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middleearthpixie · 10 months

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The Escape ~ Part Two

Summary: Thorin and his Company have found themselves imprisoned in Mirkwood, only to have help from one of the most unlikeliest of elves…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Carys Greenleaf

Characters: Thorin, Carys Greenleaf, Thorin’s Company, Thranduíl, Legolas, Bilbo Baggins

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.3k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketchy-loo6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms

Part One can be found here.

“You took it upon yourself to let them go, Carys?”

Thranduíl never raised his voice, but the iciness in his words was more than enough to make Carys’ stomach clench into painful knots, which in turn made her feel sick as a sweetly brackish taste flooded her mouth. Although she’d heard him use this same tone on others, such as members of his guard who disappointed him and enemies in his dungeons, he’d never used it with her before.

Swallowing hard to try to calm her roiling gut, she squared her shoulders and met his furious stare. “I did. It was wrong to hold them and you know this, Father. They did nothing to merit imprisonment.”

His eyes grew colder, his gaze unwavering. “That was not your decision to make. You deliberately went behind my back, stole from me, and let them go and I cannot forgive that.”

“I could tell you I was sorry,” she countered, shaking her head. “But it would be a lie. And if you were honest with yourself, you would agree. Why do you harbor such resentment, such hatred, toward them? What could they have possibly done to warrant it?”

“That is none of your concern.”

She stared up at him. “I do not understand this at all. You’ve never before laid eyes on this group and yet you treat them as if they were your mortal enemy. Why?”

“Again, that is not of your concern. You went against my wishes and did so deliberately and I cannot let that stand.”

She swallowed hard, her heartbeat speeding up to the point where black dots dance before her eyes. He continued to simply stare at her, and the urge to shuffle her feet, to sink her hands into her skirts and worry the velvet swept through her. She hated the suspense of waiting for his next words. “Father?”

“I need to decide how such a deliberate act should be punished, for it must be. There are consequences to such actions, Carys, and you are not a child who knew no better.”

“But—”

“Taras,” Thranduíl cut her off sharply, his gaze sliding to the guard standing to his right, “take the princess back to her chambers.”

He looked back at her. “You will wait there until I decide. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good.” Thranduíl now turned to the guard on his left. “Have your captains been dispatched to round up the prisoners, Belanor?”

Carys winced as Belanor nodded. “They have. It should not be long before we have them again.”

“Good.” Thranduíl spun about to make his way out of the chamber. “So, you will return to your chambers at once and remain there until I come to a decision regarding your punishment. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

Taras caught her by the elbow. “If you would come with me, Princess.”

“I can find my own way, thank you,” she replied, jerking free and striding off, leaving him to catch up to her.

He shadowed her the entire way back to her chambers, but she ignored him, taking a great, if childish, delight in slamming the door to her chambers in his face. Then, with a soft sigh, she leaned back against it, letting her eyes close as her head thunked dully against the wood. She expected her father to be angry with him, but she did not expect the cold fury he showed. Why did he harbor such animosity for those men? What could they have possibly done to him? They were lost travelers, nothing more and nothing less. And if her father expected her to feel remorse for doing what she felt was right, he was going to be disappointed.

But at the same time, she hated waiting. Especially when she knew she was in serious trouble and somehow, she didn't think trouble could be more serious than this. Certainly, she’d never made him so angry, not that she could remember, anyway. In fact, the last time she’d seen him this angry, he’d banished the elf responsible and she had no idea whatever became of Elré. All she knew was that he was taken to the front gates, his bow and arrows were broken in front of him and he was sent off into the wilds to fend for himself. That was the last any of them saw him, as far as she knew.

Her bow and quiver of black-tipped arrows stood in the corner, where she’d put them every night before going to sleep since she was a wee girl. The thought of seeing them destroyed before her eyes was heartbreaking. She couldn’t imagine not having them within reach.

