A/Ns: It is finally here! Beauty and the Beast Chapter One is being beta'd atm. This one has no beta but I've gone through it, so any mistakes left are mine.

CHAPTER ONE

It was like being hung over after an extreme bender, and then some; her head felt like it was splitting in two. She rolled into a foetal position, clutching at her right arm as a dull ache ran up it. The wet ground was cool beneath her cheek. What the fuck had happened? Her eyes fluttered open with a groan. It was dark around her. Okay, so that could be good or bad. It'd been night when she'd passed out.

Nora slowly dragged herself to her knees, she heaved as the pounding in her skull got worse. She was so confused. Had she been thrown from the car? She couldn't see it through the black of the night. She heard a shout from nearby and in her fog addled state, she though that it was Liam calling out for her.

"I'm over here!" she called out, her voice breaking. She grabbed at the tree beside her, trying to pull herself to her feet. Shouts came from around her and a light came into her blurry vision. For a second, Nora thought she was dreaming as she looked at the men who had come upon her. They wore the strangest clothing; their lights weren't from torches she was used to. No, they held wood logs light at the top.

They were shouting at her in a strange language.

"I can't understand you," she said back hoarsely. Something cold pressed into her throat then and Nora realised that one had pulled something from his waist and levelled it at her. Nora was terrified, but she didn't have a chance to ask for help as the pain in her head and the ache in her arm overwhelmed her and she passed out.

When she came to, Nora was no longer outdoors. The room was small, and foreign; it wasn't a hospital. The splitting pain in her skull had dulled, and her arm tingled a little but nothing like she had first experienced. Where the fuck could she be? The door creaked open and Nora glanced at the old man who came through it. He was wearing what looked like heavy robes. Scared, unsure and confused, Nora crawled back off the bed she was on, hitting the ground awkwardly before she was curling up into the furthest corner from the stranger.

He turned, frowning as he saw the empty bed before he glanced around and spied her, huddled in the corner. His frown disappeared and he slowly nodded at her, speaking to her in that strange language again.

Nora shook her head, staring at him like he was crazy. Did he not speak English? "I already told them I don't understand." She coughed, her throat raw and scratchy.

That frown deepened his worn features again and he stepped towards the bed, not her. He set down a small tray. Nora watched him, unsure of what he was up to. He didn't speak as he shuffled about, ignoring her presence entirely. She was a little grateful for his ignoring of her. Nora was still uncertain of where she was, and how she ended up here. She felt just a touch mad.

The silence was broken by the old man sighing. Glancing up at him, Nora found him easing himself into a chair by the bed. His smile wasn't cruel with an outstretched hand; unspeaking as he watched her patiently. Nora wanted to ask who he was, why he was being nice but how could she? What language was he even speaking?

Dirty and battered, tired and sore, Nora slowly uncurled herself the corner. His eyes fell over her clothes and she saw the confusion; then his cheeks turned rosy. She glanced down at herself; what was wrong with what she was wearing? Beyond being caked in mud and dirt?

Her boots were practical for the hiking they'd been doing after breaking camp; her black jeans were not optimal for their day out but were her favourite pair. She'd tugged on a vest over her t-shirt and then her jacket to protect herself from the cold. All pretty normal clothes considering they'd been camping.

Nora took a hesitant step toward him, gesturing towards the bed with her hand. Would he understand sign language? Nora doubted it given her luck lately.

He nodded at her gesturing, motioning with his own hand to the bed. She unzipped her vest and jacket as she settled onto the bed. He was quiet as he watched her settle into place. An awkward silence followed. Nora absentmindedly began fiddling, picking at the tear in her jeans on her thigh.

A calloused, worn hand covered her own and she jumped a little, startled. He patted her hand gently, then took her bad arm. He looked at her, asking permission. She thought of her family doctor when she looked at him; the way he patiently coaxed her along even with the language barrier.

Nora let him help her out of jacket, wincing at the sharp pull in her arm. Glancing down she saw the tear in her shirt sleeve, and the blood. The pain, the dull ache in her arm had been from a cut, she just hadn't noticed it when she'd been out in the dark. Nora had seen worse but judging by the rudimentary tools on the tray he'd carried in, she wasn't going to get stellar medical treatment.

