Title: 'Bridges'

Author: freeflow

Rating: T

Disclaimer, A/N, Summary: See Chapter 1

Chapter 9

Radall tightened his grip on the reins and tensed his legs as the speed of the horses in front of him decreased rapidly. Searching the dark for a sign as to why they were stopping, he was greeted with a laugh from the rider on the next horse.

'Hey, Rad, looks as though you've picked up a new pet!'

At this, the men around the speaker turned to look at the bandit in curiosity, only to dissolve in to laughter as they took in the sight. This hard, quiet man whom they had ridden with for some years now was a rare inclusion amongst the competitive banter of the group; usually he would withdraw from verbal sparring, preferring the peace of the woods to jokes or roughhousing, and the riders knew from experience that he would go so far as to break a man's jaw to avoid it. So, when his companions saw the position he had been forced to ride in, they pounced on the opportunity with relish, from the relative safety of their superior numbers.

'What, were you cold Rad? I didn't think you liked 'em so young!'

'Hey, there are two others if that's your taste, Rad!'

'I think I'll hold this sight close to me heart for a good long while! Oh, and Rad, you can forget about that debt I owe ya. Otherwise I might just make mention of this when we meet up with Hagleth's gang next summer!'

'This is blackmail material that'll last for years, boys!'

The inane comments swirled around Radall's head with the cold night breeze, and he tossed his head back to move the hair that had blown across his eyes. Sparing nothing but a cursory glance at the innovator of this little bout of nonsense, he heeled his horse past the group and up towards the point position.

'Hey Rad, where you going? We was just startin' to have a friendly chat, for the first time!'

Obviously feeling buoyed by the jeers of his pack mates, the first speaker, Sateth, made to follow Radall, placing a rough hand on the bandit's forearm. If he had imagined Radall would be amused by the words of the others or be unlikely to act in front of such a large group of tormentors, he was soon shown otherwise. Snapping his arm out of the grip, Radall kicked his feet from the stirrups, drew up his legs, and balancing his feet on the saddle, leapt from his horse. Sateth had started at the quick movements, but having no idea of the others intentions, made no decisive move to evade him. This hesitation proved costly as Radall kicked him square in the face, knocking him backwards and to the grass in a rumpled, squealing heap. Landing on his feet and still holding the cause of all this trouble, Radall straightened and glared down at Sateth.

'I thought I had made it clear in the past. You will not touch me. It is bad enough I am forced to listen to your filthy mouth, I will not suffer that offence too. As for my unfortunate position, which you seem to find amusing, I am doing naught but my job. I was given this charge to keep until we reach our destination, and I will do so in which ever way I deem fit.'

Staring back at the group for a second more than they were comfortable with, and ignoring the writhing man on the ground, Radall used one hand to swing back in to his saddle, and moved off. Adjusting his cloak to keep out the chill, Rad shook his head as he realised that he was making it easy for his fellow riders to mock him. He should not have reacted to Sateth as he had. He let out a sigh as he reined in his horse at the outer reaches of their temporary campsite. He could still hear the fool squeaking, nasally declaring how he'd been wronged, that justice needed to be done, how vengeance would be his.

Radall tuned it out as he turned his attention to the bundle in his arms. Once more dismounting, he held the small form in front of him, and pulled back the hood of his cloak that had been wrapped around the limp body. Slowly dropping to the grass, Radall shifted the burden until he was sure he was steady, with the child sprawled across his lap.

And as he did so, the word resounded louder and louder in his head. Child. This was no prisoner of war, or hostage taken to advance their position. This was an innocent, a coincidental casualty who should not be here in the hands of a bandit, surrounded by idiots and thieves. Radall traced the small face, and drawing a ragged cloth from his saddle bag, began to wipe away some of the blood dried on to the pale features.

How old could he be? Rad knew he was an elf, the beauty of his features betrayed that before he had even noticed the ears, and the fact that he had been taken from a group of the Firstborn within the forest was a give away too. But all the elves he had heard of were ancient beings, terrible and ethereal, with wisdom too profound to comprehend.

The two in the forest, he could see them fitting such a description easily. Yet he had seen a similar ferocity in a wolf protecting her cubs, and with three little ones behind them, maybe it was not surprising. This little one looked only about six or seven, and there was nothing terrible in his face. Besides the gash across his hairline, and the red stain marking his visage, he could well be sleeping, just like any normal child would do after a hard day of travelling.

