A/N: Thank you to everyone who's followed and reviewed! I'm thrilled you're intrigued.
Chapter 2: A Missing Prince
"It was my shot."
"You were taking too long."
"There are no time constraints when one is perfecting an art."
A snort was the wordless response.
Gandalf rolled his eyes, harrumphing under his breath. Why had he agreed to share a camp with those two? It had initially been a pleasant surprise when the wizard first crossed the sons of Elrond on the road, the two journeying back from visiting their grandparents in Lorien. Now, however, Gandalf was beginning to rue that 'good fortune.'
"I know an archer who could have made that shot in less than half the time it took you to simply take aim."
"Well he is not here. And even if he were, that does not excuse the fact that you cheated. Didn't he Gandalf?"
The Grey Wizard looked up, blinking at the identical faces of two raven-haired elves, both standing with arms crossed in front of their chests. From a distance, one could mistakenly assume that a mirror had been erected in the middle of the field. The only difference being that Elrohir held a red apple with a hole through the middle in one hand.
The younger twin scoffed. "I shot the apple; therefore it's mine."
"I would have hit it if you had not fired out of turn," Elladan argued, snatching the fruit from Elrohir.
"Gandalf, please remind my brother that archery is a battle skill in which speed must be just as refined as accuracy."
"If you wanted to test speed, you should have set those terms to begin with," Elladan retorted. "Gandalf, you are an objective outside observer; tell us who the apple rightfully belongs to."
Gandalf walked over to the twins, plucked the apple from Elladan's hand, and then strode over to sit on a stump where he proceeded to take a large crispy bite of the shiny red fruit. A little bit of juice dribbled down his beard.
Neither Peredhil spoke for a long moment. "Well," Elladan said at last. "We can now include Mithrandir on the list of folk not to leave in charge of negotiating truces."
"Like Glorfindel," Elrohir agreed. "He's more likely to threaten both parties with his sword, while Gandalf will just take the debated prize and run."
The wizard arched an indignant brow. It was astonishing how quickly those two could go from bickering to complete amiable agreement. Gandalf pitied Lord Elrond for Eru having blessed—or cursed—him with twins. He was about to launch into a tirade against the Peredhil, when a ping in the back of his mind whisked his steam away. His gaze went distant, the vista of the Gladden Fields dimming as Gandalf's eye turned inward.
The communication was from Radagast, a short, hastily fired burst of information reminiscent of a frazzled squirrel's chattering. Gandalf would have chuckled, if not for the content of the message.
"Mithrandir? Mithrandir, are you all right?"
Gandalf blinked to find Elladan kneeling before him, Elrohir at his shoulder. Both were frowning with concern.
"What happened, Gandalf?" Elladan asked with the patient tone of a healer addressing a disoriented patient. He'd inherited that from his father.
The wizard pushed himself to his feet, dropping the half-eaten apple on the ground. "I just received a grave message from Radagast the Brown. Legolas of Mirkwood has been taken captive."
"What?" Elrohir exclaimed. "By whom?"
"Men, it seems, though the reason is unclear. I must make for Mirkwood." He hobbled over to retrieve his staff from the tree he'd leaned it against. Radagast had not given many details, only that the party had been heading south of the Elf Path. It would take Gandalf three days to get there, in which time a lot could happen. But a live hostage certainly boded better than an outright assassination.
"We will come with you," Elladan declared as Elrohir sprinted the few yards to where the twins' horses were grazing.
Leaning on his staff, Gandalf gave the Peredhil a grateful nod. Traveling by horse would get him there that much faster. And of course, Elladan and Elrohir would never not act on such news; they were friends with Legolas as well.
Elrohir guided the horses over, angling his to the side so Gandalf could mount. Elladan gave the wizard a quick boost, and then swung up onto his own horse. Reaching down to clasp his brother's arm, he pulled Elrohir up behind him.
"Noro lim," Elladan said, bidding the steeds to run fast.
