A/N: Thank you so much for the comments, guys! I'm so happy people are still interested in this story. 3

Happy holidays and enjoy another chapter!

With a mocking flourish, Brock bowed as he opened the door of his hut and waved Darcy in first. There had been many a foolish thing Darcy had done in her life but she had a feeling that walking into the den of a large, virile man that she had only met by proximity this afternoon was certainly the most foolish. Something about Brock put her at ease but also made her knees want to knock together. It was a most strange combination of feelings and she wanted to explore them further. Surely, if she figured out why he made her feel this way, she could move on living her life and finding a solution to her arranged marriage. Steve had said that she needed to find a better suitor but she was sure another more appealing resolution was at hand. She didn't want to escape one terrible marriage by entering another one willingly.

"So, this is your humble abode?" Darcy asked coyly. Or at least what she thought was coy. She hadn't much practice at the art. A dying fire only just illuminated the room but Brock made little time in walking over and feeding the flames until they blazed. Looking around the newly furnished room, she was slightly taken back. She'd remembered exploring the hut many summers ago but it certainly hadn't looked like this, nor would she have ever imagined it could. The hut appeared a little larger inside than she'd remembered. There was a hearth in the far left corner that she knew he must have built. Around and above the hearth hung pots and pans as well as a shelf of plates and mugs. Plants and herbs hung drying throughout the hut, which pleasantly surprised her. A small table with two stools sat near the hearth and across from all that in another corner was his bed, piled high with furs and pillows. Shield, swords and axes were spread about rather haphazardly and Darcy noted that not all of them were newly made. In fact, a few looked like they had seen many battles. Warmth filled the room but it wasn't entirely from the fire. Everything was charming in its own way, which was something Darcy never thought she'd hold an opinion over carelessly strewn weapons.

When she realised that Brock was not going to invite her in politely, she walked the rest of the way herself and closed the door. Pulling out a stool, she sat down and did her best to make herself comfortable as Brock poured out two mugs of ale. After one sip, she wrinkled her nose at the strong bitterness. It held no sweetness compared to the brews at home. Looking up, Darcy found Brock gulping down the entire mug without stopping. When he had finished, he poured himself another but sipped it more leisurely this time.

"Where did you find such a lovely cloak? Did you make it?" asked Brock, gesturing to her red cloak before setting down his mug and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He pulled out the second stool and sat down across from her, leaning his arms on the table and fixing her with a hard stare.

"No, it was a gift from my grandfather. It belonged to his family, though I do not know of any history before that. My mother wore it when she was young but she died when I was born. So, it went back to my grandfather who eventually gave it to me on my 14th summer," Darcy explained, shifting on the stool under Brock's unwavering gaze. It was as if he was attempting to detect any lies from her, though why she would lie about a cloak, she wasn't sure. Caressing the wolf head clasp absentmindedly, Darcy continued. "My grandfather died a month or so after that and I keep it with me always because it makes me feel safe. I feel as if my grandfather and mother are watching over me when I have it on. My grandmother encourages me to wear it always, too. She says it brings me luck."

"Luck enough to be saddled with an unwanted suitor?" Brock asked and Darcy rolled her eyes at the reminder.

"We were having a perfectly lovely evening until you had to mention that," insisted Darcy, pressing her lips in a thin line.

"I was having a perfectly lovely evening until you decided to run away from your retinue," Brock countered, leaning back and taking a long, slow sip of ale, challenging Darcy's stare.

"Are you still upset about that? It's not like I wanted you to come find me. You could have left me to my own devices."

"And leave you to God knows what out there?" Brock snapped, volume rising so swiftly that Darcy jumped up a little. Upon noticing her widening eyes, he cleared his throat and focused intently on swirling the ale inside his mug. The smallest bit of guilt flashed across his face for a moment before forcing his features into an attempt at nonchalance. Realization dawned over Darcy when she remembered her maid's husband having a similar reaction before the man had made his intentions known. With a grin, Darcy leaned forward.

"Tell me, do you always worry about all your new neighbors so much or simply the female ones?" Darcy asked in a whisper and Brock's eyes shot up to her, narrowing as his lips formed the slightest pout. As much as she found it enjoyable to tease the man, Darcy remembered that it would not get the answers she wanted. Deciding on going for a more gentle approach, she ran her finger along the rim of her mug and looked up at Brock through her lashes. "But, I did have another reason to stay with you just a little longer this evening."

