"King Horik is plotting against you, Faðir, you'd be daft not to see it." Sitting beside her father, Gyda grasped his hands firmly. "He means to rid himself of you and of all of us, and I'm certain that you know, as well as I, that he will not rest until we are all dead."

"So what are we going to do?" Asked Floki, from beside her father. "Horik thinks that I killed Torstein, he trusts me. Ragnar, let me be the one to kill King Horik."

"No." He decided, his fingers running through his beard in thought. "Horik will bring a large force to overhrow me. He already has his family here, his warriors. If he were to be murdered, what would stop his son, Erlendur from then carrying out his faðir's plans?" He looked about his company, consisting of his daughter, Floki, Lagertha, Torstein, Athelstan, Bjorn supposed to have been present, but had run off to the gods knew where. When he received no answer, Ragnar nodded his head expectantly. "You see, I am right. We must rid ourselves of this threat in a delicate manner."

"Then what do you propose?" Floki pressed, tilting his head curiously.

Drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, Ragnar puckered his lips thoughtfully. "We don't have the power to face them directly, in battle." He said, realizing that if Horik was to be reinforced, they would be horribly outnumbered. "Since they consult secrets in the cover of night, I propose that we do the same."

"We may not be able to face them all at once, but what if we were to separate their forces?" Gyda suggested.

Nodding, considering her suggestion, Ragnar put his hand to his lips. "Yes, that should work." He said, patting her hand. "Gunnhild, the wife of King Horik, will be your task, Lagertha." He declared, Lagertha nodding in acceptance. "Athelstan and my son, since he is not here, will work to thin the incoming warriors before they can penetrate our hold. Floki, since Horik thinks you are on his side, you will make yourself scarce until the time is right, when you will meet Torstein and I here, where we will be waiting Horik's arrival." He glanced at them all in turn. "We will all meet here, when each of our tasks are complete."

"That is all well and good, Ragnar, but what of the King's young son, Erlendur?" Torstein reminded him. "We cannot underestimate him, he could potentially be a fatal mistake to our plans. Who among us will distract him?"

"I will." Gyda offered, before she had even allowed herself to think it through. Swallowing nervously, she continued with her reasoning. "He is partial to me, and underestimates me because I am a woman." She explained. "I am certain that I can distract him from his work."

Reluctantly, her father accepted her offer with a slight nod of his head. "Very well. Floki, when is King Horik planning his siege?"

Giggling menacingly, Floki gesticulated wildly. "Night fall."

Her heart beating hard in her chest, Gyda wrapped her shall closer to her body as she walked through the empty streets of Kattegat. The night had grown cold and each breath she took swirled through the nighttime air in delicate patterns. When at last she arrived at her destination, she hesitated for a moment before knocking firmly upon the wooden door.

She had waited just a moment before the door opened, revealing her enemy behind it, Erlendur Horikson. He smirked when he saw that it was she that stood outside his door, leaning on the door frame, inspecting her with a smug smile upon his lips. "If it isn't Gyda Ragnarsdottir." He said with a disbelieving shake of his head. "To tell you the truth, when you had agreed to meet me, I doubted that you would actually come."

Shrugging, she shifted her weight uncomfortably. "I am a woman of my word." She declared. "Well, are you going to just stand there, or will you let me inside?"

Moving aside, Erlendur allowed her to enter, his eyes following her as she moved across the room, taking a seat beside the central hearth, the light illuminating her gentle features as she removed her covering from her head, meeting his gaze with equal intensity. She observed silently as Erlendur sat across from her, his hard features completely intent upon her. "This place has been abandoned for years. We shouldn't be disturbed." She said. "Does your faðir know that you are here?" She asked, not knowing what else to say.

Erlendur shook his head, coming to his feet, he slowly approached her. "He thinks that I am doing his bidding." He replied, making her flinch as he took a lock of her hair in his hands and twirled it about his fingers. "But, as I have come to understand, there is a time for duty as well as a time to love." Gyda stiffened as his fingers traced over her cheek amorously. "Long have I desired and wanted you. I'm certain that you know this."

Coming to her feet, Gyda grasped him by the shoulders, pressing him against the wall. Pressing her cheek against his, she whispered into his ear. "Is it not one's duty to love?" She asked, her lips brushing against his skin, raising her skirt, hoping to seduce him. "Tell me your you secrets and desires, Prince Erlendur, and I shall surrender mine."

