Hello Hello! I'm leaving you with some presents because I couldn't wait to enjoy the next two chapters in a row :) I'll be taking two weeks after this to write more. I have a lot of ground to cover yet. Thank you all so much for reading. Fairylover you will find out more about the extent of their bond very soon. Clarification is coming. Questions will be answered. Thank you for your continued support. I so look forward to reading your comments. I'm focusing more on Haldir and building his character throughout the next few chapters. Thanks to all the new readers and followers. Much love xoxoxo

Haldir finished organizing his office space at home, a place he had occupied for nearly five hundred years. It had kept impeccably well even as the majestic tree that supported it had thrived and grown with him. Every inch of it was his. He knew all its smooth edges and flowing lines. To most, it was a simple home, one below and unfitting of his station, but for him, it served with unwavering dedication and a stability that he appreciated. He had never been a collector or keeper of things as Rumil and his wife who were constantly picking up a vase here, new curtains, or a "unique" pillow for their sitting area. It simply didn't interest him. He liked clean lines and items that were useful and beautiful in combination. His interests were few as he had spent the majority of his life studying the art of war and training in combat. He had a vast interest in weaponry of all forms and had a small collection of some he admired mounted to the wall in the sitting room. There was a warm long-haired elk hide across the floor beneath a simple cushioned couch that was rarely used. He preferred his well-worn desk chair by the fire when he found time to read and enjoy a glass of wine. That was if he wasn't obligated to attend a meeting, conduct training, review scheduled rotations, read reports or attend some irritating social engagement that at times demanded his presence.

The kitchen was sparse as he seldom found time for cooking, nor was he particularly talented at making anything passable as a meal. It was much more convenient for him to take food from the kitchens or grab a meal at his brothers when time permitted. Most of his kitchen stored wine. His brother was not only enthusiastic about his new venture but talented at it as well. It was impossible to single-handedly keep up his rate of consumption with Rumil's rate of production and thus his cabinets and countertops were laden with countless bottles of wine.

It wasn't much but it was his.

He took a measure of the time. Their two hours were nearly up.

Haldir spent a quiet moment to reach out across his bond with Natasha; he had kept her at a guarded distance since they'd parted ways earlier. There had been no point in worrying her with the confrontation that had followed their parting and it was easier for him to manage the flow of their bond in the heart of elven magic.

Communicating on a personal level outside of his managerial roles was a challenge for him. He had taken well to the regimented format of military life and communication. The repetitive structure of jargon and nomenclature and the systematic methods that had been in place for thousands of years were comfortable. He had no skill at any other form of social behavior. Centuries ago his father had called him an introvert. Not much had changed since then. But he had never been able to keep anything from his brother. The elf could read him better than anyone, he was after all, Haldir's oldest friend. There was no simple approach to possibly dislodging his family or disclosing his romantic notions toward a mortal but it was getting easier and easier to admit these truths to himself.

His news had gone over about as well as he could have hoped.

A sharp pang of urgency swelled up inside him. He reached out further and felt her temporary relief when he made contact. She was safe and well but highly agitated.

His feet were moving before he could contemplate the action.

Natasha's rooms were close by; selfishly he'd wanted to keep her near. He felt more at ease knowing she was only a few neighboring footbridges away. Another spike of irritation nearly made him laugh as he approached her small talan and heard her raised voice from inside.

"Trousers! I want pants!" She wasn't so much shouting as over-enunciating each syllable of the words. "T...R...O...U...S...E...R... trousers….for my legs."

He listened outside, too amused to interfere.

Haldir recognized his assistant's voice as he spoke calmly in their native tongue. He had the patience of the divine and was the epitome of efficiency. What Syrrefin lacked in physical strength he made up for with mental acuity. He was always steps ahead of Haldir when it came to predicting his needs. For centuries they had worked together and before that Syrrefin had been, and still was, Galadriel's bureaucratic assistant. The elf had a thorough knowledge of history and law and spoke any dialect of Elvish one could contrive. And when they were short-handed he even acted as a concierge to foreign elven dignitaries and distinguished guests. His one, now apparent shortfall in this particular situation, was that he was not a proficient speaker of the common tongue. Guests of the human variety after all were nearly unheard of in Lothlorien. He understood and spoke very few words but he was adept at reading people and knew perfectly well what Natasha wanted.

