Chapter Text
She was stuck. On one hand, she no longer wanted to be here; next to the beast she was just forced to marry with his heathen people’s voices ringing in her ears. On the other, to leave would mean to be alone with him, to be escorted to the chambers where she would be forced to spend her wedding night. With a deep breath, Gisla stayed her place.
In her eye line, which had been fixed on the table before her for some time now, was her husband’s forearm. His hand was large, calloused with faint scarring that seemed to pepper his entire person, or from what she had seen of it. About his wrist was a band she had not paid much notice to before. It was a delicate looking thing of braided metal. It did not look the same as those worn by the men of the court, perhaps it was particular to his people. If she cared enough for him, perhaps she would have asked of it.
Her gaze followed the length of his arm, until his features were in her sight. She noted her husband was at least civil enough to use the utensils provided to him, unlike the rest of his people who seemed content with their fingers. His entire focus was on his food, allowing her the moment to watch him. Yet, unprompted she soon looked away, fearful he might catch her in the act. Her gaze stopped on her father at the table just below the bride and groom’s. He returned the gaze and gave her an encouraging smile and a nod, which she replied to with a scowl and looked back at her plate. Her food remained untouched.
The sound of wood scratching stone filled the hall as tables and benches were eventually pushed to the sides to make more room about the center. Gisla’s eyes rose almost immediately, an inaudible no about her lips as she recognized the preparations. She looked to her father’s table once more to see Odo whispering in his ear and almost growled.
“What this?” She heard her husband question and looked back to him.
“The feast is over.” Gisla explained, eyes on the laughing crowd before them. “They will stay and dance and drink in our name…we are to leave.”
A group of rowdy young men had gathered at the base of her father’s table and was soon met by Odo. Gisla gripped the fork that until that moment had been left unused, as the group started towards the bride and groom’s table. Their chanting was arousing to the rest of the attendants, to Gisla it sounded a funeral march.
“What they want?” Rollo asked, nodding to the group.
“To drag me to your bed.”
She had not expected to hear the hard scrap of wood on stone before the clattering of her husband’s chair. He rose beside her, his large hand coming down to cover her own about the fork. The mass stopped mere feet from their table, looking up expectedly.
His words were stern, bold against the walls of the hall, but they were in his own language and only his people understood for they called out in response to his words. Gisla looked up at him, brow creased by his actions. She was about to question him but he grabbed her arm before she could speak a word. She was pulled from her seat, the fork clanging to the floor, and forced into step with her husband as he walked about the table. At first she thought he was about to throw her to the group, but he walked past them and continued on his way to the doors, down the now cleared aisle of benches and tables.
She glanced back in time to hear her father comment on “eagerness” and quickly looked forward again.
The group was falling them all the same, apparently finding her husband’s actions thoroughly amusing. For each one of his steps, Gisla took two to keep up. She wasn’t one to stumble over herself, even if she was being dragged by a barbarian.
“Which way?” She heard her husband mutter, and realized he had taken off on this quest without knowing his destination. Gisla nearly groaned, she would have to lead the way to her own demise. She would at least do so with her head held high. She yanked her arm out of his grip and moved to link it properly in his before turning down the proper hall.
The chanting echoed through the corridors, high pitched squeals mixed with chuckles; women had joined into the mass. The married couple shuffled up the narrow stone staircase, Rollo allowing his wife to go before him. Gisla paused at the landing, the chambers’ door was in sight from the staircase landing. She took a deep breath and kept her eyes stiffly on it as she made her way towards it. She stopped before it only a moment before her husband opened the door and allowed her entrance.
He shut the door, Gisla swiftly locking it just moments before the group reached it. A banging began against it, followed by more laughter from the chanting group. Gisla turned her back to it, walking to place her weight against the back of a spindle chair. Rollo stayed, his stare transfixed on the door.
“Why they here?” He asked, his brow creased as he stared at the door.
“To witness.” Gisla replied and glanced back at him. His gaze as turned to her, still questioning. “We are not truly wed until…we are truly one.”
Rollo looked back to the door, “They wish to watch?” There was disgust in his tone, a voice from the other side was attempting to quiet the group in order ‘to hear’.