Grabbing her roughly around the waist, Erlendur began trailing kisses along her neck, his hands running up and down her back before tugging at her laces that held her clothing to her body. Pulling them loose, he prepared to desecrate her body, but before he could touch her in any such way, Gyda produced a knife which she had hidden in her bodice. Pressing it to his throat, she forced him away from her.

Her chin stiffening, she gazed at him with an intense abhorrence. "Did you honestly think that I come to you for your personal pleasure, like a whore?" Tightening her grip on him, she pressed the blade deeper into his skin. "You've severely underestimated me, son of Horik, and tonight you and your people will pay the price for your fatal error. The warriors of Kattegat have awoken, you see, and vengeance shall be ours."

Pressing the dagger hard into his back, Gyda shoved Erlendur roughly into the Great Hall. Her father and the others were already waiting there, the lifeless bodies of Horik's guards littering the floor. King Horik glanced at them briefly as they entered the room, moving into the far corner to observe from a generous distance.

Glancing back to the front of the room, the King pursed his lips, meeting Floki's gleeful glance with that of defeat and betrayal. "Floki, you have betrayed the gods." He said, his grip tightening on his shield as he glanced uncertainly at Torstein.

"No, King Horik, I only betrayed you." Floki countered, raising his ax, smirking pleasantly as he ran his finger over its blade. "I was always true to the gods...and Ragnar." At that moment, her father appeared behind him, staring at King Horik mercilessly, most likely planning exactly how he wished to kill him within his mind.

Horik clenched his jaw, casting his shield aside in acceptance of his defeat. "Ragnar, if you can find it in your heart, spare my son." He begged of him. Advancing upon his fate, he was struck first in the chest by Lagertha, and again, in the back by Bjorn. The King grunted with each stroke, his blood seeping onto the floor as Torstein also took his turn, plunging his ax into his flesh. When at last he met Rangar, he was too weak even to stand. Looking up at him, he met with his gaze, his death.

Erlendur trudged through the streets of Kattegat, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. Without any regard for the master of the Great Hall, he barged into the room, forcing the way to the front of the room so he could properly confront the man who murdered his father. Ragnar's eyes widened at the sight of him, but he made no indication of fear. Without a word, he gestured for the former prince to speak his peace.

The young man's eyes scanned the room until they rested upon his enemy's daughter. She stood behind her father's throne, her lips pursed and eyes accusing as she watched him from afar. Behind her, stood her brother, regarding him with a similar distaste, his hand resting protectively upon her shoulder, and the priest, Athelstan, whom he'd grown to loathe, who discretely held her by the waist.

"Ragnar," He began, his gaze hard and determined. "You have taken away from me, my faðir, móðir, my bróðirs, and my birthright." He said. "I've come to ask you for something in return for what you have taken from me, as I believe it is only fair."

Ragnar placed his fingers upon his lips, leaning forward, trying his best to anticipate what it is that he might request, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. "What is it that you want?"

"I want," He said, a sly grin crossing his lips. "Your beautiful dóttir."

Gyda could scarcely breathe, she was so nervous. Her skin had been scrubbed the the point of rawness, her hair brushed through thoroughly and her long, blonde hair weaved into dozens of braids, some flowing freely, hiding amongst her loose tresses whilst others contorted to crown her head, upon which an extravagant flower garland weaved with wildflowers, and even more of the kind weaved into her braids. She was dressed in her mother's wedding tunic. It was a simple, white shroud with delicate embroidered details, but it was soft and formed to Gyda's body elegantly. Her cheeks had been pinched more than she cared remember, to give her a sort of 'pre-wedding glow', but she didn't feeling like a blushing bride, instead she felt more green with anxiety.

As her raft neared the alter where she would meet her new husband, her heart began to race with anticipation. Though it was dark, in the faint light of the torches, she could make out the faces of some of the spectators. Among them, her brother, Bjorn, her father, her mother, her uncle, Rollo, Princess Aslaug, Floki and Helga, Torstein, and Siggy. Taking a deep breath, she graciously accepted her father's hand as he led her to the alter where Athelstan awaited.

He, too, was dressed in a white tunic, his hair and beard nicely groomed for the occasion. In his hand he held a sword, which her father had loaned him to use for the ceremony. He cleared his throat several times, most likely from his own anxiety, but his eyes stared unmovingly at her.