He cut the sleeve of her shirt away, spending a moment to finger the material before tossing it onto the tray. He was speaking in his language, maybe muttering, Nora couldn't work it out. She only hissed when he started dabbing and wiping at the cut. It wasn't deep, thankfully, and it meant she wouldn't need stitches. The bandaging would suffice.

The door opened as they were finishing up, the old man helping her back into her jacket and she smiled her thanks to him. The man who appeared was hard. It was the only way Nora could use to describe him. He barked something out and the older man responded, stepping away from her and nodding to the younger man.

He turned and barked at someone out the door. Two men appeared, and they were dressed like guards? Nora assumed that's what they were, they reminded her of guards out of historical movies she used to watch with Myles.

They advanced on her. Surprised, she reached for the old man, trying to climb from the bed. His look was apologetic as he stepped out of her reach and she was seized by the two men roughly. They tore at her bad arm and she cried out. The old man said something and the one holding her arm eased his grip.

Small mercies. Why had they bothered tending to her if they just intended to hurt her all over again?

She was dragged, struggling through the halls. It was dark still; torches were lining the walls and she whimpered as they led her somewhere. Where, she didn't know, but she needed to try and remain calm. Panicking wasn't going to get her anywhere.

Aethelwulf didn't know what to make of the woman. When they'd heard the strange language rolling off her tongue out in the forest, he thought she was a heathen, but it was not Norse she spoke.

He should've just let his men run her through and be done with her. Her clothing, her language was all foreign to him. He thought her a witch, a sorceress. He didn't trust her. His father, however, didn't share his reservations of the woman.

He didn't need this on top of the news of the Sons of Ragnar carving their path south towards Wessex after the massacre in Northumbria. They'd be here in less than three days and his father had abandoned all reason since Ragnar's death some months ago. It was more evident now the Great Heathen Army had finally arrived, as all of England had been holding its breath for.

Now Ecbert had made him king, he would set things in order. The woman would be thrown in a cell and burned at the stake as they finished evacuating the people, left as a warning to the heathens she may or may not have belonged to.

Finding her with Osgyth, he'd ordered his men to seize her. They didn't need a witch on the loss in such an unsteady time. She didn't scream except for when his guard grabbed her injured arm, or so Osgyth said.

Throwing her into the cell, Aethelwulf watched her hit the ground with a grunt and then she was locked in. She didn't move, she kept her back to him, and he tapped the bars to try and get her attention. They knew nothing of the language she spoke, but it mattered not. She'd be dead before long.

Three days in a cell without food, and little water, had Nora half crazed. The old man had been her only visitor, to give her what little he could. He didn't speak, he just gave her the provisions and then left. She couldn't sleep. Her mind had been in overdrive with what was going on. Nora had spent what time she could peering out the window to look at the world outside her cell.

It was strange to watch the medieval world she was stuck in. She knew it wasn't a movie set, knew she had somehow been thrown back in time, and she still felt a little mad over the notion. How had it happened? Why had it happened?

On that third day though, the village was alive early and chaotic. People were packing their things, were they evacuating? The man who had locked her in here was wandering around, shouting, and trying to force people to move quickly.

Was something happening?

Then came the quiet. Nora didn't know if she was grateful, they'd been in such a hurry that they'd forgotten about her or desperate for them to kill her so she wouldn't die rotting in this cage half crazy. Claustrophobia was a bitch.

She sat against the wall for what felt like hours when she finally heard it, the shouts. She'd dozed off sitting up, and the sounds roused her. Climbing onto the pallet, she tried to peer out of her bars. Her eyes widened as she took in the men crowding into the yard. These weren't the villagers she'd been watching the past few days. No, these were large, heavily armed men. Vikings? The first thought of it sounded so ludicrous but that's the image they evoked. Were they the reason her captors had fled so fast and abandoned their home?

For the first time in days, Nora spoke, "Fuck. Out of the fucking frying pan and into the fire." Nora turned and dropped down to the pallet; her luck was absolutely shit. There was no way these men weren't going to tear through this place inch by inch. She'd paid enough attention in school to know what Vikings were had done throughout England. Seeing them, it all clicked into place. She was still in England, just when was the question. The Vikings raided for decades.

She sat, cross-legged and waited for them to find her; it was coming whether she liked it or not. She could only deal with things as they came. No use letting panic get to her and her panicking. It was going to be a definite that she wouldn't understand them, just like she hadn't understood her captors.