"Mistress, I am not deaf but I could no more commandeer trousers to fit you than I could a hobbit. The trousers the seamstress had on hand are much too long. She's agreed to hem several pairs and you'll have them tomorrow." Haldir didn't need to see his face to picture it in combination with his tone. "No...trousers." He finished in halted common.

"I can wear trousers if I damn well please." He heard the violent rustle of fabric. "You can't honestly expect me to wear this...this...gauzy transparent...thing."

Her indignant temper rolled through him and she tugged sharply on their open connection.

Unwilling to let his assistant suffer any longer he didn't bother to knock and simply let himself into the small talan. Natasha stood in the center of the room and although she was clearly beyond annoyed she looked...ridiculously endearing.

"Finally!" She cracked out sharp as a whip. "Tell him I'm not wearing this."

She motioned down to the thin and much too long elven gown that was draped over her body. It hung like a shapeless pale pink sack on her small frame, a frame he knew had full feminine curves. The gown bunched unappealingly across her breasts and hung low in the back in an attempt to cover her appropriately. The color clashed terribly with her hair and set her pale skin in a strangely yellow hue.

Her eyes locked onto his face even as he skimmed over her appraisingly. Natasha's eyes narrowed into slits at his silence.

She stalked closer. "You think this is amusing?"

As she came closer he noticed the embroidery, a silvery-purple tone, in small flowers over the bodice.

He put his knuckles to his lips in an effort to keep the smile from spreading onto his face.

Another step closer and the sleeves she'd gathered at the elbows fell past her knees.

He bit his tongue...it was so much worse up close.

"Do you?" She bit out and crowded into his personal space.

He fought to keep his face straight and dropped his fisted hand to clasp the other behind his back. In the heat of battle, her expression was less deadly than it was now. Haldir circled her appraisingly and fingered the semi-transparent material. On anyone else, the garment may well have been appealing in its flowing drape and feminine details but he couldn't think of an article of clothing that was more ill-suited for Natasha.

"Oh, very much." He let her feel the full extent of his humor and arched a brow to match.

A long moment held between them his blue to her green. Both held their expression as impassively as possible. His gaze brazenly swept across her brow, smoothed down her cheek, and rested on the fine bow of her lip. She felt it as surely as if he had passed his fingers over the flesh his eyes took in. Her expression wavered and a grin cracked across the facade of her face.

His followed. "You look absolutely ridiculous."

She looked down at herself in full agreement. "Did you send a blind dwarf to find clothes for me?"

Haldir glanced up at Syrrefin. His amusement held at the strange look on his assistant's face. "Syrrefin, are you blind?"

"No sir, I assure you my sight is impeccable."

"Are you a dwarf Syrrefin?"

He had the decency to look mildly offended. "No sir, I most certainly am not."

He gazed back down at Natasha and stepped around her, letting the length of his arm brush against hers as he went to the small table where Syrrefin had organized additional selections.

"I've tried everything." She saddled up beside him with a small huff of irritation. Why did elven females all have to be incredibly tall and slim like a sapling? There wasn't a dress among them that would come close to fitting her properly but anything...absolutely anything was better than the pink train wreck she was wearing.

Haldir picked up the white dress from the stack.

It was the most practically cut but in terms of fit her chest had spilled out the top of the bodice. It was a heavier fabric selection than the others and the sleeves, although long, were slim fit and had stayed pushed up.

"This one." Haldir handed it to her.

"Pass." She shot a quick look at the other elf in the room and heat rose in his face as he recalled what had happened when she'd put it on. "I don't think Galadriel would appreciate my tits spilling out of it as much as your friend did."

Haldir's gaze perked to Syrrefin and watched as color bloomed into his cheeks. He could understand the elf's embarrassment; their females were not so fully formed as Natasha and he knew first hand how well built she was. A spark of male pride and jealousy shot through him.

Syrrefin cleared his throat under the heat of Haldir's gaze. "That one won't suffice."

"It will." Haldir insisted, inspecting the neatly dressed male. "Give her your waistcoat."

