Timeless by SheWalksWithRavens

A/N: While writing Secrets in the Shadows I was hit with a particular inspiration to write this. To be honest I don't know where it is headed, but I felt that I should share it with you in case anyone found it redeeming or interesting. So read and review it, let me know what you think. And if there is a large enough response, then maybe I'll continue it.

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She ran through the woods, constantly looking over her shoulder, not in fear but in a playful manner. Then an idea popped into her head and she climbed up on to the large oak tree on the side of the path, lying flat against the branch, her cat like body molding with the bark.

A few moments later a man rode past on a dappled grey, not taking notice of her hiding in the tree. When she was sure that he was long gone, she hopped down from the tree landing in a crouched position. However, as soon as she straightened herself out, she felt a hand clasp itself around her waist.

What was strange about this was that she was not at all afraid, and relaxed in the man's arms, shutting her eyes as she did so. He brushed back her long dark hair from her ear and began to speak but it only came out as a buzz. She knit her brows clearly confused, but that damn buzzing wouldn't go away.

With a groan her eyes snapped open and she reached for her alarm clock at the side of her bed.

"Just a dream... Isolde...it was just a bloody dream." She muttered to herself before casting aside her worn quilt from her body.

Her feet searched for the soft fuzzy bunny slippers she knew were at the side of her bed, and slid into them. Her roommates had made fun of her of course for having such childish slippers when she was already twenty-five years old but she didn't care. Isolde always replied that she was going to hold on to her youth as long as she could.

Reaching for the remote she turned up her stereo blasting "Dreams" by The Cranberries as she searched through her closet for something suitable to wear. Isolde was going to be visiting her parents who lived in the country today and her sister was coming as well. Her sister Bridget was three years younger than Isolde and was already engaged, which her mother always found cause to bring up.

Bridget was like their mother in appearance, having inherited a milky complexion, deep green eyes, and auburn waves. Isolde was said to have taken purely after her grandmother. Normally, this would not be a comment which would stir controversy in conversation save that Isolde's grandmother was never considered to be a beauty. Isolde herself was not ugly, she just didn't have the type of looks that merited notice. Her black hair was a bit longer than fashionable and a mess of curls. Her complexion was more olive in nature and she was a bit shorter than most girls. The only redeeming quality she seemed to possess, at least in her mother's eyes, were her enticing brown eyes they were perfectly almond shaped and accented with graceful brows.

So it was no surprise that when they were growing up the boys took notice of Bridget first, and Isolde was only an afterthought. But she didn't really mind, as she was quieter than most loving to be outside and read or riding at the stables near by. Isolde would bring home straight A's and get a half-hearted smile, Bridget would bring home the Captain of the Rugby team and get a huge hug. That's how it always was in the Pritchard household, at least when it came to her mother, and Isolde expected this weekend to be no different.

Grabbing a grey jumper and a pair of jeans she set them out on her bed. She glanced down at the outfit, and realized that it could do with a bit of color and grabbed a scarf that she had knit herself and threw it down with the outfit.

A quick shower, a touch of make-up and twenty minutes later, Isolde was ready to go. Her overnight bag had been packed already, the mini-cooper she so dearly loved had a full tank of gas, she had her journal and she had her cell phone.

Isolde's roomate, an American named Karissa, was riveted to her computer with her headphones blaring music so loudly that she hardly noticed when Isolde said goodbye. Taking a deep breath she headed downstairs to the street. Tossing her bag in the boot, and throwing her purse and journal in the passenger seat she left her life in London behind for that of the quiet of Alston in Cumbria.

When she arrived at the small house, Isolde was reminded of a thousand memories of growing up there. She lugged her bag up to the door and knocked a few times before a man with salt and peppered hair and a mustache greeted her with a bone-crushing hug.

"Harold, who is it at the door dear?" Came a voice from the kitchen.

"Just my favorite little terror." Her father said jokingly.

"Hey, Dad. How are you?" Isolde said as she entered the modest living room.

"Well, you know what the Doctor said. I have to stay away from all those sweets...but don't tell your mother I still sneak a piece of pie every Tuesday." He replied with a wink.