The shouts grew closer, she could hear them breaking and destroying things as they went. The door crashed open and Nora jumped a little. She scrambled to her feet, bracing herself for the stares coming her way. She had seen the way the Englishmen had looked at her, confused and perhaps a little fearful. How these men would react though, that was going to be a whole other kettle of fish.

The hulking men decked in armour and furs, weapons drawn, barrelled into the outer part of the prison room. The one in the lead looked around, his eyes landing on her. He was intimidating only for the fact he had tattoos down both sides of his face. He grunted something out to her, and Nora shook her head, raising her hands in a sign of surrender.

"Don't know what you're saying," she said, shrugging her shoulders. His brow furrowed and he glanced at the men behind her who were staring at her, as confused as their leader was.

He spoke again and this time she just dropped her hands, looking at him blankly. After a moment, he turned to his man again and said something. The large man stepped forward and inspected the lock on her cage. Nora was smart enough to know they weren't breaking her out to give her freedom, no this was exchanging one cage for another. The difference was, she would be free to fight back, not behind bars.

The lock shattered and clattered to the ground. The man stepped aside to let his leader into the cell with her. The axe in his hand was the only warning he could really give her that she understood. She wasn't stupid; they could and would kill her if they felt so inclined.

He free hand outstretched for her to take. Unlike the old man who had tended to her days before this, Nora didn't feel safe. No, she felt like a caged animal who needed out. He spoke, his gruff voice low and quiet, his hand extending to her again. Behind him, the men watched.

"If you think I'm going to just run along with you, you're an idiot," she said, her voice cracking as her frustration mounted. He growled and went to reach out for her jacket front. In panic, Nora retaliated by smacking his hand away and throwing a fist. She winced as her fist connected with his cheek. It fucking hurt, his head was like a rock.

Silence settled over the room. The man looked surprised, then his features morphed into a scowl as the men behind him broke out into laughter. She understood that they likely thought it was hilarious someone nearly three heads shorter than their leader managed to hit him.

He lunged at her, grabbing roughly at her jacket and began to drag her out of the cell. Nora fought him the whole way, scratching and hitting him. She should've been grateful for the jail break, but she was petrified of what these men had in store for her. As they crossed the threshold of the cell, Nora tried to grab hold of the bars to stop him from pulling her along, but it was useless. He outmatched her in strength. He punched her in the stomach. She grunted; the wind knocked out of her. Nora couldn't fight as he ducked down and threw her over his shoulder. She hit his back with her fists, not stopping as his hand landed on her ass. Nora growled as his fingers squeezed her flesh.

He carried her out through the laughing men and Nora shouted back, cursing at them. The light was stinging to her eyes as he stepped out into the daylight. He must have had enough of her assault on his back as he dumped her unceremoniously onto the ground in the middle of a crowd – of men. He was speaking to them, his attention diverted, and it let Nora place a well-deserved boot to his stomach. He was knocked back into the men and stared at her as she climbed to her feet, panting, and glaring at him.

He jerked his head to someone behind her, saying something and Nora growled at him as he took a step toward her. She lifted her fists, rolling her shoulder to try and loosen the stiffness from where it had been hurt in the accident.

She wasn't going down without a fight, whatever they had in store for her, she would fight them every step of the way.

The sons of Ragnar stood in the throne room; Ecbert hung in a cage above them. They were speaking amongst themselves when a warrior, breathless, came running into the throne room. He looked at each of the sons, ignoring the English king.

"What?" Bjorn asked, half turned to face him.

The guard jerked his head back towards the way he'd come as he spoke, "Harald needs you in the yard." The brothers looked between one another, confused. Frowning, Bjorn pressed for why. "We found a woman in a cell."

They'd thought only the king and the priest had been left behind.

"A woman?" Ubbe inquired, looking at Ecbert above him. The shifted to look at the guard, they knew he understood fragments of their language, he'd admitted to it. "Why was she in a cell?"

Ecbert regarded Ubbe for a moment. "My son, Aethelwulf, believed she is dangerous. She doesn't speak our language; she dresses in the strangest of garb."

"And you intended to do what with her?" Ivar asked, watching the old king with a calculating expression.

"My son intended to burn her," Ecbert said. "We purify with fire."