Hello everyone! Thanks for joining me for Chapter 6. It's been very fun so far and I'm still enjoying the process! Thank you for all the favs, follows, and reviews! They never fail to make me smile. Enjoy!

By the time early evening came and the last of the main party had filtered through the main gates. Nat, Baldor, and the rest of the men had started fires in the main hall and opened up what they could of the small city. Nat had gone so far as to break in through her window at the Three Legged Mare. The room she had occupied was exactly as she'd left it. Once things were settled and the war over, she would try to trade working the pub for room rental. Berta would need it now more than ever with her husband dead and buried. She was an efficient woman and had run the place smoothly with the exception of doing the financing and ordering supplies. Berta had run the kitchen and the restaurant floor primarily alone. The few employees she had, ran food to and from the kitchens but often matched the owner's sunny disposition. She had created warmth here, a friendly environment that made even the likes of Natalie feel welcome. Surprisingly, Nat wanted to be here. It was as good a base as any. The rooms, just the far side of worn, felt lived in and comfortable. The furniture creaked, the hinges squeaked, and some of the floorboards were springy underfoot but she liked it here in the warmth and dinge of a not quite clean bar.

Nat had successfully drawn a small bath and cleaned the hours of ironworking sweat from her body. Reluctantly, but with no other option, she used the remaining water to clean her clothes. As soon as time aloud she was going to see to it that this place had a makeshift laundry. Her ears perked as the door downstairs creek open. The steady plod of footsteps up the stairs told her the tavern keeper was home and worse for the ware. She peaked her head out the door and hung the last of her clothes to dry. Berta's usually energetic form slumped up the stairs. Beyond tired, the weight of her grief and demanding schedule over the past week had taken its toll. Berta looked up; exhaustion hung heavily beneath her eyes.

"I didn't expect to find ya here. I thought you'd be up in the main hall with the others." Berta crested the stairs and sniffed appreciatively as if she had just now noticed the smell of burning wood and warmth from the hearths Nat had tended to.

She gave Berta a small smile.

"I hope you don't mind." She exited the room and came fully into the hall. "I drew you a bath, it might even still be warm."

Berta nodded appreciatively, the only sign of gratitude she could manage. She stopped at her door, the one she had shared for two decades with her husband. For the first time in a very long time, she was going to bed alone. With a long hard sigh, she spoke.

"The days have been tough." and the nights will be harder still, she thought. "I'm afraid I'm off ta bed." Her hand stilled on the lever of her door. A moment's hesitation that spoke exponentially loudly.

"I was hoping you'd allow me to stay with you." Nat offered up; it would be a comfort for both of them. "I'm happy to work in trade...if you'll have me."

Berta studied Nat, a fascinating and multifaceted woman. Why would she want to spend her time here when she could be in the main hall as she had before? She needed the extra set of hands but hers were better at many other things. Puzzled but glad for the company and help; Berta's reply was soft with comfort. "You're welcome to be here as long as you like."

"My friend, Eric...I was hoping...that he could stay too. He's a kind man and I think some work would be good for him."

Tired but pleased at the idea of a full house Berta's smile was fuller.

"Any friend of yours is mine. The room across is empty."

It would be a pleasant thing, Berta thought as she entered her bedroom and leaned heavily on the door at her back, to have a house filled with good people again. A wobbly smile perked her lips even as her eyes filled with tears. She'd never had any family of their own, but she had something here and now she wouldn't have to be alone.

Nat left the Three Legged Mare for the glowing main hall. Even as night set over the streets, they were filled with people busy in the firelight as they settled back into their homes and businesses. Some were celebrating a battle hard fought and won. They danced and drank their fill in the streets. Others gathered what was left of their families and grieved for the men and boys that had been lost to them. There was a tremendous sense of relief for many being back in their homes. Even though the threat of war with Mordor loomed on the horizon, for now they were safe.

Heads turned in acknowledgment as she passed through the streets. There would be no hiding, no blending, into this place for her after the terrifying spectacle she'd produced at Helm's Deep. There was a chance, that grew larger by the day, that she wouldn't have to continue to live her life as a discrete outsider.

She took the stairs two at a time. Noise spilled out of the crowded hall. Food and ale were laid out in abundance. There would be no empty stomachs here tonight. The music made her grin, flute and fiddle played a foot-stomping tune for the few dancing drunken revelers.

