Oh. My. God. It has been waaaaaay too long since I updated this story. I have no excuse other than I really have no idea what I'm doing with this story which makes it hard to write sometimes. I apologize and hopefully you won't have to wait as long for another update.

Thanks to everyone showing an interest in this story. I loved all of your reviews, even if not all of your guesses were correct. You'll just have to wait and see what I mean.

Also, I feel I should point out that this story is Ragnar/OC as well as Rollo/OC. Meaning no Lagertha or their children. I'm simply not putting them in the story at all. Or Siggy. Or Athelstan. I love all those characters with all my heart and maybe at some point I'll write something to include them. But this story focuses on my OCs and I didn't want to put those characters in if I was only going to take away from the relationships and people I love. Remember this story is an AU and will probably be very OOC at times. If there are any readers who don't like that, please don't start sending me hate mail, just don't read this.

Sorry for the long note. Hope you enjoy chapter 2. :D

Temperance hid behind her the thick frilly curtains in her room. She'd been an idiot thinking that the strangers were like her own people. Now she knew the truth though. These people were monsters. They had killed the advance guard. Dozens of men lay in puddles of their own blood on the beach and in the front courtyard. They had cut through her people like they were swatting away flies. Her father had told her to run and not look back, that she could live if she just fled. A half second later the strangers had converged on the throne room and Temperance had no choice but to run through the hidden passages back to her room, where she now hid in what she knew to be a horrible hiding place. She had never felt so idiotic.

She was half-debating the merits of sprinting to a better spot when her door slammed open, bouncing back on the wall. Her hand shot up to smother a squeak of surprise as she stood trembling in fear. Footsteps shuffled around as whoever had entered ruffled through her things, occasionally tossing things aside. Gathering what little courage she had left, Temperance glanced around the edge of the curtain to see a tall, lean man with cropped light hair and two small axes attached to his belt facing the opposite direction as he fiddled with some of the loose paper she used for letters. He looked almost confused as he sniffed it and tried to take a bite.

Biting her lip, she came to a decision. While the man had his back to her, she slipped out of her shoes silently and bolted for her bed, falling to the ground and rolling under with very little sound. She congratulated herself on her daring, though this hiding spot wasn't much better, she at least felt less exposed. Some part of her childhood must have still lingered, telling her she was safe in the dark hidden place under her bed.

Her childhood lied. Not a second after she had settled a rough hand reached under and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her out roughly. She screamed in part agony, part terror. If they were willing to decimate an entire army of men, what were they willing to do to women? The thought chilled her to the bone and had her lashing out at her captor. He didn't seem fazed by it whatsoever, easily grabbing her around the waist, holding down her arms until she tired herself out some. Then he promptly tossed her over his shoulder like she'd seen some of the peasants in town do to sacks of potatoes. She screeched and pounded at the well-muscled, lean back as he casually strolled out of her room and down the corridor. Twisting her head, she sucked in a breath, ready to shout for help, when she spotted something that made her gag on a sob. Bodies of guards and servants were tossed carelessly about the floor, some pushed to the side to make room. Blood pooled around and under them, glistening in what little light managed to stream in from the setting sun. She clapped both of her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Even if he was a stranger intent on killing her, the man was the only breathing person she could draw comfort from at the moment. Burying her face against his back she allowed herself to cry for the loss of all these people she'd hardly known.

Ragnar slouched in the throne of the whimpering fool kneeling in front of him. How had such a simpleton become king over a great kingdom? It had been a great kingdom; even Ragnar had to admit that. And yet it still was no match for him and his men. They had easily cut through their defenses and taken over the castle. The king had willingly allowed them to remove his crown and toss him aside.

"It was almost too easy," Rollo growled, echoing his brother's thoughts as he sank down to sit on the steps leading to the throne, directly in front of the once-king. The man let out another whimper of distress at Rollo's hard, bloodthirsty features.

"Don't kill him too soon, Brother," Ragnar chuckled. "He may be of use to us yet."

