The silence of the children should have warned him.

Kim Jaejoong, eldest son and heir to the throne of United Korea, realizes this too late, after he has already ducked through the doorway of a poor family’s home and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.  The (five) children of this household are always lively and boisterous, giving their parents plenty of trouble as they play and fight.  The fact that this street had been quiet as he’d driven into the district should have warned him that this stop on his countrywide tour was not as normal as the others.  Moreover, it should have warned his guards.

“Don’t even,” drawls the man pointing the gun at Jaejoong’s face, clicking the safety off as the prince’s guards go for their own weapons.  The other bad guys in the room—Jaejoong’s eyes flit around, counting ten, far too many to even attempt an escape, especially when several held knives to the children’s throats—move forward and take out Jaejoong’s guards, and the prince feels angry tears prick his eyes as he hopes beyond hope that they haven’t killed them.

“Your highness,” whispers the mother, her voice thick with tears, “I’m so sorry, they grabbed the children, we couldn’t—”

Jaejoong gives her a tight smile as rough hands strip him of his weapons, forcing him onto his knees and tying his hands behind his back.  “It’s okay.  Everything’s going to be okay.”  He uses the voice he’s been taught especially as Crown Prince, calm and in control and authoritative.  It is slightly undermined by the fact that he is shoved onto his face right afterward, unable to break his fall with his tied hands.

“Ha!” the same man as before snorts, and Jaejoong hears various thuds as the bodies of his guards are dropped and dragged to the side.  “It might be okay for them, pretty,” the man croons into Jaejoong’s ear, “but you’re going to be in a world of hurt soon.”

Jaejoong feels a brief flash of white-hot pain connect with his temple, and falls into darkness.

—

“Changmin.”

Shim Changmin looks up from his book, noticing a few other people’s gaze flick to the door of the small library.  This room is reserved for the special forces of Korea’s army, and every operative’s life depends on being aware of everything in their vicinity.

Kim Junsu, Commander General of the UK Armed Forces and Special Commander of the Black Ops division, as well as second in line to the throne, stands in the doorway, full lips pressed into a thin line.  His naturally smiling face is more serious than Changmin has ever seen it.

He beckons, and Changmin rises quietly, setting his book to the side and not bothering to mark his place.  If his Commander and childhood friend is looking for him personally, then he won’t get a chance to return to that room for a long time.  He follows Junsu out the door.

Junsu leads him to his office, arguably the most secure room in the entire palace.  Changmin flits around the room quickly, automatically checking for bugs or hidden surprises, as every operative does every time they enter the room.  Finished, he returns to the front of the desk and stands at ease, hands behind his back, to wait for his Commander’s orders.

Junsu slumps in his desk chair as soon as they enter the room, not even watching Changmin make his rounds with amusement as he normally does.  His eyes are closed, and he looks suddenly much older than his twenty-six years.  Changmin feels worry trickle into his stomach, but he waits quietly, willing to stand there until Junsu is ready to tell him what has happened.

“Minnie-ah,” Junsu says quietly, and the sick sense of worry in Changmin’s stomach doubles.  Junsu only uses his childhood nickname when he’s so shaken he can’t stand on formality, not between them.  “It’s Jaejoong.”

Changmin feels the room sway around him.  There is a faint ringing in his ears.

No.

“He’s been kidnapped,” Junsu whispers, opening his eyes and staring at the desk.

Changmin locks his knees so that they won’t collapse.  Well, whispers the quiet, cold part of his brain, at least he’s not dead yet.

“They took him right off the street,” Junsu continues, his voice gaining strength now that the hardest part is over.  “He was revisiting a family on his tour, one he’d met before, and they took him right out of the house.  Killed his guards.  The family called us as soon as they left, but they couldn’t give many details, just a general direction that they left in.  The rest of the entourage has managed to track them a certain distance, but they’re too many, and they don’t have the skills for this.”  Junsu closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath.  “They took him on horses up into the mountains.  They must have a base somewhere up there, inaccessible by car or vehicle.  If…if there’s any chance of finding him alive…you have to go.  You’re the best we have, and I know you can track them faster than they can ride.”

“Hyung,” whispers Changmin, “you know I will.  You know I’ll bring him back alive.”

