottomless pit. The only thing Lhyrie could do was potentially trip Ubbe's opponent, like she did the other man, but risked both his sword and Ubbe's. She moved out of the way as they danced toward her.

Their swords met, metal on metal, and clashed with vigor. Lhyrie could see the lone man weaken under the cut to his sword arm. His blows were weaker and slower than before and he struggled to keep up with Ubbe's. He was cursing under his breath, or praying to Odin or Thor, Lhyrie couldn't quite hear which. Ubbe crouched low to miss a high swing of the man's sword and slashed at his legs. He drew blood and the man fumbled and cursed loudly. Ubbe lunged to the man's side and sliced at his legs again, this time slashing behind his ankles. He collided with one ankle, deep enough that Lhyrie could see the tendons snap between the blood pouring out. The man dropped hard on the ground, face first. He struggled to raise up between his bleeding arm and ankle and Ubbe walked slowly behind him and stepped on his back, making his rival groan in agony.

He knelt and whispered something Lhyrie couldn't hear into the man's ear before stepping off him and flipping him over to face the sky. He groaned hard as Ubbe stepped on his belly again.

"Say it," he warned, pressing harder.

"Vikings don't apologize," the man sneered at Ubbe.

Ubbe took his sword wide above his head, and thrusted it down at the man's neck. But he didn't force it through. Barely nicking the skin, he sliced a small portion of the man's neck, just below his Adam's apple, enough to bleed plenty, causing him to choke on his own blood. Ubbe stepped off the man, leaving him to drown slowly in his blood, before wiping the sword on the grass to rid it of the redness. He grabbed the dying man's sword, as well, before taking Lhyrie's shaking hand in his. He was out of breath with death fresh in his eyes.

"Let's go," he said, leading her back in the direction of the cabin, away from the three dead men. "We will leave them "til morning."

"What if bears come?" She asked, looking back at the carnage.

"I don't have enough wood to burn them, nor the strength to dig their graves."

"Then throw them in the lake," she proposed, stopping in her tracks. The last thing they needed was a bear attacking.

He sighed and turned to look at her. "That would ruin your perfect pool," he told her.

"I couldn't swim in it anyway."

He forced a sword into her hands and then turned back toward the lake. He dragged the man he had killed first into the lake, and then the other man. He wasn't quite dead yet, Lhyrie saw, as he was spitting up on his blood as Ubbe shoved him into his watery grave. While he was down there, he filled the bucket they had left behind and made his way back up the hill to Lhyrie. That was the reason she had gone to the lake in the first place, what seemed like days ago. He wiped his brow and smeared blood on his face.

On the top of the hill they came across a thin horse pulling a cart, presumably the men's they had just killed. Inside was silver, swords and a few crops – their plunder. The horse looked sickly and barely made it up the hill back to the cabin, where Ubbe tied it to a post for the night and gave it water. Thankfully, the cart also had ale, which they drank happily to try and forget the sobering events of the day. Ubbe skinned the rabbit he had caught earlier and Lhyrie chopped the few carrots from the cart. Their dinner, despite the first food they had for more than a day, tasted poor in their mouths and they turned to a dinner of ale for the second night in a row. Lhyrie slept in her clothes that night, under the reassuring arms of Ubbe.

Lhyrie woke to the sound of a vicious hack and merciless animal wail. She jolted awake from her restless sleep, primed and ready to defend or attack. She grabbed the sword that laid next to her pillow. Either way, she was on edge. She heard another whack and the sound of blade cutting through flesh. Ubbe grunted and sighed from outside the cabin and she heard another thump, and another. Lhyrie sat up and ran outside, her mind racing in the possibilities from what happened yesterday.

Ubbe was hunched over the horse they had commandeered, blood spattered on his clothes. He was heaving heavily out of breath as the horse laid still and decapitated at his feet. The door slammed behind her and he jolted up to look at her. She wasn't sure if there were tears or blood in his eyes, or both.

"He wouldn't have made it to Kattegat," he said between breaths, wiping his hands on his tunic in absolution. Lhyrie felt the tug of a defenseless animal pull at her heart and she felt sadness fall over her. She noticed a bowl underneath the head of the poor animal, collecting its blood.

"Did you make a sacrifice?" She asked, trying to justify the killing.