"Harold! I knew you weren't losing weight for a reason." Said Isolde's mother in a shrill voice, apparently eavesdropping from the kitchen.

"Oh for Heaven's sakes Cordelia, just come out here and greet your daughter." He shouted back.

A few moments later a tall woman with delicate features came out of the kitchen drying her hands on an apron. She was slender, and had a refined turtleneck and long skirt on. Her emerald eyes fell on Isolde and she gave her daughter an unnatural smile pulling her into a quick hug.

"Isolde...its good to see you. Forgive me, I am just trying to get dinner on the table. Your sister and that beau of hers already arrived. He's such a gentleman that Gareth, he offered to pick up a bottle of wine down the street for me. Did you know that he is a top solicitor for a firm in London?" Her mother rattled off.

"Yes, mum. You make mention of it every..." Isolde started but she was cut off.

"Well, Bridget always had the best taste in men. I am surprised she is only getting married now, she was rather serious with that Adams boy when she started University but Gareth is a much better catch. Maybe she can give you a few pointers on how to pick them, hmm?" Her mother chucked her under the chin and went back to the kitchen.

Isolde rolled her eyes and titled her head up to the ceiling in frustration. Her father came over and clasped her shoulder.

"Don't worry, once she's had a few glasses of wine in her she'll be as gentle as a mouse." He smiled.

"Are you kidding? Alcohol just makes the insults fly faster. But I'm going to go put these things up in my room. Mum hasn't turned it into her personal exercise center yet has she?" Isolde joked.

"No, she was planning on doing that after Christmas. Hurry back down though will you, I don't want to be left to hear about Gareth all by myself."

Isolde loved her father. She was the quintessential daddy's girl, but with a mother like hers, whou wouldn't be? Climbing the stairs, she turned to the right, turning the brass door knob and entered her room. It was still the same as when she was young, with various horseback riding trophies and cluttered with books. She dropped her bag down on the bed, and walked over to a picture of her from when she was 10.

It was her first competition, and she had beaten the other girls, none of which had a horse as graceful as Apple Jax. The uppity stallion had been a gift from her Grandmother, and he had passed away a few years earlier. She set the frame back down on the shelf and quickly went to freshen up in the bathroom.

When she went back downstairs she saw her younger sister and a dashing looking man who she assumed to be Gareth. Bridget's head turned to the sound of Isolde's shoes hitting the steps and beamed when she saw her older sister.

"Isolde!" She squealed while hugging her.

"Hello Bridget." She replied with a sincere smile.

Though her sister did often steal the spotlight from Isolde and could be a downright cow at times, she would always be her baby sister. Gareth cleared his throat stepping up alongside Bridget and wrapping his arm around her waist.

"Isolde, this is Gareth. Gareth, my big sister Isolde." Bridget beamed.

Isolde held out her hand to him and shook it with a smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you finally, Gareth. I've only heard wonderful things about you."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that." He replied with a wink as he guided Bridget into the dining room.

Isolde was seated at the opposite side of the table from Gareth and Bridget. With her Mother and Father on the ends. Isolde smiled but then noticed that the table had an empty place setting next to her as well.

"Mum, did you mean to put out an extra plate?" Isolde said with a curious quirk of her brow.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" She said looking rather confused.

"Tell me what, Mum?" Isolde continued not understanding what was going on.

"Your mother ran into Vincent at the market the other day, and mentioned that you were coming home. Naturally, he inquired after you and then your Mother invited him to dinner." Her father responded rather calmly.

Isolde however began to choke on her wine, as she managed to swallow it the wrong way in her moment of shock. Vincent, you see, was her first boyfriend and the only one she ever brought home to meet her mother. A rather horrible chapter in the life of Isolde Prichard that she was rather fond of forgetting. However, her mother never let go of the hope that one day she might have Vincent as a son-in-law and kept pushing him on her daughter.

As if on cue there was a knock at the door, and Cordelia rose to get the door. She returned a moment later with a hulking man who had a strong chin and a distinctly Roman looking nose. His grey eyes brightened at the sight of Isolde and she managed a weak, if not forced smile.

