A/N: Set TA 2070, seven years into the Watchful Peace. Will feature lots of canon characters (sorry about no Aragorn, but the plot wouldn't fit among the events of his lifetime). Shout-out to 29-pieces-of-me for beta reading and helping me through some of the tricky parts in this story.

There will be angst, whump, and h/c galore. Also, given the nature of the nightmare world that's to come, this story could be labeled as horror fantasy, but it's not anything worse than what you'd find in canon. Will update every Tuesday.

Disclaimer: I don't own LoTR. Or the giant who makes a cameo here. (Don't get attached to him.)

Chapter 1: Traps

Legolas bent down and picked up a long, thin branch, eyeing it critically. The wood was firm, and the length would provide for two arrows. Satisfied, he broke it in half over his knee and stuck the pieces in his quiver. Already he'd found a dozen good branchlets he could whittle into appropriate shafts. Legolas didn't need to forage for materials to make his own arrows, though he enjoyed it on occasion. So when Lícumon suggested a trip into the forest for such a task, Legolas was happy to agree.

He turned in a half-circle, searching for his companion. They had wandered further from the palace than Legolas would have normally liked. Greenwood the Great was no longer the beautiful and glorious realm it had once been. Though Sauron no longer inhabited the fortress of Dol Guldur in the south, and the elves had declared this time as the Watchful Peace, the darkness that had infected Mirkwood had not fled with its master. Evil creatures roamed freely, growing more bold each year. The rest of Middle-earth may have been basking in their peaceful reprieve, but the elves of the Woodland Realm were still living on a battlefield.

Legolas moved silently under the canopy of dark leaves, footsteps barely rustling the underbrush. Every few minutes he heard the trill of a bird flitting above, so he was not worried about coming upon a giant spider or wolves. Yet.

Rounding the trunk of a large oak, Legolas drew to a stop as he spotted Lícumon sitting cross-legged on the ground next to a clematis plant, weaving a garland crown of flowers. The dark-haired elf's fingers moved deftly, twisting and braiding the flexible twine and purple blossoms. Shaking his head, Legolas scooped up an acorn and tossed it, hitting Lícumon squarely in the forehead.

The other elf's hands instantly stilled, and he looked up with a vexed expression. "Ow."

Legolas's lips twitched. "I see now why you wanted an excursion to gather arrow shafts—so you could pick flowers for Mirime."

Lícumon ducked his gaze in an unsuccessful bid to hide his blush. "It was just an afterthought."

"Do not tell her that. Though you are a terrible liar; why else would you insist on coming this far into the forest if not to find that particular rare beauty?" Legolas nodded to the star-shaped blossoms with various shades of plum and lavender strips inside the petals.

Lícumon rolled his shoulder, undeniably caught. "They are her favorite. I'm sorry, Legolas, I did not mean to deceive you."

He shrugged. "It has been a fruitful morning for me as well." He shifted slightly to indicate his full quiver. "But if you are finished, perhaps we should return now."

With a nod, Lícumon rolled to his feet, and the two began heading back toward the palace.

"When will you grow tired of dancing around each other and declare your intentions?" Legolas asked, not unkindly.

Lícumon sighed, tipping his head back to gaze at the tightly knit branches and mottled leaves. "In truth, I do not know. We are still at war. There may be a lull in the fighting, but it is only a matter of time before it starts up again. I…do not wish to make things more difficult for her should I one day perish."

Legolas did not reply. He understood Lícumon's position, knew the darkness would only grow stronger and that sacrifices would be made in the fight to protect their home. It was inevitable. Yet, they also could not say that once the war was over, they could be together, for no one saw an end to the encroaching Shadow. Still, Legolas felt the urge to comfort his friend somehow.

"Perhaps—"

There was a soft click, and Lícumon suddenly stumbled as a shower of leaves burst up from the ground, an agonized scream tearing from his throat. He fell before Legolas could catch him, landing at an awkward angle on his side with his hands clutching his leg—right above where a row of iron teeth had sunken into flesh. Legolas's stomach lurched, and he dropped down beside Lícumon, bracing his shoulders as the elf shuddered and gasped in pain.

"Lie still," he commanded, and though it was difficult, Lícumon threw his head back against the ground in an effort to cease his movements. His cheeks puffed with exertion as he bit back another scream.

