Greetings readers! I am wanting to do a story with multiple chapters. I came up with this idea from watching the most recent episode. Poor Rollo has a lot of work to do to fit in with these Franks but what if he had a friend to help? Hope you enjoy the first chapter. It is basically setting up the scene, the time that you are beginning this journey. Hope you enjoy. I may just make it a oneshot and keep it as is, no more chapters, but I have an idea to add a little bit of mystical Athelstan goodness. Perhaps Rollo is going crazy? Who knows. So here it is! The first chapter that gives you the basic idea of where Rollo is.
DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING VIKING RELATED. IT IS ALL HISTORY CHANNEL AND I HAVE NO RIGHTS TO SUCH MATERIAL. ORIGINAL PLOT IS MINE. OTHER THAN THAT, IT ALL BELONGS TO HISTORY CHANNEL.
"Do not touch me," Gisla demanded, taking a step back from her well-groomed husband. His hair was shorter and his clothing fine, noble colors strewn over his jewels and robes. "You disgust me."
Rollo just watched her with confusion and shock, the derision in her face obvious enough for him to understand. He wasn't sure what to make of her still, even several weeks after their marriage ceremony. Rollo had done everything possible to make himself more appealing to these Franks. He cut his hair, adorned their clothing, and was going out of his way to learn their language and religion. He knew, though, that he would never be one of them; they were quite exclusive with their culture and religion.
Rollo and Gisla were standing in their chambers at the royal palace, their argument heated. The snows were starting to fall and the chill within their chamber was, apparently, disagreeable to his new wife. Rollo hadn't noticed the chill, being used to much worse, so when his wife had yelled at him over the lack of fire in the hearth, he was unsure what she was angry about. He had made the mistake of trying to approach her as well and she responded just as he expected.
"You are annoying," was all Rollo could respond, moving around her to throw some wood on the smoldering embers in the hearth. After filling the hearth and stirring the ambers into a flame again, he stood, wiping the soot and ash from his new clothing. He was surprised to see his wife still standing there, her arms wrapped around herself against the cold. Rollo motioned to the newly crackling hearth and picked up a blanket from the plush bench beside it, offering it to Gisla. It was a heavy fur lined blanket stitched with wool and linen, the scent heavy with pine and lavender.
Rollo offered her the blanket one more time before setting it back down on the bench near the fireplace. He then moved across the room to the bed, removing his boots and shirt before falling onto the plush linen. It smelled of vanilla and lavender, a scent Rollo had come to enjoy quite a bit since he started living in the palace. He stretched sleepily on the bed, the light in the room dimming by the second. The sun had been setting when he finally made it back to their chambers, the meeting with Count Odo and his captain taking longer than he anticipated. They both seemed pleased with his proposed defenses, even the placid Count Odo whom his wife cursed so often.
His stomach rumbled now, his thoughts wandering to the pastries and pies that the Franks had made so well. If there was one thing he did enjoy about this foreign place, it was the food. So much variety and creativeness went into every dish and Rollo enjoyed most of them. He jumped out of bed now, causing Gisla to bounce in surprise as he strode toward the chamber doors. She had finally taken up a spot on the bench near the fireplace, the blanket wrapped tightly around her. He swung the doors open and turned to the guard standing near the door, just down the hall.
"Food," Rollo said to him, motioning for him to leave. "Food and drink."
The guard took the hint, bowing to Rollo before disappearing down the hall. Rollo thought it was entirely unnecessary to post a guard at their door every night. He was sure that he was perfectly capable of protecting himself, and his new wife, from any attempted assassin. As he closed the door he could see, out of the corner of his eye, that Gisla was shivering, pulling the blanket tighter around her body. She had formed a small cocoon around herself, the fire blazing now and illuminating her face. She was just staring into the fire, her eyes wandering the flames as they danced within the hearth. Rollo couldn't help but admire her fine features, the smoothness of her delicate skin and her dark almond eyes more attractive now than they had been that day on the city ramparts. If there was one thing he could say about his wife it was that she was brave, braver than any Frank he had met so far.