"Do I even want to know?" Brock asked warily, head leaning back at a slight quirk as he took her in and calculated how quickly he could lift her and toss her out of his hut.

"It's I who want to know. I have never seen a design like the one on your back. Where did you get it?" Darcy asked. She tried her best not to appear too eager. For a long moment, they stared at one another in silence. Brock narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. At first, he leaned on his arms atop the table but then leaned back, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The scrutiny did nothing to ease Darcy's racing heart. Eventually, he let out a long breath through his nostrils.

"A lifetime ago, I lived north. Set up with a...clan. Had ties to the Norsemen and the Picts. Both sides fierce warriors and valued a man's ability in warfare. They would pierce their skin with dye, creating designs to help them in battle. I was a young man and curious. Thought it might help me not lose my head so quickly," Brock said with a little shrug of his shoulders though his muscles here taut even if he spoke in an even, calm voice.

"But why the wolves? And the sun and moon?" Darcy asked insistently, worried that his surprisingly open nature about the topic would leave as soon as it had come about. She'd have to flutter her eye more often if this was the result. Brock's lips pouted ever so temptingly before be shrugged again, deciding that telling her wouldn't harm anyone.

"It is from an old Norse myth. Two wolf brothers who were spelled by the gods- Hati and Skoll. One chasing the moon and the other the sun for all eternity until they devour the objects they seek. If they were to ever succeed, they would break their curse and the world would end," Brock said, leaning in as Darcy did and enjoying the way she appeared to hang on each of his words. What a strange coincidence, that he should tell the story of a wolf chasing after the moon on the same night as her grandmother.

"And why would the world end once they are free?" Darcy asked, voice as soft as a whisper.

"Because who wouldn't be scared of a wolf looking for vengeance on the ones to wrong him?" Brock answered in just as soft a tone, eyes dark. They sent a shiver down Darcy's spine but she tried to shift and look around his hut again as if he weren't affecting her. "But the story isn't just about the destruction of a new world. The way this clan told it, they were certain that the devouring of the sun and moon would bring on a new world. Eventually, a better one."

"So why would a blacksmith want that story on his skin for all eternity?" Darcy wondered though what she really wanted to know was why her family would have taken the time to stitch it into the lining of a scarlet cloak. A new world did sound pleasant though.

"I was a blacksmith who wanted a new start, a different life than what everyone had expected from me. I was looking for a better life and thought I had found it. Suppose I did, for a while," Brock said, voice far away and eyes focusing on the mug gripped in both hands. He chewed on his bottom lip as he relieved memories, both good and bad if Darcy judged by the glistening of his eyes.

"I need a better life. Where would I find this clan? Perhaps they need a healer of little experience," suggested Darcy, wondering if they would be interested in her simply because of her cloak. Though, that was a high hope. Acceptance all because a picture from a myth well known in certain parts brought her good luck on occasion. For all she knew, her grandfather simply liked wolves and Norse myths. He certainly loved grandmother's stories, so why couldn't there have been stories he heard growing up that brought a smile to his face from just remembering or having it against his shoulders?

"Most are dead and the rest are scattered, I'm afraid."

"Oh, that is sad," frowned Darcy, more so at the deaths of what would have been Brock's family than her lost opportunity.

"Death in battle is how they wished to die. An honorable warrior's death," Brock said sagely and Darcy held back the urge to scoff. She'd heard that drivel endlessly from knights. There were knights who had sworn to give their lives for her family's protection but a part of her wondered if she could live with the guilt if a man ever actually died on her behalf. Although she was an old maid, she still was rather naive. At least, that's what all the women around her kept telling her.

"A meaningless death. Why die for the cause of another man?" asked Darcy, somewhat skeptical but still genuinely interested in an answer that would help her understand.

"When you put it like that, I suppose you have a point," smiled Brock, looking upon Darcy as if she was just a silly child. A stab of annoyance gripped her chest tightly and she looked away with a frown. "Though I've found that sometimes, a man just wants to fight and he will find any excuse for it."

"That's just silly."

"Yes it is and yet, men are still dying in the names of kings," Brock conceded and Darcy just shook her head, staring past him and into the flames of the hearth.

"Well, men have the most ridiculous urges. It still doesn't solve any of my problems. A man dying for me does nothing in the end."