"Sir." He ran an appreciative hand over his light grey and silver garment.

They were going to be late if they didn't settle this soon.

"Give it to her." Reluctantly, Syrrefin unbuttoned his finely embroidered garment. Haldir gave him credit; he always dressed impeccably well. Despite the relief of rendering a solution, he wasn't particularly pleased with the idea of her wearing another male's clothing. He thought of Aerin. She was a few inches taller than Natasha but shorter than the average female.

"If you must, go to my sisters. She has a selection of trousers that should work for the time being."

Nat nudged Haldir lightly with her elbow as she watched the other male undress. Their entire conversation had gone completely over her head. "Is this an 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' bit? Cause I'm not paying him extra for this."

Nat firmly gripped Haldir's arm as they ascended the stairs in the heart of Lothlorien. She steeled herself against the turbulent onslaught of what was to come. This was going to be awful. Dread accumulated in her bones, leaked into her veins. Her mind, a mental palace of complex storage and vivid memory would submerge them all in her past, her fears, memories and dreams. She worried, not for herself, but for Haldir and Galadriel as they had no idea how this would affect any of them. The last thing she wanted was to cause them pain. The very idea that she'd weakened Haldir and caused him any amount of discomfort distressed her. Would he feel what she felt? Would Galadriel know her pain as he did, or simply observe the moments that had caused them? She would have gladly suffered tenfold to save him from the experience.

Haldir's offhand slipped over the top of hers where it rested against his arm in a silent offering of support.

She was strong. Stronger than any he'd ever known. Nat had weathered the fury of storms that would have destroyed lesser men but instead of breaking her, she had only grown more resilient. The considerable esteem she had cultivated in his eyes had quickly grown into affection. He cared for her, deeply. It was clearer to him every moment he spent in her company. It was more than attraction, there was a part of her that called to the deepest parts of him, that recognized her and needed her determination and unwavering confidence in self. The male in him wanted her at his side. The warrior in him wanted her at his back.

He gripped her hand, with a squeeze that he hoped communicated his confidence in her and Lady Galadriel. They would get through this and he would be waiting for her when it was over. He would watch over her, protect her when she couldn't protect herself. It wasn't in either of them to be helpless nor to ask for it so he would give it freely because he desired it. She would never be the type of female to turn to a male for protection; he knew perfectly well that she was more capable of defending herself in any other given situation. She was a warrior through and through and he respected her strength and assumed no weakness. But if she needed him, if she had a single moment where her defenses lapsed or she cracked from the pain; he would be there to put her back on her own feet. She didn't need him to fight her enemies for her.

They crested the stairs and emerged onto the platform, transformed from just a few hours ago. Galadriel waited for them, centered in the middle of a large circle that had been created on the floor in what appeared to be sand. She had changed into a less formal gown and wore light white robes that flowed down her body in elegant waves. Her hair was loose and long at her sides but her face was anything but relaxed. Her ring of power glowed vibrantly on her hand as she all but floated into a seat position on the floor.

"Come." She said. Her voice was low, even, and full of power.

In Haldir's mind, she spoke, 'Bring her to me.'

He brought Natasha forward, just outside the circle. Crystals, clear and as flawless as diamonds dotted the perimeter and under them carefully drawn symbols that wove and arched across the wood. Nat wasn't used to nor sensitive to magic but she could feel it humming in the charged air. Power, waiting to be harnessed.

Galadriel held out her hand to Natasha. "Please, sit with me."

Carefully she stepped over the sand and replaced Haldir's hand with Galadriel's.

She didn't look back, couldn't, not when her past was all but ready to assault her. He was her way forward. He would stay and he understood her need to focus on the challenge ahead. He'd be there waiting for her. Even now he made sure she knew it, could feel it, in the deepest parts of herself where he inhabited.

She folded herself into the circle, knees brushing at their closeness.

The chalked symbols pulsed and shone with an eerie light.

Spells, Nat thought.

"Indeed they are. The ancient spells of protection from our people long ago, old and powerful. Enough so that Sauron will not be able to overcome their complexities. The sand is from the shores of the Undying Lands, for cleansing and to ground us to the present. The salt, from its beaches for purification and the crystals to amplify my power." Galadriel held her vacant hand up to join with Nat's other. She took it without hesitation and felt the circuit of the female's power connect and flow through her.