He smiled at her shyly as she stood beside him, hardly able to look her in the eye. She didn't blame him, she knew well enough that this was an awkward situation for both of them. Even so, she was grateful that it was he and not Erlendur whom she joined hands with. He was a kind man, whom she loved dearly, but she couldn't help but feel guilty that he should have to do this. She knew he'd agreed to marry her to ensure her safety and well-being, but was this what he truly wanted? He was devoted to his christian god, surely some part of him was bothered by this. Whether her concerns be valid or not, he gently took her hands, offering her an encouraging squeeze as they exchanged their vows, binding them as husband and wife.

*PG13*

Just as a warning, I feel that it is necessary to forewarn you readers that this chapter does contain some sexual situations and sensitive topics. Although this chapter's content isn't above a T rating, I just think I should mention this out of courtesy and respect for you all. Read at your own discretion.

As she stood anxiously awaiting him, alone, in the large bedroom where she'd been escorted to following the wedding feast, Gyda grew increasingly apprehensive. She was dressed in naught but her shift, as was custom. Her mother and Siggy had let her hair free from the little braids which were weaved to crown her head and relieved of the wild flowers which had also been weaved into her golden tresses and placed on them the table beside the water basin so the fill the room with the fresh scent of spring. All the while, the two women offered her advice based upon their wedding nights, but Gyda knew neither recount would be adequate to her own experience. Athelstan wasn't like her father nor Jarl Haraldson; he was different in many ways and she loved him for that. In truth, she loved him more than she'd dare admit, but in the back of her mind settled doubt as to whether he could ever love her in the same way.

She'd been so deep in thought that when the door finally did open, she flinched out of surprise. Suddenly, she found herself feeling quite self-conscious as she felt his blue eyes roam briefly over her body before meeting her gaze. Successfully, she managed in avoiding a blush, nevertheless, taking the precautions of crossing her arms over her chest in order to appear slightly less vulnerable before him.

Overwhelmed by her nervousness, she found herself struggling to form words. She bit her lip, trying to push aside her apprehension and not focus on her current predicament. She'd hardly begun parting her lips to speak when she felt the warmth of his breath on her forehead, his hands reluctantly grasping her shoulders before gliding down the length of her arms with his feathery touch to her elbows. Her discomfort getting the better of her, she felt her body tense, her breath hitching in response to her being unaccustomed to the closeness. She was quite certain that he could hear how fast her heart was beating as she could physically feel its rhythmic thumps against her breast.

She couldn't be certain if he was as nervous as she, for he showed no symptom of anxiety, however, his reluctance to merely touch her revealed a different sort of discomfort. Suddenly, her nerves were replaced by guilt. She knew of his oath of celibacy and deeply resented herself for putting him in this situation. His warm, heavy breath tickled her neck as he contemplated whether he should dare kiss her soft, chaste skin.

"I'm sorry." She said softly, leaning away from him before he could touch her. "I know you don't want to anger your god and likewise, I don't want to be the reason that you suffer internally." She declared, daring to meet his gaze. "Nobody need know. I...I will claim that I am unfruitful as a result of the fever I had as a child, so there will be no speculation as to why I haven't borne a child and you can remain in your god's good graces; all I ask is that you spare me of a broken heart, if you cannot love me as your wife, then love me as your friend and don't allow there to be any delusions."

"Gyda...I-"

"Please." She begged him, recoiling from his advances. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be..."

Athelstan sighed. Taking a seat upon the edge of the bed, he beckoned her to join him. Reluctantly, Gyda obeyed, placing herself at a comfortable distance from him, perched resolutely before him, looking at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to speak.

"You once told me that we come from different worlds," He began, "We've different gods, different customs, different languages, but that doesn't matter to me. In my old life, in England, I made a vow to God that I would devote myself to Him and abstain from intimacy, but then I had never thought it possible that I would care about a woman like I care about you. Priesthood is holy to my God, but so is the love between a man and his wife." He laid his hand upon hers as an act of reassurance. "You are my wife." He declared. "And I intend on loving you with every bit of my being."

Before she could restrain herself, she practically leaped into his arms, her emotions completely taking charge. Although she knew that Athelstan wasn't opposed to her sudden boldness, her timidness began to return to her as she felt his strong arms wrap around her waist, the reality of the situation resurfacing in her mind. Hesitantly, she leaned back slightly so she could properly study him, whilst still encompassed in his embrace.

Likewise, Athelstan studied his bride, his hand absentmindedly running up and down her spine. A soft blush rose to her cheeks as he brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his hand resting upon her shoulder. "I was so scared..." She began, her voice cracking slightly as she was surprised at her own sincerity. "I was so frightened that I was a burden... that all I'd be able to give you is pain, when I so badly want to make you happy."