Junsu smiles at him, eyes suspiciously bright.  “I know.  And I know you’ll do this for more than just loyalty to your country, which is why I know I can always trust you.”

Changmin shifts his weight slightly and glances off to the side, lips thinning faintly.  The problem with your best friend also being your Commander means that he knows all of your secrets.  But that isn’t something they talk about, so Changmin remains silent.

“How soon can you leave?” Junsu asks, bringing the topic back onto safe ground.

It takes Changmin less than a minute to calculate what he would need.  “Give me half an hour.”

Junsu nods.  “All right.  You’ll be taking a helo off of the roof.  Wheels up in half an hour.  And Changmin,” he adds as Changmin nods sharply and turns to leave.  Changmin turns back to see his best friend, the younger brother, staring back at him with wounded eyes.  “Bring my hyung back to me,” he says quietly.

Changmin gives him a small smile.  “Hyung,” he says, “you’d make a terrible king.  I have to bring Jaejoong-hyung back just for that.  You’d run the country into the ground.”

Junsu chuckles softly, flapping a hand at him.  “Get out of here.  You now have twenty-eight minutes.”

Plenty of time, Changmin thinks as he trots for his quarters.

—

Jaejoong wakes to a splitting headache and a wrenched, aching body.  He also has an itch just above his left elbow, but considering everything else, he figures that is relatively low on the list of things to worry about.

He is…hogtied?  No, but he is trussed up like a turkey and slung belly-down over a horse’s back, presumably also tied to the saddle so that he doesn’t slide off.  Jaejoong tries to think through the almost crippling pain in his head, the nausea caused by his head wound made worse by the incredibly uncomfortable gait of the horse.  So he’s been kidnapped.  That’s right…the family in the small town.  He hopes they’re okay.  They don’t deserve to be punished simply because some Separatist crazies decided to steal the Crown Prince from their house.

Jaejoong is assuming they are Separatists, simply because there aren’t many other groups that would want to kidnap him in his own country.  This theory is born out when he manages to focus in on the dialogue between his captors and find that they are speaking in an old North Korean dialect, left over in certain remote areas after the unification of North and South two generations ago.  Separatists always seem to feel that speaking in a North Korean dialect brings them closer to the ‘glory’ of the past regime.

Jaejoong barely manages to keep from vomiting as the horse jolts from side to side, navigating a tricky stretch of hillside.  What a load of crock.

Well, load of crock or not, these men certainly can and will do serious damage to Jaejoong until they get what they want, whatever that is.  These types never think things through.  What are they planning on demanding in exchange for his life?  Re-separation?  Yeah, that could happen.  Jaejoong spits out a wad of saliva, his mouth filling with it in anticipation of throwing up.

The pounding in his head is making it nearly impossible to think, but Jaejoong grasps at things he knows.  It takes much longer than it should have, but he finally thinks through the fact that Junsu will know he is gone by now, and will be sending people after him—or, more likely, only one person, one of those special ops people that are about the most open secret in the palace.  His brother likes to think that they’re super secret and sneaky, but the special task force that their grandfather put together soon after the Reunification are not very subtle off-mission.

His pain-addled mind drifts to one tall, black-dressed figure, and some of the nausea in Jaejoong’s stomach subsides.  Yes, it will probably be Changmin.  He is their best off-roads specialist, as far as Jaejoong knows, and Junsu would only trust the best.  It also helps that he is their childhood friend.

Jaejoong’s mind drifts again, to thoughts of dark, solemn eyes following him and Junsu everywhere, trying twice as hard to do everything they did and, nine times out of ten, succeeding, despite being three years younger than Jaejoong and two younger than Junsu.  They’d always been together, and Jaejoong had protected them both from…everything.  The politics, the council, the men and women who want to curry favor with the heirs to the throne and the grandson of the war genius who had won them peace.

His heart clenches.  When did that change?  When did Changmin grow taller, thinner, quieter?  When did his eyes begin hiding so many secrets?  Jaejoong doesn’t like it.  It isn’t right.  Changmin should lean on him, always, look to him for support.  It hurts that he doesn’t anymore.  Is it because he is the Heir now, no longer a little boy who can run in the hallways, pretending they are knights and dragons?