Of course, she couldn’t imagine being forced to leave her home, either, and although she didn't think her father would do something so cold, she couldn't say for certain he wouldn’t, either.

And what about the dwarves? He’d sent his best soldiers out after them. What would happen if they found the company and Thorin and his men refused to come without a fight? She had the feeling her father’s archers would have no qualms at all about riddling each member of Thorin’s company with arrows.

She couldn’t sit there and just wait for that word to come in. Her conscience wouldn’t allow that, just as it wouldn’t allow her to let the dwarves simply rot in the dungeons, either. With that in mind, she changed from her lovely, but impractical, flowing velvet gown into comfortable trousers and a warm dark green tunic that would help her blend into the woods, tugged on her favorite soft-skinned boots, and she was ready to go and see for herself.

The door was locked, as she found when she squeezed the handle. Expected but aggravating all the same. And she didn't doubt Taras was stationed right outside, either. He was her bodyguard as well as her jailer and while most times she could sweet-talk him into looking the other way while she snuck out, she had the feeling he would not be so complacent this time.

With that, she moved to lift her quiver from the floor and slid into it, then crept across the floor, mindful of the loose floorboard that creaked on occasion, toward the windows. They opened without a sound and she’d just gotten one leg over the sill when footsteps sounds beyond her door. She paused, half-in and half-out, her mind whirling with excuses she might offer up, should someone come into her chambers, until the steps receded once more.

Then, she slipped all the way out and disappeared into the forest the way Legolas taught her to do when they were children. She moved without a sound across the leaves and debris littering Mirkwood’s floor, and at her favorite tree, she caught a lower branch to effortlessly swing herself up into the branches. Moving above the forest floor was far faster, much quieter, and easier to camouflage herself, and it wasn't long before she’d reached the far end of the forest, where the Forest River wound out of Mirkwood toward the Long Lake where Esgaroth had been built. There was no sign of dwarves, or barrels, but she grimaced at the sight of dead orcs, in various stages of dismemberment strewn about like abused and neglected dolls that some giant child grew tired of playing with and just let them lay were they fell.

Easing down from her tree to the now-silent stone bridge that spanned the river, Carys’ stomach clenched at the pools of sticky black ooze that was orc blood. Her mouth painfully dry, and swallowing nearly impossible, she forced herself to look for any sign or dwarven or elf blood. There were no shattered barrels or remnants of barrels anywhere to be seen.

Hopefully that meant the dwarves made it to freedom.

She didn’t know why she cared so much about making certain they escaped. She’d never met dwarves before and what she’d been told of them hardly endeared them to her. Rude. Boisterous. Messy. They were everything elves were not. She would have been perfectly happy to never have clapped eyes on a single dwarf ever.

So why did she free this group?

She couldn't explain it. It defied reason.

A soft sigh rose to her lips as she vaulted over the edge of the bridge to the river bank and without a look back at Mirkwood, followed the river as it wound away from everything she’d ever known.

Two hours later, Carys was absolutely questioning the wisdom of her decision as her stomach growled. She had some lembas with her, but was hardly in the mood to stop and eat. She sat up in the branches of a towering oak and tried to find the sun, which was next to impossible since iron gray clouds had effectively blocked it from view. But that didn't stop her from trying to find it. She simply had to do so.

In other words, she, who knew these woods like the back of her hand—or so she’d thought— was lost.

Everything was fine at first, but then she crossed paths—well, almost crossed paths—with a pack of orcs, most likely the ones who survived the battle at the bridge. She vaulted up into the trees when one spotted her, and in her haste to get out of range of their filthy arrows, she not only managed to do that, but she managed to get herself turned around to the point where she couldn't even find the river itself, and that had never happened before. And without being able to see the sun, she had no way of knowing which way she actually traveled.

Irritation rippled through her as she sat there, in the cradle of that blasted oak tree. The wind picked up and rain began to fall and she scowled as cold droplets soaked into her tunic, into her hair, into her trousers and boots and made her colder still.