Having cleaned the worst of the blood from the child's cheeks, he turned his attention to the wound itself. He had avoided it thus far, as it seemed to have scabbed over a little on the journey, though not before spilling a fair amount of the red liquid. Radall knew that head wounds have a propensity to bleed profusely, but this little one did not need to suffer from blood loss alongside the headache he would undoubtedly be sporting once he awoke. Not wanting to break it open again, Rad dabbed gently with the cloth, supporting the back of the small head. The long black hair had become matted around the top, and one loose braid had mostly unravelled, but the remainder of the strands lay soft and shining over Radall's calloused fingers. Sighing once more, he pressed a clean cloth against the wound, and then tied it in place with a thinner bandage. He lifted the prone form from his lap and moving over to the shadow of an oak tree, lay his charge down amongst its giant roots.

Concerned that the child had not yet stirred, Rad frowned and began to fidget, rolling one of his tunics in to a pillow and spreading his bedroll over the boy.

Rad caught himself before he could push the hair back from the pale face, knowing that he was becoming too emotional. He had not survived so long by taking in waifs and strays, nor by caring for others. The child should wake soon, and they would move on with their journey. Rad realised that he was assuming a lot about the child. But he only knew how a human body would react to such an injury, and could not be expected to know anything about elf physiology. Their races had not mixed in generations, they had had no reason to. It would not be his fault if the child did not wake, if the child should…

He stood up suddenly and turned away, moving to his horse. Taking off her tack and brushing the mare down Rad began to feel calmer. This was more like normal. Just he and Sila, relying on each other and no one else. The morning would bring its own troubles, but for now, he had done his job. He had done his job.

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Elrohir was angry. He knew that his Ada would have told him it was no good to lose his temper, and that he should think things through and talk about it, but, well, Ro had no one to talk to, and so he stayed angry.

He had given up squirming some time ago, as the man holding him still had put a dagger to his throat and told him to stop. Just like that.

'Stop.'

And Ro had, without even thinking. He had been so shocked to feel the cold edge of the metal against his skin that he had frozen. And that made him mad. No one could tell him what to do, except his Ada and Amme, and Glorfy and sometimes Erestor, but not always because Erestor had rules for everything, and if he and Dan always listened to him, they'd never have any fun. But what made him even madder was that he had stopped. And now was too scared to start again. He didn't like being scared, especially when Ada wasn't there to fix it, or Amme wasn't there to hug. So he made himself stop being afraid, and got angry instead.

Everybody at Imladris thought that Elladan was the loud one, the hot headed, impetuous twin. But it was equally apparent to those who knew the Peredhils that Elrohir had inherited that same fire from their father, just with a little more of Celebrian's patience to balance it out. This mixture resulted in what Glorfindel had termed a 'slow-boiler'; that Elrohir would become gradually more enraged until he would explode in a frenzy of unrivalled proportions, only for him to quickly forget why he was so mad, and become affable once more.

However this time was different. This wasn't a squabble over the last cake, or a fight over the ruined tapestry in the corridor. Elrohir now had so many fears pressing in on him that his small body was literally shaking with the tension.

He could see Elladan fall from 'Restor's horse.

He could remember Glorfy and Erestor shouting, fighting, lying so still on the ground.

He could hear Legolas' cries for his Ada, for Glorfy, for Ro as they carried him off.

The special trip was ruined. His friends were hurt. Legolas would never want to come back to visit them now. They had separated the three of them from each other and were all talking in their loud, ugly, man language that hurt his ears to hear. The one holding him was mean, and he smelled funny.

All of this swirled in Elrohir's mind, crashing over his tired thoughts and making him bite down on his lip to stop from screaming out loud to drown it out.

But the thing that made Elrohir the angriest of all was himself. Not because he had been scared of the knife, or because he hadn't fought with Glorfy and Erestor against the bad men. He accepted those things, he really did. But when they'd each been grabbed up by a man and put on a horse, he'd seen Elladan. He was all bloody, and had his eyes closed, and Ro had screamed for his brother to wake up until the horse he was on split off in to a smaller group taking him and Legolas away from Dan's horse. And although he knew his twin was hurt, he was mad that, for the second he'd seen him, Dan had been snuggled in to the bad man that had taken him.

