It was the first time Gisla was smiling approvingly of the husband Christ had worked mysteriously in bestowing her.
Why would he see fit to unite the sweetest flower of Charlemagne bloodline to a murderous wild bear; wise men did not understand… Fate, thought Rollo. Supreme vision of the greater picture, believed Gisla.
Frankia would survive and made better. Bears could be tamed; wolves were kin to faithful hounds protecting shepherds' flocks.
Rollo shuddered slightly as he was not used to the feeling… or lack of feeling. It seemed a bit cooler, lighter. His wife put her hand into his great paw trusting it would not break it. Charles smiled approvingly. The emperor's manners to his Norse son-in-law were always without reproach. Unlike the buffoon of an Imperial guard looking at him like this was the funniest thing to see. There was nothing humorous about his decision. It was political! It had a lot of significance and Ragnar would soon realize it. Whether his sibling would approve of it or not, he had stopped to care about. This sun was shining for him; in Frankia, Ragnar was to learn the King of the Danes was not the Gods favourite son.
- Now, this is better… much better. It suits you, my son. It does.
Sinric and most of his men had walked the same direction, taking the same sharp turn. Lightheaded as they were, they were not giddy but for the realization they were now on their own. Forever free from Kattegat's sun; forever free men accepted as different but no more feared. No more un-trusted.
She could have removed her hand; she let it stay in his grip. Not that it hurt, she trusted him. It was not yet love, but she was happy to let it linger. He smiled.
And completed his bow to the emperor. Feeling yet strange that his hair was not falling on his shoulders. The warm air of the royal hall hit his neck; a sensation he could not remember despite digging in his oldest childhood memories.
The Franks were not weak because of it; being a warrior, being strong was not measured by its length. And it could grow back if such action was needed.
Today, Rollo, duke of the Normanni had visited the Imperial barber and cut his thick mane off. It certainly felt strange. It felt like he should have done it ages ago when he had realized his happiness depended on the owner of the hand resting happily in his.