Nat wove her way through, diligently she searched for Eric's thinning gray hair. A small crowd parted way, she spotted him sitting happily between two hobbits and Gimli. His cheeks were flushed red with alcohol and cheer of good company. The hobbits, animated wildly by nature, sloshed their pints together and climbed atop the table arm in arm. Ale spilled and plates knocked as they kicked up their heels and belted out a fine pub tune that had the crowd raising their voices in verse.

The arm that dropped casually over her shoulder was too male and muscled to be mistaken for anyone else but Wulfric. Only he would dare to be so familiar with her.

"He looks happy." She knew he had heard her even over the volume of the hall.

"I've kept a close eye on him most of the day." He gave her a gentle squeeze and passed her the mug of ale he'd double fisted in his other hand. "He's had a few hazy moments through the day but seems mostly well."

"Good." She sipped the sweetened malty beverage. Eric laughed heartily when Merry and Pippin finished their tune. He helped the hobbits off the tabletop and snagged Gimli's pipe from between his pursed lips. He took a long drag of what smelled suspiciously like weed. He held his smoke and a goofy grin tilted up the corners of his mouth. Suspicions confirmed. He deserved some small happiness in the chaotic mess that had been both of their lives the last few months. If it were up to her, he would never know another day of pain.

"That's good." She repeated and finally looked up at him. Handsome bastard, she thought as she lifted her mug to him. "Nostrovia."

He returned the gesture in kind. "You're welcome."

Wulfric studied her as she took another small drink. "You looked as if you needed one."

She nodded in agreement. So much had happened so quickly was it any wonder they were all left reeling.

"We all need a drink." She rubbed absentmindedly at the hollow ache in her chest that she knew was not from muscle soreness. Was it possible to miss the feel of a man? To be grounded by the mere thought that he was near. He wasn't close now. He'd left and gone back to his woodland home. She could feel it deep down where emptiness echoed at the thought of him.

It would be better this way, for both of them.

"Can you make sure Eric gets to the Three Legged Mare? Berta's putting him up in your old room." Wulfric studied her for a moment. She was often reserved but this was something different. Her eyes were hollow and detached, nothing showed around the edges and she was neat as a pin. Now was not the time of singularity. They were stronger together; a pack mentality was where they would find their strength. One day he would make her see it.

"I'll make sure of it." He agreed and released her gaze to find Eric again across the room. He was old but he had a rowdy spirit.

She dropped her gaze and looked deep into the mug of ale. The white frothiness of it was empty of wisdom. Nat tipped the cup to her lips and in several long pulls emptied the pint. It would take dozens to make her drunk.

She looked up into Wulfric's surprised face. "Got any whiskey?"

Hours later Nat stumbled from the hall more than a little intoxicated. She snorted as she navigated the stairs. When was the last time she'd really been drunk? She couldn't even remember. She'd tried with Berta but there hadn't been nearly enough whiskey between them. She hoped Berta was sleeping. Eric too. Eric, she thought with a laugh, had been drunk and carted off a long time ago, thrown like a sack of loose grain over Wulfric's shoulder. He'd fallen over in an attempt at showing the hobbits a proper jig.

She'd danced, drunkenly and likely poorly, but she'd let Gramm sweep her away for the better part of an hour. He had grinned like the devil himself had made him a deal when she'd agreed to dance.

She reached up and touched her sore cheeks. Soreness she knew was from laughter.

Nat grinned up at the moon. God, she felt good. She felt light and feminine and powerful, even if it were only temporary, she would use the energy the whiskey had given her.

Her feet carried her on the familiar path toward the pub. The streets had quieted, and the fires burned low but bright enough to navigate with the full moon as her guide. She passed a side street. Her gaze was drawn down the alley where lights burned bright from a variety of windows and doors. Nat followed her feet before she realized exactly where she was.

It would seem the whore house was having an incredibly busy night.