"To Thor," he said, picking up the blood-filled bowl. He walked over to her and moved a piece of hair from her face. Dipping a finger into the almost black blood, he drew a line across her forehead. It was warm and sticky and made Lhyrie nauseous. Not wanting to offend him, she placed her hand in the bowl, feeling the thick sanguineous fluid stick to her. She ran her fingers from his forehead to his lips in blessing. She felt dizzy and quickly wiped her hand on his already bloody tunic. "Are you well, minn iss?"

She felt the world spinning around her and stumbled back against the cabin trying to stabilize herself. "Yes. I think I had too much ale last night," she told him.

"Sit." He moved her to sit on the table a few feet away. "You need your strength for the walk back to Kattegat. It will be warm today," he said, rubbing her hands together. They were cold, as they always were. Minn iss. My icicle. "Don't make me sacrifice you like the horse," he joked. She didn't laugh and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "You look as pale as snow."

Sitting didn't help the world spinning, so she ducked her head in her lap and closed her eyes. She tried to take slow deep breaths, but the smell of fresh blood lingered in her nose. Noticing a bucket of water near the dead horse, she drunkenly made her way over to it to splash water on her face and remove the blood on her forehead. She whispered apologies to Thor and plopped herself on the ground by the bucket, ignoring the horse next to her. The water was cool and felt refreshing under the sudden ill warmth pooling in the back of her neck and forehead.

"The scent of blood is making me uneasy," she told him, feeling like she needed to vomit.

"You have seen death before," he said, in neither a question nor statement.

Yes, she had seen death. Countless men, women and children dying either in her arms or near them. Yes, she has killed. She had not, however, been violated or raped like she was about to be yesterday. And she should consider herself lucky for that, as most women had been by her age. But she felt sick with skepticism and uncertainty for her wellbeing. Trust was something she had lost yesterday.

Ubbe came over and knelt beside her. He placed his hand on her back and rubbed it sweetly. Dipping his hands in the bucket, he washed his face as well, ridding it of the sacrificial blood. "If Thor takes offence, he will strike us down together."

She gave a weak smile toward him and leaned on his shoulder. "I think I hear thunder," she told him. He planted a kiss on the top of her head and pulled her close in comfort.

The trek back to Kattegat was silent and morose. Lhyrie couldn't help but stare at the small lake as they passed. Thankfully, the three bodies had sunk and their bloated figures hidden beneath its surface. Lhyrie's dizziness and nausea lessened as they passed, but her uneasiness remained. They had left the cart the men had abandoned at the cabin and strapped the assorted swords, crops and grains in a makeshift cloth backpack between them. It was heavy and, to the protestation of Ubbe, Lhyrie demanded to carry it for some time.

Kattegat was bustling in the warm summer heat and was nearly bursting out the gates with vendors and buyers, going about their daily business. Guards posted at the entrance stirred and gripped their shields and spears tighter as Ubbe passed, arm and arm with Lhyrie. They didn't stop him, but the hesitation showed on their faces. She wasn't quite sure how she would've acted if the guards stopped him from entering; she was surprised he even came to Kattegat with her, instead of breaking off to go to Ragnar's farmhouse. He could still sense her insecurity, she thought.

Standing just inside the gates, half-propped on a stall trying to look as though he wasn't spying on the gates but looking at cloth, was Sigurd. His eyes lit up when he saw them and rushed over. He looked as though he could burn a hole right through his oldest brother with his concerned expression.

"Where in Hel's name you been?" He asked forcefully.

"We were caught up," Ubbe answered, walking past his brother and dodging the people in the street.

"Caught between her legs?"

"I am right here, Sigurd," Lhyrie peered around Ubbe to stare at him. She must have given him a look, because he instantly buried his head with apology. Unhooking her arm from Ubbe's, she felt the slight embarrassment creep back into her mind over sleeping with him and tried to avoid the stir and looks from people as they overheard Sigurd and their conversation.

"The thunderstorm a few nights ago pushed us to stay at the hunting cabin," Ubbe explained to his brother. "And yesterday we were attacked and couldn't leave. So... here we are."

"You went to Kattegat to sell a horse and never came back." Sigurd chopped his hands down with purpose, signifying his point. "I thought Lagertha had you killed," he hissed, lowering his voice.

"Well... I am alive," he stated simply.

"Yes, I see that," Sigurd said tartly which made Lhyrie laugh.