“Merely hearing will suffice.” Gisla assured him, although she did not sound entirely pleased by the compromise. She took a deep breath and moved to sit in the spindle chair before her. The end of the evening was inevitable, the crowd and thus her father and his subjects would not be pleased if the unification was not consummated. She could survive without insuring it, for days or perhaps weeks, but inevitably her marriage would need to be insured and there was only one way to do so.
But she would not do so easily.
She reached up, glancing at her reflection in the window before her, and began to process of loosening her hair. Each lock was meticulously untied from its proper placement and gently uncoiled. She could feel the eyes of her husband upon her, perhaps questioning why she was taking such care in a task. She paid him no mind. Each throng was set before her in a row. Each new loosened lock had her fingers brushed through it to relieve the tension more so. In all she did not know how long her silent protest took, but the group outside was becoming rowdy once more, calls and demands for consummation were beginning to be thrown against the wall along with derogatory insults of the pagan’s inabilities. To any other husband these would be lighthearted encouragements, but Gisla believed these were intended to be taken more seriously.
With her hair in tendrils down her back she rose. Her husband at some point had moved to sit upon the bed looking down at it closely instead of her, his boots lay forgotten on the floor. She glanced to the door before down at herself once more. Fingers raised to begin to unlace her top gown. She made slow work of it, feeling her husband’s gaze upon her once more, until finally the gown pooled about her on the floor. A swift glance was given again to her husband before she pulled the under gown up over her head. She allowed it too to drop, standing only in her shift gown now.
Her husband rose before her, his eyes on her even still as he moved from the bed. She took a deep breath, although only allowing her lips to part slightly. She would not allow him to see her nerves on the surface.
“You not want to be here.” He spoke stopping past even arms reach from her.
“No.” Gisla said simply, “However…it is my duty, our marriage is not truly accepted by God and man until we…are one.” The man’s brow creased as he looked from her to the door and back.
“How they know?” He asked motioning to the door.
Gisla looked to the door as well, “I…am not entirely sure…I have never been on either side of the door.” She paused and looked back to him, “Hearing, I presume.”
Her husband gave a nod and began to unlace his doublet. She heard the sound of fabric tearing as his impatience got the better of him.
“I will not force you.” He said simply, eyes focused on his hands’ work. Gisla looked up to watch him, her own brow creasing as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“You are my lord husband, you have the right.” She replied simply. He shook his head, dropping the doublet to the floor.
“What say you?” He asked simply.
Gisla did not reply, merely looked him over, her gaze stopping on his own. They were frozen there for a moment, until her husband began his slow walk towards her again.
“What say you?” He repeated, this time before pulling his tunic up over his head. Gisla promptly looked away. She glared at discolored spot of stone as if it’s difference offended her.
“If our marriage is not consummated, your side of the treaty is not held true. Therefore, my father would not be held accountable…you will not receive your lands, or men, or name.” Gisla replied, her words granting her new strength to look to him again.
“So what say you?” Rollo asked again, his brow raising as he looked down at her.
“Why should I say yes? I will never again hold such power…As your wife I will subjected to bend to your will…now you must to mine.” Gisla replied simply. She watched the rise and fall of her husband’s chest as he took a deep breath, his own gaze looking to the ceiling above them for a moment before back to her.
“You see us.” He began, “On wall, you see the fight.” Gisla merely gave a small nod, “What do you see?” He asked, “Men…” With this he put a fist to his chest, “And woman.” He added with a nod to her, “We fight by side.”
“I do not fight.” Gisla muttered and looked off to the side, “How could I trust such a statement…”
Her attention was brought back to her husband as he walked towards her once more. With a step, he sunk to his knees. She looked down at him in silence, he looked like a man in prayer before he tilted his head back to look up at her.
“What say you?” He asked in a matter of fact tone. There was that smirk of a smile. The one that was plastered on his face the first day he stepped in court.
The silence lasted long enough the buzz of the crowd outside reached her ears again. And in a moment her jaw clenched. Her father had given her to this pagan, expected her to detest it and loath it all the same; and yet he had thrown her to him. Why should she not bed this brute to spite him?
