Weep No More

by star-eyed cynic

His calloused fingers drifted over her cheek brushing away the tears. He moved his body closer to hers, their bare skin meeting underneath the covers. She shied away from him, but he wrapped his arms around her and drew he closer. She was no match for his strength. Her lips formed into a taught line and he could see she was determined to weep silently.

Author's Note: This story is dedicated to anyone else who wants to write a Rollo and Gisla fic because there aren't enough of them

His calloused fingers drifted over her cheek brushing away the tears. He moved his body closer to hers, their bare skin meeting underneath the covers. She shied away from him, but he wrapped his arms around her and drew he closer. She was no match for his strength. Her lips formed into a taught line and he could see she was determined to weep silently.

Was he really that bad? He knew she had been forced here. Her father screaming at her earlier in the day. He had only understood stray words of the conversation he had heard through the door. However, soon it became clear that her father thought that a month of marriage was too long for her not to have slept with him. He wished they knew his heart's intensions. He wished they could somehow know that he would have waited much longer for her to come to him willingly.

She had left her father's presence with her eyes watering and her face hardened with anger. Each step she took was like a clap of thunder as she passed him in the hall. She was distressed. He pursued her wishing to offer her what comfort he could to her, as he silently cursed the gods for making him slow of speech in this foreign tongue.

She led the way to their bed chambers, which surprised him. She was never here during the day. She only came at the last hour before nightfall. Always sleeping at the edge of her side of the bed. A barrier of pillows piled between them. One time he had dared to peak over the pillows in the night and saw her fast asleep clutching knife in her hand.

He stepped into the room just in time to see her screaming at the servants cleaning inside. Telling them to get out. The women scurried out of the room, and he instinctively took a step back and realized it was a mistake for him to have followed her here. She looked to him and he was ashamed that she was seeing him bridle like a frightened horse.

Her brown eyes became two embers and her rage was directed at him. She stalked towards him like an angry cat. Vicious phrases dripping from her lips. He knew none of these words, but she called him these things often. He turned on his heels realizing that she must wish to be here alone.

He felt her hand grab his. Her nails clawing at his flesh. He turned to her and she started to speak.

"No. No. No. No! No!" The first no was a whisper, the next was louder, and so was the one after that. The last was almost a hysteric sob. He wondered if she was mad like the princess of Mercia.

She spoke again, and for once he understood all her words.

"This is what you want!" she hissed at him.

His eyes softened. What language could he use to tell her that this was not what he wanted at all.

She released his hand and started screaming. Her strange words pelting him like a heavy fall of rain. Some of the words he understood. Father. Marriage. Wife. Bed. Other words were long and he repeated the sound of them slowly in his head. For-nu-cation. Dis-hon-or. Co-man-ded. Sa-vage. These words where unfamiliar to him. How was he suppose to discern there meaning?

She looked like she was on the verge of tears. He wished to comfort her, and lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, "Gisla." He whispered.

She swatted his hand away from her as if it were a bothersome fly.

"Stay away!" She screamed. Tears began to drip from her eyes and her face reddened with rage. She screamed again this time her words mingling with sobs until nothing but a crying sound escaped her.

Rollo dropped his shoulders in annoyance and rolled his eyes. She was like an angry child who had not had enough sleep. An idea struck him. He reached for her hand to lead her, but she struck it away. He then grabbed her like a sack of flour and threw her over his shoulder.

His ear felt like it was going to split from the sound of the scream she gave. She flailed in his arms and used her fists to beat him on his shoulders and the back of his head. He wanted to laugh. He had been on many raids and faced many a man's ax and this little woman thought her fists would hurt him.

He carried her to the bed, climbed in, and then drew her onto his lap. She fought to get away, but he restrained her. It took no more strength then controlling a small bird.

"Let go of me!" She screamed.

He leaned over so that his nose nearly brushed her forehead and whispered, "No."

She snarled a Frank curse at him and he chuckled. He thought his wife was very beautiful when she was angry and he wished he had the words to tell her this.

More angry words poured out of her, each one sounding more hostile than the last until she finally said a phrase he understood.

"What do you want?" She had the same defiant look in her eye that she had the first time he saw her standing on the walls defending Paris.

"Gisla. Sleep." He answered.

If her eyes were burning before they were on fire now, "Why?" She said like she was accusing him of something awful.

"Gisla. . . Gisla is being. . ." He searched his mind for the Frankish word, but he could not think of it. He moved his hands up to mime rocking a child. He realized that this was a mistake as soon as his hands left her and she tried to run away. He was faster than her and dragged her back down before she could even leave the bed.