Ubbe led them through the streets and past the Great Hall. Each of them looked long-fully at the turquoise and black shields and banners hanging off the rafters as they passed. Torvi and one of her sons were in the courtyard. She was watching as he played with other boys his age, wooden swords and shields clashing together with victorious yells. Ubbe grabbed Lhyrie's hand as they walked past Torvi, making sure she saw and stared cold at her. Lhyrie pressed her lips together and avoided looking at her; she didn't like being used as a social hall pass. Torvi swiftly ran back into the Great Hall and two more shield-maidens appeared at the door, alerted to Ubbe and Sigurd's presence deep into Kattegat.

"Have you been here the last few days, Sigurd?" Lhyrie asked him.

"I came yesterday."

"Where have you been staying?"

Ubbe gave a half-hearted laugh. "Who is Agnes?" Lhyrie asked, unaware of anyone of that name or why it might be funny.

"She is a whore," Ubbe said for his brother and slapped him on his back, still grinning. "Then you cannot rectify us," he said to Sigurd, who waved off his brother.

Lhyrie gave an inaudible Ah as they arrived at her uncle's house. "If you two are coming to Kattegat, you should just stay here," she told them, entering the quiet house. "Lagertha said you can stay in Kattegat. You do not need to live on the outskirts."

"I don't think Lagertha would want us this close," Ubbe said.

"And it's not but an hour on boat," Sigurd added.

"You came by boat?" His brother asked quickly. Sigurd nodded and stepped through the threshold. "We can stay the night, but must return. You saw how the guards acted," he told Lhyrie.

"Yes, but it would be more convenient for everyone," Lhyrie tried to explain, "You don't have to travel too far, I don't have to live alone until my father and uncle return, and Lagertha would know you weren't trying to gather an army to usurp her if you're under her nose." She crossed her arms in front of her and gave a sigh.

Ubbe tossed the makeshift backpack on the table with a loud thump. "She is right, Ubbe," Sigurd said.

"Shut up," he groaned. "I don't think it would be wise."

"Ubbe -," Lhyrie pleaded.

"What if Lagertha wanted us killed?" He asked her. "It would be too easy. We will stay tonight – that is all."

She tried not to pout like she wanted to. She hated staying in this house all alone and had been enjoying the company of Ubbe the past couple of days – and not just his physical company. The noise of conversation and laughter had lifted her spirits and she was selfish enough to not want that to end. Sure, she had Sigvi, though she was busy with her son and her husband and performing the duties a married woman was required to do. Lhyrie had spent a few hours a day with her, as she helped weave cloth and chatted and gossiped as they worked. But it didn't compare to having the company through meals or with waking.

She was also selfish enough to want to have Ubbe closer, to figure out what the past few days were. To stay in the past and move on, or move forward? She feared if they had their distance he would run to Margrethe, without having to compete for her with Jagar, and Lhyrie definitely didn't want that to happen after the last few days.

"What do you have to eat?" Sigurd said, interrupting her thoughts. "If we are to stay here tonight..."

"You can go to Agnes'," Ubbe teased. He began to light the hearth in the middle of the room, making himself at home, despite his words.

"I can make bread," she said, shifting through a sack of oats on a counter.

"She makes good bread," Ubbe told Sigurd.

"Yes, you ate nearly all of it," she said over her shoulder at him.

Sigurd raised his eyebrows and took a seat next to his brother by the fire. He instantly began twiddling his thumbs and rocking on the bench he sat on with Ubbe. "What?" He asked his brother after Ubbe lightly punched him in the arm.

"Stop fidgeting."

"I don't know what to do."

"You can go get water," Lhyrie told him. Reaching for a bucket a few feet down from her, she began kneading the oats with one hand and blindly held the bucket out for Sigurd.

He shot a look at Ubbe, who raised his hand in affirmation to do as she said. Sighing deeply, he grabbed the bucket from her hand and slammed the door on his way out. "I didn't come here for chores," he mumbled.

Lhyrie laughed under her breath and grabbed another handful of the coarse oats and began to press them under her palm. Ubbe kicked up his feet onto the hearth, the fire licking the bottom of his boots and looked toward her.

"Don't you want to change?" He asked her.

Stopping frankly, she looked at him and raised her eyebrows. "Am I not dressed well enough, my lord?" She tried to say without a smile.

"You're dirty from the walk."

Ubbe quickly jumped up from his seat and shook out his legs. "Yes," he said, coming to her side and putting his hands on her waist. "And Sigurd is gone," he whispered in her ear.