“Very well…but be quick of it.” Gisla replied simply and stepped about him, making her way to the bed. She heard his footsteps following her, but dared not look back to him. She climbed onto the bed and sat back against the pillows, arms recrossing over her chest as she finally looked to him again.
“Quick?” He questioned, giving her a look. He looked off, brows raising before he began to unlace his breeches.
“Merely what you need to do.” Gisla insisted watching him. She heard a breathy response from him but no words reached his lips. The breeches were soon undone, the crowd outside had started a strangled song of some sort that would more likely be heard in one of the darker of the city’s streets late at night. He pushed the breeches to the floor and stepped out of them as he rose straight.
Gisla merely glanced, swiftly and quickly looked away again taking a deep breath. She heard the bed creak and turned back in time to see her husband kneeling on the bed. She watched him closely, his eyes…she focused on his eyes. Only once she had seen them as close as they were now, at the ceremony earlier in the day. She had looked then, but not appreciated; they were as green as the forests along the bank of the river.
He was finally above her, his weight distributed to either fist against the bed at her sides, his knees somewhere near her own. She looked up at him; she was a princess of the blood and she would not fear him, only pray that her God would forgive her for fulfilling her father’s wishes. She felt his breath against her lips, her own held back within her chest. Waiting.
She felt the bristles of his beard first brushing against the side of her neck, and then softly the press of his lips. Her own lips parted, her brow creasing in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“Not make quick.” He replied simply and kissed her neck again. She took a deep breath at this, body shifting under him; towards him or away she was not sure. “They not hear if quick.” He added, his hand moving to grab her arm. She supposed he would know more than she, but all the same she did not want to trust or believe him.
At first, she had thought it a mistake, a brush of the hand not meant to last. Until she felt it again, and then it was followed by the press of flesh against the inside of her thigh. She squirmed, moving away from the touch, if he wished to rest his hand there she would not suffer the distracting brush. But the hand moved with her own and then further up it travelled.
“What are you doing now?” She hissed, leaning her head away from him, brow furrowed in confusion and annoyance. A groan issued from her husband as he raised his hand looked down at her.
“You not ready.” He said simply.
“I told you I did not care if I was ready, or if I wished to have you, be quick of it!” Gisla snapped, why was he so insistent on such matters. Rollo sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and shook his head.
“Not…” He took a deep breath, green eyes looking down into hers again as he shifted his weight once more. He removed his hand from between her legs and brought it forth between them. She watched then as he opened his mouth, ran his tongue along his middle fingers and then promptly returned it between her legs. She gasped, in reflect her hand rising to slap the heathen’s upper arm. The reaction merely caused her husband to chuckle. He was disgusting.
“You thank me later, hurt without.” He replied simply and leaned his head down again. She closed her eyes in turn, the curses running through her mind faded as the man began moving the hand that before had merely been pressed against her. What God would allow such hands, that before she had seen slaughter noble men so skillfully, to also cause such sensations of warmth and…pleasure?
No it was a sin, this was not the purpose of this act…
“Just…” Her words were cut short. Her breath had left her and would not return to allow her to continue. She felt as though she had drunk too much wine, and all the same as if she wished for something out of reach. The pressure was lifted, and to as much surprise to her as he, a gasp rolled past her lips.
And for a moment she had half a mind to demand it’s return before a new pressure was delivered.
Her hand raised to grip his arm, her lips stayed parted in silence. She felt him within her. The deed now done, the marriage consummated. She applied all the pressure she felt into his arm, her fingers tightening their grip for a moment more as she felt him shifting. His head raised just enough to feel his beard against her ear.
“They need to know.” He reminded her in a groan of a whisper. She finally let out the breath she was holding, feeling him move his hips back. For a moment she thought that was it, until he moved his hips to meet hers again. She gasped softly, but knew it would not be enough for their audience to hear. It was nauseating to try to focus on what the brute above her was doing to her, and all the while worry of the reaction of the group of people outside the bedroom door.
She had heard the calls of women from the brothels, knew the group outside the door would be waiting on something similar, and suspected she could repeat it. All the while, as she planned her husband finally moved again, and all plans diminished from her thoughts. The people on the other side of the door diminished. She reached up, her free hand moving over his shoulder to tangle her fingers in his hair. Another sharp thrust and she gasped again. His hand moved to grip her thigh and pulled her leg to press against his hip. She had no idea why he did this, for a mere moment she questioned it, and then never thought of it again.