For about an hour, Ro had been enraged. How could he? How could he sleep next to the bad man? After what they'd done to Glorfy and 'Restor, and after they'd ruined their special trip, how could Elladan bear to be held by him? But these thoughts were interspersed with flashes of Dan's face, and the dull throbbing Ro could feel in his own head that he knew was coming from his brother's wound. Gradually, he stopped being angry with Dan, and began to grow scared for him instead. And angry with himself for being angry with Dan in the first place. If he needed the bad man to keep him on the horse, he must be hurt, because Dan never let anyone help him unless he really needed it. And what would they do if Dan was hurt? Ada wasn't here, and they couldn't get away from the men even with a horse, and Ro didn't even know where his brother or Legolas were. He was pretty sure that the Prince was in his group of riders, but he hadn't seen or heard him in a long time now.

Ro had figured out why they'd split up though. Glorfy had taught them about leaving trails, and he knew that if there were two to follow, Ada wouldn't be able to come after them very quickly. And that meant that King Thranduil couldn't come for Legolas either, and, and…

Elrohir dropped his head and let go of his anger in an instant, as was his usual way. He wasn't angry anymore, he was tired, and Dan's head was aching inside his, and he just wanted to go home. And though he couldn't bring his anger back again, he found that being scared was just as useful, as either way, he could do nothing to assuage the emotion. And scared, angry or tired, it was all the same to Ro, who just kept repeating the same line over and over in his head,

Please come get us, please come get us, please, Ada, come…

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Radall looked up from his seat by the oak tree as the second group of riders trotted in to the clearing. There was no panic accompanying the arrival; their guards had sighted their friends a good twenty minutes before, as the birds rose to the skies in order to escape the cacophony of sound the riders brought to a usually tranquil environment.

Names were shouted in greeting and welcome, and queries posed as to the chance of being followed. At this, a slim, blond man stepped out from the bustle of horses and men to address them en masse.

'We laid down three false trails and doubled back twice to check our rear guard. There were no signs of pursuit, so we will camp here for the night.'

A cheer went up from the men, and blankets were pulled from saddle bags as a wall of voices threatened to overwhelm the speaker. Radall smiled and looked down. He knew what was coming next. These fools forgot themselves far too often.

'Silence! Do you not realise where we are? We still dwell under the boughs of Rivendell, with three of the elf brats in our midst no less, and you lot set up a racket that a deaf old woman could track for thirty miles! There will be no talking save for necessities and no drinking. We leave at first light and require four sentries around the camp.'

The blond man drew a dagger from his belt and held it up so that it caught the firelight and shimmered red. Speaking more sedately, he continued in a hushed voice.

'Do not forget those who fell today, those who have paved the way for our success. It was for their families they died, and to their families will go the spoils. We will not forget them.'

At this, the rest of the band drew their daggers or short swords, and held them up.

'We will not forget.'

Radall did not rise nor draw a blade, but if anyone had seen this slight, they did not comment. Most would put it down as one of his many idiosyncrasies, others just ignored him as the outcast that he strove to be. Rad did not care for their thoughts anyway. He would not honour men who died stupidly, nor those who tried to take children from their parents, elven or not. He had not entered the fray, and had he been informed of their plan from the outset, he would not have stayed with the group. Yet when someone had thrust a small body at him and said to guard it with his life, he viewed that charge to be one of importance. It did not make this right, and he could not fix this mess, but he could do his job. He would protect the child.

He looked up from cleaning one of his many blades as a pair of boots came to a halt in front of him. The blond man had seen Rad sitting in his customary position – away from the group- and had noticed him ignore the communal salute to their dead. As leader of this band, it fell to him to keep all members in line, and even if Rad did not act as a part of the riders, he had been with them long enough to become accustomed to their ways.

'You did not join the tribute to our fallen.'

This statement was accompanied with a flat eyed stare and nothing more.

Rad sighed and slowly rose to his feet in front of the leader.

'Aran, you should know by now that we each live by our own code of honour, different as they may be. Living amongst these men does not ingratiate me to them. In fact, most of them prove daily that they have no code, no courage, and no sense.'

Rad snorted quietly and looked down at the child still sleeping amongst the oak tree roots. He took in the bruise which had begun to spread over the porcelain features, and felt his face tense at the intrusive discolouration. He whipped his head back round to look straight in to his leader's eyes. Aran met the gaze head on.

'Still, I had respected that they live this way in order to support their families. But today, we strayed from that noble cause. You are so busy playing bandits that you have forgotten how to be decent, so busy justifying your actions and hiding behind a salute to your honourable dead that you deny the truth even from your self. We stole children. Do you see that boy, Aran? He cannot be more than seven years old if he is a day, and we rode in, attacked him and his family and took him from his home.'