Legolas swept his gaze over the trap in a quick assessment. Four teeth on each side had snapped around the front and back of Lícumon's leg. The two middle ones had pierced muscle, and though blood lined the edges of the entry points, the clamp was tight enough to staunch the bleeding. One of the outer teeth, however, had scored across the side, stripping away fabric and flesh. A crimson stain had already soaked through the calf legging. Based on the size of the teeth, it was possible they may have even broken through the bone. Legolas uttered a low curse; who would dare set such traps in the forest?

"I am going to try to remove it," he warned. Gripping the sides of the metal jaws, Legolas pulled as hard as he could. Lícumon grunted, which quickly turned to a strangled cry. Legolas yanked his hands away and rocked back; he hadn't been able to budge the trap at all.

He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling the minute shivers running through Lícumon. "I'm sorry, mellon. Breathe."

Lícumon's cheek was pressed into the dirt, eyes squeezed shut, but he managed a small nod. Legolas regarded the iron maw with dread and simmering ire. A heavy chain attached to a solid lead bolt had been hammered into the ground so as to prevent any prey from limping off with the thing attached. And the spring coil was too strong for him to force open himself. Legolas cast a helpless look around the forest; they were a few miles from the palace, and not in a place where a patrol was likely to come upon them.

"You must…go for help," Lícumon wheezed between clenched teeth.

Legolas frowned. He did not like the idea of leaving Lícumon alone and vulnerable. The scent of blood could attract predators before Legolas was able to return, and Lícumon was in no shape to defend himself. Yet, there was little Legolas could do if he stayed.

Shifting onto his knees, he drew one of his twin daggers and began digging at the earth around the anchor. If he could get it out, then perhaps he could carry Lícumon…though Legolas also knew that each step would be agony with the dangling chain pulling on the wounds. He gave up on that course with a frustrated growl, and leaned down to examine the hinges. Maybe he could work a bolt loose…

At the sound of a twig snapping, Legolas whipped his head up, flipping the hilt of his dagger around to a fighting hold. A young human male who'd stepped out from behind a tree several feet away threw his hands up, palms outward.

"Sorry, friend," he called out. "I did not mean to startle you. My companions and I heard screams and thought to help." His gaze flicked to Lícumon on the ground. "Do you need aid?"

Legolas tensed as a rustling of branches preceded three more men emerging from behind a large copse. They all appeared slightly older than the human who had spoken, faces weathered and grizzled. One was rather large, a seven-foot-two brute with mountainous shoulders and bulging muscles. For a moment, Legolas imagined he would be able to pry this death-trap apart…but then, it was likely these men were the poachers who'd set the trap in the first place.

The younger man took a tentative step forward, hands still raised. His black hair was shorter than his companions', curling around the nape of his neck and ears, and the scruffiness on his face looked more like dirt than a beard.

"Uh, I'm afraid I don't know your tongue." He gestured to Lícumon, then to himself, lifting his brows in question.

Legolas slowly rose to his feet. "I understand yours just fine," he said in Westron.

The young man's eyes widened. "Well then, that makes things easier." He stretched on his toes and let out a low whistle. "That looks bad. Need help?"

Legolas's fingers tightened around his knife, his instincts wishing he could switch to his bow. "That depends…were you the ones who set the trap?"

"We don't hunt game in this forest," the adan said hurriedly, perhaps worried how the elves might react to such activities. "We were passing through from Dale, hoping to find trade in other parts." He took another step closer, and Legolas didn't know whether to find it brave or threatening. "Name's Cain. May we help?"

Legolas glanced back at Lícumon, whose face was pinched red with pain and frustration at being unable to get up. He was also shaking more noticeably. Legolas was wary of the men, but at the moment he did need their help. Reluctantly sheathing his knife, he nodded to Cain, who then gestured to the big guy.

"Fezzick."

Legolas stood protectively over Lícumon as both men approached. Cain knelt down on Lícumon's other side while 'Fezzick' squatted at his feet.

"Uh, you may want to hold him down," Cain suggested, one hand hovering as though he were ready to oblige, but uncertain whether it'd be wanted.

Legolas slowly lowered himself as the large man put meaty hands on either side of the iron jaws. "Hold on, mellon," he whispered to Lícumon.

