Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS or Vikings. Shocking, I know. Also, the line referring to stepping out from Ragnar's shadow is from Vikings.

Spoilers: Season 5 BtVS and Season 2 Ep 3 Vikings.

Timeline: During "Triangle" in BtVS Season 5 during Buffy's fight with Olaf and Season 2 Ep 3 of Vikings.

Rollo looked where the gently rolling sea met the cloud covered skies, envisioning the treasures that lay beyond its horizon. He felt the northeasterly wind, feeling their promise of swift passage. He listened to the waves as they lapped against the sandy shore, hearing how they mocked him with their steady rhythm of retreat - for each ebb and flow of the tide carried Ragnar's fleet further away while he remained on the shore, forbidden from taking part in the raids on Northumbria.

How he envied his brother, his glory, his power. Ragnar had seen his opportunity and he had seized it, driven by his belief that he had been destined for greatness.

That was why, when Rollo had seen his own chance, he had taken it, for his ambition was no less. When he had finally stepped out of his brother's shadow, however, he had felt no sunshine on his face. And now he found himself in constant darkness.

Rollo clenched his fists, inwardly railing against his brother's fortune and his own misfortune, only just stopping short of cursing the gods themselves, of the All Father who so clearly favored his brother. It was there, though, in the back of his mind and in his heart.

Perhaps they knew it still. Or perhaps Floki had been correct, that the gods were angry at him, for a thunderous crack rent the air not a moment later, as if Thor himself had lit upon the beach.

Rollo simply squared his shoulders, drew his knifr, and turned toward the sound. Though he had no desire to leave this world just yet, he would face whatever was to come next, whatever he had brought upon himself. His only regret was that he had rashly tossed his axe into the sea as Ragnar's ships departed.

To his surprise, his reckoning came in the form of a girl and a huge hulking brute, both of whom stood fifty paces inland, where the sand met the hard-packed earth. Even more surprising, they paid him no heed. After taking a brief moment to gather their wits, seemingly confused by whatever had brought them there, they soon engaged in battle with each other.

Though the girl kept a wary eye on him, Rollo quickly realized that they were not there for him.

He supposed he could have crept away, slunk back to Kattegat without notice. But it was not his way. It mattered not who they were or whence they had come. He was hungry for blood, and he had nothing to lose.

He was not so foolish as to take them both on, however; he quickly decided to cast his lot with the girl. It was not because she needed any aid. Though she was a small thing, she moved as one who had been well tested on the field of battle, dodging her opponent's hammer with ease and countering with powerful strikes of her own. Nor was it because she was attractive, for there was no shortage of pretty girls and she was a bit scrawny.

He chose based on the manner of dress. Although it was strange, the quality of the material was plain - as were the trinkets around her neck.

Her opponent, on the other hand, was clothed in the same rough cut as Rollo, his hair a dirty mass of red tangles. Neither disguised his monstrous face. Large horns protruded from his forehead, which was as green as the leaves in summer. He was large, too, both taller and wider than Rollo, an impressive size despite the fact that his body had gone soft. Mostly importantly, however, he had not yet noticed Rollo, intent on the girl and nothing else as he raged.

With a little luck, Rollo would be able to circle behind him before he realized what was happening.

Moving swiftly, Rollo undid the clasp to his cloak and let it fall to the sand. Then, with his small but sharp knifr still in hand, he advanced, earning him a questioning look from the girl as he did. Rollo simply pointed his blade at his target and grinned.

Though she was clearly mistrustful of him, she did not make known his presence.

Within moments, Rollo was within striking distance. It was then, however, that the foul creature finally noticed him, having been spun around by one of the girl's blows. Strangely, his beady eyes lit with recognition, a smile stretching his grotesque face.

"Rollo! Good to see you, my friend!" he bellowed. "It is I, Olaf! Come. Aid me, my friend, so we can rid ourselves of this harpy."

The girl momentarily forgotten, Rollo stared at the one who called himself Olaf. He did bear a resemblance to the man. But Olaf had disappeared years ago, along with his woman.

He slowly walked toward Olaf and the girl. In a show of trust, Olaf stepped to the left, his back vulnerable to Rollo as he moved to the side, most likely thinking that together they could flank the girl and overpower her.

It was a sound strategy. They all knew it to be so. Rollo could see it in the girl's eyes with every step he took, the uncertainty and wariness. He could see it in the way Olaf raised his war hammer, eager for the kill.

Little did they know, Rollo wanted no part of it.

What did it matter if this monster was someone he had once known? He had never cared much for the man in the first place. The knowledge that Olaf was not one of the jötunn but a man cursed by a great evil only reinforced Rollo's decision to support the girl.