The doors were open in welcome to the parlor. A sweet perfume, a blend of spices and sex wafted into the street, drawing in clients. The sounds of sex, in all its forms, was an erotic melody that carried throughout as she entered. The dull slap of flesh against flesh, moans, grunts, and breathy cries echoed sensually to her ears. Couples had overflowed into the parlor where any spare surface or wall was strapped with naked flesh. Nat searched and found her prey slung over a low back couch, a wine glass hanging limply in her fingers as she watched the exchange of oral sex occurring closest to her. Her silk robe was short and only loosely secured. It showed off the long toned lines of her legs. Her hair was loose and wild.

"Business seems good." Nat commented. She sat in an unoccupied chair across from Ingrid and drew her attention from the muscle-bound back of the blonde whose mouth and tongue was latched between the thighs of a dark-haired beauty decorated enticingly in body jewelry.

Ingrid's smile was relaxed. "Oh tremendously. What brings you here tonight?"

It was asked so casually it almost made her laugh. She doubted Ingrid had ever asked any of her other clients that question. She looked absolutely smug about it too. The brunette beside her moaned low and deep. Her hips rolled in a desperate search for more friction. Her fingers grabbed for the head between her legs.

"Just looking for a show." Nat perched on the edge of the couch and watched the casual sex.

Ingrid smiled slowly. "He's good, that's her third one." She resumed watching the couple as an orgasm rocked through the woman in tensioning waves. "They so often don't care about our pleasure...it's much better when they do."

Ingrid gave him an admiring look when he stood and flipped his partner to her stomach. At full attention he gripped his partner by the hip, despite the audience, he slid himself home in one fluid motion.

Ingrid turned her body toward Nat. "I didn't take you for an exhibitionist."

Nat's gaze lingered on his pistoning hips as he found a brutal rhythm. "I live to be unpredictable."

Ingrid studied Nat closely, flushed in the cheek not from heat or embarrassment but from drink. She looked relaxed and slightly rumpled. She had obviously been in the main hall celebrating life with the dance and whiskey of the Rohirrim. She was a beautiful little thing that would make her a fortune if she had been one of her working girls. Nat was the quality of woman that Ingrid would house at her establishment in Gondor. This was no place for her rare beauty.

Ingrid rose from her lounge chair and watched as Nat's gaze flickered to her under low lids.

Her robe hung open exposing her well-rounded and heavy breasts. Her full hips swayed in the relaxed roll of a woman who knew how good she looked. If sin were a shape it would take the form of Ingrid. She lowered herself on the couch beside Nat, brushing the exposed expanse of her thighs against Nat's arm. Nat reached up slowly and fingered the silken corner of her robe.

Ingrid leaned in close, her warm breath brushing over Nat's cheek. "Looking for a tumble?"

An interesting proposition it had been an awfully long time since she had touched anyone that way. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had sex. When she didn't answer, Ingrid took the initiative and with casual grace tossed a thigh over Natalie and daringly straddled her waist. With curious hands Nat reached out and cupped Ingrid's fully exposed breasts, testing their weight. Her clever fingers, adept to a woman's body molded and tugged in all the right places. In a matter of moments, Ingrid was arching her back and pushing into Nat's palms.

"I very much doubt I could afford you." Nat nudged her robe further apart and brought a hardened peak to her mouth.

Ingrid sighed in pleasure. "Lucky for you. I'm not for sale."

She woke slowly and snuggled down deeper into the soft cushions at her back. Carefully, she adjusted the nude woman draped over her lower body. Ingrid slept soundly and used her abdomen as a pillow. Casually, Nat wove her hand into Ingrid's loose hair and softly scratched her nails across her scalp, soothing her deeper into her sleep.

Ingrid muttered sleepily and wound an arm more securely around Nat's lean hips. Clad only in her undergarments she at least remained cool. She had nowhere she needed to be; Nat supposed. She would have to meet with Gandalf before midday, acquire the stone and stash it, but until then her time was her own.

A quick scan of the room told her that it wasn't quite morning yet. There were only a few other men and women draped over furniture throughout the parlor. A result of too much alcohol and a marathon of sex. A celebration of life. To again know the feel of passion over fear. To inflict pleasure instead of pain. It wasn't the first time she'd endeavored to burn herself out until her brain stopped thinking and all she could do was feel skin on skin. She had needed the contact, the release, and the mindless satiation that followed. She had been wrung out until she was breathless and boneless.

She'd taken on the night. Embraced it.

