A/N: Welcome to my first Vikings fic featuring Rollo and Gisla. This story picks up right where the deleted Rolisla scene from 4x07 left off and takes a closer look at their private life. I'm open to turning this into a multi-chapter story because I feel like there are many aspects of their relationship that can be explored. Please read and review if you feel so inclined. Thanks! -Katie

The day was over, the battle was won and although it would not be the last, her husband lived. Rollo's plan had been a success. The Northmen had been thwarted and retreated back down river. Paris was safe, for now, and Gisla could thank the Almighty God for that. Count Odo was wrong. They could not let their guard down. They could not celebrate just yet, for as long as Ragnar lived he would not cease to attempt to breach the Frankish defenses. For now, Rollo had kept the Northmen out of Paris. A born leader, he saw to the needs of his men before he would even consider attending an audience with the Emperor and then Odo had the audacity to criticize her husband's tactics. That was something Gisla would not stand for, nor would she stand idly by while the Count accused Rollo of not being fully committed to their cause. In her eyes there was no one more committed to the defense of Paris than her husband. He had the most to lose; he took the greatest risk; he stood against his own brother in accordance with his, no, their destiny. She knew he was in no mood for a feast or festivities. Already, she could see the wheels in his head turning about how to plan their next move. Gently, she began to coax him away from the hall.

"You haven't eaten anything all day," Gisla said plainly. And you look tired, she could have added, but chose not to. Her own body ached with fatigue but she did not let such trivial matters trouble her. "I can have food brought up to us."

"You don't want to stay for Odo's feast?" Rollo asked, placing his hand over hers. His tone was half teasing and half filled with contempt.

"No," she shook her head and lowered her voice. "I want to forget about Odo. Today, you were the victor and I know that God will continue to bless our cause."

Those words seemed enough to convince him to follow along behind her up to their chambers although she wondered if he doubted the role God played in all of it. Gisla dismissed the thought. Her husband had been baptized and whether he realized it or not God was using him for His divine plan and that included the defeat of the Northmen. She realized it and believed in it. Surely that would be enough for now. After all, even Thomas, one of the Twelve Apostles, needed to see the risen Lord in the flesh to truly believe.

Finally away from the hall. Gisla slowed her pace, allowing for Rollo to fall into step with her, and linked her arm around his. As they passed the kitchen she ducked her head to hide a smile, remembering their previous exploits there and how her father could barely look her in the eye for days afterwards. At times, her own brazenness still continued to surprise her just as much as it seemed to delight her husband. When they'd reached their chambers Gisla instructed the servants to bring them food later on and then dismissed them, turning her attention back to her husband.

"I'm sorry," Rollo said once they were alone.

"Sorry? What for?" she asked.

"For not being able to claim a decisive victory yet."

"You've won the battle for today and I'm sure you will bring us absolute victory in time. You've defended Paris."

"My brother will return."

"And when he does we will be ready for him. For now, we wait."

Rollo nodded and waited a for moments, weighing whether or not to bring up a matter that had recently been plaguing his mind. "I know not why," he began cautiously. "But I feel uneasy about Count Odo."

"He doesn't take well to contradictions," Gisla scoffed and began to pour wine into the goblets on the table, offering one to Rollo. "And you did just that in front of the whole court."

"Perhaps I should not have done so."

"On the contrary. I wish you would do it again."

"Why?"

"Odo is the Count of Paris and is charged with defending the whole realm. He has immense power."

"You think he has too much power."

Rollo knew the answer before it even had a chance to leave Gisla's lips. He had known for some time now how she truly felt about the man. When he learned that Odo made advances on the princess before they were wed he understood from whence her dislike stemmed. She was shrewd enough to see him for what he truly was and what he could potentially become.

"I know he has too much power because my father is weak. As my husband you should be the man the Emperor turns to. I don't trust Odo."

"And he does not trust me. Yes, he went along with my plan, but for how long will that continue? I know he's waiting for the day I will betray him, the Emperor, and you, and return to my brother."

"But you would not do that." The words came out as more a question than she would have liked.