He quickly took the final few steps, diverting his path at the last so that he was standing next to Olaf.

He saw the surprise in his old comrade's eyes as he struck.

Olaf howled with rage as Rollo's knifr bit deeply into his shoulder, forcing him to drop his hammer as Rollo twisted the blade. For a creature his size, he was quick, however, and he used his uninjured arm to throw Rollo off of him before he could strike again.

Rollo flew backwards at least a dozen paces. When he finally hit the ground, his breath rushed out like a gust of wind. Still, he was on his feet in an instant, wielding his now bloody knife as if he held a sword of Ulfberht as Olaf rushed toward him.

Before the monster could reach Rollo, however, the girl stepped into his path. After ducking Olaf's initial attack, she countered with one of her own, sending a flurry of kicks - the likes of which Rollo had never seen before - directly at Olaf's gut.

The power of her assault forced her opponent to retreat - away from his hammer.

Rollo grinned as he raced to rejoin the fray. As he passed by the hammer, he reached down and grabbed the handle, thinking that two weapons were better than one. Because of its size, he made sure he put a fair amount of strength into lifting it.

He did not anticipate that he would be unable to lift it at all. Yet it stuck fast to the ground. Worse, it brought his momentum to an abrupt halt, going so far as to make him lose his footing as he was jerked backwards unexpectedly.

Before he could make sense of it, or regain his footing, he heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh. A moment later, the girl was soaring toward him. It was all Rollo could do to put his arms up to both cushion her fall and absorb some of the impact.

They both tumbled toward the ground. Though the girl weighed practically nothing, the power behind Olaf's blow made the impact sting nonetheless; for him, at least. The girl was on her feet an instant later as if she had never fallen. The only sign that she had been affected at all was her hair, which had come loose from its bindings and now cascaded over her shoulders in golden waves.

Instead of rushing toward Olaf once again, as he thought she would, she glanced down at him, and the hammer at her feet, and spoke.

Rollo could not understand a word of it.

Her words were strange, spoken in a different tongue, one harsh and flat to the ear - and they were quickly forgotten as she lifted the hammer as if it weighed no more than a newly born child and engaged Olaf in battle once more.

If it could be called that, Rollo mused. For unarmed, she had been deadly, but with the hammer...

Rollo almost pitied Olaf, who after a few swift blows, was bloodied and bruised. A few more swings, and the giant was on his back, moaning in pain.

The girl quickly raised the hammer once more. Instead of dealing the final death blow, however, she placed it on Olaf's chest, pinning him to the ground.

Then she began to speak again in that strange language of hers.

Her words were directed only toward Olaf, Rollo himself apparently dismissed. By her inflection, it was clear that she was asking questions. When Olaf refused to answer, she simply put one foot on his shoulder, directly over the wound Rollo had inflicted, and pressed down.

The answers came easily after that - surprisingly in the girl's own tongue. Rollo watched in frustration as she and Olaf spoke to one another while he stood there, understanding none of it. The most he could tell was that Olaf's answers were not to the girl's liking; as he spoke, the girl grew pale, almost as white as the winter snow. When she finally acknowledged Rollo's presence and glanced his way, it was with a frown on her face.

Rollo narrowed his eyes, displeased with this turn.

Olaf, however, was delighted. Seeing his captor momentarily distracted, he sprang to action with a bellowing laugh, knocking the girl off her feet and pinning her to the ground. A moment later, his hands were around her neck.

Whether she could have escaped herself, Rollo did not know. He did not plan to find out. Gripping his knifr tightly in one hand, he rushed toward Olaf and jumped onto the ogre's back. Without hesitation, he thrust his knife into the base of Olaf's skull in one smooth stroke.

Though Olaf may have looked like one of the jötunn in appearance, he died the same as any man.

Rollo curled his lip in triumph. As he pushed Olaf's lifeless body to the side so it would not crush the girl, he looked down at her, expecting her to be pleased as well.

He was taken aback by the fury in her eyes. It seemed she had not wanted Olaf dead.

Rollo frowned. Surely a warrior such as she could understand that, although Olaf could provide her with answers, they could not be trusted; that it was far too dangerous to let him live, as he would not hesitate to kill them both if given the chance.

Yet angry she was. Though she did not attack him, she got to her feet and brushed past without sparing him a single look, the hammer gripped tightly in her hand. She carried her anger with her down to water's edge, where she began shouting at the sky and turning round in circles as if she were searching for someone.

Who was this girl? Rollo wondered.

