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Introduction:

An alternate continuation to the end of Season 3, with Gisla vehemently refusing the idea of taking Rollo as her husband - indeed - she'd rather give her virginity to the vilest dog...

Vikings

The Honeymoon

By

Darkride

Set after Season 3's finale; alternate future events...

Rollo, elder brother to the much feared Viking King Ragnar Lothbrok of Kattegat, walked down the isle of the throne room toward the seated Emperor Charles of France. Rollo's small entourage of faithful Vikings hesitantly followed. The Emperor seemed weary, however his daughter, sitting next to him in her own ornate thrown, by contrast, was watching the men from the north closely. She was a slight, if tall girl with piercing brown eyes, a stern furrow running across her face as she waited til her would-be future husband reached the front of the assembled court, before finding the inner strength to bring herself to her feet.

Her movement caused Charles to turn his gaze sternly on his daughter, but she kept her eyes forward to the assembled Parisians. With an unfaltering voice, she addressed her people, and indirectly, Rollo himself.

"Whatever my father says, I am not marrying this animal. I am a Princess of the blood, not a cheap whore. I would rather be burned alive than suffer this… thing, to so much as lay a hand on me. He is a filthy pagan. Therefore he has no soul. He is worse than the beasts of the field. I would rather my virginity and my virtue to the vilest dog than to this piece of warm meat. He disgusts me. He makes me want to vomit."

Returning to her seat, Gisla still refused to meet her father's furious gaze, as Rollo, who spoke only one word of French, did his best to smile, despite understanding from the princess' tone that her words were not those of a happy bride to be. Taking a step forward, the towering Viking warrior smiled charmingly, and said, "Bonjour". Sinric, speaker of both Norse and French and acting as translator between the two warring factions, glanced uneasily from the Emperor, to Rollo, confused whether to translate Gisla's tirade or not. The Emperor raised a single finger into the air, then drew it down sharply. Guards rushed forward, causing the Vikings to quickly press their backs to each other, some producing concealed weapons ready for a fight, but the guards did not attack them - instead they rushed passed, hauled Gisla bodily to her feet, before knocking her to her knees in front of her father's throne.

Finally indicating for Sinric to translate, Charles addressed Rollo. "I commit to you the lands of Normandy, 200 serfs to tend your needs, gold aplenty to reward your men, and if you will still take her, my daughter, Gisla. If not, she may well have her wish and be given to the dogs for disrespecting me."

Rollo listened carefully Sinric's translation, reading the mood of the room as he took a few steps closer to the Emperor, and his restrained daughter. Leaning toward Sinric, he quietly asks a question, listening intently to the answer, before walking to meet the Emperor at his throne.

Charles watched the Viking with bated breath, having not long ago stood at the very same spot, with King Ragnar's blade at his throat. Whilst Ragnar was a manic, terrifying force of nature, Rollo's formidable presence was a force to behold, towering over even the Emporer himself. If Charles' plan did not go well, he knew the day would come when the Vikings would return en force, and knew not if Paris could withstand another attack.

Rollo smiled at the Emperor, turning to face the people before him. "Hundr?" he says, looking to Sinric.

Sinric corrects him - "Dog".

Repeating the word with a smile, Rollo suddenly let out a blood-curdling baying howl, before laughing, and kneeling down next to his bride-to-be, causing the guards to shift unsteadily as they continued to hold their princess on her knees.

Rollo reached down with his hand, forcing her eyes up to look at him. In response, Gisla spat in his face, but to her surprise this simply made Rollo laugh again, before pressing his lips to her ear. "Bonjour", he whispered, menacingly, before biting her earlobe just enough to make his point, without anyone else seeing. Standing back up, Rollo opened his hands wide to his soon to be father-in-law. "I accept your offer," he said, quickly translated by Sinric.

Charles ushered his head priest over as fast as he could, eager to seal the deal. Gisla screamed her discontent at every opportunity, but as soon as Rollo heard from Sinric that the ceremony was over, and Gisla was now officially his, he swept the feisty French princess up, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her out of the throne room like a ragdoll.

Sinric trailed behind the married couple through the streets of Paris, presuming he may be needed to help translate for the newlyweds. As he followed, he occasionally saw the furious expression still on Gisla's face as the people of her city watch her being carried on this vulgar giant's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The city she fought so hard to defend from these barbarians, now saw her married to one of them by her own father's will. She would make him rue this day for the rest of his life, she vowed to herself.

Finally the small band of Vikings, plus one French-Viking Princess, arrived at the Viking's camp. One by one the men of the camp walked passed the couple, thumping Rollo on the back at his prize, and then each took their time to physically grope and inspect his "wife", laughing as she attempted to slap their hands away. It only took a few slaps back across her face to stop her spitting at them, and let them touch how how they deemed fit.