With a great effort, Jaejoong realizes that he is mentally rambling and shuts his brain down.  He tries to avoid thoughts of Changmin just for this reason.  He always gets too worked up when the younger man is involved.  Have to…heal.  So I can escape.  Or let Changmin know…things.  How many men. I’m still alive.  I’ve…been trained for this.  What am I supposed to do again?  Sleep.  Sleep first.  I’ll figure it out later…when I’m less tired…

—

Changmin looks out of the helicopter’s open door, squinting his eyes against the wind whipped up by the rotors as they churn above him.  The ground, grey-brown and packed hard in the winter cold, is about 100 feet below, surrounded by threatening trees on every side.  There is no room to land a helo for miles around, so Changmin is going to do what he’s done countless times before and rappel down a rope to the ground.

At least I’m not getting shot at this time.  Always a plus.

Changmin checks one last time to make sure that his gear is all in place and then gives a thumbs-up to the pilot, who nods and lowers them further, the helo’s skis just barely brushing the tops of the tallest trees.  Changmin takes a deep breath and, gripping the rope firmly in his gloved hands, slips out of the helicopter and half-slides, half-rappels to the ground, hitting with soft knees and ducking into a roll to absorb his momentum (as well as throw off any hostiles in the area).

He looks around, long-bladed knife in one hand, partially hidden behind a tree.  Movement through the trees makes him tense, only marginally relaxing when he recognizes the uniforms of Jaejoong’s personal guard.

The helicopter lifts off, having completed its mission, and in the silence that follows Changmin can hear the tired voices of the guards.  “in’ Spec Ops.  The bastard’s already gone and vanished.  How are we supposed to brief him if he just up and disappears?”

Letting a tiny smile quirk his lips, Changmin moves quietly through the forest until he can see their faces clearly.  Good, he recognizes both men.  They are actually part of Jaejoong’s guard.  He moves out of the trees, sheathing his blade and approaching the men.

“Afternoon, gentlemen.  The Commander General sent me in.  I’m here to get briefed on the situation.”  He doesn’t let his amusement show as they stare at him skeptically.

“Let’s see some ID,” one declares, and Changmin meekly hands it over.  They glance at it, then at him, and finally decide that he is who he says he is, because they beckon him after them, leading him to their camp.

It’s a mess.  These are clearly not men used to spending time in the wilderness, and Changmin is sure they will be glad to get back to civilization, even if they aren’t so glad to be leaving the fate of their charge in his hands.  Personal guards are trained from the beginning to be fiercely loyal, and the fact that Jaejoong has not only been stolen right from them—killing several of their comrades in the process—but that they need to call in outside help to find him must rankle hard.

The head of Jaejoong’s security stands as Changmin approaches, offering his hand.  Changmin takes it, shaking it firmly.  He isn’t technically part of the military, or really any acknowledged part of the government, and so doesn’t have to salute any officer he meets in the line of duty.  The naughty little boy inside him (deep inside him) always does a little happy dance at that.

“Changmin-sshi.  Glad you could make it.”  The older man gestures for him to have a seat on the log opposite him.  “We don’t know much.  A large group, we’re guessing around ten men from the witnesses’ reports, on horseback, traveling fast into the mountains.  The Prince was taken at 1041 hours, so they’ve got almost four hours head start.”

“Mhm,” Changmin says, eyes darting around the forest, taking everything in.  “This is on their trail?”

“Yes,” the man says, gesturing off to his right, up the hillside.  “Best as we can tell, they went up that way, but we’re not trackers.  They say you are…”

“Yeah,” Changmin says distractedly, rising to pace the edge of the camp, eyes constantly moving, scanning, observing.  “I’ve been doing this since I was like seven.  My dad is a big survivalist type.”  The great thing is, it isn’t even a lie.  Changmin lies too much in his business as it is; he likes to tell the truth where he can.

He gives the head of security a smile.  “You have my horse?”

The man stares, then coughs.  “Uh, yeah, of course.”  He gestures at one of his men, who soon returns with a stocky mountain horse, strong legs and wide barrel showing that it will make good time up the mountain without having to stop for breaks.  It’s already prepped for a long journey with water and food.

