Hello everyone! I've had a good weekend of writing so I thought I'd give you a present and upload an early chapter! I'm sure, like me, most of you will be very busy over the next few weeks with the holidays fast approaching. I'll try to remain consistent in updating (it's always good to have goals). I'd like to give a big shout out to fairlover2004 for your enthusiastic reviews. I enjoyed reading every single one of them. Thanks so much! Thank you to all my readers for the favs and follows, it means the world to me. Much love. xoxox

Haldir woke violently with a desperate gasp for breath. His entire body quaked and shivered beneath his damp skin. His spare shirt was sweat completely through.

Panicked, he instantly reached out and tugged sharply on their bond. He was overcome with relief to find Natasha's familiar weight on the other side.

He could not comprehend exactly what he had just seen. Had it been a dream or a memory, or a cruel combination of the two? She had been tortured, burned, impaled and bloodied nearly beyond recognition.

She had looked young in a way he had not expected. Her body had been shockingly lean and without the full curve of her hip and breasts. The vibrant red of her hair had been dull and flat but it was her eyes that had fully betrayed her youth. They had lacked the depth of knowledge that came with age and experience. By his standards, she was young but much more a woman now than the child he had seen. How long had it been? Five, maybe ten years? He had felt her heart stop. It was only a dream, he reminded himself, a horrendous dream. His hands trembled.

He focused again on the threads that tethered them together and felt her steady presence on the other end. At the moment she was very much alive.

Haldir doubted the memory would ever leave him. It was burned into the back of his mind in vivid detail. How anyone could live through such a thing he did not know. He had watched as the light had left her vibrant eyes. Felt her pulse flutter and stall beneath his hands. When her heart had stopped...he swallowed hard; His own had skipped in his chest. She had completely withdrawn from him in that instant. For one endless moment, there had been nothing between them.

He was going to be sick, he thought suddenly as his stomach clenched tight.

Haldir rolled to his knees and staggered to his feet. His own legs betrayed him as they folded beneath his heavy frame.

"Commander, are you well?" One of his younger sentinels asked in evident concern.

Breathing hard Haldir rubbed his sweating palms over his wool clad thighs. He inhaled deeply and tried to calm his distraught body.

"Yes." He replied gruffly and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Continue your duties elsewhere."

He had always commanded with a firm and fair hand. Even the youngest amongst them knew better than to question a directly given order. Therefore, he wasn't surprised when his young warden turned on his heels and abruptly fled in the opposite direction; only grateful to be away from prying eyes.

He made for his feet again and found them solidly beneath him. His chest ached sharply, and a strong wave of determination and regret struck him. He recognized it as immediately as Natasha's. In an instant, he made for the opposite side of camp. Weaving through small makeshift tents. The fires still burned lowly. Dawn would be upon them in a few hours. He couldn't beat back the urgency that rose inside him, just to see her face. He craved the physical confirmation, needed it more than he cared to admit. He followed his feet onward, need for her beat at him relentlessly, flowed in his blood so strongly he nearly broke into a run.

When he finally came to where she had made camp amongst the warriors of Rohan; he searched for her bright hair amongst the half dozen heads leaned against their packs. Instead, he found the hard gaze of the youngest in the group. Gramm, Haldir remembered his name.

"Where is she?" Haldir asked in a subtly accented Rohirric as he emerged from the darkness and came further into the light of the fire.

Gramm's glare turned sharp. "I suspect since you've come looking for her that you're the reason she's gone."

The warriors around Gramm stirred at the sound of his voice. Gramm took the time to absorb the powerful March Warden looking rumpled and pissed in his nightclothes.

What have you done Natalie, Gramm thought, what have you done?

Baldor roused first and looked wearily at Gramm before following his steadfast gaze to the towering figure of the elven March Warden at the edge of their camp.

"Fuck." Baldor murmured as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had seen the tension between Natalie and the elven commander earlier, but it was not his place to poke his nose where it didn't belong. Baldor was also very aware of Gramm's affection for the fiery redhead. He had a distinct feeling this was not going to end well.

"What can we do for you March Warden?" Baldor asked in common as he shot a glare to Gramm to remind the hot-headed warrior of exactly who they were talking to. The elf had come to their aid and sacrificed scores of his kin to keep Rohan and its people safe. Gramm could swallow his fucking pride and show some gratitude or he would shove it fist first down Gramm's throat.