His heated breath grew heavy against her neck. His hips were fighting a winning battle against her contempt. The grunts and groans that peppered the silence of the room grew louder, peaking her curiosity once again. She felt the hand against her leg tighten and nearly called out herself, until even her thought was drowned out by his call. She felt him move from within her rather quickly, and then shortly after his body relaxed against her.
After a moment, she believed he took to catch his breath, he raised his head to look at her. So, that was it. He moved to sit upon his knees between her legs and looked down. He reached down, tugging her shift gown down from where it had been pushed up to her hips. It was then, as his hand brushed against her, that she realized there was now a liquid of some sort covering her thigh. She sat up straighter to look down herself, but as she did he moved as well.
He caught her attention and she followed him with her gaze. As he walked about the bed he grabbed his tunic from the floor and pulled it on over his head. It was long enough to barely cover him, any movement of his arms would reveal him from both sides. Without breaking stride he continued to the bedroom door, and to her dread unlatched it. As soon as the door was open the small crowd still outside the door broke out in cheers and jeers. Her husband remained silent, leaning out the door for a moment before stepping back.
In the threshold was Count Odo himself, still dressed from the wedding ceremony. He looked up at the brute, and quite simply asked, “Well?”
“Done.” Rollo replied simply and lowered his arm from its resting place against the frame. Count Odo looked into the room, his eyes falling on Gisla. She realized then she had not moved from her place upon the bed, even her legs remained apart with her knees propped up. She reached out, grabbing a pillow from her side and held it against her chest, having enough mind to remember a shift gown’s fabric left little to imagination. Count Odo finally looked away with her movement and looked to her husband once more before stepping into the room.
Her husband followed him closely, first with a turn of his head and then by matching the shorter man stride for stride. The count stopped by the bed, looking over the princess as if to inspect her.
“Princess.” He greeted with a bow of his head, “You are well?” He asked as if they met over morning fast.
“Yes.” Gisla replied simply, shocked by his casual tone upon seeing her in such a state. He did not meet her gaze long, his was attracted to the fabric of the mattress between her feet. He placed a hand against the bed, pressing it down to capture the light from the nearest wall sconce. Gisla saw his gaze raise and moved the pillow against her lap forward, pushing her shift further down. This caught his attention as Count Odo raised his head to look at her.
“I shall inform the emperor.” Odo said simply, looking at the pagan once more before turning completely and walking back to the door. Rollo followed, closing the door as soon as the man had passed back through the threshold. The latch was drawn loudly.
“You knew to seek him…to prove it had been done.” Gisla noted watching as he made his return to the bed.
“They tell me some things.” Her husband replied with a shrug. He was now at the foot of the bed, and suddenly Gisla moved.
“I will not be lying in your seed all night.” She snapped and scooted to the other side of the bed. She heard her husband let out a heavy sigh, but he redirected his path to the side of the bed. He reached out, grabbing the cloth that would be used to dry one’s hands from the washbasin and used it instead to wipe the bed and tossed it to the floor behind him.
The bed creaked as it took his weight again, and Gisla silently turned to lay with her back to him. The room grew silent, Gisla staring out across from her to the iron bars lining the window. Was she to feel different? Such a sacred act, and she felt nothing was now amiss. Perhaps it did not count if it were with a pagan? Another thought plagued her. Why was such a thing condemned as a sin, and one so tempting to so many? She supposed she could understand men’s desires but she had heard courtly women whisper of such acts, but could not believe the source of such desires. From what she had experienced, it was not worth an eternal damnation in hell.
She felt the weight of the bed shift again and quickly called back over her shoulder, “Stay where you are.”
The light diminished, and the weight was returned.
“Do not worry, princess…not until you wish.” She heard her husband say.
“I will not wish.” Gisla snapped, closing her eyes on the off chance she would see his reflection in the window across from her.
“Not until you wish, again.” Her husband replied, and his chuckle filled the bedroom.
She glared though no one saw. She would not wish…again.