"I will not sleep. I will not sleep. You cannot tell me what to do!" She yelled at him.

He held onto her wrists tighter as she tried to break free. He leaned over her face and gave her a playful grin. He then leaned back, closed his eyes, and for no other reason than to insult her started to fake a snore.

"You are not asleep!" She yelled at him.

He gave an even more exaggerated snore and his mouth twitched up into a slight smile, and he hoped she would see it.

He was rewarded for his efforts by her giving an undignified scream in frustration.

"You are not asleep!" She said again as she rattled her wrists trying to break free. "If you were asleep you would not be able to hold me so tightly!"

He gave a good natured laugh and tightened his grip around her.

"Shh, Gisla. Rollo is sleeping." He murmured in her ear.

"No you are not!" She yelled.

Rollo did not answer. He decided he was going to wait to see how this would play out. Perhaps if he could not explain to her that he would not hurt her. He could show her.

At first she twisted and struggled every which way trying to break free. She thrashed and screamed and he knew she was cursing him in her language. He was determined to act like a bear in the middle of winter. He was not going to move or respond out of curiosity to see how this new method would turn out.

She struggled for what seemed like hours. And Rollo was starting to feel like Thor wrestling the giantess Elli. He wondered how long he could hold out, and how much effort this was worth.

Then it happened. She stopped her struggle and cautiously leaned back. She felt as stiff as a piece of wood, but still this was progress. He focused on every breathe he took hoping that they were all even and would not give him away. Rollo wondered if she could hear the panic inside him as her head rested on his chest near his heart.

Like a slow spring thaw she softened against him. Molding her body to his own. Her breathing slowed until it was faint and distant and Rollo peaked one eye open. She had actually gone to sleep. He never thought in a thousand lifetimes she would. This was a rare thing and he doubted if it would ever happen again. He settled back a little embracing the sensation of her heart beat near his and soon he too was fast asleep.

He awoke to the last light of day piercing through the window and bathing the room in a golden light. He looked down at his still sleeping wife and thought she looked like one of the Christian 'saints' with her face glowing from the light of the sun.

He pondered how she looked so unlike the women of Kategat, and so unlike the other women he had seen on raids. She was a real princess, not some imposter like Aslaug. He smiled to himself as he thought about how Gisla was something that Ragnar would never have.

Rollo moved his hand to brush away stray strands of her hair that had been displaced during sleep. Her skin was as soft as water. He wondered to himself how well his new bride had slept all those nights on the other side of her pillow wall. She never seemed at ease when he was around her.

In public she masked her fear with sniping comments and screaming. In private she tried her best to seem cold and aloof, but he still occasionally saw the slight tremble in her hand or the quick dart of her eyes as she checked his location in the room. He had done his best to be nothing but kind to her, but she did not seem to be able to look past the fact he was a raider from the north.

He brushed her cheek again and her eyes fluttered open.

"Rollo." She said, her eyes still soft from sleep.

"Yes." He whispered.

She blinked again and seemed to fully realize where she was. She jerked forward in shock and her face paled. Her hands ran up and down her dress as if searching for something and she looked back at him in horror.

"Did you…Did we…" She couldn't finish any of her statements as if they were too terrible to speak aloud.

Rollo saw her terror and laughed. He couldn't help it. Her naiveté was amusing.

"No." He whispered still smiling and thinking to himself that his wife always found a way to think the worst of him.

Her nose flared and she looked at him with murder in her eyes. He could tell she was going to ask him again, this time in a more hostile way.

Realizing he was in trouble he schooled his features into a more somber expression and answered again. "No."

"Are you certain?" She snarled at him.

Rollo moved his hands up in mock surrender, "Yes. Yes. Certain. No touch." As he said this he moved his arms so that they crossed at his wrists and then flung them out as if trying to physically push the accusation away.

Gisla's features softened. "Oh." She said, and then looked away as if she was uncertain what to do if she could not be angry with him. Then wonder of wonders she leaned back and rested her head against his chest again.

Rollo stiffened and looked down. She seemed scared and uncertain like a colt walking for the first time. He wondered if she was just tired and wished to go back to sleep. Whatever this was he did not mind.

She turned her head so that her ear was flush against his heart and tentatively moved her hand so that it rested against his stomach.

"Rollo?" She said looking up at him.

He nodded and thought how strange it was to hear his name pass from her lips.

"Rollo, what would it be like if we slept together?" She asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

He moved his hand to brush her cheek and considered her question for a moment before answering. If he understood her correctly her words could have two meanings. She could be asking what he actual physical act would be like, though he thought it odd that she had no understanding of it, and that no one had taken the time to explain it to her. He hoped this was not what she wanted, he feared he did not have the Frankish words to tell her. He didn't think this was the question she was asking though. Somehow her words felt more personal, like she wanted to know how he would treat her.