She peered down through the leafy canopy. No sign of any orcs. No sign of anyone, period.

Carefully, she lowered herself from the branch to the path that could only barely be called such. It was narrow and overgrown with tree roots and branches, vines, and other debris that made moving along it more than a little difficult. But night was creeping in and she had to at least try to find her way to some sort of shelter. Once night fell, orcs seemed to multiply and appear everywhere and she had no desire to come face to face with them again.

So, she pushed on. The path narrowed further and she bit back a sharp oath when a branch she’d been pushing aside slipped and slapped back, the thorns raking across her left cheek in the process. The hot sting brought tears to her eyes, which mingled with the rain that now fell harder still.

Carys pressed on into the thickening darkness. Thankfully, the rain stopped, but the damage was already done, so to speak, and she couldn't remember the last time she was so miserable. Cold. Soaked to the bone. Lost in the woods she’d spent her entire life. Could it possibly get any worse?

The footsteps ahead of her answered her question.

Of course it could.

She stopped and carefully reached for one of the arrows in her quiver, then carefully laid it against the rest. The bow lowered but ready, she crept forward as noiselessly as she could. The footsteps quieted, but then she heard voices. Low. Rumbling. Definitely male.

And more than two, as the voices ranged in timbre and pitch.

She drew the bowstring back as she crept closer to the sounds. Foolish, but she couldn't go back. The pathway behind her disappeared as the branches and various other flora snapped back into place and now it was too dark to even see where the path was, let alone navigate it.

Finally, she came to a clearing. The crackle of a fire greeted her.

The rush of water came softly behind that crackle.

She’d found the river.

The voices grew louder and she eased her grip on the bowstring as she realized she recognized them. Or at least, one of them.

Bow and arrow went back to where they belonged and she paused, hands on the branches in her way, and took a deep breath before parting them. She stepped out into the clearing, where she found herself staring, and being stared at by, the same group of dwarves she’d let out of Mirkwood’s dungeons less than twenty-four hours earlier.

Thorin held up a hand to cut Dwalin off mid-sentence. “Hush. Something approaches.”

The hobbit, who somehow found them just beyond the curve in the river where the current spit them out, looked from him to Dwalin and back. “Do you think it’s orcs?”

Thorin shook his head as he looked about for something, anything, that they might use as weapons, since Thranduíl had taken it upon himself to relieve Thorin and his Company of any and all of their own weapons. His gut tightened at the thought of possibly facing off against orcs with no way to defend themselves.

Dwalin crouched to swipe a large rock from the ground behind them. “I’m ready.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “A rock? Against their arrows? Do you truly think that will work?”

“I think it better than nothing.”

“I think you’ve gone—” He stopped then as the bushes before them rustled madly. Whoever their company was, stealth was not their strong suit.

Dwalin lifted his rock higher and the rest of the company—Bilbo included—also snatched up rocks of their own. They all went absolutely silent, just waiting to see what would emerge from the forest and how heavily they might be armed.

“There you are.”

They all stared as the elf princess from Mirkwood burst forth from the trees as if she’d been tracking them for ages. She certainly looked as if she’d been lost in the woods since the beginning of time. Water beaded her cheeks, dripped from the tip of her nose, her chin, from the hem of her tunic and when she took a step, it sounded as if her boots actually squished.

“What are you doing here?” Thorin asked, letting his rock hit the ground with a dull thunk. The others followed suit, and then all just waited to hear her explanation.

“I’m here because I got myself completely turned around thanks to the blasted rain and some fool orcs.” She came out into the clearing, looking from him to Dwalin, then to Balin, and back. “You should be miles from her by now. Thranduíl’s best captains are at this moment combing these woods looking for you, and I’ll wager the orcs who saw you off are as well.”

“I agree, we should be miles from here,” he replied, slowly turning away from her. “And we would be, if not for the fact that we lost the current and this is where the river dumped us out.”