"Natasha, where is she?" He motioned to the empty spot between Baldor and Gramm with a jerk of his proud chin.

Baldor took in her empty place, her pack, weapons, and bedroll were gone. Reaching out he felt the warm ground beneath his hand. She was gone but she had not been gone long. He told as much to the elf.

In an attempt to ease the tension, he addressed Gramm. "Do you know where she was headed, lad?"

"No." Was all he replied.

Baldor looked him over sharply with narrowed eyes and noted his pack was no longer leaning against his saddle. He skimmed over the horses; Gramm's was missing from the picket line. Gramm's face was as unforgiving as stone as he continued to glare at the elf.

"I take it the lass stole your horse then?" Baldor mocked him as he got to his feet. "Lie to me again boy...I dare you." He growled in Rohirric.

Gramm turned his sharp stare to Baldor. "She left. I didn't ask where she was going or why."

Baldor held his gaze. His disapproval clear at Gramm's lack of detail.

Gramm cursed at them both; they had not seen her when she had woken up. She had been thrashing wildly in her sleep so much so she'd ended up half in his bed by the time she'd come too. Nat had dug so hard into his thighs with her hands he was sure she had bruised him. He had spoken to her softly in the same tone he had used on young, frightened horses until she had come around to him. He had not dared touch her, not when she had that wild look in her eyes and his own blade closer to her hands than his.

"She said only that she had business to attend to and that she would see us in Edoras by the end of the day." Baldor continued his silent pressure and Gramm raised his hands, palms out. "I swear, that's all she said."

Baldor turned to the stern March Warden. "You won't catch her."

He motioned to Gramm. "His horse is one of the fastest in the Mark and it's clear open riding between here and the Golden Hall even in the dark." The moon was full and bright. She would have light enough to travel.

Haldir wanted to be angry but he couldn't find it in himself to be anything but worried. It terrified him that he trusted her against his better judgment. He clamped down on his feelings; she was not his to worry over. He looked to the young warrior, Gramm, his rigid posture and clenched jaw. Clearly, she was being looked after well enough.

He addressed Baldor. "Thank you." He said, genuinely grateful for his input and information. It did nothing to ease the tension that had him wound so tight he was itching for a fight. He knew better than to find one here, diplomacy easily outweighed his needs.

"We'll ride out at first light and track her back to Edoras." Baldor assured him knowing the March Warden had his own people to attend to. As far as Baldor was concerned the lass was one of theirs now.

"I'd be grateful." Haldir replied. The other men around the camp watched him warily. "I'll take my leave of you." He gave a small curt bow.

"Until tomorrow."

He left as quietly as he had come, eerily silent as if he'd drifted away on the wind. Baldor looked to where he had stood; he hadn't even bent the grass underfoot. Elves were strange creatures.

Baldor released a small anxious breath he had not realized he'd been holding and sank back down to his blanket. He shot Gramm a look that would have curdled milk.

"You'll be walkin' your way home lad."

Whitethorn galloped steadily beneath her, his gate smooth and careful. She had initially been worried about riding the large battle-trained horseback to Edoras, but Gramm had spent the few minutes it took her to pack and him to saddle his horse; telling the stallion to take greater care of the cargo Gramm was trusting him to carry back to Edoras.

Fast and efficient, Gramm fastened her pack firmly behind his saddle and helped her mount.

He recognized her unspoken urgency. He hadn't asked her a single question. After a momentary pause, he had simply accepted what she had asked and ventured to help her. He was choosing to trust her and that alone meant more to her than all the rest.

He tucked her feet gently into his stirrups and gripped her calf in his hands.

"Give him his head. He knows the way." He patted his horse affectionately on the neck and murmured something lowly in Rohirric that had the horse shaking his head and nickering softly into his hand.

"Thank you, Gramm." She whispered into the quiet of the night. He slipped his hand from the softness of his horse's mane and rested it over hers where they clenched the supple leather reins.

His gaze turned serious; brows furrowed; he ran his teeth over his bottom lip.

"Be careful." Was all he said and released her calf and her hand. He had wanted to say more but remained silent.

Then she had taken off into the night like a shot, a blur of quicksilver flashing through the dark.