With great caution he picked his foreign words, "I . . . would. . .be. . . soft." He stared at her directly and hoped to the gods he had said the right thing.

Her eyebrows knit together as she tried to place the meaning.

"Tender?" She asked with a question in her eye.

Rollo didn't know that word, but he decided to take a risk. "Yes, tender." He pronounced the syllables carefully.

"Oh," She said the slightest hint of curiosity glimmering in her eyes. "do you promise?"

Rollo looked down at her with compassion. She was frightened.

The Franks thought Rollo was stupid and they often gossiped in front of him paying no head to his presence. From the words he could understand, though, he had come to realize that somewhere in the court there was a man who found enjoyed in hurting women. He wondered if this was what his wife was frightened of now.

"Yes, I promise." He told her and then with the patience of the sun setting in the sky he drifted down and placed a kiss on her lips.

She was hesitant and uncertain, but she did not push him away. He hoped he could show her something she did not understand. Something he did not have the words to explain. To him the kiss seemed chaste, but to her it must have been much more. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest was heaving like that of a bird after a long flight.

"Rollo? Will you show me more?"

He smiled to himself. This was good.

"Yes." He answered and he kissed her again.

The union between them was unlike any Rollo had ever had before. She had no knowledge of what she was to do or how she was suppose to behave. Rollo had to be the instigator of it all. Throughout the whole experience her moods were ever shifting and changing like the tide at sea. One moment she would seem present and eager, the next moment she would seem cold and distant. She would coax him along with a smile and then start crying tears. During it all he did not know what to make of this woman that laid beneath him.

When it was over Gisla curled up on her side and cried. And Rollo felt like an ass. He wondered if he had only traded one problem for another. The Christians would no longer allow her to divorce him, but he feared his wife would always despise him for what happened between them.

He watched with anguish as her chest heaved with silent sobs. She had to know. Surely she had to know that this was not what he wanted. He had done his best to be tender to her, but obviously he had failed. He moved to hold her and refused to accept any of her resistance. He clasped his arms around her and drew her towards his chest.

He moved his hand to wipe away her tears and whispered, "Shh, Gisla. Don't cry."

His words did nothing to comfort her. More tears fell from her eyes. He moved his hand to stroke her hair and started making hushing noises as if he was soothing a frightened horse.

"Gisla. Gisla, what is amiss?" He tried again.

Her face contorted with anguish and she answered, "They will despise me."

Her answer concerned him.

"Who? Who will despise you?"

"Every one," she cried, "I was suppose to be the last treasure of Paris the north men had not touched. I have failed them. They will hate me."

"No." Rollo said with force.

She looked at him with surprise.

"No," he repeated in a softer voice, "no one will hate you. I will protect you. Do not fear."

She looked at him with confusion and he wondered if she doubted him. He reached across her and seized her hand. Knotting his fingers through hers.

"I will protect you." He repeated more fervently and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

She looked at him like he was mad and buried her face in her pillow and started weeping more bitterly.

"Gisla, don't cry." He tried again. Rollo searched his mind, his words weren't helping. What else could he say? She was so small. Lying next to him she did not even span half the width of his chest, yet she still had to courage to stare down entire armies. Did he have the words to tell her these things?

He nuzzled closer to her, encouraging her to look up from the pillow.

"Gisla you are small, but strong." He murmured to her.

She turned her head to face him. Her eyes were red from tears. "I am not strong enough to face them. I have delivered my virtue for nothing."

"No, not nothing." He corrected her. He held her closer to his person and said, "Gisla safe. Gisla warm. What happened between us is . . . good. Is very good."

She wiped her eyes and looked up at him in wonder. "Do you truly mean that?"

"Yes." Rollo answered, holding her gaze. "Gisla weep no more. I will love you until Ragnarok." He spoke so fervently that he slipped into his mother tongue.

"Rag-nar-ok." Gisla carefully repeated with a question in her eye. "What is Ragnarok?

"The end." Rollo whispered.

"The end of what?" She asked.

"All." He answered.

Against his best wishes the tears did not stop. However, she drew closer to him and cried into his shoulder. Allowing him to hold her close as she draped her arms around him. As she wept Rollo wondered if he had lied to her. Was this really a good thing? Yes. He answered himself. This was good. This was progress.

Author's Note: So how did I do? Are they in character? I was worried at times. This was my last ditch effort to write a nuanced interaction between them before the show does because my ship will sink or swim tomorrow night wether I like it or not.