"You are my wife," he said in his native tongue and she smiled, remembering how he spoke those same words to her on their wedding night although she had not known their meaning at the time. "You are my heart. I could never betray you. I've told you before, you are my destiny."

Gisla took the cup from his hand and set it down on the table next to hers. Without saying a word she led him to their bed and prompted him to sit on the edge. His great height made him eye level with her and a smile played on her lips as she took his hands into hers. His hands were large, coarse, and powerful. They were hands that could build and hands that could kill and yet they were always so gentle with her. Leaning forward, Gisla rested her forehead against Rollo's.

"I never doubted you," she whispered and pressed her lips against his. "I love you."

Her words acted like an elixir and when she uttered them it was as if all of Rollo's fatigue eroded away. He pulled her body against his and deepened the kiss, drinking her in, wanting to taste every inch of her. She tasted of wine still and smelled of the expensive perfume she sprinkled in her hair. If she hadn't been by his side earlier he would have never known she had been with him in battle that day.

His beard tickled her chin and nose. The feeling seemed so odd when they first consummated their marriage and now it was just another part of him. He had not changed when they returned to the castle, choosing instead to see to their soldiers who had been wounded. The scent of fresh air, horses, and firewood clung to his hair as she pushed it away from his face. Reaching between their bodies, Gisla began to make quick work of the fastenings on her husband's surcoat, pushing it from his shoulders and greedily ridding him of the shirt beneath it as well. Her palms ghosted over the planes of his scarred, tattooed, and battle hardened torso and chest, eliciting a groan from Rollo's lips. Before she even had a moment to think, she was spun around and his practiced fingers were already unlacing the stays of her dress, pushing it down her shoulders and body until it pooled at her feet on the floor. In one motion she felt herself being lifted up and placed back down on the bed as he hovered over her. His green eyes stared into her own and she reached up to trace a finger across the scar over his right eye.

"You're not going to pull a knife on my again, are you?" Rollo gently teased as he kissed his way down her neck.

"How many times will you bring that up," Gisla asked with an exaggerated sigh as she began to push his pants down his long legs, reaching between them to stroke his length.

"At least once more," he smiled and rested his forehead against hers again as he joined their lips and bodies together in unison.

They moved together, a tangle of limbs, lust, and love, both of them grateful they had lived to see another day together. Gisla arched her back off the bed, pressing her hips against Rollo's and silently wondered, not for the first time, how she had ever been repulsed by her husband. In truth, she had felt drawn to him from the very first moment she laid eyes on him as he climbed the walls with the rest of the Northmen. She should have been able to look away, should have felt an immediate and intense hatred for him and yet in that moment she could not. For days she found herself wondering what had become of him after he plunged into the water. It was not until her father informed her that he had offered her to him as part of a cheap bargain that she began to resent him- resent not being able offer her opinion on the matter. Her disdain for being a pawn in a political game of chess grew. She rebuffed herself for ever feeling anything but hatred for the barbaric man who would be her husband. Her father had been a fool, for surely the Crazy Bear would treat her as little more than a piece of property or a trophy on a shelf. She vowed to make herself an impenetrable wall, even if it meant foiling the fragile alliance. Surely, at some point Rollo would snap and everyone would see how maniacal he was.

And yet he did not. In spite of her ill-treatment and scorn of him in public he never treated her with anything but respect and perhaps, even kindness. No one had been more shocked than she when he revealed that he learned their language. The gossips at court would whisper for days afterwards that Gisla had given up her maidenhead at the utterance of a few words of Frankish, but it was so much more than that. No one would know except for the two of them how he pledged himself to her yet again, inciting destiny. No one would know how he removed his arm ring and offered it to her as a sign of his devotion, and no one would realize that for the first time in this whole ordeal someone was offering her a choice. Rollo had stood before her, had confessed his love and yet still gave her the choice to rebuff him once again. It was then Gisla realized that before her stood a man who would regard her as an equal, who would love her, and who she could love in return.