And what a night it had been, from the heaving festivities of the Golden Hall to the withering passions of a whore house, she had partaken in all both had to offer. Ingrid had been an enthusiastic partner. They had drank more wine, touched and tasted casually, coaxed one another from one peak to the next. She'd been comforting and easy with her affection; a characteristic Nat appreciated but had never possessed. They had fallen asleep together and for the first time in a long time, Nat's sleep had been dreamless. No death and torture. No wizards or aliens and...no Haldir. He was still there, inside her, just on the edge of her consciousness. She could feel his presence despite the great distance between them. It wasn't nearly as strong as before, nor precise on exactly what he was feeling, but nevertheless he was there.

Nat stroked Ingrid's hair. She had thought of him last night, again and again; gotten off on the image of him between her thighs doing all the wickedly delightful things Ingrid had. Nat hated him for it. As she wound the strands of Ingrid's hair between her fingers she wondered briefly if she would ever see him again and if there'd be anything between them if she did. She hated him for that as well.

He doesn't want you, she reminded herself. He'd made that abundantly clear. She was human and he was elf kind, there would be no future between them. Couldn't be.

Ingrid stirred in her lap and nuzzled into her hip in a sleepy haze. She opened her mouth over Natalie's flesh. Her long fingers stroked sluggishly up her bare thigh and skimmed lightly at the hem of her underwear.

Nat chuckled softly at her dazed enthusiasm. "Go back to sleep."

Ingrid 'hmm'd' in delight and continued her lazy pursual. She admired Natalie but the woman thought entirely too much and too hard about a great many things. Even when Ingrid thought she was relaxed Nat was pulled tighter than a bowstring.

"No" Ingrid muttered. She slipped her fingers up and high under Nat's clothes. Sensitive from their previous marathon Nat bucked into her hand.

"Christ." Nat cursed and moaned in the same breath.

Ingrid grinned as she played, even knowing Nat's mind was somewhere else, with someone else. She had let it slip on the breathy sigh of an orgasm last night. Ingrid didn't know who he was, but she welcomed him here. The sex between them was for pleasure, a reprieve for them both. It was temporary at best but that didn't mean they couldn't enjoy each other thoroughly.

"Again." Ingrid whispered as she added teeth and tongue. "Again."

He clamped down on his anger even as it boiled higher. His control was near snapping, worn and frayed down to within an inch of its life. He hadn't known, hadn't realized when the first rippling wave of pleasure had occurred, where it had come from. When it had wrapped its arms around him, lazy and smooth, lapped at his mind and heightened his body's awareness to the point of distraction. He had been too caught up in the sudden rush of feeling to think properly. The first cresting sensation had sent his blood racing to his groin. When it broke, he had lost the air in his lungs.

He had gone rigid when it had ended and then ice-cold as realization sucker-punched him.

Natasha.

Then it had risen again, over and over.

Blinded by fury he had quickened their pace. Sweat dripped from his brow. His breath had burned in his lungs. He had kept his troops marching tirelessly through the night. The marching punished his body; his mind however was far away.

Still, they traveled swiftly back to their homes.

His home, in the golden haven of Lothlórien.

Now hours later it had started again. She was with someone, had spent the night with him. Someone had their hands on her. They had driven her relentlessly through the night and now again hours before sunrise.

She was naked and withering beneath another.

His stomach turned sour.

He tried to block it out and push it away, but it nagged at him relentlessly. It tugged and twisted his insides. It fouled his mood considerably more. It was not right. He should not be feeling this tireless ache inside himself. He should not be feeling the overwhelming anger and, damned if he would admit it to anyone but himself, jealousy.

He should not be feeling like this about her.

He had no right and no claim on her.

She was not for him, couldn't be. Too much stood between them.

Haldir grit his teeth and nearly bit his tongue in two as her pleasure raced through him again.

He had no right to wonder who was warming her bed. No right to know that the hands molding her flesh were skilled and experienced. No right to feel her hunger as her release crawled its way up his throat. His gut churned as he was reminded of the blonde Rohir, Gramm. The empty spot where she had slept had been tucked close to his. Her scent had lingered on him even after she had been gone.

He had no right.

He marched on as the stars that gleamed overhead faded into the light of morning. He was too far away to do any more than wonder about her. And ask himself, again, why she mattered to him in the first place.