A mere woman, with no combat training or skills, was brave enough to stand on the walls of Paris with nothing but a banner and inspire her troops to fight back the Viking horde. He remembers their eyes meeting, the shock and wonder in hers as she watched the "tattooed barbarians swarm the walls like cockroaches". She was truly brave for baring witness to such carnage and ferocity. What was worse was that if the warriors were able to breech the walls, she would have been an unfortunate captive of the pagans she hated. It was after these few moments of pondering that Gisla's eyes snapped to his, suddenly aware of his eyes on her. They darkened with annoyance but Rollo refused to look away. He was unsure if she was shocked at his brazen curiosity, his cool indifference, or the equality of his stubbornness. Either way, she just stared at him, willing herself not to look away. He was sure this was a personal challenge that she set for herself; she probably believed that God would punish her if she lost to her Pagan husband.
After a moment she stood up, the blanket still wrapped tightly around her small frame. For a Frankish woman she was steadily built, taller than most with the fearsome eyes of a warrior. Her long brown hair and creamy skin added to the illusion that she was, as far as the common folk were concerned, a gift from God. These Christians, Rollo remembered, believed that their leaders were chosen by their God and had a divine right to rule. This was a joke to Rollo but as the Emperor pointed, God had lead Rollo to the same fate.
"What are you staring at?" Gisla asked, her voice as icy cold as the rest of her.
"You," Rollo admitted, moving toward the bed again. He sat on the edge of it, staring at the young princess before shrugging and falling back into the covers. He sighed, spreading his arms out over the blankets around him and looking at the darkened ceiling. He could see Gisla's shadow on the ceiling, moving back and forth as she paced in front of the fire. Being a married Christian was a boring agreement; there was nothing more boring than a cold wife. There were no parties, no grand affairs, and nothing fun about it. It was always ceremony and pomp, no real experience other than the foreign customs that Rollo was slowly losing interest in. He wasn't able to drink with the common soldiers, drink in taverns or inns, and he could never enjoy another woman again. Of course, he didn't think that such rules were absolute. He would like to see one of these Franks try to stop him from enjoying the pleasures of drink and women.
It was only when Gisla was standing at the edge of the bed, leaned over to look him in the eyes, that he noticed her. Her hair had fallen from her ear over her cheek, covering part of her face as she looked at him, her eyes narrowed. He wasn't sure why she was leaned over him, staring at his face, but he didn't care. This is as close as he's been to her since their wedding night. Ever since that night she'd kept her distance, sleeping on the bench sometimes. When she stood over him like this he couldn't help but be a little curious about her intentions.
"Yes?" he finally asked, looking first at her face and then at her exposed collarbone. She noticed his eyes wandering and she blushed, standing up straight again and pulling her blanket around her tighter.
"I assumed you were sleeping," she said, turning from him now.
"Were you hoping I was?" he asked, sitting up on his elbows to look at her. "Perhaps you still want to kill me?"
"If only I could," Gisla spat, moving back toward the fireplace. Rollo grabbed her wrist now, standing so that he was towering over her. The look on her face as he stood, his hand tightening around her wrist, could kill. Her eyes had gone wide for a brief moment before they narrowed, daggers flying in his direction. "Let go of me," she hissed, wiggling her wrist from his hand. He sighed, shaking his head as she took a step back, nearly falling over the blanket around her.
"You are angry," Rollo said, watching her closely. "I don't understand you. I am not happy either."
"What could you possibly be unhappy about?" Gisla asked, her eyes growing wide. "You are rich, with title, and have been sold the Princess of Frankia to take in marriage. What is there for you to dislike?"
"You," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You are impossible. Very unpleasant woman."
You object to me?" she asked, the skepticism in her voice evident. "That is impossible, like the dog denying the bone."
"You are boring," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You are sour, angry, and cruel. No man would want such a wife."
"And no Christian woman wants an animal for a husband," she growled, turning from him. "If I am so undesirable, why not divorce me?"
"Count Odo said you would say that," Rollo said, a smirk on his face. "He said that because we have not lain together, you would push to divorce."
"And if I did?" she asked, still not facing him.
"I could eliminate such a possibility," Rollo growled, taking a step toward her. He could see her eyes widen and her arms wrap tightly around herself. He just chuckled at this and sat back down on the edge of the bed, his eyes watching her closely. "I won't touch you until you want me to."
