A/N: Okay, this one should be interesting. Focused on a character who doesn't get near enough time. It's sort of an origin story too, so it's got a little more depth than most of these things.

Disclaimer: I do not own Code Geass. I do own my characters.

Setting: 1000 years before the start of the story. A small Scandinavian village.

The world was a bleak, cold place. Gudrun was a girl who had seen the harshest of it. In her long, 24 years of life, she had buried both her parents and all six of her siblings. She had seen two homes left in ruins by the Vikings. She had nothing to her name now, just the cold wilderness all around her.

To her single benefit, Gudrun was an incredible beauty, that went beyond most women. Even dressed in rags, pale and frostbitten, she still caught the eye of any man she crossed. Even so, no man took her as his woman. Many had pursued her, but they all inevitably gave up. Gudrun wasn't like most women of the age. She was brash; she lacked modesty and she didn't know her place. She wouldn't submit to men, or show them fear and this made them wary. Nothing ever lasted for her.

Knowing her relations wouldn't last, Gudrun did what any woman with a shred of intelligence would do and began to place a price on them. It was a fine way to sustain herself. She enjoyed the company of men and the men were more than willing to pay for her services. Thanks to this Gudrun was able to survive, even in a world so bleak and cold.

Still this world didn't satisfy her. She felt she was meant for something bigger, something more fulfilling. It depressed her. But one hardly had time to be depressed in such a world. All she could do was continue forward and hope she lived to see a brighter future.

Gudrun gave a low sigh as she emerged from the home of her most recent client. It was a sad day when sex bored her. But she had laid with this particular man, a modestly successful fisherman, five times already. She had laid with most of the men in this village already. She had grown tired of them. But traveling on foot alone from village to village was dangerous for a lone girl, and the local innkeeper was being kind enough to give her a room for a few occasional favors.

Everything was so stagnant and monotone here. It just depressed Gudrun further. Walking down the snow covered roads, passing by the leering men, most of whom she had known, and the glaring women who despised and cursed her, Gudrun felt almost lost. If this was all there was to life, what good was it? It lacked excitement.

Gudrun had shared the bed of cultured men, men who had seen the world. They'd tell her tales. All such men liked to brag of the wondrous things they had seen. All such men were also liars. Still, if out of what they said, only half of it were true, that proved there was at least some excitement in this world. Gudrun doubted the fragile, short life of a human would be enough to let her see any of it.

Depressed, the woman kept walking and sighing. She was so absorbed in herself that she hardly noticed when the scene changed entirely. The air was filled with chaotic noise. A rain of arrows fell upon the village. Gudrun looked up to see fully armed Viking warriors rushing through the roads, armed with axes, spears, daggers and even a couple had swords. She slipped to the side, out of plain view and stared at the scene transfixed as men she had known were butchered.

The women who despised her were grabbed and beaten then brutally raped in the open before they too were killed in only the most gruesome ways. Gudrun watched with wide eyes until the inevitable happened. A rough and gnarled young warrior, found her and grabbed her out into the open by the wrist. He sneered and smiled in satisfaction as he held her tightly and began to grope her body with his cold hands.

Then that man died. An older comrade of his, a rugged and handsome man, one of the few who had an actual sword and finely crafted armor flicked the man's blood off his sword as the other fell into the snow, dead. He then grabbed Gudrun by the wrist and pulled her forward.

"I'm sorry my friend, but this is a fair prize you hardly deserve," the man spoke to the one he had killed. He then smiled at Gudrun. "Your name, fair maiden?"

"Gudrun," the girl replied in a soft, fearful voice.

"Ah, a name meaning battle. Suitable, for one with the image of a true Valkyrie," the man said eloquently. Gudrun was confused. While the other women were being raped and murdered, this man was praising her. What's more, none of his comrades were reproaching him for felling his own comrades.

"You really don't seem like some barbarous Viking… Who are you, sir?" Gudrun asked, suspiciously.

"I am Barthram, a son of the king of Norway," said the warrior in a strong voice.

"A prince who takes pleasure in leading men to pillage, murder, and rape?" Gudrun laughed, unintimidated. "You have interesting tastes, sir."

"You have quite the tongue on you, don't you woman?" Barthram smirked. "I rather like that."

"Do you now?" started Gudrun with a playful smirk. She knew she was saying thing most women wouldn't dare, but she always had been fearless. Perhaps she did have a bit of a death wish.

"You really are a rare breed," the man chuckled. "Tell me, have my men killed your husband yet?"

"Oh, I have no husband," Gudrun giggled, and gave a seductive sigh.

"I find that hard to believe," said Barthram. "A woman your age, and of your beauty would surely have known a man before."

"I've known most of the men you've killed here, but kept none of them," Gudrun admitted in a low voice.

"Is that so? A woman of your caliber is meant for finer things…" the articulate warrior sighed.

