Summary: Neither Prince Hal nor Hotspur believe in magic. Or in the existence of Elves. They are about to encounter both. A Shakespeare/Silmarillion crossover. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the worlds and words of Shakespeare or Tolkien, both of whom are authors to be revered. Shakespeare quotes, paraphrases, and allusions from multiple plays will be scattered throughout.

The Fourth of Seven

Chapter 2

Prince Hal awoke to a foggy head and a downy pillow. There was no telling for certain how long he had slept; but judging by the faint red light outside the narrow window and the soft glow of candles about the room, it would soon be time to sleep again – which suited him just fine. He was clean and comfortable, lying in a pleasant room with only Hotspur for company.

Percy had likewise been cleansed from the mud of Shrewsbury and was now dressed in a simple tunic and leggings which had been provided by their hosts. He sat bent over a desk illumined by candles, his blonde head cradled in one hand. He was so still he might have been asleep, yet he looked up quickly when Hal stirred.

"How do you fare?" he inquired with eyes full of suspicion. "Is the fire of witchcraft in your blood?"

The Prince sluggishly sat upright. "I feel…surprisingly whole. As for my blood, I would never have known I had lost so much. If Elvish healing is a kind of witchcraft, then we must allow for its efficacy. Did you not also receive their care?"

"I had sustained no wounds that they deemed worth the curing."

Hal noted the other's smugness but was still too lethargic to take offense. "Before God, I am exceeding weary! Is there aught to drink?"

Percy gestured with his head. "That tumbler on the table there is intended for your grace's health. Myself, I should not trust one drop of it."

"Surely they have more entertaining methods of killing us, if that is their intention." Hal brought the concoction to his lips, and it tasted like the herbal aroma that still lingered in his nose. It refreshed his mind and settled his body, so he swallowed it all.

He then peered more closely at his companion, who was again staring intently at the papers spread out before him. "What do you study so closely?"

"Maps." Hotspur didn't look up to answer. "The Elves brought several for my perusal while you slept."

Hal ignored the jab, only prompted, "And? What do you conclude?"

Percy ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and finally raised his head. "If the maps be true, I do not know these lands, Harry. I would expect the names to be different, aye; but by my troth, none of it is familiar! We are far removed from any oceans, just as Caranthir said, yet I cannot identify the continent. It is not Europe. I can only conclude that we must be either heaven's playthings or fortune's fools to be as we are now."

With that report, the dim lights suddenly seemed gloomy. Without a knowledge of where they were, how could they possibly plan or hope to return home?

"What else did you note after we were parted?"

"There is a strong force of arms here, to be sure. And this hill – this Amon Ereb, as they call it – is well suited both for watchfulness and defense, standing alone in the flatlands as it does."

Hal gave their surroundings another inspection. "Is this room to be our prison?"

"Whatever it is, we are meant to share it; the door is locked from without. Even so, I shan't complain for comfort – only for the company. And although you be a prince, and wounded, I will not lay aside my claim to half this space."

Hal frowned at that initially, until he realized the obvious: there was only one bed in the room, and it was large enough for two. He rolled his eyes tiredly. "Of course, Percy. I would not dare deny you that which is your right."

"Do you not fear that I will murder you while you sleep?" Hotspur's blue eyes gleamed, but whether in danger or simple mischief, the Prince could not decide.

The frankness of his own answer surprised him. "Nay, I esteem your honor too highly to suspect you of throat cutting. More besides, you have had ample opportunity already to do so, and yet I am still breathing."

His companion chuckled suddenly. "Well, they do say common enemies make strange bedfellows."

"That may be so, but are these Elves our enemy? I perceived more curiosity than hostility from Caranthir when we met. And if their enemy is indeed a Lord of Darkness, then should not their Enemy also be our enemy, as we are servants of Christendom?"

"Hmph," Percy snorted. "I think a shortage of blood has eclipsed your memory. If Caranthir did not show animosity at our coming, he did greet us with disdain – as if we were no better than the dogs that trailed at his horse's heels."

"He is an immortal Elf Prince; I suppose that endows him with a nearer right to pride than most."

"Wherefore did you not acquaint them with your title, Harry?"

Hal shrugged, recalling his thoughts during the encounter. "To what end? They do not know England and will not esteem her Prince. Telling them would have gained us nothing, except perhaps their scorn."

"Of which there is already an abundance." Hotspur grew pensive again. "When Caranthir first came upon us, you sought to stay my rancor against him. Why? You could have let him kill me while my temper flew unguarded."

"An order for your head would have included mine as well."

"I think not. He wanted questions answered, and one prisoner will suffice for that. Why else did you interfere?"

Hal pondered that a moment. "For the same reason you helped me on the journey when I least expected it. Because as dire as our situation may be, it would only be made worse if either of us were here alone."

"Perhaps – or it may be that there is little profit in our deaths if no one in England knows of it. Now get thee over; I am weary from the battle, too."


Later the following day, an Elf whom they did not recognize came to summon them, stating, "You will both follow me, for our lords desire some conference with you."

"Lords? Heaven help us! No world needs more than one Caranthir."

Hotspur had whispered, of course, but Hal could perceive at a glance that their escort had overheard him. He would have to warn his companion later about the superiority of Elvish hearing.

With the Crown Prince limping but slightly now, they followed their guide to a dining hall where Caranthir and two other Elves awaited them. Hal found himself smiling unexpectedly, for the other two were twins – identical in every feature, the most notable of which was their red hair. And their expressions were far more welcoming than that of Caranthir, who introduced them.

"Men of so-called England, I present to you my youngest brothers – Amrod and Amras. And no, as much as I might wish the contrary, there is no penalty for failing to tell them apart; they are well used to error in that regard."