Nipping at her pulse point and soothing it with his tongue, Rollo could feel the heartbeat and warmth beneath her skin. She wrapped herself around him tighter, her heels digging into his back when they had once been languidly brushing his calves, a telltale sign that she was already nearing her release. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and slowed his pace, smirking ever so slightly as she whimpered beneath him. If someone had told him on his wedding night that he would be able to elicit such sounds from the Princess of Frankia he would have laughed outright. If only the Seer had told him just how much he would have to endure in order to achieve his hard won happiness he might have been more prepared from the beginning. He knew his wife was a strong woman, after all it was Gisla who stood on the rampart next to the oriflamme to encourage the Frankish soldiers. He admired her spirit on their wedding night. At another time in his life he was certain he would have forced himself upon her, seeking only to take his own pleasure at any cost, but even Rollo knew that he would have to play by a different set of rules. They were married. He could bide his time. Despite everything he found himself longing to see her even if it meant he was on the receiving end of her public ridicule. In a final attempt to save his marriage he learned her language and pleaded with her in front of the Papal envoy not to carry on with the divorce. He had literally placed his life, his happiness, and his future into her hands and against all hope she had accepted it- had finally accepted him.

As Rollo pulled back slightly, Gisla's eyes opened and she gazed up at him, almost pleading him to give them what they both desired. When her moment of ecstasy came she cried out until he covered her mouth with his own. Rollo dropped his head to her shoulder when he came moments later, his entire body spent. When they'd both regained their composure he pulled away from her, settling himself on his back and drawing her against him, wrapping his arms around her. They lay in silence for so long she wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Lifting her head from his chest, Gisla glanced up at him to find him barely able to keep his eyes open.

"You were wrong," she said simply and laid her head back down on his chest, waiting for his reply.

"Hmmm?"

"When you said there is nothing to celebrate. You were wrong."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Gisla took one of his arms that was wrapped around and held his hand in her own, moving it down her body until it came to rest on the barely noticeable swell of her stomach.

"Rollo, I wanted to wait until the right moment, until we were alone, to tell you. I...I'm with child."

"You are...I am... going to be," he stopped and shook his head, suddenly lost for words. He closed his eyes against the sting of what he thought might be tears as a flood of emotions coursed through him.

"You, my love, are going to be a father," Gisla whispered and felt her husband's hand move across her skin as if trying to sense the life within. "Are you happy?"

"That word is not enough. This is more than happiness."

Rollo turned so he was facing his wife and kissed her lips, her cheeks and forehead, laughing to himself as he gathered Gisla into his arms. If I could, he mused to himself. I would dance naked on the beach right now. His wife, his Gisla, was giving him a child and that was far greater than any victory he claimed upon the waters that day. A child, the symbol of their love to carry on their legacy was more important to him than the past he faced in battle earlier that day. In that moment, Rollo was struck by a thought.

"How long have you known?" he asked seriously.

"A few weeks," Gisla replied. "It was early yet and I wanted to be sure before I tol-"

"You knew you were with child and yet you came to the battle?"

"Yes, but I had to. I needed to bring the oriflamme."

"Someone else could have done that, Gisla."

"I was perfectly safe," she tried to reason. "No harm came to us."

"But suppose things had gone differently."

"I knew they would not."

"How?" Rollo asked.

"How did I know? Because I knew your plan would work. I knew you would protect me just as you protect Paris and I knew that we have God on our side."

"I do not mean to reprimand you or to spoil this moment and I'm grateful for the trust you place in me, but I could not live with myself if something happened to you."

"But I am-"

"You are fearless," Rollo finished for his wife. "I know this. I love you for this. But from this moment on promise me you will be fearless from inside the palace. The thought of losing you...of losing both of you is unbearable."

Gisla regarded the sincerity on her husband's face and in his voice. He was a man who had lost and gained much in his life. He was willing to lay down his life for a land that was not even his own. He loved her despite her many faults and he was right, she should put the safety of their child above all else including her desire to be near the heart of a battle.

"I promise you I will stay safe," she said solemnly. "When your brother returns I will spend day and night on my knees praying to our Blessed Mother that she beseech her Son to continue to side with us in victory."

"Thank you," Rollo smiled, kissing her softly. "When I defeat my brother and drive the Northmen from Frankia you and I will go to our Northern lands and establish our court and there we will raise our children."

"Children?" Gisla laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "One at a time, my love. One at a time."