25 September, 1066 – Stamford Bridge

Freja watched from a distance as the Anglo-Saxon forces mixed with the Viking invaders in the dense wood.

Caught completely off guard, the Norwegian army under Harald Hardrada had no time to strike proper battlelines. The king himself was amid the fray, battle-axe swinging madly at any who came within distance.

"Ser, should we not join the fight?" one of Freja's warband questioned.

"No," Freja replied calmly, shaking her head, her helmet still under her arm. Not until I am convinced we should. I will not throw away our lives just to be defeated."

On Freja watched as the surrounded Vikings were felled, clearly outmatched by the Anglo-Saxons strength and the wit of their king, Harold Godwinson who had sprung the ambush.

"Come, we're leaving," Freja ordered, just about to turn her back, but at the last moment, she was stuck in place as an arrow struck the eye of her employer, Harald Hardrada. The warrior-king fell to his knees, then laid prostrate on the ground, dead.

Freja couldn't move, her mouth agape at the scene that had played before her. Now leaderless, the Norwegian host that had been set to sweep through York and then London, had no choice but to scatter, the Anglo-Saxons giving chase.

The last great Viking king to invade Britain had perished at the hands of an unseen archer, and now Freja was without pay, a mercenary captain with no contract in a land that would be returning to peace time.

What now could Freja do except head south and find passage back to either the continent or Scandinavia? She could go west to Ireland to join the petty squabbles of the Irish kingdoms and Viking invaders, but the pay days weren't as promising as they were for a grand invasion.

With a deep sigh, Freja turned and headed back to camp.

The next morning, Freja had planned an early start for her band, hoping to head further south before either army could cross the bridge, but upon reaching the bridge, she learned both armies had the same plan.

Freja observed with a raised bow that a single Norwegian warrior wearing no armor save a bearskin cloak held the bridge against the Anglo-Saxons. Those who dared engage him were cut down by his size and ferocity.

Freja rubbed her forehead and cursed the bear of a man for blocking her path. With her war party as audience, she stripped down to her undergarments, grabbed a spear, and waded into the chilling stream.

Once deep enough, Freja swam unseen to the bridge and carefully climbed the scaffolding, placing herself directly below the warrior buying time for his fleeing comrades. She hoisted up the spear, and with precise aim, thrust up between the boards of the bridge and stabbed the man between the legs.

The man cried out as bled flowed out of him, as Freja pushed the spear further into him, ensuring his death.

Freja left the spear in the warrior, leaving him a dead and bloodied scarecrow as she returned to the water and scurried up the bank to rejoin with her small force that laid in hiding just out of sight.

With the Anglo-Saxons' way now clear, Freja could also continue on her journey.

October 10, 1066 – Normandy

Sir Charles of Normandy watched over the harbor as soldiers, supplies and horses were frantically loaded onto the sailing ships that would bring them across the channel to England, where his lord, Duke William planned to soon be undisputed king.

The invasion had been long in the planning, ever since William discovered his bid for the throne had been overlooked, despite the promise of the last king. For the time being, the throne sat under the ass of the Anglo-Saxon usurper, Harald Godwinson. William would not stand for this and would take the throne by force.

"The time has finally come, Charles," the angered duke declared to his trusted advisor. "History will never be the same once we have landfall on the other side."

"It's a shame that so much blood will be spilled when they could have just given you the throne," Charles said, running a gloved hand through his dark curls.

"I may have to disagree," the duke said, turning to his friend. "Blood will be spilt, surely, but if God has decided that I must bear my teeth and raise my sword to prove to the world that I am heavenly ordained, then so be it. The Lord tells us to love our enemies, but God Himself has never shied from bloodshed."

"God's laws or not, my Lord, I will follow you. You know this," Charles said, his eyes steeled with resolve.

"I know," William said with a smile. "I would trust no one more than you to lead my cavalry."

Charles bowed low before excusing himself to the duke's tent to fetch more wine.