To the Vikings of course, a Christian marriage meant nothing. Gisla was not Rollo's wife in their eyes - she was nothing more to him than a slave, and a female slave at that. However Rollo knew in order to maintain his new found position of power in these foreign lands, he would have to keep this slave alive and in good condition to continue his relationship with Emperor Charles. But, that didn't mean he couldn't have fun with her, teach this new slave her place in his household, break her will til she knew better than to insult or question him. Rollo couldn't believe it when Sinric had translated the word "virgin" to him in the throne room. Purity was not big in the Viking way of life, but he knew of its importance to Christians - that this rosy cheeked maiden would have very specific ideals regarding sex, which he could now use against her. She would rather be given to the vilest of dogs, than to him? Well, this was going to be fun... he thought to himself.

Gisla had at first struggled to maintain her composure as she was jostled and punted from person to person, surrounded by these evil murders and rapists - even then women who looked just as ragged and cursed as the males joined in her harrasment. Of course she had first tried to stop them, but the fierce retaliation left her reeling, her cheeks stinging, nipples feeling bruised as they pinched them hard, so she elected instead not to show any reaction to the pagan filth as they abused her body. As indignant as she felt having her breasts squeezed, her ass cheeks pinched, their genitals rubbed against her body (albeit still in their pants), she chose to stand still, and not give them any further response. The females were just as bad, perhaps even worse at attacking her nipples, and pressing their chests against her sexually.

Finally when one of the older men stepped forward, his filthy cock exposed, thrusting lewdly at the fine French lady's astonished face, Rollo appeared out of no where and pushed the man away with a jovial rebut, telling him casually, "Not now, not now - later!" leaving Gisla to stand alone in the middle of the camp, unsure what to do or say next.

Rollo relished the moment. His younger brother may be King Ragnar, but now he too had wealth, and lands, and slaves, and - power. Accepting Emperor Charles' offer to defend France against Viking attacks may well see him on opposing sides to Ragnar - again - but given Ragnar's ragged, near death appearance as he had sailed away for Kattegat - that did little to concern Rollo; his little brother looked far from the fierce warrior that everyone pictured him to be. And now, Rollo pondered, he had time to play with the other benefit of turning traitor against his brother - Princess Gisla - the fine featured virgin who would rather a vile dog be first inside her womanhood than him. His brow scowled at the insult, thinking of the many women he had mated in his life; with or without their consent; with or without his effort to impose pleasure on their bodies. Sometimes he cared only for his own enjoyment, but that hardly meant he did not know how to bring pleasure to a woman - with or without her consent. Indeed, using those skills against this young woman was all Rollo had thought about since Sinric translated for him in the thrown room. This Parisian Princess who thought she was so much better than him, needed to learn her new station in life.

Gisla stared at Rollo as the other barbarians finally backed away a little, giving Rollo some room with his "wife". She had weathered the groping by Rollo's men, and rather than fall to the ground in despair, she had dusted herself off, straightened her clothes, and stood proudly as if still in the throne room of Paris. She watched as Rollo shook his head briefly in disbelief at her stoic facade, wondering how long it will last once he truly starts his plan for her. If this were any normal slave, he thought, he'd rip her clothes off right there in front of his fellow warriors, knowing that the shame these Christians felt about their bodies would do wonders to help break the girl's spirit. But he knew none of his people possessed the skills to repair such an intricate garment, and if that fool Emperor was to see her dress in tatters...

Rollo raised his hand slowly to Gisla's face, but she took a backward step away. The giant warrior smiled ruefully. Signalling for Sinric to translate for him, he said, "Wife, my men have fought a long, bloody battle, and now I would share my reward with them. Please, take off your clothes, that we may all enjoy the sight of your body."

Gisla knew in her heart that it was only a matter of time before this brute would violate her, defile her body with his no doubt monstrous despicable pagan manhood, but she would be damned if she wouldn't make it as hard as possible for him to achieve - especially right here in front of everyone. Gisla slapped Rollo as hard as she could across his face, drawing blood. The warriors watching the events cheered at her action, knowing Rollo would not let it go unpunished. In an instant, he drew a knife from his belt, and grabbed Gisla's wrists both firmly, finally seeing an emotion that he liked in her eyes. Fearfully Gisla pulled against his hold, but got nowhere as Rollo raised his hand - letting her feel the coolness of the metal on her neck just long enough to have her full attention.