She was no ordinary shieldmaiden, that he knew. He only had to remember the way in which she had appeared, the way she wielded that hammer. If it were not for the anguish etched clearly on her face, the angry, defiant tilt of her chin, the panic in her eyes when no one answered her pleas, he would have thought her a god.

Perhaps she was cursed, not as plainly as Olaf had been, but cursed nonetheless. Or perhaps she was something in between, for often there was little distinction between a blessing and a curse.

As Rollo watched her, her golden hair blew in the ocean breeze like a crown of victory, the drops of her enemy's blood adorning her skin like spoils from war, he found that he did not care. Sometimes, one man's blessing was another man's curse.

Glory followed this one, that much was plain. Glory and bloodshed, at a time when he had thought both were beyond his grasp.

He did not take that lightly. He would not discard what Fate had granted him.

That did not mean forsaking caution altogether, for he did not take her lightly, either. He had seen the way she had fought, the way her temper could flare. Even now, she was pacing back and forth on the beach, much like a caged wolf.

No, he would have to choose his moment carefully, even if it meant letting her be when every fibre of his being wanted differently.

Sorely needing a distraction, Rollo decided to busy himself with hiding Olaf's body.

It was no easy feat. The land was sparse there and he had no tools with which to work. Eventually, he settled for dragging the body into a slight depression in the earth and covering it with bracken. It was not perfect, but it would hold for a bit.

As he worked, the girl continued to stalk up and down the beach, occasionally throwing glances in his direction. Finally, long after Rollo had finished his task and had settled down onto to the ground, she stopped.

Rollo still did not move, however, waiting until she dropped down into the sand before he dared approach. Even then, it was with caution, for though she never once looked in his direction, he had no doubt she was watching his every move.

Finally, after what seemed like an unnaturally long time, he was standing in front of her, his back to the waves. Still, she averted her gaze.

Rollo was undeterred.

"You cannot stay here," he said.

He knew she did not understand. He said it more to get her attention - and it worked. She looked up at his words, a confused frown marring her features.

Encouraged, Rollo attempted to convey his meaning through a series of fumbling hand gestures.

At first, he feared she did not understand. Then she looked up and her gaze met his, a defiant fire burning deep in her eyes, before she turned away.

It was in stark contrast with the way she was shivering from the cold, the thin material of her clothing no match for the sea breeze. As the wind began to pick up in earnest, her trembling only worsened until her entire body was shaking. Still, she made no move to leave.

Rollo scowled. By the gods, she was a stubborn one. And easily chilled. She was likely to die of exposure before she would move from this spot.

Turning on his heel, he stalked up the beach and retrieved his cloak from where he had originally left it. Then he strode back to the girl and thrust it upon her shoulders.

For a moment, she looked mutinous, as if she would hurl it and then him into the sea. She quickly changed her mind, however, as the warmth of the material settled around her, encouraging her to draw the cloak even closer around her.

After a moment, gave him a nod of thanks.

Rollo felt his own ire ease almost immediately. He hunkered down onto the sand himself a reasonable distance from her and leaned back on his elbows, content to wait a bit longer.

They sat in companionable silence until the girl made a sound of frustration and pushed herself off the ground.

Rollo waited, curious to see what she would do.

He did not have to wait long. As soon as she was on her feet, she strode over to him, the bottom of his cloak trailing behind her. She did not stop until there was only a pace or two between them. Then, with a look of determination in her eyes, she held out her hand to him.

Rollo raised his eyebrows in surprise - and in faint amusement.

This did not please her. She pursed her lips together in annoyance and began to pull her hand back. Before she could, however, Rollo grabbed it and held it within his own with a murmur of apology.

Though this seemed to appease her, she still pulled him to his feet with more force than was strictly necessary, certainly more than any woman of her size should have possessed.

Perhaps she did it to remind him of what she could do, or perhaps test him to see what he would do.

It only made Rollo grin. To his surprise, this earned him a slight upturn of her mouth in response - one that faded an instant later when a wave crashed unexpectedly at their feet.

The girl jumped backward at the shock of cold water on her feet, making sure she kept a firm grip on his cloak as she did to ward off the still biting wind.

Rollo, however, felt neither wind nor water. In that moment, he only felt sunshine on his face.

A/N: As I was watching Vikings, I couldn't help but think that it's one 'verse Buffy would not fit in very well. There's absolutely nothing there that would help soften the blow of being sent to the Middle Ages - no powerful elves, chivalrous warriors, supernatural enemies, nothing. Nothing except honest to goodness pillaging and plundering Vikings, whom she would it VERY difficult to relate to. So of course I had to try to write a ficlet that put her there - with one of the Vikings she would find the least sympathetic. Whether or not it works… well, you tell me. :)