“Excellent,” Changmin says, quickly checking every aspect of it and its tack before smoothly mounting up.  “I have a satellite phone, but I doubt I’ll get to use it much.  When I do I’ll be contacting the Commander General directly.  Anything else you think I need to know?”

“Uh, no,” the head of security replies, clearly off-balance from Changmin’s brisk attitude.  “I think that’s everything.  Like I said, we don’t know much.”

“I know which direction they’re heading,” Changmin says.  “That’s all I need.”  He digs his heels into the horse’s sides and clucks, sending the horse up the mountain at a trot.

—

When Jaejoong comes to again, it is dark out, and he is no longer moving.  He opens his eyes slightly, trying not to alert any of his captors of his awareness, and looks around.

He is lying on his side, on the cold ground.  Unsurprising.  He is still tied; also unsurprising.  A hard chunk of bread lies on the ground in front of his face—that is a little more surprising.  What is not surprising is when he looks past the bread and sees a man sitting only a few feet away, clearly guarding him while his other captors sit around a small fire and eat dinner.  Standard kidnapper’s format.  Jaejoong remembers this from the last time he was kidnapped, only he hadn’t been in the forest that time, but a basement, and his father’s men had burst in before the kidnappers were even done with their meal.

That isn’t going to happen this time, but Jaejoong isn’t worried.  Changmin is somewhere behind him, and in the meantime, he’d see what he could do by himself.  His head injury is much better after the hours he’d slept, and he finds his mind clear and able to focus.  Good.  Sleeping probably hadn’t been a good idea with a concussion (he is fairly certain that’s what he’d had), but no lasting damage has been done, so he’ll forget about it for now.

He sighs in annoyance.  “You know,” he says, pitching his voice so that his guard can hear him,  “it’s impossible to eat bread with my hands tied behind my back.”

The man’s head turns to look at him, his face backlit by the fire and totally unreadable.  “Nice try, pretty,” he says, not making a move.  “There ain’t no way I’m letting your hands go.  You’d strangle me in a second.”

Jaejoong huffs silently.  Well, it had been worth a shot.  And a second is a bit of an exaggeration.  “Then how am I supposed to eat this?  It’s not like I have an extra set of hands growing out of my chest.”

The man pauses for a moment.  “You can either grovel on the ground like a dog, or I can hold it for you.  What’s it gonna be, pretty?”

Jaejoong smiles wickedly.  “Hold it for me, please.”

The man stands and walks closer, obviously carrying a gun in one hand.  Jaejoong’s eyes fix on it, but he knows better.  Not with his hands tied behind his back, anyway.  He manages to wriggle into a mostly upright position, overplaying his weakness, and the man bends down to offer him the bread.

Jaejoong takes a few bites, carefully chewing and swallowing them, before he strikes.

His captor howls in pain as Jaejoong’s strong teeth sink into his hand, grinding down, refusing to let go as shouts and cries break out around them.  Jaejoong feels a couple of bones snap like wet twigs under his teeth and lets go, getting his feet up under him and launching himself forward, taking the man to the ground and making sure his knees land in some painful places.  His teeth sink again into flesh, this time at the neck, but he barely gets a good grip before a huge force smashes into his side, knocking him off and leaving him gasping for air.  Kicks and blows rain down on him, and he curls up as much as he can, trying to protect his soft stomach.  Finally they stop and yank him to his feet, where he sways dizzily.

The man he’d attacked storms up to him and yanks his head back by the hair, growling and spitting into his face.  “You think that’s funny, pretty ?  You think you’re so clever, trying to act all high and mighty?”  The hand yanks hard on his hair.  “I’m gonna enjoy your pain, pretty boy.”

Jaejoong stares, eyes blazing hatred, at the man.  “You killed my men,” he says, spitting a wad of blood and saliva onto the man’s shirt.  “I will never give you the satisfaction of showing pain.”

The man’s eyes widen in fury, and without warning he brings his gun up and backhands Jaejoong across the face with it.  Jaejoong jerks to the side, head and face screaming in pain, and would have fallen were it not for the rough hands of the other men holding him up.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we,” the man growls.

Jaejoong turns his head back toward him and grins, mouth bloody and dripping.  “I hope your hand never heals.”  He spits to the side this time, disdainfully.