“You need to keep moving,” she told him, as if he didn't already know that. “It won’t take them long to find you here.”

“Is that why you’re here?” He moved back to where Óin was attempting to light a fire, only to find any of the wood he tried to ignite was too wet to catch. It wouldn’t be long before they were all shivering, sitting in wet clothes as the night temperatures dropped.

He looked back at the elf. What was her name again?

“Listen, Miss—”

“Carys,” she said, meeting his stare. “My name is Carys. No Miss. Just Carys.”

“You should return home, Carys,” he told her flatly. “We needed no warning. We are well aware of what hunts us from back there.”

“And yet you dawdle here?”

“Did you miss the part where I said we’ve lost the current?”

She rolled her eyes as she strode past them and up onto the large rocks near the water’s edge. He remained where he was, exchanging looks with Balin as he waited for Carys to realize that without a current, they weren’t getting far.

It took a few minutes, but then she turned back toward him. “I know a path through the woods, it will take us a bit further south, but you should be to—”

“Us?” He arched one brow at her. She couldn’t honestly think she would be accompanying them, now did she?

To her credit, she hesitated and he had the feeling that, had there been light, he see her blushing as she said, “I—that is, you—well, to be honest, yes. Us.”

“My dear lady,” Balin broke in, his tone the one of diplomacy Thorin knew and counted on more times than he liked to think about, “you cannot go with us. It’s far too dangerous.”

The elf just stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. “No, I’m afraid you don’t understand. I cannot go back home. Thranduíl is furious with me that I helped you and he has not said what my punishment will be, but has made it very clear that there will be one. So, if I were to return to his palace, the best I can hope for is that he will break my bow and confiscate my arrows. The worst? I will be banished. Without my bow or arrows, mind you.”

She said it softly, but there was no mistaking the definite apprehension in her soft voice. Despite Thorin’s better judgement, sympathy for her predicament swirled through him. “He would banish his own daughter?”

“For something of this magnitude?” She nodded slowly. “Yes. I believe he would.”

He couldn’t help his sigh. This quest grew more complicated by the hour. It went from reaching Erebor and dislodging a dragon, which was complicated enough on its own, to having to find a way to Erebor, find weapons, and then dislodge the dragon.

And now? Now, it seemed they had no choice but to allow Carys of Mirkwood to accompany them. Of course, if nothing else, at least she had a weapon, but that was a small consolation.

Dwalin looked over at him. “Ye cannot seriously be thinking of allowing a girl to come with us?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Carys. Her name is Carys. And if we leave her, what will become of her?”

“What will become of us, when her father, the king who is already displeased with ye, Thorin, finds us? And finds her with us?” Dwalin let out a mirthless snort. “Ye’ll find yerself as his son-in-law, living here instead of in Erebor.”

Both Thorin and Carys snorted at the same time, which made Balin chuckle. “Why do I think that won’t be a problem?”

Thorin just stared at him for a long moment, then decided it didn't even warrant a response, and so instead, said, “It is settled. She knows a way around, where we won’t run across Thranduíl’s guards or the orc pack, hopefully, and so we will let her show us this way. We are running short of time and I’d rather just make our way to Erebor instead of standing here debating the matter.”

He turned to Carys. “We can pay your for your service.”

“Fine.” She nodded, coming over to where he stood, and held out a hand. “We have a bargain then?”

“It depends on the cost,” he replied.

“We can settle that in Esgaroth.”

“I’d rather settle it now.”

“Very well.” She offered up an impish smile that for some strange reason made his heart skip a beat. “Then consider my services a gift. They will benefit us both in the end, so there is no need for payment of any sort.”

“Oh, now, I am not at all certain—” he began, only to have Ori cut him off.

“Uh… Thorin?”

He turned toward Ori, only to see another man had appeared out of the darkness, high above perched up on a large rock. Not only that, but he was armed with a bow of his own, aimed at Ori, and there was no hint of friendliness in his voice as he said, “If any of you moves, he is dead.”

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