With his eyes locked on hers, he let the blade dance slowly down, over her breasts, her belly, drawing a startled gasp from her lips as it continued down over her hip, before moving back upward again toward her neck. Gisla knew she should kick or spit at him, but - was she brave enough, now, with a blade against her? The question fled her mind as a sudden flick of Rollo's wrist made her yelp in shock! Her eyes flitted wildly in the direction of his hand, seeing instantly that the blade had split the seam of her dress at her shoulder. The princess again tried to pull her wrists from Rollos' iron grasp, horrified at his deliberate act of vandalism.

"You insolent beast!" Gisla found her voice again, and roared. "Do you have any idea of the hours and hours of work that went into the crafting of this beautiful dress? The craftmanship? No, just look at you, I doubt you capable of more than barking like the dog you are - and shedding blood of innocent Frenchmen!"

Rollo smiled at Gisla as she berated him, not understanding a word, but happy at her response, and the laughter that erupted around them. Sheathing his knife, Rollo this time trailed his hand slowly up Gisla's body, before slipping a finger inside the seam, and tugging gently, making the stitching pull further apart. Ripped fabric would be instantly recognised - a damaged seam however - even his people could repair. Rollo released his wife's wrists, and took a step away from her.

"Translate," he beckoned to Sinric. "Remove your beautiful clothes, my beautiful wife." He reached out one finger, again toying at the gaping sleeve of Gisla's dress. Trying hard to control her breathing, Gisla fought with all her strength to keep her chin from trembling as she sought an out from her situation. Spying a nearby tent, in one last hope for some kind of privacy Gisla took several steps toward it, but Rollo almost playfully danced around to block her path.

"In there, hairy beast," Gisla tried hard to take some control of the situation. "And I will do your bidding, but not here in front of your gawking rabble of pagan scum!" she gestured at the gathered spectators. Sinric started to translate, but Rollo stopped him, staring at Gisla.

"I don't need to hear the words of a slave," Rollo spoke not for Gisla, but his warriors sitting round the camp, enjoying the entertainment after such a prolonged campaign, after losing so many of their friends and family to the earlier failed attack on Paris. "You want a vile dog to ruin you, so I am your dog!" Again Rollo howled, joined in chorus by his eager pagan scum. This time several of the wolf hounds they brought with them from Kattegat bayed in unison. "Undress for me now, wife, and present yourself to your new Lord of Normandy."

As Sinric translated the words, Gisla made a second vow to herself, promising not to shed a tear, not to let these barbarians see her cry. Standing straight, she worked again to calm her breathing, before awkwardly reaching behind to begin unclasping her dress. She had not had to perform such a task herself for many years, normally tended by her maidens when dressing and undressing; never before doing so in front of strangers; murderous men, and women that fight as men. But she was the Princess of France, and she would not let them see her cry, would not take her pride, even if this Rollo took her modesty.

Rollo surveyed his wife, smiling happily as the woman released the last hitch on her dress and suddenly allowed it to fall from her shoulders, crumpling to the ground beneath her feet. Her corset was harder to undo as she struggled to blindly unfasten its hooks, but as it released, she actually felt briefly better, drawing in deep breaths. As she began to remove her petticoat, she realized she was now just moments from being fully exposed, in the open air, in front of all of these strangers.

The crowd enjoyed the show, cheering her on as the young French princess obeyed Rollo's orders, removing her various layers of clothing. Occasional barks and bays continued to ring out, delighting in the push to break this royal bitch. Finally they were rewarded with the pale, skinny woman's flesh. Gisla's world crushed in on her as their lecherous eyes raped her as she stood almost naked on the pile of her discarded clothing. All that remained covering her body was her lustrous brown hair part way down her back, the full curly tufts of matching hair covering her pubic mound, and a tight mesh cloth bound around her chest. Without being asked, knowing it now made no difference, she unwound the mesh, round and round her body until it too fell to the ground, revealing her modest breasts, and unfortunately for her, stiffening in the cool breeze, her cone shaped nipples. Her pert ass bristled in the cool air, as she struggled hard to keep her hands by her sides, resisting the immense urge to hide her most intimate parts from the godless creatures surrounding her.

Gisla tasted blood in her mouth as she bit hard on the inside of her lip, anything to avoid shedding a tear in front of these people; in front of her husband. Rollo stood grinning from ear to ear at her submission, but even more at her stoic stance, completely naked and exposed to him, and all of the men and women who had just groped her and would soon do so much more; yet still she held her head high, still she shed no tears. Could this slave actually have the heart of a Viking? He had seen her on the castle battlements during the siege, but thought little of it at the time. But for the here and now - drinking in the untouched beauty and surrender of his bride - Time to test just how strong this slave truly is, Rollo decided with a chuckle.

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