Author's Note: First, I wish to start with a warning that this story will not be as light and fluffy as Nightfall. It will contain canon typical violence and will portray how Vikings treated women and slaves accurately. If any of this may offend you I suggest you find another story that suits your tastes better.
Next, I would like to say that there is a chance that I will stop updating here and only update on AO3. I do not want to have my account here suspended and if I feel like I am at risk of that for the content of my story I will post an update here letting you know of the change.
Finally, if you feel like you have read this story before you may have. Fallingoldleaves posted a story similar to this. We both had the same idea independently (insert joke about great minds). She has known about this for months so don't worry.
Now that that is all cleared up I hope you read and enjoy :)
The Things that Bind Us
Chapter 1
The edge of the knife bit into the soft skin of her neck as the heathen pushed her along the streets of Paris. All around her people scattered and ran from their homes in terror as they saw the small group of Northmen making their way to the city gates. How strange this was to see her own people run before her like a flock of frightened sheep. How often during the siege did she walk among them to give them hope in the city's darkest hours? Now she was being used as a sign of their defeat.
The walk from the chapel to the city gates seemed to happen in the blink of an eye and yet still take an eternity. All the movement around her seemed to slow down to a surreal speed and the screams around her seemed muted and distant. She thought she was going to die.
"Do not be afr–", she tried to call to them. But Ragnar pressed his blade into her neck as she spoke. She wished she was brave enough to keep speaking. Brave enough to die for the sake of Paris, but some deeper instinct made her go quiet when she felt his knife press down.
They made it to the edge of the Paris and opened the first set of gates. She wished she could go back to the night when they had stopped the heathens with Odo's wheel. She should have rallied the men of Paris to pursue the Northmen and kill them all. They should not have been satisfied with keeping them out of the city. They should have solved the problem once and for all when they had the chance.
She watched in horror as Odo signaled the last set of Parisian guards to stand aside and let their enemies past. If she was in command she would have had them put up whatever resistance they could. Some of Ragnar's men cut the ropes to the drawbridge, a flimsy set of wooden doors was all that protected Paris now.
The heavy fall of feet beginning to run told her that the doors would not be remaining shut for long. The men pulled the thick wooden beams away from the door and threw the gates open and Gisla saw that Ragnar's funeral party was actually a war brigade.
She felt the knife shift from her throat and Ragnar roughly spun her around. His bulging eyes and sallow skin made him look so much like a corpse she wondered how he had managed to walk this far.
He made a wild, flailing motion with his arms that held no meaning to her. He paused and then he repeated the action. She realized that he was trying to shoo her away. As if she were a child or stray dog. Who was he to treat her so? She was the princess, and he was nothing more than a treacherous man.
She drew herself up to her full height and said in a voice loud enough for her men to hear, "I will not be moved."
The sounds blades drawing in the background caught her attention. And she hoped that her defiance was giving them courage.
"If Paris will fall I will fall first! If there is death on this day mine–"
Ragnar's rough hands grabbed her and tossed her to the side as if she weighed nothing and she felt her body hit the hard wooden ground.
Rollo stood near the front of the gates resisting the urge to paw at the earth like a horse ready to charge. After all this time he would have blood. His vision grew skewed and his blood seemed to boil as he thought of being in another fight. He would not be surprised if he was foaming at the mouth in anticipation. He would be the first to admit he was crazed. He wanted to feel it again. Feel the thrill of being in battle.
He heard the groan of wood being shifted. Ragnar's wild scheme had succeeded. He twisted his palms around the handle of his axe and his heart began to pound at the speed that only a battle could bring.
He had no conscious memory of what happened next. One moment the doors were opening the next he was running. The Vikings and the Franks clashed in a swarming mass. Within seconds Rollo had killed his first man. It was too easy his opponent barely had his blade out and was dead in a single blow. Rollo wiped around to find another victim. He could not be satisfied with just one.
A glimmer of gold caught his eye on the dark bridge.
"Valkyrie" was his first thought, but when his eyes focused he saw that it was not so.
It was her. The fair woman from the wall he had seen months ago. She was on the ground.
Was she dead? No, she was moving. She was smart enough to stay close to the ground.
But once this area was no longer thick with fighting she would be too easy to kill. She could not stay there.
He moved towards her, but a Frankish soldier blocked his way. The man was tall and a long scar that covered his face proved that he had seen battle and lived before.
He possessed great skill and blocked each one of Rollo's swings. His strength was equal to Rollo's.
A soft sound caught Rollo's attention. It was a frightened woman's sound. Different from that of a shieldmaiden.
The edges of Rollo's vision grew red. And his swings became more wild. He could almost feel himself growing stronger.
The Frank gave a sudden cry and then fell. Rollo leapt over the body and grabbed the woman by the arm and pulled her to her feet. He had to get her out of here.
She began to pound at his arm with her fist. He felt nothing he was so full of the frenzied excitement of war.
He saw his men had made it past the bridge now. They were in the city. "Good," he thought.
Rollo tugged on her arm and forced her to start running. She needed to be away from the fighting.
Rollo kicked down the first door her saw and dragged her inside. It was a small sort of home. There was a bed and some other small furnishings. He slammed the door closed. No one was here.
Suddenly the woman started screaming some long drawn-out word over and over again. He clamped a hand over her mouth and felt her teeth grind together as she tried to bite him.
He looked around the room again and saw a door at the back of the home. He forced her to move with him as he went towards it. He pulled it open to find a small storage room for dried food. He nodded his head in approval and pushed her inside. He felt her weight slam against the door as soon as he had closed it and he kept his arm pressed against the door to keep her from getting out.
To the side of the door was a large wooden chest. Wider than the door she was behind. He used his free hand to drag it in front of the door. He waited a moment to see if she could move it. She kept pushing at the door, but the chest did not move.
Rollo brought his axe down from off his shoulder and turned to leave. If the gods willed it and he lived through this battle he would return to her.
Please review if you like and if you would like warnings posted before each chapter please let me know.