"You do make me happy." He insisted, cupping her cheek in his hand. His thumb lightly brushed over her shapely, pink lips. He eyed them thoughtfully. What would it be like to kiss those lips? However, for a man of twenty-six, he was horribly inexperienced in the field of physical love. He was twenty before he'd had his first kiss and even then he'd no way of knowing whether the sensation was equally pleasant to Thyri as it was to him. Still, he couldn't help but wonder. "Have you been kissed before, wife?"

Beneath his fingers, her lips curved into a giddy smile as she shook her head. "No, husband, I've not."

His lips curled into a small smile in response to her reply. He liked the sound of his new title, "Husband", though he was more pleased with the knowledge that he would be the first and only man to kiss Gyda. He returned his hand to the small of her waist, gently pulling her closer to him. "May I be so bold as to ask you for the honor?" He asked, playfully.

She nodded, grinning in amusement. Keeping one hand firmly around her waist, his other held her cheek, gently guiding her lips to his. As they met, he softly pecked her pink lips, not wanting to force her into anything that she wasn't ready for.

She seemed uncertain of her feelings once they'd parted. Her eyebrows were knitted together and her eyes cast downward as if she were deep in thought, carefully considering the new sensation he'd introduced her to. A few moments of silence past between them before she met his gaze. "Again?" She asked hopefully, trying her best not to sound too eager.

Athelstan readily obliged, attempting to keep his composure as well. This time, she craved more passion which he promptly provided, lifting her into his lap whilst training her lips to move with his. She was a fast learner, as he had quickly discovered and seemingly growing more and more confident the longer they kissed. Finally, as they broke apart due to lack of air, Gyda rested her head on Athelstan's shoulder, smiling into the crest of his neck. Selfishly, Athelstan wanted to make love to his wife that moment, forgoing all of his prior beliefs and affirmations, but his chivalrous nature compelled him to restrain himself in respect for Gyda.

Covetously, his hands grazed the hem of her shift, softly tracing the boarder of fabric and skin. She sighed softly as his hands ventured to her shoulders, where he dared to guide the thin linen from her body, leaving them perfectly exposed and begging for his touch. When she did not object to his advances, he proceeded to plant kisses trailing from her neck to her collar bone. Gyda, in response, began tugging at his shirt, pleading him to rid himself of it.

Upon realizing her intent, he stopped, sky blue eyes meeting ocean. "Are you sure?" He asked momentously.

She nodded. Her want and need for him was irrefutable. The overwhelming sense of love filled her with confidence and anticipation. "I've never been so sure if anything." She replied, tracing her fingers down to his chest where they lingered over the strings of his tunic. She smiled at him mischievously as she slowly began unlacing his tunic, running her hands over his exposed skin. She paused, her eyes meeting his. "What about you? Are you sure about this?"

The longer Athelstan took to respond, the more insecure Gyda began to feel. She discontentedly began to withdraw herself when he took her by surprise. Taking her cheeks into his hands, he kissed her firmly and passionately, pulling her on to his lap. When they broke apart, both smiling out of sheer satisfaction, he caressing her cheek lovingly. "If ever you feel uncomfortable, just tell me to stop."

Gyda nodded, a smile coming to her face. Uncertainly, she reached again for his tunic, which he quickly assisted her with. Her eyes roamed over him, taking all of him in. Reluctantly, she touched him, tracing every muscle and every line etched in his chest. Likewise, Athelstan played with the hem of her shift, teasing her as he slowly inched it up her legs. Decisively, Gyda pressed her lips to his, kissing him with all the passion she could muster. In return, Athelstan gently laid her down upon the mattress, wasting no time in deepening his kisses, his hands free to wonder about her. His heart raced as their bodies molded together, placed perfectly in each other's arms, their breath quickened and small sounds of approval escaped their lips as they divulged their love for one another.

Gyda smiled contently as she listened to Athelstan's heart beat. They lay, wrapped in each other's embrace, warmed by one another's body, hardly acknowledging the sheets at all. Athelstan absentmindly ran his fingers up and down her spine, enjoying the feeling of her skin. Gyda smiled as she felt Athelstan kiss her forehead, his beard and moustache tickling her as his gentle lips touched her skin.

Contently, she sighed. "Now, I am quite married."