Aran glanced from Rad's face to the still child, and flicked his eyes back again, not willing to be put off by one of his men's arguments.

'You do not believe this to be honourable, Radall? Is that what you worry about? I heard differently. The men are saying that you have become attached to the child. An…unnatural attachment, they think. Indeed, it cannot be wholly natural to become so protective of a child in such a short space of time. Is that your intention? To trick us in to releasing these children, so you may take them back? So we would release them to you and your rule until you grow tired and dump them back in to their woodland home? No, Radall, it is not us who are dishonourable here. We wish only to hold the children until a ransom is paid for their release. I fear you plan another course of action altogether.'

Radall's face had turned colder and harder as his leader's tirade continued. He knew, logically, that it was only a rash response to having his authority challenged. Aran did not believe these things, or he would not be stating them so calmly; he would be livid. Although not the most respectable person in the group, Aran was still a man with certain ethics, and the defiling of women and children was offence enough to be punishable by death in his eyes.

'You truly believe this poisonous slander? Because I held an unconscious child close to me and wrapped him in my own cloak, you would have me labelled unclean? Is this the way you would lead your riders, Aran? Based on gossip and venomous prattle, no doubt spewed by that fool Sateth? If this is so I would take my leave now and never lay eyes upon you or your band of miscreants again.'

The hissed tone of this speech had not only Aran cringing, but obviously pierced the fog surrounding the prone child's mind too, as the boy rolled his head to one side and whimpered.

The small sound drew Rad's attention away from his leader, and although he was enjoying watching the man squirm, he had other priorities at the time. Moving back towards the child, he dropped to one knee beside him, and laying one hand on the child's cheek, whispered what he hoped was comfort to him.

'Shh, little one. Be still, be silent. You struck your head falling from a tree, but you will be fine. Shh. Just go back to sleep, it will be alright.'

Aran looked on, embarrassed, as he recalled what he had just accused this man of. Seeing this, it was impossible to think of Radall as being anything but concerned for the child. Damn that Sateth, I should have known better than to listen to him. He crouched down to the child and laid the back of his hand on his forehead.

'He has a temperature. Of course, that might be normal in elves, but you should try to cool him down.'

Standing again, and making to walk away, Aran stopped as Radall called to him.

'Aran, we cannot do this. This child is hurt, and we know nothing of his kind. Let me take him back, I will face the elves alone and accept their punishment. He may die all for the sake of your ransom, if we keep him here.'

Aran turned back to him slowly, a troubled look in his eyes.

'It worries me too, Rad, that we know so little. But you cannot take him back. We have not made enough this year. You know this. Would you save his life just to have three more of his age die in our village? Would you not risk this one whom you know nothing of to make sure that the sons and daughters of our people will survive the winter? We need that ransom money. Our finding them was a gift, and one I would not have you spurn.'

Radall looked down at the child and this time, let himself stroke a hand through the soft hair. Feeling desperation that he had not known since his childhood, Rad made one last attempt.

'There are two others! You can keep them. They are fit and healthy and will not need so much care as this little one will. It will only be a drain on our resources to keep him here, to make sure he is clothed and fed. Two would be less trouble, and less to provide for. Please, Aran. I have never asked you for anything since the day we met, but I ask you this. Let the child go home.'

Rad could see the battle being waged behind Aran's blue eyes, he knew that his leader would not see harm done to a child if it were preventable. And Radall had made a good point, this injured child would be a burden. But there was the one part that Aran could not let go of, the one fact that made his decision.

'No.'

Rad cried out in disbelief. How could he deny him this, the only request he'd ever put forth?

'Why Aran? Why not? The one thing I have ever asked you for…'

'Because of you, Radall!'

Aran's outburst startled the man in to silence.

'To take the child back would mean delivering yourself in to the hands of the elves. And they would know where the rest of us were heading. Where we live. Where their missing offspring are. And do not say that you would not tell, Rad. You could not promise that. You have heard as well as I the tales of the elves, their strange magic and impossible fighting skills. They would get it out of you, by manual or mystical means, and if I can save you from either, I will. You will not go. The child will remain. And you will care for him.'

Radall had dropped his eyes to the floor as he considered Aran's words, but his head lifted again at that last statement.