"Isolde, you remember Vincent." Her mother began.

"Of course I remember Vincent, Mother." She snapped.

From across the table Bridget pleaded with her eyes for Isolde to remain calm and make it through the dinner. Isolde managed to last fifteen minutes without rolling her eyes, stabbing herself with her steak knife or feigning illness when the comments started to flow from her mother's mouth.

"Isolde, really I never knew how you let Vincent go..." Isolde covered her eyes with her hand as she bit down on her tongue to keep from lashing out.

"He's such a charming man, and is considered quite the catch among the other girls." Her mother continued.

"If he is such a catch Mother, why hasn't he married one of them?" Isolde spat back.

"Because...I've only ever had eyes for the one.." Vincent replied looking directly at Isolde.

"Isolde, Mother...please. Can we keep this civil? We have guests." Bridget said through clenched teeth.

"Bridget is right, Isolde don't upset your mother." Her father said sternly, surprising even Isolde.

"If you'd excuse me, I feel a bit of a headache coming on." Isolde said while throwing down her napkin and heading up to her room.

She shut the door behind her, making sure to lock it as well before she ran a frustrated hand through her hair. Seeing Vincent again was like having a red-hot poker shoved against a nerve, it was excruciatingly painful and made you want to scream.

Isolde had been nineteen, when Vincent had begun to court her. He was new to Alston, and had been truthfully the first boy to ever ask her on a date. They had been together for nearly half-a-year, when he tried to get her to marry him. Isolde had told him that she was far too young, and they hadn't known each other long enough to make such a decision.

The truth was that Isolde did not, and could not ever love Vincent. Having forsworn any marriage without love, it was impractical to consent to him. But Vincent was relentless in his pursuit, eventually dealing a physical blow to Isolde which caused her to pack up and move to London.

She glanced out her window, seeing that she had about an hour before the sun would set. Which would give her just enough time to get to her secret place. Isolde's secret place was hardly a secret, but when she was there she felt at piece and separate from the world. She grabbed a light jacket, and put on a pair of old trainers before sneaking out her bedroom window.

"How old are we now, sixteen?" Isolde muttered under her breath as she scooted down the drain pipe landing in the garden below with a soft thud.

Straightening her clothing she headed out the back gate down the path that would take her to Hadrian's Wall. When she was little she used to play upon the wall, always drawn to the impressive structure that stood as a testament to Rome's influence on Britain. She hadn't been there in almost four years, and she couldn't wait to once more watch the sunset from atop the stones.

When the Wall came into view, she smiled and broke into a youthful sprint, evendoing a cartwheel in her excitement. Unfortunately she slipped, and landed on her back with an oomph. Caught up in her laughter, Isolde neglected to notice that a man who had been standing near the wall had extended his hand to help her up.

A soft clearing of his throat, drew her attention to him. And the first thing she thought upon seeing him was that he looked very familiar. She smiled as she gave him her hand and he hoisted her on to her feet with little effort.

"You took quite a tumble there, though it seems you were having a good time of it." He said in a heavily accented voice.

"Thank you, I suppose this should teach me once and for all to stop acting like a child." Isolde headed over to the wall and rested her arms upon it as she looked out at the sky.

"Beautiful isn't it? I've never seen anything like it." He replied as he stood next to her.

She turned her head to properly survey him for the first time, his high-cheekbones, and somewhat shaggy hair were attractive to be certain. He was tall and built of lean muscle, which she could see beneath his button up shirt.

Isolde hoisted herself up on to the wall and sat with her legs dangling off the high end as she continued to watch the sun's descent. She patted the space next to her and gave him another smile. Isolde couldn't figure out for the life of her why she was smiling so damn much, but she attributed it to being in her favorite place in the whole world.

He hopped up gracefully and sat down next to her, his posture perfect and his eyes constantly searching the landscape with its rolling hills, and the shimmer of the water of the far of lakes.

"My name is Isolde." She said finally not tearing her eyes from the vista before her.

"Tristan." Came the short reply from the quiet man next to her.

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So let me know what you think about this and if I should ever continue it or leave it as is. Thanks!