Gandalf tightened his knees around the horse's side as it spurred into a gallop, and then the three were racing east across the Gladden Fields toward the great forest looming on the horizon. Gandalf hoped they would arrive in time.
Cain stood at the base of a tree, scowling up at the thick canopy. How had the blasted elf been able to climb with both hands and feet bound? One moment he'd been slung unconsciously over Fezzick's shoulder, and the next he'd apparently rolled off and leaped into the nearest tree. At least he hadn't gone far; Cain could make out bits of blond hair through the dark foliage. They just had to figure out how to get him down.
"I swear, the thing moved!" Joran insisted.
Cain had to bite back a scathing retort. "Trees do not move."
"They do if it's elf magic."
"Only great elves have magic," Cain replied. "And those kind don't go wandering around the forest."
Joran drew his shoulders back, red beard bristling. "And how would you know? There's somethin' unearthly about all of 'em."
"Because Mornince said so."
Travers snorted. "Yeah, and it ain't like she don't use magic."
Cain spun around and shoved the older man, making him stumble back a step. "You don't like it, you can start walking right now. Right back to the barren farmlands and drought. I found a way to take care of us. So either get lost or help think of a solution."
Travers didn't respond, just glowered and ducked his gaze. Sneering in frustration, Cain turned back to evaluate the tree. They should have taken the elf who'd been caught in the trap instead. At least that one wouldn't have been able to stand, let alone climb. But Cain had thought Mornince would prefer an uninjured elf, since she had emphasized the importance of it being alive. This creature was proving not worth the trouble though. If it weren't for the fact that they were close to the cave, Cain would have kept their catch drugged, as they had done for the past couple days to make it easier to travel. But he figured Mornince would want to speak to the captive, and so had allowed the last dose to completely wear off. His mistake.
"Where do you plan to go?" Cain called up to the elf, not sure whether him understanding their language was beneficial or not. It meant they couldn't discuss anything in secret, but it also made communicating easier. Cain waited a beat. "If you don't come down on your own, we'll do it by force."
Something groaned and creaked then, and the leaves above rustled, though Cain didn't feel a breeze. Each of his men took wary steps back.
"See, I told you," Joran hissed.
Cain frowned. He'd heard tales of elves being attuned to trees, so maybe there was something to the superstition. But this one obviously didn't have any active magic, or he would have used it by now. When there was still no response, Cain shook his head.
"Fine. Fezzick, smash it."
The unusually large man looked about his feet before picking up a rock two feet wide and three feet thick. Planting his feet apart for balance, he inhaled deeply and lobbed the boulder at the center of the tree trunk. A great crack rent the air as bark splintered. The earlier groan almost seemed to turn to a whistle as the tree shook and swayed…more so than an impact would cause. Cain eyed it warily, but through the gaps in the branches he could see the elf trying to hold on to a branch.
"Bring it down," Cain commanded.
Fezzick walked up to the tree and grabbed one of its lower branches. The giant brute began pulling on it, splintering more wood and causing the boughs above to thrash more violently. Cain just counted themselves lucky the elf had perched in a smaller tree, and not some ancient oak. Fezzick gave the tree another rough yank, and a moment later the elf came tumbling down in a shower of leaves. He landed on his back with a hard thud, which obviously winded him, giving Travers and Joran time to rush in and restrain him. Still, the moment their hands grabbed the elf's shoulders and legs, he began to struggle. Travers backhanded him across the face.
Cain strode over and knelt down, grasping a fistful of hair and wrenching the elf's head back. Blue eyes blazed up at him with fury and not an inkling of fear. "We'd intended to take an elf caught in one of our traps, so if you don't settle, I will rectify that right here and now." He thrust his chin toward the gear they'd dropped when they were forced to stop, and the two iron traps they had in reserve.
The elf's chest continued to heave for several moments before he finally calmed. Cain was not foolish enough to think it was in true submission. The annoying creature was probably just biding his time until he could escape again.
"Give me more rope," Cain instructed.