The other elf's eyes were wide and fearful, flitting between the strange men and the one about to yank a bunch of jagged metal from his leg. Legolas placed one arm across his chest and nodded that they were ready. Fezzick began to pull, face screwing up with effort. The rusted hinges squeaked, a sound soon drowned out by Lícumon's scream. Legolas thrust down hard, keeping his bucking friend pinned to the ground. As soon as the teeth were far enough apart, Cain moved in and removed the leg. The other man let go of the trap, and the two ends snapped together with a crack.

Lícumon was panting heavily, pallor two shades whiter than it'd been a moment ago. Legolas quickly straightened off of him, gaze whipping to the bloodied leg and glints of bone shards now showing through tattered skin. It would not be easy to get him home, but at least he was out of that accursed contraption.

Legolas looked at Cain to begrudgingly thank him, for the prince still was not convinced these men weren't poachers, when Fezzick suddenly moved sideways and body slammed him to the ground. The air was punched from his lungs, and he heard Lícumon shout in surprised outrage.

Legolas tried to push the giant off, but the man straddled him easily, beefy hands enclosing Legolas's wrists and holding him down. One of the other men appeared and pressed a piece of cloth over his mouth and nose. A sickly sweet odor suffused through his nostrils, and Legolas's eyes flew wide. He began to struggle harder, but his desperate kicks only served to strike Lícumon, who couldn't help but cry out in agony. Legolas strained against his attackers, arms bruising from Fezzick's vice-like fingers.

"More," Cain ordered.

The cloth was removed, and Legolas gasped in a breath, even as his vision swam and he began to feel muddled. It was replaced with another just as quickly, this one soaked with the same substance that Legolas couldn't identify, but with each inhalation of vapor, a dark haze encroached on his consciousness and he felt his struggles lessening. He vaguely heard Lícumon shouting curses and threats in Sindarin and Silvan, but they grew far away—until they silenced completely. Legolas dropped his head back against the earth. Fezzick's blurred face loomed over him, the last thing he saw before darkness claimed him.

Radagast stood in the middle of a hazel thicket, eyes closed and mouth moving almost imperceptibly under his tawny beard. A moment later they snapped open, and he picked up a gnarled bough discarded from a rotted tree. Taking three long strides to the right, he then rammed the end of the branch straight down into a clump of mulch. There was a metallic click and a pair of rusted iron jaws sprung up to snap the porous wood in two. Radagast tossed the bough aside and grumbled at the inhumane trap. He had been roaming northern Mirkwood for several weeks now trying to track down the despicable souls who set them in the first place.

It was strange; the poachers had started their campaign further south where the Brown Wizard's tender ministrations kept Greenwood flourishing, and thus was where more game could be caught. Radagast did not oppose hunting as a man's means of livelihood, but this method burned his soul with livid fire. He'd found a deer trapped in one, leg broken and mangled and unable to escape. It had been stuck for two whole days, and even Radagast's gentle magic could not save its spirit, and so he ended the poor creature's suffering. He'd begun a crusade then, to dismantle every single trap within the Woodland Realm, and to find those responsible.

When the as yet uncaught humans started moving north, the wizard had wondered if his efforts were desperately driving them to deeper and darker parts of the forest. But then the poachers were setting traps along the Elf Path, which was odd, and decidedly more dangerous if the elves were to catch them. Yet as time went on and these men were not spotted, Radagast began to suspect that something more sinister was at work here. For how could mere men evade both an Istar and elves for so long?

Muttering under his breath, Radagast tapped his staff to the bolted anchor, and in a spark of light, it exploded out of the ground in a shower of dirt. The wizard bent down and picked up the chain, slinging it over his shoulder to lug around with the other two traps he'd already dismantled. He refused to bring his Rhosgobel rabbits and sleigh whilst hunting for the deadly devices, even if his back ached from the heavy load. Plus, he relished the opportunity to throw the iron jaws at the poachers once he finally caught up to them.

Radagast began humming as he waded through the forest and back to where he'd left his sled. He'd had a rather productive morning and afternoon, even if his true targets continued to remain elusive. A gravid silence filled the air then, and the wizard's tune cut off abruptly. Something was wrong. There was a poignant sadness permeating through the trees…one that whispered of death.