"I'd have to agree," the girl said forwardly.

"Heh, then stay by my side. My men can get rather carried away," said Barthram.

"Very well," replied Gudrun.

She did just that. She stayed by the side of the strange Viking prince as he joined the fray, butchering the people she had come to know. It was somehow satisfying watching his sword pierce through the old fisherman and the innkeeper. She smiled as she watched the men she lived off and the women who judged her die one after the other.

Then it was over. The Vikings gathered their spoils, money, livestock, weapons, young girls, anything of value could find. Barthram didn't take anything. He just took Gudrun back to his longship. This opened a new chapter in Gudrun life. It would be the first and only time in her life that she found herself attached to another person.

Barthram was an enigma. Most thought him mad. His father, a powerful warrior in his own right, had taken Norway by force decades ago. He was born into wealth and influence. He never had to lift a sword, he certainly didn't have to associate with ruffians. But Barthram did as he pleased. He lived as he pleased. Despite having been taught of the world, nothing pleased him more than sailing from village to village, and letting his sword draw blood.

Staying with this man was rewarding. He took her places. He showed her things. For the first time in all her 24 years, life was exciting. Onboard that longship, she wore a smile. After two wonderful years that pleasant time would end.

After months at sea on a voyage that took them to numerous foreign countries, Barthram saw his crew back to their native lands. The crew had grown restless from all the time at sea. The ship docked and the crew unloaded into a sizable town. Most headed to the local tavern. Barthram instead took Gudrun for a walk about town.

It was a pleasant talk. They talked of life. The talked of voyage. They talked of how refreshing it was to return to the bitter cold. They talked for a long time. Then the talk came to an end. The two of them were surrounded by unknown warriors.

"My, my, now what is this?" Barthram started with a smirk, his hand going to his sword.

"Barthram the Mad, the king has called for your head!" a large, burly man withe an axe called out in a coarse voice, using a name Gudrun despised. Why should the one man she found she could relate to be labeled mad to the world?

"Now why is that? I can think of nothing so wrong I've done by my father of late," said Barthram, giving a subtle laugh.

"Your father is dead!" the man announced in a bold voice.

"And so his replacement, his murderer, has ordered my death?" Barthram smirked coldly, not blinking an eye at the news. "Very well, I suppose you aren't going to leave me be then."

"Enough talk! Die!" the large man shouted and hefted his axe. He charged at Barthram. Another six warriors charged toward him at the same time.

Barthram moved swiftly, sword drawn. He evaded one encroaching spearman and ran another through in one elegant motion. At the same time he kept his eyes on the powerful axeman and managed to keep out of his weapon's reach. Another man fell shortly but it wouldn't last long.

Barthram was a fine warrior; superb, really. But he was outnumbered, and he had one glaring vulnerability. One of the warriors grabbed Gudrun and held his spear to her neck. Barthram steeled his blade.

"We have your woman! You have no choice but to stop resisting if you want her to be spared!" Gudrun's captor declared in a loud voice.

"Not a very intelligent move. That woman would hate me if I gave up my life for her. You'd only kill and rape her after I was gone anyway," Barthram spoke in a sharp voice. He then turned around and ran his blade through a third man.

"Barthram, no!" Gudrun called, but it was too late.

The axeman was in motion. His heavy blade cutting the air on a brutal path. Barthram turned around and thrust, but he wasn't able to protect himself in time. As his blade pierced the axeman's heart, the powerful axe cleaved the proud warrior's head in two. Blood poured out of the lethal wound as the axe was removed.

"Bloody fool, you get what you deserve," said one of the remaining three warriors.

"His bitch, what should we do with her?" laughed the man who still held Gudrun in his gasp.

"Exactly as the fool said," one vulgar man said with a laugh.

"i was hoping you would say that," said the captor. He then roughly tore open Gudrun's clothes.

Gudrun was disrobed entirely there on the snowy street. Each of the three men then had a turn raping her brutally amidst the death strewn about. Each man forced himself upon her while the others watched and leered and made vulgar remarks. The whole time, she just stared blankly ahead in contempt. She didn't cry out, she didn't express fear or disgust. She just took it all. Then, eventually, they tired of her.

"So, who wants to do it?" asked the vulgar man.

"Here, allow me," said the man who had captured Gudrun and acted first. He picked up Barthram's sword.

"Anything you wish to say, whore?" asked the third man in a sneer.

"Fuck you all," was all Gudrun managed, her voice cold, a smirk on her face.

The sword was soon in her heart. She died that day. They killed her with her fallen lover's sword. They ended the existence of the human girl Gudrun. then they left her there, dead in a pool of her own blood, but a few feet between her corpse and that of Barthram.