"I'll kill you before that happens," she said, throwing the blanket from around her shoulders onto the bench again. Rollo knew there was conviction in her voice but he couldn't help but stare at his young wife. Her white linen night dress was loose around her shoulders, giving him a perfect view of her delicate collar and neck. What was more enticing was that the second she discarded the blanket, her body reacted to the cold of the room, the soft curves she'd tried to hide this whole time peaking in the chilly air. She didn't notice his lingering gaze as she moved around the bed, her hips swaying in the softest of ways. When she reached the opposite side of the bed she threw back the layers of fur and linen, hiking her skirt to lift herself into the large bed. When she was positioned comfortably, a fair distance away from Rollo, she covered herself, her shivering body finding relief in the warmth of the covers.
It was then that Rollo heard a knock on the door, his eyes drifting from Gisla to the disturbance. He had almost forgotten about the food and quickly got up to answer the knock. When he opened the door a man was standing there with a covered tray and flagon, bowing his head in respect. Rollo took them from him, waving him off and shutting the door quickly. He uncovered the lid to the tray, setting it down on the desk. Inside were some steaming meat pies, a pork shank, and a slice of soft flavored bread.
He ate quietly, not bothering to look back over at the bed. His wife was either seething or sleeping and he didn't care either way. After downing half the flagon and most of the food he set it aside, covering the tray. He had realized, as he was eating, that the flame within the hearth was slowly dying. He decided it was a better idea to refill it before crawling into the warm and soft bed; his young wife would not be pleased with a cold room upon awakening. After stuffing the fireplace he walked back over to the bed where Gisla was laying. She was on the far side of the bed, laying with her back facing him, her body coiled close as her shoulders rose and fell. She must have been sleeping. Rollo lifted the covers quickly, sliding in as quietly as possible, before covering himself and resting on the pillows. He did not feel Gisla move so he just lay there, watching the burning fire spark and crackle anew.
He wasn't tired, his eyes scanning the elaborate room. He still wasn't sure what to make of it. He'd been here only a few weeks, long enough to inform the Franks, kill the traitors among his own forces, and marry his new wife. It wasn't long at all and yet he felt lazier than ever. He couldn't just go train with his new Frankish soldiers, get into the dirt and mud, and enjoy a good fight. No, as a nobleman he couldn't do anything like that. He had to learn the language, the geography, the numbers, and the social structure within the kingdom. He needed to learn all of the things that he just didn't care about. He wasn't stupid, and he wasn't feeble, but he didn't take to learning. He was a hands on person and the books and lessons were nothing to him; he learned the language through conversation with people, not books. Perhaps he complained too much but the information he did have was much more valuable.
He knew the basic geography of the great river, traveling down it as an invader and observing it as a nobleman. He knew the highpoints of the river, the dams, and all of the potential blind spots. This was all important in defending the city and the surrounding country. Not only that but he knew their enemy better than anyone. He wasn't humble in thinking that he was the greatest warrior that his brother possessed but he didn't care. No one else had breached the walls and no one had fought alongside Ragnar for as long as he did. He knew his brother but he didn't know his mind. Ragnar had always been a silent thinker and this, Rollo believed, lead to their biggest disagreement.
Suddenly Rollo felt it, looking over toward his sleeping wife. She wasn't sleeping anymore, she couldn't be. Her body was quivering like a fall leaf and her breathing was shallow. Rollo looked over at the fireplace to see the fire wasn't lighting as fast as he'd hoped, the flames still small as it ate away at the newly piled wood. He didn't think and rolled over, reaching out and pulling his young wife close to him, her back firmly against his chest, his arms wrapping around her torso. He could feel her immediately still, her body stiffened against him as he held her there. After a moment she tried to move, distancing herself from him and he adjusted, allowing her some space but still remaining at arm's length. She then rolled over to face him, the dim light from the new fire and the dying candles reflected in her dark brown eyes.
"I'm only allowing this because you let the fire die," she hissed, glaring at him. He just shrugged, a small smile spreading over his face. Her eyes narrowed and she swung her fist at his chest, connecting with a soft thump. "You did it on purpose," she said, her face wrinkling in annoyance. "You devil."