A renowned tactician and an accomplished swordsmen, Sir Charles was no stranger to the battlefields or the wild ambitions of his lord. Charles, however, was no lover of war or of courtly proceedings.

When not bothered by war, Charles was all too happy to stay on his estate and simply study. Charles was a man with plenty of money and power, which meant he had access to something so few in his age did; books.

Charles loved learning, loved having his own tutors. Well after he was past his rearing and schooling age, Charles kept on hand many men of learning, and offered their bought services to whomever in his estate was willing to learn. This invitation extended from his own family, particularly his sister, Eleanor, and her husband, Devon. Both of whom were skilled medical practioners and often accompanied Charles as his personal physicians. Charles' squire, Morgan, was less likely to take the education offered to him.

In this moment, Charles looked longingly at one of his beloved texts and wish he was able to indulge his preferred curiosities rather than stand by William, who had spent the entire day obsessing over the undertaking, despite having people for that.

Back out to the duke's side he went, but not without a heavy heart.

October 13, 1066 – The Southern Coast of England

Freja and her band were merely miles from the port that would see them aboard ships and off this rock. But out in the channel, Freja's sharp eyes caught something; white sails on the horizon. Despite the terrible weather, dozens of sails were bobbing over the angry waves, coming closer and closer towards her.

"Who are they?" Freja asked anyone who may guess an answer. "Who would be daft enough to sail those seas today? And in such number? Those are no small boat!" the veteran captain remarked.

"Could that be our next hire?" a mercenary asked.

"Perhaps," Freja answered with a smirk. "They're headed right towards us, so there's only one way to find out.

Present Day

"The water does exist!" Chuck shouted, pointing through the thick tree cover to a creek that was glistening from the hot sun overhead.

"I told you it was," Sarah said with a proud smirk. "C'mon, let's get some water and return to…" before Sarah could finish her sentence, they both froze when Chuck took a step and heard a loud click.

"I'm going to not move," Chuck said, swallowing nervously. "That wasn't a stick I stepped on," he added.

Sarah slowly scanned the underbrush around them, and seeing that she was clear, crouched down and pulled some tall grass away from Chuck's feet.

"Don't freak out," she said, her eyes bugging out of her head. "And yeah, definitely don't move."

"Oh God," Chuck whined. "I stepped on a mine, didn't I?"

"You sure did," Sarah confirmed, her eyes looking up at him.

"It's probably an old German land mine. We're probably in Central Europe. It could have been placed to try to slow Russian advance West or stop American and British advance East. We could be Germany, Austria, Hungary, anywhere like that," Chuck said.

"Okay, so we still don't know where we are, and we know there are fucking mines," Sarah grumbled. "Do you know how we can disarm this thing?" she asked.

"No. I was hoping you would," Chuck said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Can we find a big ass rock or log to replace me with?"

"I'm sure we could," Sarah said, standing back up. "Stay calm and stay here. I'll be back," Sarah told him, all the sincerity in the world behind her voice.

October 13, 1066 – The Southern Coast of England

With the Norman ships unloading onto the beach, it was only a matter of time until the Anglo-Saxons would get word of the invasion force's arrival. Charles and William had little time to waste if they wanted surprise to be their friend.

Unbeknownst to them, they had been spotted previously, and word had gotten back to King Harold Godwinson, who was now making a forced march to meet them. Harold had expected this would soon happen, knowing the temper the Duke of Normandy possessed.

Harold was not planning on the invasion from the Norwegian forces under Harald Hardrada. He would be facing off against a fresh William with lower than expected numbers and weary forces.

All of this was certainly to Charles and William's benefit. Even so, invasions are never easy.

"Charles, the Saxons have to be expecting us at some point," William said, not happy with achieving only the quiet landing. "We will not stop until we are further inland. I will not be caught on this beach, do you understand?"

"I do, my Lord," Charles said. "Is this you asking me to find a route ahead?"

The duke smiled at him and clasped his shoulder. "It is. Find me roads, Charles, and find me a water source. I want to have a well-watered army when we hit London."