She wasn't running, at least that's what she told herself after she had woken up from the nightmare memory that had consumed her through the night. Her biggest secret, an event she had never shared with anyone had been on full display to him. No other living person knew the details of that day. They were all long dead. Most of them had been killed by her own hand. He had seen everything...felt it too if his insistent mental barbs this morning had been any indication. But Haldir had made it clear that time and space would be the best remedy to their overlapping minds, and she refused to be another burden on his already troubled mind.

She would never forget the sight of him reeking absolute hell on that lab, his fury had been palpable. When he had gripped her face and willingly offered to suffer with her, she had absolutely lost it. She didn't want to think of him that way; suffering for her. She was undeserving of it and he was too honorable to leave her.

Space and time, Nat repeated to herself, she could respect that request.

If her luck held out, she would arrive over half a day ahead of the company.

She leaned forward and gave Whitethorn all the rein he would take as they galloped on.

Time enough to do all that she needed away from prying eyes.

Baldor hadn't bothered to ask the Third Marshall for permission to leave. Technically, their small cadre was off rotation for another seven days and could do as they pleased. It had not, however, stopped him from threatening Gramm before they had left him behind. Tasked with keeping the news of the red-headed assassin taking her leave in the middle of the night under wraps, Gramm had disgruntledly stayed behind or hazard the assignment of latrine digging duty when next the opportunity presented itself.

The ride toward Edoras was a pleasant one. With the wind at their backs and the sun on their faces, they made excellent time. She was four hours ahead of them and had not bothered hiding her tracks. A small bit of relief settled into him knowing that whatever she was up to she wasn't exactly trying to hide it. He liked the feisty woman more than he cared to say but he was not about to underestimate her canny or knack for trouble. It seemed to follow her in this world as much as the last.

By the time they were in sight of the city the sun was well past half the day. The golden thatched roofs of his people glinted happily in the spring sun, newly washed of winters film from recent rains. Some urgency had driven her straight back to the deserted capital.

Smoke rose from one of the outbuildings near the barracks; a familiar one any soldier of the Mark was familiar with.

"She's lit the fires in the forge." Holdred remarked, clearly surprised at the sight.

"What are you up to lass?" Baldor asked quietly to himself as he kicked his horse forward towards the city, his companions hot on his heels.

The water hissed and bubbled violently as Nat thrust the hot billet of steel into the large wooden barrel. She was dripping in sweat after the hours of work she had put in producing the lead and steel boxes that would house the stone when it arrived.

The work had settled her in body and mind. She had beat her frustration out on the steel. Melted the heartache away in the sweltering heat of the forge. Focused her mind on the thumping rhythm of music. She had stripped off her top hours ago, choosing to work in her leggings and sports bra with her braided tightly back to her scalp in the hopes she wouldn't singe it off.

Steel work wasn't a strong suit of hers, but she had spent hours in Wulfric's forges and well before that in the tech department at S.H.I.E.L.D. But making a steel box with a lid that locked was a bigger task than she had anticipated given the rudimentary setup. She had done well enough with what little skill she had.

Her muscles ached and sweat beaded heavily on her brow, but the work felt good. It was satisfying to sweat, hammer, and bend hardened steel into shape and form.

Her foot bounced in time to the music playing from the control panel in her suit that was tossed casually on a nearby workbench.

She pulled her steel from the water and plunged it back into the heat of the forge. She was alone and the music was worth the risk. She had missed the working rhythm music gave her. Missed how it cleared her mind and let her focus, drowning out all the mental static. At S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters her room had always been filled with music; blues, jazz, classical and when the time was appropriate some classic rock. Her taste in genres spanned the decades she had lived through and never failed to take her back to another place and time. Miles Davis, 1954 at the Newport Jazz Festival. Jefferson Airplane, 1970 at the Royal Bath and West Showground in Shepton Mallet, Somerset, England. Queen, 1982 the Game Tour, Argentina. Despite the chaos she had lived and worked in; she had on occasion found some small delight in life.

Nat watched the steel plate she had beaten thin gradually heat through. The smooth grey surface warming into a red. The imperfections checkered on the surface; their edges were just beginning to curl and would flake off easily when she began to work the steel again. The tempering process would harden the steel, make it tough and rigid, the trick was not to overwork it to brittleness. A good smith could analyze each individual piece of steel and determine the most appropriate treatment required to turn that otherwise useless hunk of metal into something valuable. A tool to be used. A trinket to be admired. A weapon with which to kill. She pumped the airbag peddles relentlessly to stoke the fires hotter. Sweat rolled down between her breasts and she paused in her work when she realized the path she was going down. Was she really projecting and sympathizing with steel?