"Men do have ridiculous urges but what problems does a pretty young Baron's daughter face? Too many dresses to choose from? Haven't found the best way to sneak out and meet a suitor your father hasn't approved? Perhaps you have your own ridiculous urges while scoffing at those of men," Brock teased, pitch of his voice dropping as he leaned forward on his elbows. Feeling her face become heated, Darcy stood up and knocked over her stool in the process. Surprise registered in Brock's face, brow raising and eyes widening. Of course he wouldn't understand. He was just like everyone else in that sense. Why would you run away from a comfortable life when so many faced hunger or cold? Well, she'd rather be hungry and cold then face what was waiting for her in this life. The day she became Lady Boothby, she would begin to lose everything of Darcy Lewis.

"I want to go back to my grandmother's," Darcy said briskly, raising her nose and trying to hide the tears welling in her eyes. The last thing she needed was a stranger to try and remind her that she was wrong to run away from her fate. It wasn't her fate. It just simply couldn't be all her life would amount to.

"Have I offended you?" Brock asked, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips and concern in his eyes. In reply, Darcy shook her head and picked up the stool that had fallen. Her hands began to shake and she hid them within her cloak. All she could think about was what her life will be once she married Ian. Polished, fake manners and forced smiles. Wearing only what he thought looked fetching on her and embroidering until her fingers bled. No more running out with the knights during training on special days or wandering the forests for herbs and flowers. Nothing that she loved was acceptable for a Baron's daughter if she were to be in an acceptable marriage. Nothing of Darcy Lewis would stay.

Unable to breath, chest constricting and the air in the hut now too hot, Darcy let out a strangled sob and ran out of Brock's hut. The moment the cool air hit her face and she saw the moonlight illuminating the trees around her, Darcy was able to finally breath. Her heartbeat slowed and chirping crickets reminded her that she was still at the beginning of summer. There was still a little bit of time for her to find a solution. Even if that solution was dancing 'til she died in a fairy ring. Resolve settled, Darcy began a quick walk to her grandmother's home.

It did not take long for Brock to catch up. Actually, Darcy was a little surprised he even tried. Surely, he'd be happy to have her out of his hair and responsibility. They walked in silence, Darcy's head still held high as she stomped the entire way with an occasional sniffle. Her head was still filled with rushing thoughts but she had new purpose now. She was Darcy Lewis. Granddaughter of Elizabeth and Bruce Banner. Grandmother had fled France to escape persecution and her grandfather was an educated man despite being born to farmers. Mother's life had been cut short but she would have been a woman of great means if time had not defeated her. If Darcy's blood was anything to go by, she was bound to be destined for something better than a wife easily tossed aside.

"Are you alright?" Brock asked, concern in his voice.

"Why do you even care? The silly Baron's daughter who never face any difficulty in her life is leaving and I promise I will do my best to avoid you this summer. Isn't that what you want?" Darcy shot back.

"You didn't answer my question," Brock pointed out though he had also deftly avoided her own questions.

"Fine," huffed Darcy, stopping and spinning on Brock who just barely stopped in time to avoid slamming into her. They stood face to chest, Darcy looking up at him with narrowed eyes. Again, the moon had cast shadows on his face but she could just make out the consternation on his face. At this distance, she felt heat radiating off his body, smelled the smokey scent of his skin and felt a fog descend on her. Shaking her head to try and clear her mind, Darcy cleared her throat. "I am not alright if you must know. But there is certainly nothing you can do about it. I am going to marry a terribly boring man at the end of this summer and will certainly never see my grandmother again or do anything that brings me any joy. So, pardon me if I seem a tad preoccupied. I know it is nothing compared to losing all your friends in battle or what other hardships you have certainly faced in life but they are my hardships. Now if you don't mind, I will leave you once and for all. I'm sure you will be glad to be rid of the silly little Baron's daughter."

With that, Darcy spun on her heel and kept walking. About five steps away, a final thought popped into her head and she offered Brock a last glance. He stood stock still, mouth agape. "And one more thing. Next time you see me walking into the woods, leave me alone. I have walked these woods hundreds of times my entire life and there, the most dangerous thing that I would ever come across is you!"

Despite her rage, she could still hear him walking behind her, just ten paces back. Not wanting to waste anymore time on him, Darcy just kept walking and ignored him. If Bucky or Steve saw him, they'd surely take offense and while she didn't care for any of these men, the least they could do is battle each other and leave her alone. When she reached her grandmother's home, she refused to answer any questions. She walked straight into her room, closed the door behind her and fell into her bed, where she cried tears of anger, frustration and sadness until sleep took her.