Radagast quickened his pace, following the resonation until he barreled past an elderberry bush and skidded to a stop, the coppery scent of blood assaulting his senses. Ten feet away lay a body, dressed in the muted green and brown of a Mirkwood elf, a curtain of dark hair fanning out from the still head. Radagast slid the chains off his shoulder to clunk on the ground, and then cautiously approached.

It was an elf, brown eyes wide open and gazing sightlessly up at the mesh of leaves and branches. His leg was a shattered mess of bone and sinew, and Radagast clenched a fist at the iron trap lying next to the poor elf. But that was not what had killed him. A dark stain spread across his tunic from what appeared to be a stab wound to the chest, and a thin trail of blood had trickled out the corner of his mouth.

Radagast furrowed his brow at the scene. The elf had gotten his leg free of the trap...certainly not by himself. But why would someone go to the trouble of releasing him just to kill him? The wizard swept his gaze across the ground. He was by no means a skilled tracker, could not read scuff marks or days' old prints in the soil, but he did notice the discarded bow and quiver four feet from the slain elf. Too far to have belonged to the fellow. So where was this other elf?

A small yip drew his attention, and Radagast glanced to the side as a tiny fennec fox slunk out from under a bush, tail tucked nervously between his legs. The wizard crouched down. "Don't be afraid, little tyke."

The fox flicked a look at the inert trap, and then scampered into Radagast's waiting arms. He let out a tremulous bark, and Radagast canted his head to give the animal his ear. His brows shot up. "Men captured an elf?"

The fox whined and pawed at the Istar's robe.

Radagast felt his blood begin to boil. "They set the trap and then returned when an elf was caught." In truth, with how the poachers had been laying out their traps, it was a wonder an elf had not been accidentally caught in one before. Or…was it not an accident? An elf had been taken, after all.

Radagast lifted the two-pound fox up in one hand to look him straight in the eye. "Do you know which way they went?"

His bushy tail curled under and his large oval ears flattened back against his head, but he gave a small growl of affirmation.

"Then we will follow." Radagast set the fox on the ground and stood up, only to cast a remorseful look at the slain elf; he did not deserve to be left like that. Yet time was also of the essence. Radagast shuffled toward the nearest large tree and laid a hand upon its trunk. The bark was coarse and thick, pulsing with a deep, baritone rhythm. I would ask you to take this creature of light, the wizard implored. House his body in the roots of his home while his spirit makes its way to the Halls of Mandos.

It took a moment, but then the tree groaned and creaked, and the earth began sifting like silt as centuries' old roots worked their way up to wrap around the poor elf and carry him under.

Thank you. Radagast bowed his head, and then spoke to the mound of roots now shielding the elf's body from the elements and carrion predators. "I have not the time now, but you will not remain nameless." With that, he turned to scoop up the abandoned weapons, sure they would come in handy, at least to the one he intended to rescue, and paused at the silver filigree etched into the bow. His eye caught two ivory handles also tucked in the quiver, gold inlay curling into a short series of runes.

Radagast's heart stuttered. He recognized that name. Whirling back to the fox, the wizard urgently demanded a description of the elf that had been taken. Blond hair, blue eyes…now that his fear was confirmed, a new feeling of dread began unfurling in his stomach. Why had poachers sought to capture an elf? And had they intended to snag the Prince of Mirkwood, or had it been chance? Either way, this was a grave situation indeed. One the Brown Wizard might need assistance on. He could not waste valuable time making for the palace to inform them of what had happened; no, he had to follow this trail now. But there was another he could contact quickly, one who cared deeply for the Mirkwood Prince and would want to come. Radagast just hoped Gandalf was not far, and that he could secure swift transportation of some kind.

Closing his eyes, Radagast began to chant, low half-mumbled words that droned monotonously in the silent forest. As he sank into the communicative trance, the trees and woodland faded away, leaving only a blank mental landscape and a gleam of light on the horizon. Radagast reached for that spark, sending his message across the expanse.

His eyes snapped open once he'd finished, and he glanced down at the fox. "Come, my friend, we must make haste!" Lifting his staff in a mimicked charge, Radagast bolted in the direction the poachers had gone, the fox giving a small yelp before bounding ahead to lead the way.

A/N: And the chase begins! I'd love to know what you think so far.