Fezzick unwound a few pieces from their cargo, and Cain tied one end first to the bonds on the elf's wrists, then the other end around his ankles, leaving just enough slack for him to stand up straight. Let him try jumping into a tree like that. He also wound a second line over the elf's hands to prevent him from using his fingers.
"Why?" their captive finally spoke, voice a little soft from lack of water and what was probably a cotton-filled mouth from the ether he'd been dosed with. "What do you want with a wounded elf?"
Cain moved back and gestured for Travers and Joran to haul the elf to his feet. "I said I was willing to take one that way, not that it was the goal."
A muscle in the elf's jaw ticked, and Cain had no doubt that if he were to get free, he'd cut them all down without hesitation. "For what purpose?"
"That's for the one who hired us to say."
The elf's eyes narrowed, and then his gaze drifted up and over Cain's shoulder, expression for once going slack from something other than unconsciousness. "We are close to the mountains," he breathed in surprise, and Cain saw as realization dawned on how he must have been with them for at least three days to have traveled this far. "You left Lícumon. He'll die out there with that injury!"
Travers gave their prisoner a rough shake when he started to struggle again. Cain held back a sigh.
"Slowly, yes, but I fixed that. Made sure it was quick."
The elf blinked at him, and then it was like a torrent of rage erupted in his eyes. He swung his bound legs up to kick Cain in the gut, upending his own and Travers's balance in the process. Cain stumbled back with an 'oof' as the other two hit the ground. Joran and Fezzick rushed in as the elf twisted and spat a string of elvish phrases. Cain didn't understand the language, but it sure sounded vitriolic. The trees around them began creaking again, and that was just a little too unnerving, even for him.
Holding his stomach, he staggered for his pack and retrieved a bandana. The others had the elf restrained again, and his movements were gradually lessening, probably due to Fezzick's large hand clamped around his throat. Cain shoved the cloth in the elf's mouth and tied the gag around the back of his head. He then crouched there and stared into those glacier eyes as the elf fought for breath. Only when his eyelids started to flutter did Cain tell Fezzick to ease up.
"Let's go," he snapped impatiently. He wanted to get this over with.
Fezzick slung the elf over his shoulder again as the rest of them scooped up their gear, and then they resumed their trek toward the mountains. The cave was only five minutes away. Cain followed the small trail carved through the thickening foliage until the trees parted at the base of the mountains. The mouth of the cave was hidden by a warped oak bent over in an arc, branches spilling across the ground like limp tresses. Fezzick had to practically crawl through on his knees, and still managed to get a few scratches. The cave was dark, but the moment the men set foot inside, a torch ensconced in the wall burst into flame. Cain rolled his neck, discomfited that he seemed to be getting used to such displays of sorcery.
The ceiling was low, so Fezzick had to put the elf down in order to walk forward hunched over. Cain cut the rope around the elf's ankles, and then shoved him forward. The elf craned his neck a few times back toward the exit and halo of daylight, which was quickly blocked by Fezzick's bulky frame.
Nine feet into the tunnel, the walls curved out and up into a more spacious cavern. Though it didn't look like a cave anymore. Tiered wooden shelves stood along the left wall and sectioned off the rear area from the deeper part of the mountain. Ceramic bowls and glass jars full of viscous fluids or animal parts lined the shelves. The space to the right had a stone ring with a cauldron over a simmering fire, and a haze of smoke lingered in the air, though most of it seemed to be escaping through a natural flue in the cave's structure. Bundles of dried herbs hung from crooks in the walls and ceiling. In the center of the cavern was a long, rectangular stone altar.
The men drew to a stop, Fezzick holding the elf by the back of his tunic. Shrewd blue eyes flitted around the place. Cain didn't announce their presence; he figured Mornince already knew they were there. Sure enough, a woman stepped around the back shelf unit and stalked toward them. A long black dress hugged her form and rippled about her feet like a mantle of oil, and she wore a sable scarf wrapped around her head. Only a single lock of dark brown hair peeked out from the side.
"Well," she spoke. "You have finally delivered."
"It wasn't easy," Cain put in.