"How does this work?"

Galadriel's grip was firm and commanding.

"We will merge on a nonphysical plane. A space you have occupied before with my Marchwarden. I will project myself into the corrupted space that Sauron has clawed his way into and we will purge him from your mind, together."

Natasha didn't want to voice her personal concern, instead, she thought it, knowing Galadriel would hear her.

Her voice echoed in her mind. 'My power is far greater than any other living elf. You need not worry that we will be tethered to one another as you are to Haldir. We are not so well suited as the two of you.'

Aloud she spoke over herself. "Let us begin. Breathe deeply Natasha and look into me."

Nat took a long moment, eyes closed, to draw a deep calming breath. She let the power in the air fill her, felt it hum and vibrate in her lungs. Imagined as it absorbed into her blood and sparked across her cells until she too was part of its essence.

Opening herself she met Galadriel's intense gaze. "Breathe and see Natalia Alianovna Romanova. See into my eyes the reflection of yourself. Will you look? Will you see? Things that were and things that are and things that have not yet come to pass."

Nat felt herself leaning forward, barreling into the mirrored depths of her bottomless eyes. Drowning in their blue ageless depths.

She fell, and fell, and fell.

Water invaded her mouth. Basic survival skills had her kicking and propelling herself to the surface where the light broke the inky darkness and the crystalline water gleamed a translucent sparkling blue. Her body was heavy, unusually so. It took everything she had to gain ground toward the surface.

Pain laced through her shoulder and as she emerged into clearer water, blood floated in lacy fingers around her.

She'd been shot, clean, through, and through.

A cord, strapped unbreakably to her uniform tugged sharply like a fish on a hook. She pulled hard and kicked harder. Her charge struggled to swim up with her. His arms flailed awkwardly and his long legs, clad in suit pants and expensive loafers, kicked with little effect behind him. Her lungs burned as she towed him along. She'd just managed to hook her propelling line to his belt before she tackled him over the edge of his cliffside home.

They broke the surface together and gasped desperately for sweet oxygen. Her lungs filled to bursting in desperate relief. He sputtered beside her, slightly blue in the face.

"Are...you...insane?" He heaved in disbelief. His German accent was thick through his labored breathing. It was November of 1950, they were just outside of an Egyptian town, Abukir. Her charge was Aribert Heim, current alias Tarek Hussein, a nazi war criminal under the protection of Hydra for his extraordinary medical research. He was an international war criminal, the Americans, Germans, British Intelligence, Italian Police and a dozen other countries had hunted for nearly a decade. He'd been successfully in her care for nearly a year. Until today. Today they'd been found.

"You...crazy bitch." He cursed.

No, she wasn't crazy but he was stupid. The stupid prick who'd fucked a prostitute who was actually a spy because he couldn't keep his tiny dick in his pants. A prostitute who now had his DNA.

She winced, pain laced through her shoulder as she treaded water and now she had been shot. Stupid prick indeed.

He rattled on, cursing her. Nat covered her eyes and looked up at the cliff face. She could just make out the American agent on the edge. Their escape would only be momentary. They needed to get to shore, quickly.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He swore. "Why are all of you cunts so fucking stupid?"

She tugged the line between them and dragged him forward through the water. Even after all her training, the torture, the experiments, and the preparation for this job nothing could have prepared her for his absolutely shit attitude. At best he was uncooperative and volatile and now at his worst, he had recklessly blown their cover in his quest for sex. Months and months spent in preparation, tens of thousands of dollars wasted only for one egotistically asshole to ruin it all in a matter of days. He'd fallen for the most basic con in the book, a pretty face with perky tits was all it had taken for the whole thing to come tumbling down.

He tugged back in a flash of temper. "Just wait a goddamn minute."

She ripped the line from his hands. "We need to move, now."

"I'll move when I'm fucking ready to!"

"This isn't up for discussion. I'll drag you if I have to." She pulled and he pulled back with the temper of a petulant child.

When she turned in the water he slapped her clean across the face; her hands too occupied with the pull line and treading water to defend herself. She took the stinging slap. The blow was solid but had little effect on her. She'd had far worse than a slap to the face.

