"Leave us............" Rollo ordered. The guards looking at one another; looking at the nobleman in disbelief.

They hadn't been able to believe it when the duke had ordered that the woman be brough from the cell. Alright, she had been shackled, manacled, restrained with heavy chains, before being dragged through the dimly lit corridors of the castle; but still........and now the lord wanted to be left alone with her.........?

"My lord.............?"

"I said leave............" Rollo growled, annoyed that the men were still there; that they seemed to not be listening to his orders. The two guards deciding not to question any further: quickly bowing and then making their way out of the room.

Rollo looked at her, it more obvious in the brighter light from the multitude of candles in the room, that she was filthy. He could still smell battle on her; the stench of blood and sweat lingering even now. Yet somehow, it all suited her.

"(Y/n)..........Look at me..........." The order resulting in nothing, but Ragnar's wolf continuing to look at the ground.

Even just standing there, he could feel the anger, the bitterness, the hatred emanating from her. The aura in compete contrast to the one that he would always sense when she was with his brother. Anyone that saw (Y/n) when she was with Ragnar would see that they loved one another; but not as lovers do, more as father and daughter, or perhaps something deeper, if that was possible. His brother had told him the stories of the black-eyed girl, before Rollo had met her; of how he had kept her, rather than leaving her for the gods. How she had killed an entire wolf pack, with just one sword; the older Sigurdsson sometimes believing that his brother had just dreamed the girl. That she had been some kind of vision sent by the gods; but after that day on the battlefield, he had never doubted his brother's words about his Wolf, again.

"LOOK AT ME!" Rollo exclaimed angrily. Grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at his for the second time that evening.

"You look old, Rollo; tired. Frankia and being a Duke, obviously doesn't agree with you. You can dress yourself in all the finery you want, but you are still only a shadow of the man that you used to be. The first time that I saw you, you were a true Viking; ferocious and bloodthirsty. You were breathtaking and beautiful, as you cut your way through those men. And even though you were blooded and scared, you continued to fight. I could have sworn that you were Thor himself that day. A man, that any true Northwoman would want to give herself to. But now........now you are nothing. Not even the lowest thrall in Kattegat would want to take you to her bed. Now you are only fit for your Frankish whores..........." (Y/n) suddenly in a heap on the floor. Rollo's anger unable to be contained, as he struck the Wolf. The Duke of Normandy staggering back, as the room filled with a mocking laugh.

"Is that the best you can do, Rollo?" (Y/n) continued to chuckle, before she spat some blood onto the floor.

"There are children in Kattegat that hit harder than you. All this soft living has made you weak, Rollo. Weak and pathetic.............."

"Yet I was still able to defeat your beloved king..........." Rollo growled, quickly making his way back over to her. (Y/n) not moving an inch as he dropped to his knees in front of her.

"The Gods have their plans; surly you haven't forgotten that? You may worship the Christian's carpenter now. But you were raised to know the power of the allfather. Ragnar may have been humbled this time; but that does not mean he will be again. But win or lose, one thing is for sure; the name of Ragnar Lothbrok, will be remembered by our children, our children's children and beyond. Whereas you, Rollo Sigurdsson, will be forgotten as soon as the Christian's bury you in the ground." The Wolf sneered. Her breath remaining even, steady, as her king's brother drew a dagger from his belt and pushed it into the flesh of her neck. (Y/n) able to feel the fresh, warm blood slowly trickle down her throat.

"Do it..............If my time has come; if the Norns are to cut my thread, then so be it. I will go to Valhalla and wait for my king.............."

Slowly Rollo pulled away the dagger; whether Viking or Duke, Rollo had never known the loyalty that Ragnar had. He had never known the love that his brother could inspire. And that was all that he had ever really wanted, to be admired, to be loved.

"You know............" (Y/n) suddenly continued, as she dragged herself a little closer to the duke. Her voice much softer than it had been before.

"Before you did what you did, I would find myself thinking about you. I would remember you as you appeared on the battlefield, half naked and covered in the blood of our enemies. I would think about you taking me.......loving me. I would wonder what it would feel like to be filled by you; to be claimed by you. To be Rollo's Wolf. But then you took my king's heart and broke it. His own brother betraying him. Betraying him and everything he had ever known, and all those that might have loved him." The Wolf confessed, as she slowly reached up her hand and placed it gently on his cheek.

"Now.........." Rollo feeling the chill on his skin, as (Y/n) suddenly pulled away her hand.

"If you are not going to send me to Valhalla, Christian; then have me taken back to the dungeons. I would rather spend my last days with the rats, than look at you.........." The Wolf's back to being cold. Back to sneering at him. Rollo slowly getting to his feet and throwing his dagger on the table, before filling his cup with ale.

"I will not give you what you want, Wolf. I will not give you your honourable death. I will not allow you to escape and return to my brother; or wait for him with the gods. You will be my slave. I will work you every day, until you die in your bed. No songs to be sung about your glory in battle. No tales told of your ferocity, of your bravery. Never to see the halls of the allfather; just Hel.........." The duke finally replied. The Wolf saying nothing in response, as Rollo called out for guards; two men making their way into the room and dragging (Y/n) back to the cells, at the nobleman's order.