Mornince walked up to the elf and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. He tried to jerk away, but Fezzick's hold was unyielding. Mornince stroked a finger down the gag and around the swelling from where Travers had hit him.
"I can see that. A fighter, this one."
The elf pulled his shoulders back, skewering her with that same arrogant defiance. Mornince's brow creased, and then she lashed out to grab the elf's chin, leaning forward until their faces were a mere inch apart. Cain exchanged awkward glances with his men.
"I know those eyes," Mornince hissed, and pushed away. The elf squinted in confusion. The woman stepped back, and now a small smile crept across her face. "You are of Oropher's line."
The elf shifted nervously. Cain didn't know who Oropher was, nor did he care.
"So, will he do?"
Mornince grinned. "Oh, he will do perfectly. You have no idea who you've caught, do you?"
Cain folded his arms across his chest. "Should we?"
She laughed, and something about the sound sent a shiver down his spine. "This is the Prince of Mirkwood."
Cain's jaw went slack, and he heard Travers and Joran murmur something to each other. He angled a scrutinizing look at their prize again, and yes, now the proud, indomitable bearing made sense. And he was now glad he had not left that other elf alive to tell the tale.
Mornince went to a small table where several vials, a bowl, and pestle were laid out. "Oh, this will be poetic indeed. I could have used any elf to bring about the end of the Mirkwood elves, but Thranduil's son himself will be the ultimate blow!"
The elf prince began to struggle, muffled sounds trying to work past the gag in his mouth.
"Put him on the stone table," Mornince instructed.
He began to thrash in earnest, but the men simply moved forward, Travers and Joran grabbing his legs while Fezzick held his shoulders and he was hefted onto the altar. They had to throw their body weight across him to keep him there though.
Mornince sprinkled a few dried herbs into the bowl and mixed it, then brought it over to the prisoner. "You have your grandfather's eyes," she crooned. "Something your father did not inherit."
The elf looked truly panicked now, and Cain could only watch in rapt fascination as Mornince began to recite an incantation in a language he did not recognize. The elf prince might have, because he grunted through the gag and bucked harder. Mornince dipped two fingers into the bowl, and they came out dripping with a thick, viscid black goop. Hovering them over the elf's forehead, she began to trace a pattern in the air. Cain was surprised the unguent didn't plop on the prince, but then he noticed how the substance was floating, held aloft as Mornince's fingers wove a sticky spider web above the elf.
The chanting grew louder, more forceful, and the inky web descended to alight on the prince's brow. From there, it shimmered and sank into his skin, disappearing as though it had been an illusion. The elf's eyelids slid closed, head lolling limply to the side. Mornince stepped away to discard the bowl. Cain's men cautiously eased off the unconscious elf, giving each other disquieted glances.
Cain cleared his throat. "What did you do?"
"I set a curse in motion that will not stop until every elf in Mirkwood has fallen prey to it. Now, take him back."
Each of the men froze at that. "Take him back where?" Cain asked slowly.
"To his people," Mornince replied with a touch of impatience.
"Are you mad?" Travers blurted. "We'll be slaughtered!"
She waved a dismissive hand. "Tell them you found the elf injured and were bringing him back. They won't be able to prove you wrong."
"Perhaps if this was just an ordinary elf, but you said it's the son of the king! They won't wait for justification before imprisoning us!"
Cain tensed. He knew underneath the woman's calm exterior was a coiled cobra, one not lightly confronted. Yet, he also was not thrilled with this change in plans. He flicked a look toward Fezzick, but the mute giant merely shrugged one shoulder as though it didn't matter much to him. But then, he always followed Cain no matter what.
Mornince turned flinty eyes on Travers. "Even if they decide to imprison you until the prince wakes to tell them the truth, you won't be there long. I told you, the Woodland Realm will fall to me, but the only way that is going to happen is if you take him back."
"We can't exactly show up with him trussed up like that," Cain tried to point out reasonably.
"So untie him," she snapped, huffing in annoyance. "He's not going to wake up and give you trouble." The corner of her mouth curved upward. "He's not going to wake up at all."