"You were cold," he said, holding her fist to his chest. "I am warm. Fire is filled, will warm soon."
"That doesn't give you the right to put your hands on me," she said, looking away from him, struggling to pull her fist away.
"You are my wife," he said, looking over her face. "Every right."
"I am not your wife," she said, trying to pull away from his hand. She managed to slip from his grip, wiggling away. "You are no Christian."
"I am baptized," he said, a smirk on his face. "I am Christian now." He pulls her closer now, her body flush against his, their faces inches apart. Her cheeks immediately blushed and her eyes became wide but he just chuckled, pressing his forehead to hers. "Christian or not, you are wife. I must take care of you."
"Get off of me," she protested, pushing against him. "You are not worthy. Let go of me you animal." She leaned away, her body thrashing as she attempted to slip from his arms.
"So kind," he said, still wearing a smirk. "Princess is so noble."
"Do not mock me!" she said, wiggling harder in his grasp. He couldn't help but enjoy her struggling, a smile spreading on his face.
"You are fiery," he admitted, his hand wandering down her back, his other touching her face, moving her hair out of her face. "Calm yourself. I will not hurt you."
"You disgust me!" she said, struggling again, putting more effort into wiggling from his grasp. He couldn't help but be entertained as he held her close, her body warming as she struggled against him. He then decided to try something new, his hand going from her back to her hip, his other holding her behind the head. Her eyes went wider, her body stiffening and her fists pressed roughly against his chest. She struggled against him until his hand started sliding up her hip, over the curve of her stomach. She was shocked, her body halting as his hand explored her side.
It was then that he stopped, caressing her side and watching her reaction. He could tell she'd never been touched by a man and the gentle caress of his rough fingertips over her thin linen gown almost paralyzed her. He watched her face, the sensations flashing behind her eyes as he explored her hip and side. He could see the innocent curiosity and pleasure that was hidden behind her eyes and he enjoyed that look. He wanted the chance to break her from that mold, to corrupt her in the best of ways.
"Stop," she said, her voice cracking. "Please stop."
"You like it," he said, his eyes watching hers. "You have never been touched and are curious. No shame in that."
"It is sinful!" she protested, pushing against him to pull away, her body moving as far away from his as possible.
"Why?" Rollo asked, his eyes widening. "We are married."
"No, not truly. You're no Christian," she said, keeping her distance, his arm still firmly on her hip. "Please, let go of me."
"You're wrong," he said, his hands going to her wrists. "I'm baptized, I attend mass, I learn to read Bible… how so?"
"You are still a pagan at heart," she hissed, her eyes drifting from tattoo to tattoo, wiggling her wrists in his grasp. "You do not believe in Jesus Christ."
"But I do," he assured, nodding his head.
"Lying is a sin as well," she said, looking away from him. "God knows if you are lying. You cannot hide your true heart from God."
"I believe," he said, his hand gently squeezing her hip. "You do not know me princess. You are not God; you cannot judge."
"How can you, a pagan ignorant of God's teachings and grace, possibly understand or believe in the almighty?" He could see the doubt in her eyes, the horror on her face. He could tell that she never meant to discuss such important matters with her barbarian husband.
"I do not know," he said, looking over her face. "How do you believe?"
"I was born a Christian Princess, of the blood of Charlemagne," she said, her voice confident again, as if something that taken hold inside of her that had swelled her bravery. "I will always believe in the one true God." She pulled violently against his grasp, his eyes watching her in awe.
"But not me?" he finally asked, his eyebrow raising. "You are a believer but I am not? Why only you?"
Gisla couldn't say anything now, her voice caught between her hypocrisy and will to stay as distant from her new husband as possible. Rollo just watched the expression on her face turn from uncertainty to guilt in a matter of seconds. She then sighed, looking up at him.
"I am wrong," she admitted, her voice soft. He could see the wrinkle in her brow as she said it, her mind turning. "You could be a believer. Anyone, blessed or damned, can be forgiven and become a good Christian. That is the lesson that Jesus Christ has taught us all." She then looked down, her eyes scanning his bare chest, the tattoos a sharp contrast to his pale skin. She didn't bother looking up at Rollo again, even when his arms moved around her hips, pulling her flush against him again. She didn't make a sound or move as he held her there but he could tell she was seething, undoubtedly annoyed with his prying questions and the unwanted closeness. Then he felt it, her body was relaxed, held against him in a cocoon of warmth as the silence surrounded them, nothing but their breathing to break it.