With his orders in mind, Charles took his leave, selecting a number of trusty men at arms as well as Morgan.

With his small party, Charles dashed beyond the beach, hoping to fulfill his lord's wishing.

A path was not hard to find, and a coiled rope laying upon the road was not difficult to spot, either.

Charles stopped his horse, bringing his small entourage to a halt. He laughed aloud at the rope. "What a feeble attempt of a trap. Who would not see this?" he asked, gesturing to the rope.

"Charles, the rope isn't the issue," Morgan said, his hands raised.

"Then what is the… Charles stopped and looked around him, seeing bows drawn on both side of the road and a small line of soldiers behind him, and some forming in front of him with long spears in hand, perfect for stopping horses. "Oh."

"Oh indeed," said a blonde warrioress said in perfect French, coming out of the bush, a recurve bow in hand. "What are the French doing here?" she questioned, calmly petting Charles' horse, not raising her eyes to meet his. She was in control.

Charles stared down at her, knowing better than to speak.

"Is it secrecy then?" she asked, her head tilted to the side. "Tell me then, who are you?"

"Sir Charles of Normandy," he answered, keeping a weary eye on the suspicious woman. "And you?"

"Freja Ice Walker," she said, finally rising her blue eyes to meet him. "What would bring a Norman fleet to England? Nothing peaceful, I presume."

"That would leave only one option then, wouldn't it?" Charles bit back, his hackles rising. "Am I free to go?"

Freja shook her head. "No," she said, still petting Charles' horse. "Why would I release a captured knight for free?"

"What do you want? Who are you?"

"I'm a mercenary, and these are my friends," Freja answered, pointing to both sides of her. "We want a part of whatever the Normans are doing here. Or perhaps part of what the Saxons will try to stop you from doing. However, I don't like Godwinson's chances."

"Why not?" Charles asked, his thick brows furrowing.

"Not too many days ago, Godwinson fought off an army of Norwegians. Hardrada lays dead, and Godwinson victorious, but worse for wear."

Charles' face turned to one of utter surprise. "Release me, Ice Walker, and I shall see you handsomely paid for this information," he told her.

"That's a bad bet," she laughed. "What's to stop you from taking me and killing me, or worse, once I'm among your people?"

"My word," Charles offered, reaching out a hand.

Freja promptly spit on that outstretched hand. "No. Fuck your word. I will send one of my men, John Casey, to go with your squire. You will stay here with me," she said with a pleased smile.

Present Day

"Okay, I'm back," Sarah said with a labored huff, her body coated with a sheen of sweat.

"What'd you find?" Chuck asked, his voice thick with excitement.

"I found a big ass rock. I had another one that would have worked, but I accidentally rolled that one onto another land mine," Sarah explained.

"Well I'm glad you're okay," Chuck said.

Sarah smiled. "I'm glad I'm okay, too. Now let's get you off of that mine," she said, trying to roll the rock into place without crushing Chuck's foot.

For Chuck's part, he tried not to get his foot crushed while not pulling his weight off too fast. Once he was fully free, his arms up, Sarah let go of the rock that staid put.

"Man did that suck!" Chuck exclaimed.

"Let's be a little more careful from now on, okay? No more rock pushing," Sarah pleaded with her hands on her thighs.

"I'm sorry about that," Chuck said, pouting.

"It's not like you did that on purpose," Sarah laughed, straightening up. "You didn't, right?"

Chuck laughed aloud, and laughed harder when Sarah smiled because he knew for a fact then that she was indeed kidding.

"But for real, if you step on another mine, so help me, I will leave you behind."

"What about a good soldier never leaves a man behind?" Chuck countered as they continued towards the river.

"That's a true, but a good soldier also eaves a dirt bag behind," she said with a teasing smirk.

"You know what? That's fair."

October 13, 1066, Evening – Freja Ice Walker's Camp

"The sun is setting, Sir Charles, and I haven't heard back from John Casey," Freja told her captive.

"I'm in high esteem with the Duke of Normandy. There is no doubt your man will return," Charles said, completely confident. "What do you plan to get out of this?"