Athelstan chuckled. "Never in my life would I have expected to find myself in such circumstances." He admitted. "Since I was sixteen, I had devoted myself to God, dedicating my life to priesthood...but yet here I am, having made love with the woman I've taken as my wife; the daughter of the man who once was my enemy and is now my friend and, yet, I've never felt happier."

Gyda lifted herself off of him, smiling down a him as she hovered over him and kissed him softly. "Nor have I." She replied, laying down beside him, turned on her side so she could see him properly. "Ever since I was a little girl, I had always sworn that when the time came that I should marry, I would marry for love...and, I think I have."

Smiling, Athelstan, pulled his wife back to him, wrapping his arms around her and engulfing her small frame into his. "As do I."

"As a child, I was always fearful of marriage." She admitted, resting her head upon his chest. "I knew Faðir would do his best to find a good husband for me, but when Móðir married Earl Sigvard, he..." She trailed off, suddenly regretting mentioning the name.

"What?" Athelstan pressed, eyeing her curiously. She clung to him tighter and shook her head, obviously oppossed to recollecting the memory. Still, her discomfort worried him. He'd nearly let off the subject when he felt little drops of tears hitting his skin. There was more to this than just unpleasent memories. Something that man had done to her had seriously harmed her, and he felt compelled to know. "Did he harm you?" He asked, fearing what her answer would be.

Reluctantly, she nodded, hugging him tighter. A lingering silence formed between them as she mustered up the courage to form words. "I-If I tell you what he did to me, w-will you promise me that you will still love me? Will you promise me th-that you won't look at me differently?" She uttered weakly.

"Of course."

Gyda sighed. She sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket that they'd cast aside moments before around herself to hide her nakedness. Nervously, she eyed the ground. Taking a deep breath, she began her confession. "Sigvard was a deviant man, though he didn't show it before Móðir had agreed to marry him. He treated us well, offered us a good home and protection, which we were in desperate need of, so she decided to accept him." Gyda paused, shifting uncomfortably as she recounted her childhood memories. "Within the first year, Bjorn had grown to hate him. Our stepfather never much liked him because the older he grew, the more Bjorn reminded him of Faðir, whom he despised. He began mistreating Móðir, beating her and treating her inappropriately...however, it wasn't until I was around fourteen that he turned his attentions to me.

"He would come in the night, once Móðir had gone to sleep. The first few times, I cried the entire time, wishing it for it to end. Even when he left, tears would continue to come in place of sleep. For years, I had been afraid of being alone...of closing my eyes and falling into a dream, when I knew I'd be awoken in a nightmare. Nobody knew, for the longest time, but then once, Sigvard had caught me alone, and although it was midday, he didn't care. He was just about to take me when Bjorn arrived and managed to stopped him. I was afraid that he would kill him...I was frightened that Bjorn would be dead because of me. Luckily, Bjorn was too furious to fight him, instead he took me away and tended to me...he demanded, over and over again...'how many times...how many times'..." At this point, silent tears stained her cheeks. "When I fight," She said, her voice shaking in both fury and hurt, "It is him that I see beneath my axe, his blood that stains my blade." She shook her head solemnly. "I'm sorry." She said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you...a woman's first time should be with her husband and he stole that from me and he stole that from you and I'm sorry..."

Athelstan shook his head quickly, taking her in his arms and allowing her to cry quietly on his shoulder as he gently rocked her, trying his best to console her. "No," He said. "I am sorry."

Unable to contain herself, she sobbed helplessly onto his bear chest, clinging to him desperately as she recalled the horrors of her childhood. "Every night, after I was certain he...he'd re-returned to h-his chamber, I'd go out into the...the docks...to the water t-to..."

"Shh." He cooed, rubbing his hand in wide circles over her bare back in attempts of soothing her. "I know."

Leaning back, she found the courage to meet his eyes. Her own were red and puffy from crying, but Athelstan didn't care, as far as he was concerned, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever beheld. She squeezed his hand to express her gratitude, offering him a weak smile. "I'm grateful to the gods...that there was never a child." Gently, her fingers traced his jawline as she cocked her head, studying him with a loving gaze. "And that they brought you back to me."

Athelstan smiled, trapping her hand in his. Bringing it to his lips, he gently pressed his lips to her palm, bringing a smile to her face. "I think it was fate." Athelstan confessed. "In my faith, we believe that there is a purpose for everything, something that each of us are born to accomplish...like a mission. Before, I thought mine was to devote myself to God, spreading his word and forsaking customary pleasures, but now I can see that my purpose is very different."