"The well is just a street over," she said, resuming to press the oats under her fingers, trying to ignore Ubbe pressing his lips behind her ear and hands creeping lower.

"So?" He muffled in her hair.

"So... no." He gave a warm heavy sigh that made her hair flick up and kissed her cheek before walking back over to the fire and sitting down. He sat down uncomfortably and twiddled his thumbs as Sigurd had done. "Do I have to put you to work too?"

"I am content right here," he smirked.

"That is what I thought."

Sigurd returned a mere minutes later, in what would have been an awkward situation, carrying the bucket filled with cold water. "I am glad you are no longer fighting," he said over their dinner of bread and broth.

"We weren't fighting," Ubbe said, taking a bite of bread.

"Were we not at the same dinner with your mother?" Lhyrie asked him.

"Or the feast," Sigurd added.

"That was..." he dragged on, waving a piece of bread around trying to find words, "That was misunderstanding. And I told you I was sorry for that," he pointed at Lhyrie.

"I don't think you actually apologized," she said, sipping her broth.

"Doesn't saving your life count?"

She scoffed and cleared her throat. "I could've handled that situation," she said flatly. "And no, it doesn't."

"You were naked."

"I could kill you just as easily."

Sigurd sat silently and sipped his broth, watching Ubbe and Lhyrie from across the table, trying to avoid the conversation he brought up. Ubbe bit his lip and cleared his throat. He hesitated before saying softly and slowly, "I'm sorry. I don't doubt you."

The rest of the night passed quickly and with laughter after the small bump of uncomfortable conversation. Lhyrie felt like she was transported back a few years ago, when they were children: laughing, joking and playing. She leaned comfortably on Ubbe's shoulder and basked in the fire's glow and Sigurd's silly stories. As yawns formed on their lips, Sigurd rose and made for a spot on the hardwood floor.

"Sigurd there is an extra bed," Lhyrie told him, rising herself.

"Ubbe farts in his sleep," he jibed at his brother.

"I won't be sleeping with you, brother," he answered, stretching and putting his arm around her.

Owls hooted outside and Lhyrie woke with fingers stroking her arm. Ubbe was curled behind her, one arm under her pillow and her head, the other draped over her and tickling her arms folded in front of her. She could feel his breath on her neck as his touch lightened so that he was barely touching her, but continued to move in small strokes up and down her arm. Her breathing slowed and he moved to her shoulder and back. He grazed over the thin shift she was wearing, his fingers musing slowly and carefully. She felt him move his lower arm and prop himself up on his elbow.

"Are you awake?" He whispered.

"Not fully," she whispered back. Her eyes were closed, enjoying his touch.

Further down her back he grazed, tickling her softly. His fingers passed over her hip and she felt a chill run through her and her breathing began to quicken. She wasn't sure if it was due to ecstasy or... But as his hands ran to her bare thigh and up her shift, her hand was on the dagger a few feet from her pillow.

"Lhyr -," he gulped as the knife was at his throat.

Realizing what she had done, Lhyrie's grip loosened and let the knife fall onto the soft down furs. Her heart beat was her ears and she hear it pounding like thunder. The world seemed lopsided and she couldn't see straight in the dark house as it spun around her. She could see Ubbe in front of her, terrified and wide-eyed, with the knife by his hair.

She could see Ubbe, but she could feel the man from yesterday. She could feel his dirty fingers under her shift and his sweaty stomach on her back. She could feel his hot, fishy breath on her neck. Shaking her head, trying to erase his image from her mind, she scrubbed at her arms, trying to expunge his touch from her. She pushed herself a few feet from Ubbe, still staring at disbelief at her, wishing not to hurt him again. He wasn't that man, she told herself as she curled herself into a ball, tucking her knees to her chest, still rubbing them vigorously. She tried to cover herself more than the bare shift she was wearing, hoping that would help, but the shift barely covered her knees and the blanket too far to reach, as that would leave her vulnerable.

Ubbe sat himself up and leaned toward her. "Stop!" She tried to yell quietly, as Sigurd was still sleeping across the room. She was shaking now, but she wasn't cold. Her eyes darted around the tiny room looking for any other danger there could be, but it only made it spin more around her. Of course, there wasn't any other threat. It was all in her head; it was all in the past. But the touch lingered. It haunted her and she wanted it gone.