Freja turned a piece of small game on a spit and looked up at the soldier, the fire illuminating her features. "I'm the first mercenary to find out about the Norman invasion of England. I gave your duke very important information and I hold one of his top advisors, if your words be true. I could well end up employed handsomely for this entire campaign."

"Or you could wind up with your head on a spike," Chuck said, staring into the embers. "Were you fighting at Stamford?"

"No," Freja said, shaking her head. "I was employed by Hardrada, but the day wasn't in his favor, so I didn't go in," she explained.

"You're a smart mercenary, I'll give you that," Charles said, meeting her eyes.

"Eat," Freja ordered, handing him a small trencher with berries, nuts, and a bit of meat. "Your duke won't want you if you're starved half to death."

Charles obliged and took the wooden vessel, eating with unbound hands. He was well guarded, and easily outmatched.

"Just how much of England is William trying to conquer?" Freja asked.

"The whole of it," Charles said. "Scotland. Ireland. The isles."

Freja's eyebrows rose at the list. "Ambitious indeed," she murmured. "What makes him think he can do it?"

"Wits, unmatched cavalry, a willingness to hire and pay mercenaries," Charles answered, catching her eyes with that last bit.

"I see," she responded, the corners of her lips curling. "What of you? Do you employ mercenaries?"

"When given the authority," Charles answered, their eyes still locked. "I could use a guide, as well as a mercenary whose only allegiance is to coin and not the Saxons or Norwegians."

Freja smiled fully this time. "What makes you think I don't have allegiances to any boundaries?"

Charles laughed. "You're known as Freja Ice Walker. Clearly you are Northmen, but if you were allegiant to the Northmen, you wouldn't have left Hardrada to die. How did you come to be a mercenary leader anyway?"

Freja immediately froze, her jaw clenched. "You ask too many fucking questions," she growled before getting up and storming off, leaving a more than ever curious Charles.

Present Day – Somewhere in Europe

With much relief, the wayward adventures reached the riverbed in peace.

Chuck and Sarah happily unlimbered the canteens they had brought and quickly filled them with the crisp, cool running water.

"What I wouldn't give to strip down and wash off the plane wreck," Sarah lamented.

"Captain, I'm right here," Chuck mentioned, just in case Sarah had forgotten her social contract.

"I don't care," Sarah said with a laugh. I'm covered in sweat, dirt, smoke and blood. I don't even know whose blood. I want a bath, and I don't care if you joined me or not. Unfortunately, we have wounded men and women back there that need water, and we don't have time to indulge in my wishes."

"For the record, I would have definitely joined you for the exact same reasons," Chuck added as he replaced the cap on the last canteen. "Hopefully we can get past the Mine Woods before dark. If not, we will definitely die."

"There is that too," Sarah conceded. "If we can just…" Sarah stopped and immediately lifted her head up to scan the opposite river bank.

"What is it?" Chuck whispered, being smart enough to lower his voice.

"We're being watched," Sarah whispered back, slowly stepping back from the water.

Confirming Sarah's suspicion, an arrow whizzed towards them from the opposite wood and landed behind them.

"Run!" Sarah barked, and Chuck didn't have to be told twice. They cleared as much distance as they could before reaching the mine infested part of the forest.

"Up the trees?" Chuck suggested, and Sarah nodded.

With bodies still covered in canteens, Chuck and Sarah scrambled up into the nearest massive tree and waited as whoops and hollers got closer.

Soon, they could make out multiple bodies running in their direction, armed with bows, spears, and axes.

They kept coming, well within danger of the mines, which a few of them hit, causing them to explode in pink mist, body parts flying.

Though terrified, Chuck and Sarah stayed perched, completely motionless and making no sound until the wildmen stopped. They looked around for signs of Chuck and Sarah, but not seeing them, slowly turned back.

"Who the fuck are they?" Chuck whispered once they felt the coast was clear.

"I have no idea," Sarah said, her chest still rising and falling with shock and labored breath.