He was a garbage human, filth on the pile of shit that was the human race. She'd memorized his file. He was single-handedly responsible for the deaths of over seven thousand people. His experiments had pushed the boundaries of the human body in science, physics, and technology. Women, children, and babies were the bulk of bodies that made up his victims. He plucked them from all corners of the world, the imprisoned or unwanted. To him, there was no better use, no higher purpose, for ill-bred humans than to gift their bodies to science.

And yet she was bound to protect him. Contracted to serve as his personal security and keep him alive until facial reconstruction and new papers with a legitimate background could be assumed. Do the job or be terminated. There was no in-between. No choices. No reassignments unless someone died in the field.

They both would if she didn't move.

With clear intent, she drew the utility blade and cut the line between them untethering him from her body. The line supporting him retracted into her belt. He bobbed precariously in the water.

"What are you doing?"

By feel, she found where the repelling line hooked into her belt. She wedged the blade between and pried even as the blade dug into her skin until it popped free from her clothing. She took a moment to damage the area further, fraying the military-grade fabric and using the hilt, punched herself in the same spot.

"What are you doing?"

That would do well enough. Nat eyed him levelly.

"Good luck." She replied smoothly.

"I'll have you put down for this…" He spit water. "You're dead without me."

"I'm dead with you but I'm willing to hedge a bet on the being dead without you."

He reached to slap her again. This time her defensive memory kicked into overdrive and her knifed hand slipped between his ribs. He froze, his arm hung in mid-air as blood bloomed in the water between them. Shock, pure and intoxicating covered his face.

Nat hadn't meant to but she'd privately wanted to be the one to end him.

Her face throbbed and her skull ached with it.

She stabbed again. Deep enough to pierce lung tissue.

He swung out at her in a feeble attempt to escape his death.

She stabbed again. Felt the satisfying crack of bone.

"You're dead." He hissed out swinging wildly even as water and blood surged into his mouth. "They'll kill….you...for this."

She stabbed, again and again, puncturing both lungs and prying open the wounds with her blade. He gurgled pitifully as the air in his lungs was replaced with water. Enough to weigh him down and drag him to the bottom. The water would drown him well before he bled out. The natural sea life would clean him to the bone. Too deep and too troublesome to retrieve his body. There was no value in his corpse.

Nat watched through bleary eyes as he began to slowly sink as more and more air was pushed from his body and replaced with water.

She hissed as pain flared through her head and down her spine.

The Americans had what they needed and she'd give them the rest. The DNA, locations, and safe house locations. She'd pinned the whole thing on the Doctor's own behavioral patterns. Week after week she had worked to set him up. Worked as a double for the American's. They'd wanted him alive to interrogate at their leisure but there was very little she couldn't tell them of his life's work.

It was the first time she'd betrayed her country and her mission. The first time she'd murdered who she'd been assigned to protect. It was the first time she'd killed because she'd wanted to.

Her eyes blurred. Her skull throbbed.

His wrist unit gleamed gold beneath the surface where the sun still reached. The metallic flare turned bright and glowed. It grew in size, round and blinding. The dark shape of his body blackened its center. Growing. Consuming.

She burned even as she drowned.

A pupil in a great burning eye.

Nat came back to her body. Her skull throbbed painfully and the phantom pain in her shoulder beat with it. Sweat clung to her brow in a fine sheen. Her hands, slightly unsteady, released the vice grip Galadriel had on her.

"That wasn't as bad as I expected."

Galadriel reached down beside her for a small white linen and blotted the sweat on her upper lip.

"The first is the easiest. We've made ourselves known to him, our purpose is clear. The next will not be nearly so simple."

The first of how many, she wondered. The look in Galadriel's eyes told her there would be many.

"He will cling to your darkest moments. Where he can hide in the shadows of your deepest betrayals."

That hadn't been one of her finest moments but it wasn't nearly her worst. She rolled her shoulders to ease the tension that had settled between them. Haldir's easy confidence washed over her from behind. She felt it as fully as if he'd run a cool hand over her brow.

Nat held out her hands to Galadriel, ready and offering.

"Again."