Hours went by after that. Strange hours. Gudrun was certainly dead, but her existence was in a strange place. She wasn't conscious of it, but she changed completely at that time. Then, after those strange few hours, she wasn't dead even though she had died. Her eyes opened again to the world. She sat up and took in her surroundings, brushing freshly fallen snow off of her as she did.

It was freezing. She was naked and covered in snow. That alone should have killed her, so she was confused. Then again, she had already been killed; wasn't that alone enough cause for confusion? She looked down at herself. The gaping chest wound was gone entirely. Peculiar. The oddly shaped birthmark just above her right thigh had become unnaturally darker and more visible. A strange burning sensation could be felt behind it. Also peculiar.

Gudrun stood up. She looked at the scene. No effort had been made to clean up the mess. Barthram and the four men he had slain were still lying there as corpses, the only difference being they were now covered in a layer of snow. The woman looked at the body of the man she had once loved. She felt no compassion for him. She felt nothing. It was as if those two years onboard his ship were but a dream and only now she was awake.

"N-no way! What's going on here?!" a startled voice declared. Gudrun turned around. A young man, dressed in rags was staring at her with wide eyes. Gudrun approached him.

"This is--! Moments ago you were dead yet now you walk?!" the man started, backing away as if he was seeing something ungodly. "What manner of foul spirit are you?!"

Gudrun considered what to say for a while. She certainly wasn't just a human any more. A sword had pierced her heart yet the wound was gone. She smiled as a clever lie popped in her head from words Barthram had once spoken to her.

"I am a Valkyrie who has descended from Valhalla, given form in this world by the all mighty Odin," she spoke, quietly praying the man wasn't a Christian.

"My-- I-I am unworthy to be in your presence," the fool dropped to his knees in reverence.

"What is your name, good sir?" Gudrun asked while beckoning for the man to rise.

"I-it's Hjalmar, oh great maiden of battle," the man spoke, his tone strict and unrelaxed.

"This body of which I am making use is called Gudrun. It's a suitable name, so feel free to use it," said the woman with a smile, reveling in how completely her act was being bought.

"As you command, Miss Gudrun," the man smiled at her, treating her like the holy maiden she had claimed to be.

"Right. Now, might you find me some food and clothing with which to care for this fragile form?" Gudrun requested, taking a few more steps toward the man.

"As you wish. I'll show you back to my room right away," the young man started in an excitable voice.

Hjalmar lead Gudrun back to a tiny shed connected to the town blacksmith's shop. The young man was a mere apprentice who lacked real talent. After being left in the shed by the man, Gudrun could hear the smith scold him loudly as he likely requested an extra helping of whatever meal the man's wife had prepared. Hjalmar did return with a plate of slop and some old rags. He apologized repeatedly for both.

Once dressed and fed, though both inadequately, Gudrun gave a sigh. She looked at the man as she thought about what she was going to do now. Barthram was dead. His crew respected him immensely but hadn't been particularly loyal. They'd have left by now. None of them were men of his caliber anyway. Gudrun didn't want to think she had risen from the dead to once more live that monotonous life of selling herself. If so, she found it a joke in poor taste.

"So Hjalmar, was it? You are apprentice to the blacksmith?" asked Gudrun, looking at the man who had been staring at her for minutes now.

"Aye, it's modest work," the man spoke.

"Do you enjoy it" the girl asked.

"I've always been fascinated by weaponry. But admittedly, I lack much actual talent at the forge," the man spoke, his voice grim.

"Wouldn't you be better off as a warrior then?" asked Gudrun slyly.

"My body isn't strong enough for it. It might be more suitable work, but I wouldn't last long at it," Hjalmar sighed.

"If you abandoned the life of an assistant to an impoverished smith in a nowhere town and hefted a heavy sword awhile, don't you thing your body would be stronger then?" started Gudrun, looking at the man.

"Perhaps. But it'd be hardly worth it. I'd never be anything more than the simplest of grunts," said the young man, shaking his head.

"What makes you so certain?" asked Gudrun.

"Such things are determined from birth in this world, noble Valkyrie. There are men who become kings and men who die because they cannot fill their stomachs. Without perhaps intervention from Odin himself, no one can change what has already been set," said Hjalmar in a low tone.

"You have a rather self-defeating view on life. I say such things are possible in this world. One of the men I enlisted as a noble einherjar at death was a prince upon birth but chose to ride the seas and live and die by the sword. By that token I think a simple man could rise to become a king if he so desired, with enough luck and effort," said the woman, nodding.

"It's not so simple a thing. It's much more difficult to climb a mountain than it is to jump off of it," said the man. "And my mountain is so steep I'd need wings to mount it."

"You're more clever than you look," said Gudrun, surprised to hear such a thing from the mouth of such a common man.

"But perhaps it was fate who lead you to me, Miss Gudrun. Perhaps, with your holy blessing, I would find those wings," said the man while shaking.