'I? I will look after him? What do I know of raising children, and more so, an elf child? There are men here who are parents, or have smaller siblings, let them look to our captives.'

He spat the last word as though the very thought offended him. A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he turned to face the child instead of looking to Aran. He listened hard to his words though.

'Because I have seen you with that elf child, Radall, and you treat him no differently than a normal boy. And because I know you can protect him should our fortunes change.'

'Do you mean protect him from attackers? I think we are in no danger of that, Aran. We need only fear the dwellers of this forest and they will not harm one of their own.'

'I speak not of the elves, Rad. There are those among us who have no love for beings so different or feared as the Firstborn. And that dislike has increased since we took losses in acquiring our…loot.'

Aran raised a hand to stem Radall's protest at the use of that term in reference to a living creature.

'Peace, Radall, it is only a word. I know not what else to call him or the others, save elves. It is obvious they are only young ones, but can we call them children? Is that not a word for young humans? And although they are obviously male, can we call them boys? We know no names, and they may not even speak our language. For now, I would have no upset over semantics if I can avoid it.'

Radall finally let out a small sigh and a light smile brushed over his face.

'Semantics, Aran? It's a good thing you're talking to me as none of the others would have any idea what you are saying.'

Aran smiled back, and once more began to move away, calling over his shoulder;

'And that's why the elf stays with you.'

Radall sighed again, and then immediately scolded himself. You're beginning to sound like a horse, Rad, puffing and panting when things don't go your way. He wandered back to the little elf and pulled the cloak up to his chin. Settling down beside his charge, Radall touched the still face and withdrew his hand quickly. He's burning up! Reaching for his saddle bag once more, he pulled out one of his shirts.

'Oh well, little one,' he whispered to the child, 'I suppose if I'm to care for you, I will be remunerated for the cost of this shirt after your ransom comes in.'

Tearing off a few strips of material, Rad dowsed the cloths in water and began to pat the small cheeks in an effort to bring the temperature down. After ten minutes more, Rad was beginning to worry. The child was still hot, but his teeth were chattering, and his whole body was trembling. Throwing down the redundant cloths in disgust, Radall reached forward and scooped up the shivering child, drawing him up to rest against his shoulder, as he once more gathered his cloak around him. Marching towards the campfire, Rad bypassed the smaller groups of men who were sitting together, watching his progress with disinterest. He made straight for the large circle, where Aran was sitting. He stopped in the centre of the ring, making sure all eyes were on him.

'The child is ill. I am no healer, and I do not know what ails him. He needs help.'

Aran sat up, looking at Rad sadly.

'We have been through this Radall. The child cannot return home. If he is ill, you must pray that he will recover, for we know naught of his kind or their medicine.'

Rad felt his face flush with anger. All those sitting around the circle had been watching the exchange half heartedly, but with Radall's change in demeanor, many prepared for a fight. He never approached the centre circle. He rarely came within the circles of fire light. And he most certainly never showed as much emotion as he had on this night. He had to be near his limit to be doing all three now.

'I know he cannot leave, Aran. I have accepted that this is his fate, to live or die with us, to sate our need for money and an easy winter.'

Now where there had been murmurings of amazement before, there were cries of outrage.

'Here, we need that money!'

'You watch your tongue, outsider!'

'He chooses elves over his own kind!'

'He always was an odd one...'

'Aran'll set him straight, you'll see.'

Aran rose slowly to his feet and walked towards Rad. The noise around the circle ceased and the tension grew until Aran came to a halt an inch from Radall's face. He raised a hand, but Rad did not flinch, and the rest of the camp took a breath in anticipation.

The hand slowly dropped to the child's head, and Aran looked up at Radall.

'He is too hot. We must cool him down if he is to have a chance of survival. Take off the cloak and lay him out flat, over there by my bedroll. Fetch water and a clean dressing and we will see to his wound. But make no mistake Radall, I do this for the sake of my home and my family, not for you. You have challenged me twice tonight already, and if I did not accept it as being solely for the well being of another living creature, you would already have been cast out. Tread carefully.'

Radall simply nodded and moved to carry out his tasks as though Aran had told him the weather was to be fine. Those around the circle looked at each other in disbelief. That was not how they had expected the confrontation to end. Aran had let Rad off with a warning and Radall seemed not to realise the precariousness of his situation. Then again, some whispered, maybe he did, and just didn't care. You never could tell how his mind worked anyway.