Rollo couldn't explain the immense sense of satisfaction as his young wife rested her fists against his chest, laying there quietly. He could tell she was still tense, unwilling to become closer with him just yet, but he would take this small consolation. Perhaps, in the heat of passion, he could show her how much he cared for her well-being. He wasn't in love with her; that was a different sensation all together. However, he feared that he could fall in love with this willful, but weak, wife. Her innocence, and bravery, were a shocking and arousing combination that made Rollo try harder than he had ever tried before.
Siggy's face popped into his head and he immediately cringed, the thought of her leaving this world in the way that she did was more painful than he wanted to admit. She was the first woman to choose him, to make him feel like he mattered. Even as a child, and a warrior, Ragnar had always eclipsed him. In love it was no different; he knew Lagertha could never have loved him and he regretted his desire for her but Siggy's attentions, her certainty in his greatness, gave him more confidence than he wanted to admit.
Of course, he knew her status and situation at the time. She was desperate for companionship, someone to shield her and her daughter from those who believed them a threat to Ragnar's Earldom. The fact that she choose the new Earl's brother was not a coincidence. But he knew, over time, that she truly grew to love him and all of his flaws. The only woman who could handle his intensity and not be afraid; she was so noble and strong. Rollo could feel the pain welling in his chest, the regret of leaving her as he did. He knew he would never be forgiven for that. Then he felt it, Gisla's palm spread out over his chest, just over his heart. He wasn't sure how to react, or how to respond, and just looked down at her curious gaze.
"Your heart," she said, looking at his chest. "It is so loud."
"I am sorry wife," he said, looking away from her. "Thoughts of my past trouble my mind."
"I see," she said, still staring at his chest. He just nodded, wrapping his arm tighter around her hip, pressing her soft curves against his chest. After a few moments he felt her palm leave his chest, her fingertips gently grazing his skin. He watched her soft fingers trace the tattoos on his chest, her interest evident behind her brown orbs. Rollo couldn't help but wonder if all he really needed was to be forceful with her. After feeling her fingers trace over his skin lightly, the sensation more exciting than he had expected, he felt his lower stomach tighten. He knew his arousal would frighten her so he loosened his grip on her and edged away slightly. She immediately stopped when he did so, her shame evident in her blushing cheeks. "Sorry," she managed to whisper, dropping her hand into her other, netting her fingers together in prayer against his chest.
."It isn't you," he assured, his arm lazily resting on her hip. He then smiled, his other hand coming up to push her hair back over her ear. "My past is not good but do not worry princess. My future is here in Paris."
She nodded now, still not looking at him. He must have ruined the moment with his own thoughts, the touch of her hand sorely missed on his heated skin. He had to control himself, his mind wandering to how she would react to his attention. He knew she would not be interested, that her pride and honor would not allow herself to be given, or taken, in such a brash way. He softly sighed now, looking down at Gisla. Her eyes were already on his face, going wide when he looked down at her, as if she was ashamed to look at him. She immediately stared at his chest, pretending to have not been caught.
He just smiled, deciding that for now, he could just get a small glimpse of the kind woman under the guise of this ruthless and brave princess. If tonight had proved anything, it was that she wasn't all pride. She could admit when she was wrong and this was good enough for him. At least he knew his wife was more than shallow and mindless. He slowly settled into the pillows now, allowing himself to relax as his wife's fist slowly unfolded on his chest, resting comfortably under her cheek. He hadn't noticed that she had moved closer to him, her warm breath caressing his chest gently. He could get used to this side of his wife; somehow he felt that now he needed to protect her. It wasn't explainable, almost primal like the decision to end another man's life. He didn't know if he liked this sensation but he knew it was uncontrollable. The problem was that he just wasn't sure what he was protecting her from.
So? What do you think? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE leave a review. If it was good, bad, great, or just plain crap... review! Thanks everyone. I'd love to know if this would work as multiple chapters!