Gyda sighed, laying peacefully down upon the mattress, pulling her husband down next to her. "You told me about your life in the monastery many times, but you've never mentioned your life before then." She stated, eyeing him curiously. "I've just always wondered..."

Athelstan smiled, chuckling at her good-naturedly. "Well, I grew up on a small farm in the kingdom of Northumbria, much like the one you and your family lived on when I first arrived here. My father was a hard working man, as was my mother. I had a brother and three sisters, one of which died of a fever when I was but seven years old."

Gyda touched his arm sympathetically. "What were their names?" She inquired, glad to have a new topic.

"Edmund was the oldest," He said, smiling slightly at the mention of his siblings, "then there was Addyson and Aldys and then me. Little Skyrah was the youngest. All of my siblings and I loved each other dearly, I have many fond memories growing up...it wasn't until Skyrah was five that she began to fall very ill. Her death was very hard on my family, for a long time my parents didn't speak to each other." He sighed sadly. "I suppose they blamed each other for her death."

Gyda nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. "What about your other siblings?" She asked.

Athelstan shrugged. "Edmund married when I was around thirteen. He and his wife lived with us, as they would inherit the farm when my father died. Aldys married a man she met in town...a blacksmith, if I recall correctly, when we traveled to market to sell our crops when I was nearing sixteen...Addyson had just begun receiving suitors when I left to live in the monastery."

"Have you seen them since you left?"

Athelstan shook his head. "Not in nine years."

Gyda lowered her eyes disappointedly. "D'you suppose they'd like me?" She asked curiously.

Athelstan smiled at her encouragingly, pulling her close to him, kissing her head happily. "I'm certain of it." He replied with confidence. "I could just see Mother now, 'O, have you ever beheld such a beautiful girl!'" Playfully, he pretended to inspect her, running his hands over her body, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he rested his hands on her hips. Finally, he nodded in approval. "' I say, if ever there was a lass fit for my son, 'twould be she!'" He mimicked in a high pitched voice that perfectly resembled a doting English housewife, making Gyda giggle. Grinning, Athelstan continued with his impression. "'By jove, wait until I relay the news to that imprudent Mrs. Wythe! Ha! The look she shall have when she beholds my new daughter-in-law! Such a finely built lass, excellent birthing hips, just wait until the grandchildren come!'"

Gyda blushed at that prospect, which did not go unnoticed by Athelstan. He stopped suddenly, his smile fading as he eyed her with concern. "Is something wrong, wife?"

She shook her head reluctantly. "No," She replied, uncertainly. "I-I just hadn't put much thought...that is, I wasn't certain how you would entertain the notion..." Over coming her initial shock, she situated herself on top of him, leaning down on him enticingly, her lips brushing against his cheek as she spoke, the warmth of her breath sending amorous tingles down his spine. "But I do hope that you'd welcome it, because as of now, it's your own fault if you should find yourself a father."

Athelstan sighed happily, running his fingers over her body, tracing her curves, confidence overcoming him, knowing that she was his. "I would consider it an honor and a blessing to be a father, so long as you were the child's mother." He replied.

Smiling, she kissed him softly. Sighing pleasantly, she rested her head upon his chest, wrapping her arms around him. "Then rest well, husband," She said. "For I firmly intend on bearing my husband many sons."

Athelstan chuckled, holding her tightly against him. "Very well, wife." He replied. "But know that I'm not opposed to daughters, either. Daughters who would undoubtedly have their mother's beauty."

Gyda smiled, looking up at him lovingly. "I love you." She stated, never having been more certain of anything. It felt natural, rolling off of her tongue, as if it was a statment which she'd always known, but had only just allowed herself to admit.

Her lips curved into a smile as he carassed her cheeks affectionately. Tilting her chin up, he bent down and met her lips, transfering all of his love and passion in the gesture. "And I love you."

Sighing pleasantly, she sat up just long enough to blow out the candle beside their bed before she returned herself to his arms, nestling in to his body as she returned her head to his chest. Smiling contently, Athelstan tightened his embrace around her, wishing her to be as close to him as humanly possible. In the comfort and safety of each other's embrace, sleep over took them.

And end, Season 2

I included the bit about Athelstan's past because in the TV series, we knew close to nothing about the person he was before he was taken to Scandinavia. Of course, my recount is completely from my own imagination, but what is evidence is there to prove me wrong? I just thought it would be a good addition to the story, to give more of a personal connection with the characters. I hope that you will agree.