Happy New Year Everyone!
I wasn't planning on working on this story today, but I figured I had time after cleaning house and everyone is always so excited for this story, so why not start off the new year with a new chapter, huh?
For whatever reason, the tense in this chapter got a little screwy. I apologize but I'm just too lazy to fix it. Just like I've been too lazy to edit anything I've been putting out :P SorryNotSorry.
Also, idk if Ragnar is older, or Rollo. It goes back and forth in my mind a lot and I was gonna look it up, but then figured this is already an AU might as well just do what I want. So I made Rollo older. For reasons. I kinda go over it in this chapter (which is why I'm putting this here...Spoilers) but if you still want a full detailed reason why, just PM me and I'll let you know my warped way of thinking.
Anywho, enjoy and have a great new year!
Drifting in a semi-conscious state, Lifa was very aware of the long line of muscled man pressed against her back and thick arm draped over her waist. A moment of panic flashed through her drowsy mind before the events of the night before slowly emerged. She tensed, remembering just how much she had revealed. She hadn't meant to. After giving what was the most simplified version of events condensed into a single sentence, Rollo had simply stared at her, his eyes hard with a vicious sort of vengeance she had recognized since childhood. She didn't fear him, could never fear him really, but she was ashamed and knew she didn't deserve whatever small amount of sympathy he still held. She had to tell him everything, the full truth, and it killed what little was left of her soul to have to do it.
She had closed her eyes tight, blocking out his face as the words tumbled from her mouth hesitantly. Her voice refused to rise above a whisper, but he was pressed so close to her, her body practically engulfed in his, that there was no way he wouldn't hear. It was a struggle to get the whole story out, to continue as Rollo grew more and more still beneath her, his arms tight around her, almost shielding her as his hands fisted in the coat still around her shoulders. She was so sure that any moment she was going to be tossed out into the cold, left to fend for herself in a world that wouldn't want anything to do with her. Her tongue continued to move, to spill words in a vain attempt of delaying the inevitable.
Once silence had washed over them, Lifa having finally run out of things to say, Rollo took a deep breath in, his arms never once leaving her, and shifted. Her eyes squeezed tighter shut. She couldn't look at him when he threw her out. It was just too much. She wouldn't be able to survive that.
She was so caught up in her own misery, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the scratch of his beard against the side of her neck where he was burying his face. The damp feeling of tears was even more startling. Too confused to move, she instead remained stock still until he gathered himself enough to begin pressing slow, gentle kisses along the column of her neck. She tried to shift away, not wanting to be teased in such a way when she knew it was only a matter of time when she'd have to leave him completely and forever. In fact, she was a little confused he hadn't already banished her from his sight.
He practically growled as she pushed away from him and refused to loosen his hold. She struggled, pushing more firmly, but that only seemed to aggravate him more, the arms still banded around her waist tightening almost painfully. Tears began to gather in her eyes again and she sagged in defeat, pressing her forehead to his chest with a small sob. Somehow during the struggle she had been twisted around until she straddled his lap, his coat having fallen around her hips so that her bare chest was pressed to his. Sobs continued to wrack her body unwillingly. She couldn't stand to be seen so weak and vulnerable, especially after having revealed all that she had, but Rollo merely held her tight, not letting her budge and inch as he pressed feather light kisses to her hair. Never in her entire life had she seen Rollo as tender as he was now. Even when they were intimate there was always an underlying harshness to everything that he did, an edge that intimidated most, but Lifa didn't mind. It was part of him, and seeing him without it was almost as frightening as admitting what she had been hiding since she returned.
Neither of them spoke for the rest of the night, but neither did Rollo throw her out. Instead, he cradled her close as he carefully slid down the bed until they were both lying on their sides, his head on his pillow while hers rested against his shoulder. His arms stayed around her, keeping her secured to his side as his fingers rubbed calming circles into the skin on her hip and back. To say she was confused was an understatement, but she was also exhausted. The emotions she had recently purged had worn her down and she was on the verge of sleep when she felt fingers gently brush over her abdomen, tracing the scars with a barely there touch. It was enough, though, and her eyes flew open as her throat closed in panic again.