Nat removed the plate, rotated it, slid it back home and cursed the ridiculousness of her thoughts. This was exactly why she had needed the time alone. At the moment there was no room for her wandering mind. She needed focus and absolute clarity. The course that laid ahead of her would be challenging; there wouldn't be time to think of music, her family, her life and there would be absolutely no further time spent contemplating Haldir.

The steel was nearly ready.

The sun beamed through the open doors at both ends of the shop space. The cross breeze was a cool caress on her overheated skin. She had many hours yet before the main party returned to Edoras, hours in which she planned to hammer out her remaining frustrations. Nat breathed deeply as a gust of fresh air blew through the doors. She would get through this, just as she had gotten through everything in the past, one day, one plan at a time.

The steel billet glowed white-hot.

"User: Blackwidow, voice control, max volume." She commanded the panel in her uniform.

A well-mannered automated male voice responded. "Voice recognition: Blackwidow, command confirmed."

Black Sabbath blared from the speaker and filled the space as she began hammering away. Not her usual choice in material but it was Starks's standard preloaded music, and it was better than the silence.

She raised her hammer high and worked the steel with the strength of her arm.

The box took shape quickly as she bent and creased the steel against the ledge of the worktable. She overlapped her seams and punched them together with thick rivets, heating it between tasks to keep it malleable. It was hard work, but it was good work.

She hammered down, striking again and again.

If she could get through this, she could have a fresh start. Nat paused mid-stroke; she'd never had a fresh start. Not truly. Even when she had come aboard at S.H.E.I.L.D she had arrived with baggage and preconceived notions, but here she could go anywhere. Do anything, have a life of her choosing.

If it wasn't for the small spike of fear that flared in her belly, the thought might have made her smile. She had options and for the first time since she had drawn breath her life was her own.

She had been liberated...fully and truly.

A throat cleared loudly behind her. Instinct made her turn to throw the hammer in her hand but her quick reflexes saved her target when she came about-face.

His hair was windblown around the hard lines of his face. "What exactly are you doing in here lass?" Baldor shouted over the music. His hands crossed firmly over his chest in aggravation. His men edged around the doorway, all except Gramm who was missing from their cadre.

They had followed her. And ridden hard and fast to get to her this quickly.

She turned back to her work with a raised brow. Grappling up the tongs she quickly plunged her box back into the furnace for its final heating.

"User: Blackwidow, voice control, terminate music." She barked at the device.

"Voice recognition: Blackwidow, command confirmed." Her uniform responded.

Silence echoed in the room. The crackling heat of the furnace and the subtle creak of the foot pedal she used filled the quiet between them.

"You followed me?" She asked coolly as she pulled the box closer to the front away from the intense heat.

"Better us than someone with ill intent." He turned behind him and addressed Holdred.

"Stable the horses." One look at Holdred's face, his gaze locked on Nat's nakedness as she continued to work the furnace had him nearly laughing. "All of you. Go."

He didn't turn to see that they followed his instructions but knew that they did. He watched as she withdrew her forgery from the furnace, sparks flew as she plunged it into the cooling water at her side. They sizzled on her sweat-dampened skin without a flinch or wince. The defined muscles that lined her arms flexed from the work. With her fiery hair braided flat and tight to her head, she looked fierce and impossibly beautiful. What kind of woman had found a place among them? He would be proud to call her daughter and prouder yet to call her comrade.

"Whitethorn is well and cared for already." She eyed him dubiously. Why had he come after her? She had counted Baldor as one of the few people that wouldn't have been suspicious of her.

"I don't doubt it…" He caught the irritated undertone in her voice. "or you." He added to clear the air.

She carefully turned her work in the water, cooling it thoroughly before pulling it free of the large bucket and setting it carefully on the table in full view.

A box? She had made a box. It was smooth and well made, crisp and square. He took a step closer to the still steaming creation. A box with a round hole in the front? He raised an eyebrow in her direction. She had needed to urgently make a steel box with a hole in it?