Rollo grunted and stood as heavy footsteps and feminine crying grew louder in the hall. The king's eyes widened in horror and he shook his head. Ragnar leaned forward in curiosity. He wanted to ask if the king knew who was wailing so heartbreakingly, but it'd be useless. It seemed this people didn't speak the same language as him. Annoying. How was he supposed to communicate if no one understood him? He was going to have to take a slave or two back to teach him the language before the next raid. His men had already loaded up half the boat full of treasure. The other half could hold a dozen or so small men. They had a few tied up in the courtyard, ready to be moved whenever Ragnar ordered.

Floki made his reappearance then, grinning madly as per usual. He had disappeared when they entered the castle and no one had spotted him since. Ragnar hadn't worried. Floki had a tendency to run off on his own often and come back with some of the finest treasure, or an amazing new discovery. It seemed he hadn't failed this time, either. A woman in fine clothing was tossed over his shoulder, limp from exhaustion but still managing to weep. Brown curls, smooth as silk, were just visible behind Floki. She was small compared to the man holding her, fragile looking.

Suddenly the king roared in anger, spewing some more of his smooth, rolling language as he attempted to rush Floki. Rollo caught him by the scruff of his neck and yanked him back, sending him sprawling on the ground. The woman seemed to have recognized the king's voice. She began pounding on Floki's back, shouting wordlessly as she struggled to get away.

Ragnar looked between the king and the woman, a thought coming to mind. They looked awfully similar. His daughter perhaps? A smirk played at the corners of his lips. This was going to be fun.

Rollo sat back down on the steps as Floki dumped his charge onto the ground. The young woman quickly scrambled to the old king's side, cradling his head in her lap as they murmured to each other in their strange language. They were clearly related. Perhaps a father and daughter. Or niece and uncle. He mentally shrugged. What did it matter? They were both going to die anyway. They were the rulers of this kingdom. They couldn't be allowed to live. He turned to see what his brother planned on doing, only to see a familiar spark in crystal blue eyes. He bit back a groan. What insanity was his brother thinking up now?

Ragnar stood slowly – a bit over dramatically in Rollo's opinion – and made his way to the dethroned rulers. He crouched down to their level and stared directly into the woman's eyes. For her part, she didn't look away or back down, simply clutched tighter to her father and stared back defiantly. Rollo's eyebrow rose in surprise. For someone so small and fragile, she showed a lot of bravery. He knew from experience how intimidating Ragnar's stare could be.

His brother reached forward, clearly intending to grab the woman and pull her away, only to have her lash out. Fingers curled like claws, the woman scratched at Ragnar's face, practically spitting in her fury. Ragnar jerked away in surprise, raising a hand to dab at the tiny rivulet of blood falling down his cheek from the thin cut. His smile turned predatory as his hand flashed out and caught her arm. He stood, dragging her with him and nodded to Rollo. Understanding, Rollo smiled, already reaching for his sword.

The king began to shout as Rollo marched forward, face stern. The sword held tightly in his hand had been with him since he was a lad. It had belonged to his father, one of the few things he left behind in this world. It was the same sword he had used to train with as a boy, alongside Ragnar and Floki. It was the same sword Floki's younger sister Lifa had stolen and hidden when she was angry that none of the boys would allow her to train with them. He had eventually agreed, if for nothing else than to get his weapon back.

It had been years since Lifa had left, off to travel the world on her own. She had always talked about going, not to raid and pillage, but simply to learn and experience new things. No one had understood it, especially not Rollo, but no one could deny how her eyes brightened at the mere thought of traveling. So no one was surprised when one day, a few weeks after her father's funeral, she had disappeared, a pack with her things gone as well. Floki had shrugged and said she would return when she was ready. Rollo had been the only one concerned. The little twerp had grown on him and he was worried she would get hurt. Even being one of the best shield maidens in their village didn't make her impervious to attacks. She had always been a little thing, almost delicate in appearance. He couldn't help but feel protective of her.

The woman now standing in Ragnar's tight grasp reminded him of that, but worse. It was clear this woman didn't have the muscles that came with hard work and training. She was small and defenseless. She had brown curly hair and wide light brown eyes that were noting like Lifa's long blonde locks and blue green eyes. But even still, he couldn't help but see the girl he had grown up with, standing there trembling in fear, waiting for some faceless enemy to kill her. His lip curled at the image, fury pulsing through him as he lifted his arm and swung his sword. There was a satisfying gurgle as he pulled back and blindly struck again and again, the woman's screams echoing off the stone walls.