Gudrun laughed. "But isn't a Valkyrie's blessing only of value to a dead man?"

"But surely there is something you can give some. Surely you have some power to give unto me. You are one of Odin's chosen Valkyries are you not?" demanded the man.

"Of course... Very well. You seem worthy I shall give you my blessing," said Gudrun, shrugging.

"I am forever in your debt, glorious valkyrie," the man declared.

"At ease. Please, do as you wish," said Gudrun, lying back on the bed in which she had been sitting.

"What was that?" the man started, shocked.

"In order for me to bless you, I must first share your bed," said Gudrun.

"I-I… I… I'm not worthy…" the man started, trembling.

"You do not desire my power?" the woman laughed. Men had told her before that being with her had left them feeling as if they had the power of a god within them. She supposed that psychological effect was worth trying for.

"I do," the man nodded and joined her.

It was a simple session, but it felt strange. Hjalmar was clumsy and inexperienced, but he was simply reverent of her. It made the encounter surprisingly refreshing. Oddly, it felt at the moment their flesh first met as if something had flown out of her body and into his and images she had never seen before played before her mind. It was a strange thing, yet it was over fairly readily.

And then, only a few moments later, the scene shifted considerably. The door to the small shed was thrown open. A grizzly, muscular old man with a heavy beard and a bald head was in the door glaring at Hjalmar.

"You ungrateful little shit! You dare bring some trashy whore back to the room I provide you!" Shouted the bear of a man, clearly the blacksmith, approaching, looking ready to beat Hjalmar to death with his fists.

"This is no whore! Gudrun is a noble Valkyrie sent here by Odin himself!" declared Hjalmar, offended.

The old blacksmith laughed harshly. "Listen to yourself talk boy! Have you lost your damn mind, believing in such unnatural things? Or do you lack a brain as well as any shred of talent?"

"It's the truth! I know it is! She has blessed me with her holy power!" Hjalmar boldly claimed, standing and meeting the man face to face. Gudrun sighed. Poor guy was about to get himself killed.

"Who in their right mind would give you power, you worthless bastard?!" the old man started, readying his calloused fist.

"Die!" Hjalmar shouted, his eyes meeting those of the blacksmith just as he was going to throw his punch.

And to the shock of Gudrun, Hjalmar, and certainly the poor blacksmith himself, the blacksmith complied with the order. Blood poured from out of his eyes, nose and mouth as he fell limply forward, dead on the spot.

"Amazing! You really have blessed me with divine magic, noble Valkyrie!" Hjalmar declared with fire in is eyes as he looked at the corpse and then at the girl.

"You doubted me?" Gudrun asked with a playful smirk, hiding the depth of her surprise.

"Of course not. But to believe such a thing is possible…" Hjalmar stared, wide eyed.

After that, things moved forward like a whirlwind. Hjalmar retrieved the finest spears and armor from the blacksmith's shop, killing the man's wife to test his new powers once more. After that, he challenged warrior after warrior. He killed them all with a single glance. His name quickly became known. A crew assembled under him and he was given a ship.

All the while, Gudrun stood at his side. She dressed herself in the finest armor and wore a sword at her side though she knew not how to use it. She became famous as the beautiful true Valkyrie who had blessed the mortal Hjalmar with powers beyond the natural. All things considered, she began to believe it herself. After five years with Hjalmar's crew, she hadn't become any visibly older.

During those five years, Hjalmar went from a small time Viking ship captain to a famed warlord with his own fleet. He didn't stop there though. Soon, Hjalmar the Brutal was king of his own small country in the far north. The man had obtained everything he coveted. He had come a miraculous way from the talentless blacksmith's assistant living in a dilapidated old shed. Somehow, it was all thanks to Gudrun too.

But eventually she tired of it. After fifteen years as Hjalmar's Valkyrie, as he was becoming an old man and Gudrun was staying as young and vibrantly beautiful as ever, she decided she was bored of this existence. She, his symbol of dominance and victory disappeared one night as an enemy force was on route to challenge his rule. She eventually would overhear that he died calling out for her.

From there Gudrun would make her way across the sea to an intriguing little Island called by the name England. There she would raise up many more kings only to see them fall. All the while years would pass leaving her unchanged.

As these years passed something in her head called out to her. She abandoned her human name when she realized the truth of the repeated letters etched into her mind's eye. The girl Gudrun had died with her lover Barthram in a cold street in a forgotten town. She was someone more. She was someone greater. She was D.D..

A/N: Interesting extra I hope. Twice as long as some. It actually tells a story. I had been thinking about D.D.'s origins for awhile now, but there was really absolutely nowhere to put this stuff in the actual story. Anyway, again, my Valkyrie fetish shows… Oh well, it was fun. I might do more like this at some point.

Items to be added to the main story's info page (a real first fro the Extra Stages);

Gudrun

Barthram the Mad