Both Englishmen offered their greetings, and then Amras looked to his elder with a grin.

"You were right, Brother; they do not have the look of mighty men."

To which Hotspur, bristling, instantly retorted, "And you do not have the look of brothers."

"Their auburn hair is trait inherited from our mother," explained Caranthir. "I take more after our father."

"Then I see the fairer lot fell to your brothers."

Percy's remark solicited a sneer from Caranthir and satisfied smirks from the twins.

"How very insightful!" Amras exclaimed. "Best not to tell Celegorm who's fairest, though; he does get sensitive about such things."

"Your accents are strange," Amrod addressed the newcomers thoughtfully, "yet you are speaking the language of the Sindar, which our people also have adopted. Where did you learn it?"

Hal was momentarily at a loss for words. "I beg your pardon? Neither of us know any sort of Elvish language; we did not even know Elves existed until yesterday. How can we be speaking your native tongue?"

"I know not, but you are doing so most fluently."

Hotspur shook his head, beginning to pace restlessly. "This must be a foul magic – witchcraft of the worst kind!"

"Or divine interference," suggested Amrod, "for no power of the Eldar, however great, could have accomplished this. Perhaps it was the will of the Valar that summoned these men from their lands to our aid."

"Or to our detriment," Caranthir countered sourly. "What reason have we to expect help from the Powers?"

But Amras disregarded his sibling's cynicism. "Brother, you will be travelling to Himring in a matter of weeks. Perhaps these strangers should accompany you, so that others might hear their wondrous tale."

Caranthir frowned deeply. "Amras, you know the purpose of my journey there, and that I am not likely to tarry long before returning hither. Our eldest brother has a heavy task at hand, and he may not look kindly upon these sudden newcomers."

"Or he may welcome them gladly as two strong men at arms. If he is not pleased by their coming, he can easily dispose of them himself – which ought to satisfy you."

"Very well," the other conceded with a sigh. "If that is the speediest way to be rid of them without offending you, my little brothers, then so be it. I will write to Maedhros before our going and give him proper notice."

"Good, it is decided." A pleased Amras then turned back to their guests. "Now come, you must both sit and eat. This long without sustenance, your strength must be short indeed."

That much was true! They had been given some food that morning, yet Hal still felt as though he was a full day lacking in meals. Perhaps Elves could endure for longer on less intake than Men required.

Caranthir poured them generous goblets of wine, too – a rich, heady red wine.

"Have a care," cautioned Amrod. "I expect this drink is more potent than whatever you find typical."

Prince Hal valiantly resisted the urge to scoff. Personally, he felt more at ease in a tavern than in a palace, and Hotspur was no stranger to the strength of England's northern brews. Together, they would prove that Englishmen could hold their drink as well as any Elf!


From personal experience, Hal knew very well the symptoms of a hangover – but never had he felt them to such extremes, not even after his worst bouts of drinking alongside Poins and Falstaff. Apparently Elvish wine was more potent than tavern ale, after all. He instantly regretted opening his eyes, cursing the ray of sunlight that shone directly into his face.

He found himself lying fully clothed on the bed (atop the covers rather than under them), with his limbs all askew and his cheek pillowed against Percy's calf. His volatile countryman, still lying in a stupor, was in precisely the same condition. Hal could not recall how or when they had gotten here, but he would long remember the undignified fashion in which his head spun and his stomach heaved.

He lay there battling the sensations until Hotspur was finally roused by his own pounding head.

"Damn Caranthir!" Percy muttered through gritted teeth. "The knowledge that we are suffering right now must bring him pleasure. I propose we never speak of this incident again."

"And I propose we take only one glass henceforth," added Hal.

Shortly thereafter, Caranthir himself paid them so brief a visit that he never left the doorway. "And how are your collective heads this morning? Or afternoon, rather?" He did not wait on their response, for he had seen plenty to his satisfaction, but went immediately on his way.

Smarting now with wounded pride, Hotspur momentarily forgot his headache and growled, "By the mass, I can endure no more of his arrogance, and I'll be his prisoner no longer. Let us make our escape now and be gone!"

"And go wither, exactly?" Hal reasoned, striving to be the patient, practical one. "If leaving this place means possibly straying into the clutches of a Dark Lord, then I would sooner stay."

Percy shook his head, only to grimace painfully and raise a hand to his throbbing temple. "I could try my chances anywhere, if only to be free of this haughty Elf Prince!"

"My overbold friend, does the choler in your blood never cool?" Hal smiled almost fondly, despite his chiding words. "We are grossly outnumbered here. And even if it were not so – say it were we two against the ginger twins alone. Even then I cannot expect our strength in arms would prevail. Speaking of arms, whatever became of our weapons and harness?"

"Taken upon our arrival, of course, and now withheld from us. Otherwise we could renew our battle, Princeling."

"For what purpose? We have neither family nor kingdoms to divide us here. But tell me truly, did the lords convey my challenge to you on the field at Shrewsbury? If yes, then wherefore did you not accept?"

"They told me of it," Hotspur admitted. "But how was I to think the challenge earnest, given your reputation? Furthermore, I thirsted for stauncher blood than yours."

Displeasure creased Hal's brow. "Even if you do not deem me an opponent worthy of your name and skill, our single contest would have spared a great many lives. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Those men had come for war; it would be unjust for me to deny their chance at glory."

"Your own chance at glory, you mean."

Hal's disgust with that response was tempered only by a grudging appreciation that Percy had spoken his thoughts honestly. That was more than could be said of many a nobleman in the English court.

Author's End Note: As you've probably noticed, I'll be sticking with the Sindarin rendition of Elven names in this fic for simplicity's sake. The poor lads from England are confused enough as it is, without having to remember three names for every Elf they meet. Thanks for reading!