Finally, as she was expecting he would do all night, Rollo moved away from her. Her breath caught on a dry sob, tears no longer able to form, and she rolled away, ready to leave whenever he ordered her to. He startled her yet again when his fingers circled her wrist and tugged her back. His shirt was bunched in his hand as he tugged her closer to him until she sat in the middle of the bed looking at anything but him. Carefully, he eased the shirt over her head and pushed her arms through the sleeves. It was while he slipped his hand under her hair to flip it out of the collar that she managed to raise her eyes to his. There was a softness there that she hadn't expected and she stilled at the sight. How could he still look at her like that? Knowing everything as he did, shouldn't he be disgusted by her mere presence?
She hardly had time to think on it as he eased her back down on the bed, pulling her back until she was pressed against his chest. She felt him bury his nose in her hair and sigh contently as he commanded her to sleep in a soft rumble. Her eyes were heavy, exhaustion easily pulling at her even with all the emotions and thoughts raging through her mind.
That night was simultaneously the best and worst night she'd had in months. She may have fallen asleep rather quickly, but she had hardly rested. All night she was disturbed by dreams, images of manacles and laughing Englishmen in their shining suits of armor – a symbol of their absent chivalry – of knives and blood and pain she had no control over, forced their way into her mind past all the barriers she'd built on her voyage home. Her only saving grace was the feel of Rollo, constantly there, holding her. It chased away her demons like nothing else ever had and she feared what would happen when he decided she would have to go.
It wasn't until the early dim hours of the morning that she finally fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep, only to wake up groggy and slightly disorientated. Once she had calmed herself down enough to relax back into his embrace, she turned her head slightly to glance back at her lover. His lips were parted slightly, his face clear of all stress and worry, the mask he wore to keep anyone from seeing those things. He looked younger, more carefree. Much like the Rollo who had first invited her to his bed, the night before he left on his first raid as a teen. He had been a little older than most, his mother worrying enough about both her boys to want him to wait so they could leave together. He had been irritated, but agreed for the sake of their mother.
So at sixteen he was joining his thirteen year old brother for both of their first raids. Lifa had been still considered untrained at thirteen – though she could easily take quite a few older boys in the practice ring – and had been ordered to stay behind. She had been too young to understand fully what it meant to share a bed with a man as well, but that didn't stop her. She knew Rollo resented being but second to his younger brother constantly, simply because Ragnar was said to be destined for greatness. So she gave him something Ragnar did not have, something Rollo would never have to share. Something only he could claim to own.
She never regretted her decision until that moment, lying in Rollo's arms as she contemplated how he would react to her presence in the light of day. They hardly ever lingered whenever they did share beds and after last night she doubted he'd want her to hang around.
Decided, Lifa carefully lifted the arm draped over her and slowly eased to the edge of the bed. The shirt hanging from her shoulders and revealing far more than it hid fell to her knees as she pushed to her feet. Her hands bunched in the material as she hesitated to take it off. It smelt of Rollo, like leather and sweat and something so masculine it made her shiver. She took a deep breath, suppressing as much as she could of those feelings. Now was not the time. She straightened her shoulders. She couldn't stay. She knew that. Word would get out and…
An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back until her legs hit the side of the bed. She bit her lip to stop the frightened sound that threatened to escape at the unexpected touch. The chest she fell back against was warm and wide and far too comforting for her own sanity. Lifa ducked her head, keeping her eyes on her hands still gripping tightly to the fabric of her borrowed shirt. His calloused fingered brushed against her cheek, pushing hair behind her ear, and drifted down to cup her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Lifa," his voice was a low rumble, soothing.
She trembled slightly, trying to force her feet to carry her away. Away from the eventual pain she knew was coming. Before she could, however, Rollo was slipping out of the bed, nudging her back so he could stand in front of her, towering above her in a way that felt more protective than intimidating. She wrapped her arms around her torso to keep from reaching for him, not wanting to seem weaker than she already did. His hands gently cupped her face, keeping her from looking away as he slowly tilted his head down. Their lips had barely brushed when the door slammed open.
Lifa jumped, still feeling too vulnerable to try to fight the instinct of cowering against Rollo. The man simply clutched her waist, locking her against his chest as he swore at whoever had interrupted them. When no one answered she chanced a peek. Ragnar was scowling at the two, blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at Lifa's odd behavior. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white.
"What?" Rollo finally demanded of his brother, "What did you want, Ragnar?"
He pointed at Lifa, "You."