"You have some skill in a forge." He reached out for what looked like the lid and slid it home over the base. The fit was tight, but firm and it slid down smoothly. The lid overlapped the hole in the base with a hole of its own. The worktable was littered with small pins and notched round disks. Reaching out he curiously fingered one of the pins. The small sharp notches abraded his fingertips.

"It's a lockbox." She carefully stacked the disks atop one another and dropped the small pins in their equally small holes.

"Once the disks are in place, I'll lock them with one of the pins. You have to rotate the disks and insert three other pins to specific depths to unlock the center pin and remove it."

She smoothed a hand over the warm steel. She had been given a similar puzzle box as a young person in the Red Room. It was a brain game, difficult to solve but the only locking device she had a chance at replicating.

"Not the most sophisticated security but it's better than nothing."

Baldor admired her handy work for a moment more. He wondered how such a clever and clearly intelligent woman had managed to get so thoroughly tangled up in war and the powerful men that conducted it.

He cleared his throat. "The March Warden came for you in the small hours of the morning. Gramm all but blamed the elf for your sudden departure and refused to speak to us about your whereabouts. I ordered him to stay with the main party. The rest of us rode out after you."

She made to speak, but he held up his hand to silence her. "I wouldn't have followed you at all if it hadn't been for the elf's concern...Gramm trusts you...He's an absolute shit but he trusts you and that's more than enough for us."

Nat studied him closely for a minute and considered dropping the topic entirely. Why should she care that Haldir had come for her? To comfort himself with the knowledge that she too was as equally shaken from their shared dream?

He had practically dismissed her early that evening. She was no foolish starry-eyed girl mooning longingly over a man. She had no plans to change his mind. She wouldn't pursue the feelings she had felt rising between them the last week. Relationships complicated everything, even just the sexual ones. She had already filed him away under the mental "DO NOT ENGAGE" folder.

He could have his space...all the damn space he wanted.

And then there was Baldor. He had come on his own will to keep the elf's concerns on her ware bouts from reaching ears that held more power. At a moment's notice, he had instantly had her back. She did not want to be hovered over or corralled by a King or a wizard. She'd spent enough of her life getting her strings pulled by people like that.

When she said as much and thanked him; he grinned. "I haven't decided yet if you are more trouble than your worth."

"Haven't you heard? Trouble's my middle name." She fiddled with the box for a moment in the silence that followed. She had intended to do this alone and she would follow through with her original plan. Discretion was what was needed, and she most definitely did not want to put Baldor and the men at risk. They were good, kind men, loyal to their country and king. Fierce fighters and brave to boot but their lives were not hers to gamble with. Despite the friendships she had begun to build with them she would have to reimplement some distance. Being close to her, being her friend, had never done anyone any favors. How many had been caught up in her web? Drawn in by a pretty face and vibrant eyes only to become collateral damage and betrayed by the very nature of everything she was.

Suddenly sober, her gaze turned heavy and burdened. "I'm not a good person Baldor."

He watched her closely for a moment and weighed her words.

"I don't believe that...and neither should you. You have lived a life of impossible choices." He said what he felt more than what he knew as he knew only a little of her life before.

"I've killed friends...kings...diplomats...I'm not ashamed of what I was but that doesn't make it any less true." Being involved with her in any manner was a risk. He needed to understand that wherever she walked trouble followed but she wouldn't let anyone follow her blindly.

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers, contemplating.

"Do you think I would judge you for it? We've all shed our fair share of blood." Dozens or even hundreds, what difference were numbers when you dealt in death? It was the burden of a soldier. They would do as they were commanded and do it well, without question. He had been lucky enough to serve under righteous and honorable men, but it hadn't always been so. On one side or the other atrocities were committed in the name of someone with power and Natalie had served under some of the worst.

"I won't have yours on my hands." She said quietly as she began to assemble her neat boxes. Trouble did follow her, endlessly it would seem. Where she went danger often followed. Her skill set landed her square in the middle of it. The planet might have changed but the people and their problems stayed the same.

She hadn't asked for it or wanted it, but he trusted her. His gut, honed from forty odd years of service, was rarely ever wrong.

He looked down at her steady hands as they snapped and punched pins and joints together. She sorted through the parts and pieces on the worktop, grouped them like with like.

"Noted." Was his short reply. He rubbed his palms together and picked up a thin pin. "Now, show me what we're doing here lass and let's be done with it."