He is rough-handled back over to his corner of the clearing, far away from the fire and any sort of warmth it gives against the approaching winter night.  A new guard takes his old one’s place, and the bread is now nowhere to be find, but Jaejoong lies on his side and grins, feeling his face and ribs and back and everywhere scream and protest their treatment.

He’s shaken them.  He can tell.  And he now has an accurate head count of how many men there actually are.

Slowly, painfully, he begins telling Changmin, using the trail signs he’d been taught years ago solely for this purpose.

—

Changmin comes across their campsite late next morning, dismounting and casting around for any useful signs that they might have left behind.  He frowns, trying to discern what exactly has happened.  The dirt and debris are awfully scuffed, as if the kidnappers had been fighting.  Well, if they are, better luck for Changmin.  Maybe they’ll start killing each other too and save him the trouble.

His frown deepens, though, as he comes across several blood smears on the ground.  It isn’t enough to indicate knife fighting, which tends to get very bloody very quickly.  His fingers gently trace the crescent-shaped indent of a body in the dust, far away from the ashes of the fire.  Jaejoong.  They’d been beating Jaejoong.

Rage fills him, white-hot and all-consuming.  He’s avoided thinking about it until now in a move very unlike himself—Changmin isn’t normally one to hide from unpleasant truths.  But the fact is that Jaejoong is a captive, and if Changmin knows his Crown Prince, there is no way Jaejoong would go quietly.  Of course he’s going to get beaten.

His fingers move from the body indent to the trail sign right next to it.  A small smile quirks his lips.

Jaejoong knows I’m following.

Of course he does, Changmin reprimands himself as he stands and remounts his horse, following the trail further up the mountain.  It only makes sense, after all.  He is the best, so of course he would be the one sent after the crown prince.  But the fact that Jaejoong knows that he is coming and left him a sign telling him how many men he is dealing with lights a tiny spot of warmth underneath Changmin’s bone.

He tracks them steadily all day, hitting slow going when they cross a few rock fields and once a stream.  They now seem to be sacrificing speed for caution, which means that they know they are likely being followed, and makes Changmin’s job both easier and more difficult.

He doesn’t stop for lunch, merely eats something in the saddle, eyes trained on the forest around him as he follows the signs.  When it grows too dark to see from the back of the horse he dismounts and continues on foot, bent close to the ground until true night settles in and makes it impossible to see anything.

He makes a cold camp, unwilling to risk a fire.  The fact that the kidnappers had made one last night is a testament to either their cockiness or their stupidity, Changmin isn’t sure which yet.  Either one is good for him; real camps take longer to set up and break down, which gives him more time to catch up, and he is sure that Jaejoong will be doing everything in his power to slow them down however he can.

The next morning he wakes as soon as it is light enough to see, again leading the horse on foot until the sun is high enough to make riding feasible.  Then he spurs the horse onwards.

—

Jaejoong doesn’t even have to think of things to slow down his captors.  In the morning his body is so bruised and painful that he literally can only move at a crawl.  His hands and feet are swollen and numb from his bindings, and he is vaguely afraid of losing his extremities entirely if they aren’t loosened soon.  The winter night on the cold hard ground has him shivering and blue-lipped, almost unable to feel his face.

The men speak around him, words flying too fast for Jaejoong to catch in his dazed state.  Then there is a sudden release in the tension of his arms and feet, and Jaejoong cries out, his arms and hands screaming in pain as they try to return to their natural positions.  His shoulders grind in their sockets as they fall at his sides, limp and immovable, his hands swollen and purple from blood loss.  God, that hurts.  Jaejoong feels instinctual tears spring to the surface as his hands burn and throb, trying to resume normal blood flow after almost two days of restraint.

“What if he tries to escape?” someone says, as if through a tunnel.

“He can’t even stand,” someone else replies scornfully.  “He’s not going anywhere.  Especially not if we tie him to his horse.  Come on, help me get him up there.”  Jaejoong feels rough hands grab his body and hoist him upright, and he fights, kicking and snarling, trying to bite as he is moved.  His head is jostled, and suddenly he’s convulsing and vomiting weakly, oblivious to anything beyond the spinning agony in his head.

“Oh, sick,” someone says disgustedly, and he is bent over so that his vomit falls to the ground instead of on somebody or himself.  “Why’d you hit him so hard, for Christ’s sake?  What if he’s brain-damaged now?”

“The ing bastard bit me!” comes a whiny voice that must be his guard from last night.  “He broke my hand!”

“Aw, did the little prince hurt your feelings?” the first voice croons derisively.  “Pistol-whipping him on top of knocking him out was stupid.  From now on no one touches his head.  Hit him wherever else you like.”

Jaejoong hangs in his captors’ grip, head heavy on his neck, panting and staring at the ground through barely open eyes.  He spits again and again, trying to clear the taste of bile from his mouth.  He is sure he should be paying attention to their conversation, in case they let something slip, but he can barely keep himself from dry heaving at the moment, so anything else requiring concentration will have to wait.

“Come on,” the voice says, “help me get him up onto his horse.”  Jaejoong feels more hands grab his legs and hoist him up, carrying his limp body like a sack of potatoes and forcing him up into the saddle.  They tie his legs to the stirrups, attach his reins to another horse’s saddle, and let him slump there, trying to get control of his pain as they go around the business of taking down camp.

This , Jaejoong thinks as they jerk into motion finally, half an hour later.  I hope Changmin catches up soon.

—

“Junsu.”

Junsu looks up from the paperwork he’s been working on for the past two hours to see his main bodyguard Park Yoochun standing in his doorway.  “What?”

Yoochun’s normally open, smiling face is unusually serious.  “It’s past ten o’clock.  You need to go to bed.”

“I can’t,” Junsu says curtly, looking back at his papers.  The Hangul blurs a little in his vision.  “I have work I have to do.”

Yoochun doesn’t move from the doorway.  “Junsu.”

“I said I can’t, okay?” Junsu snaps.  “It has to get done, so I might as well do it now.”

“Forcing yourself to stay up late and work harder isn’t going to bring the Crown Prince back any sooner,” Yoochun says gently.

Junsu in a sharp breath, and his head bows over his desk.  Yoochun watches his charge with worried eyes, wondering if he should move further into the room…where the line between concerned bodyguard and too-interested friend is drawn.

Finally Junsu looks up and smiles a wan, insincere smile.  “I know.  I’ll…okay.”  He sighs, and then begins to slowly clean up his desk, stacking the papers and sliding them into a drawer, which he locks.  Finally he stands and walks to the doorway.  Before leaving the room, he turns and gives Yoochun a significantly more sincere smile.  “Thanks for worrying about me.”

Yoochun shrugs, swallowing.  They’re a little too close in the doorway.  “It’s my job.”

“No it’s not,” Junsu mutters, and locks his office door after them, leading the way down the hall towards his rooms.  Yoochun follows just off his right shoulder, wondering what he meant by that.

—

Changmin can see the light of their fire.

The young Spec Ops member sits on a rock, staring up the mountain ahead of him at the twinkling yellow light he could see through the trees.  It takes a great effort of will to not simply head straight for that light, but he knows better.  It could, unlikely as it is, be simply a hermit or trapper or any number of other people who choose to live a solitary life instead of in the cities.  If he goes dashing off he risks losing the trail entirely, injuring himself or his horse, and endangering the Crown Prince unnecessarily.

It doesn’t mean he likes it, though.

He sighs, staring at the little pinprick of light as if it can tell him what he wants to know if he simply watches it long enough.  “How are you doing, Jaejoong?” he mutters quietly.  “Are you scared?  You know I’m going to save you, right?”  His mouth twists down into a scowl, and he punches the trunk of a nearby tree with a curse.

He can still remember the last time Jaejoong was kidnapped.  The Prince had only been about ten, which would make Changmin seven at the time.  It had been the most terrifying time of his life, watching his father and Jaejoong’s father pace around and bark orders, everyone scurrying around frantically trying to find the heir to the throne and ignoring him and Junsu clutching each other in the corner.

It had been then, as he wiped the tears from Junsu’s chubby cheeks and had his own wiped away in return, that he vowed that he would become strong and fast and brave, like those men and women in black he saw around the palace, and he would find Jaejoong if this ever happened again.

Well, now it has.

Changmin sighs and stands, retrieving his night vision goggles from the horse’s saddlebag and bending over, painstakingly following the trail signs into the night.

—