Bloodlines
Fellowship Broken

Rick blinked as he realized there was an unpleasant amount of sunshine raining down upon his sleeping face. There was an awful, terrible sound coming from his right, a sound so foul, so wretched he was tempted to draw his blade and end it then and there. If he still had it. He could feel his gun still in place. That gave him hope, at least. Rick opened one eye and rested it upon the blond Elf that was sharpening his own blade. Without even looking up from his work, knowing somehow that he was now awake, Haldir said, "I was hoping you would awaken before the sun set upon it's noonday position." Rick rolled his eyes and was tempted to turn his back on the Elf, except his curiosity was stronger. He sat up and Haldir looked at him, sheathing his sword.

A quick look over showed him their numbers had decreased greatly. Where once there had been nine now sat he, Boromir, the Dwarf, a single Hobbit and the Elf. Of them all Merry looked the worst, not from physical injury, but something much worse. O'Connell took a breath to ask where his cousin was, then stopped himself and settled for, "What happened?"

Haldir threw a water skin at him and began kicking leaves over the long dead fire that had been made. "We five managed to make it out of the fray alive. It is Boromir to whom you owe thanks that you were spared a cruel fate. You were overpowered and he was near and so took up the battle for you." Rick threw a glance at Merry, still watching the Elf, wondering if he would take the hint. He did. "The Ringbearer and his companion are gone. It appears they did not see fit to wait when they reached the Eastern shore. We can but hope they were not captured and that this was the work of wisdom and not foolishness. The other small one was taken by the Orcs."

Taking his mouth from the skin, relishing the coolness of the water, Rick closed it and stood up to stretch. Fighting off a yawn, he looked between Haldir, Boromir and Gimli. "What now?"

"It is the wish of Boromir we tail the Ringbearer," the Elf said coolly, sliding his gaze briefly over the Captain of Gondor. "For Frodo and Sam's sake, I am certain."

Boromir glared back at the Elf in disdain. "Give your suspicions a rest, Elf. I am not the enemy you think me to be."

Haldir raised a graceful eyebrow. "Indeed?"

Shaking his head, Rick raised his hands. "Look, this mission is about Frodo, so why don't you two-"

"We have to save Pippin!" the remaining Hobbit burst, surprising the ex-Legionnaire. Those furrowed brows and the angry insistence made Rick wonder if there hadn't been a little argument while he was sleeping. "Haldir saw them from afar! Pippin and your friend are still alive!"

O'Connell turned his head and shot the Elf a look, to which Haldir inclined his head. "It is true. I witnessed their passage not an hour ago and saw them bearing both the Hobbit and the warrior towards the south. Who can know their destination?"

"We can! If we just try!" Merry growled in response. His arms were crossed and his eyes alight with loyalty towards his kin. In that moment Rick really felt for him. He himself had never felt so strongly about anyone in all his years and it troubled him that Merry had lost that.

But the Elf was not so easily won over by demonstration. Bearing down on the Hobbit, tall and proud, Haldir spoke in a hushed way that seemed graver than if he had shouted, "And when we find them, Master Hobbit, what then? When it comes to it, will you face the brute strength of the Orc, the cruel cunning of the Uruk-Kai? For there are many and the fate of those who fail in battle with them is a hard one. Have you the bravery to take up your dagger against such darkness? To go into the enemy's midst knowing each breath may be your last? For this is what faces you if we chase them."

Rick shook his head at the cold way the Elf had acted and opened his mouth to tell him exactly what he had thought of that little speech, but Merry beat him to the punch. Without shrinking back he stood as tall as he could and nodded once, meeting Haldir's gaze cool for cool. "I'm brave enough." There was a little fear in those eyes, but his determination seemed to outweigh, for he did not back down or retract his statement, instead, adding in the tense quiet, "Are you?"

Haldir did not dignify that with a response, but gave the Hobbit an appraising look before turning his attention back on the others. "So be it. We have a choice to make then, for it seems my advice will not be heeded."

"What advice is that?" Rick asked him, cocking his head. He rubbed near a large cut on his arm aggravatedly and waited to see what the Elf would say.

It was Boromir that replied, snorting derisively. "What is always the wisdom of an Elf, but to run home in fear and hide from the troubles of the world?"

"There will come a time, Man of Gondor, when your tongue will carry you too far," Haldir hissed in response. He then ignored Boromir and turned his blue eyes upon Rick. "It is my wisdom that we return to our countries and prepare for the inevitable war that is upon us all, for our quest is in ruins, but as long as the company stands so shall I suffer the pledge of my life to it's cause. This I promise you."

There will still yet one voice Rick had not heard from. He turned towards the Dwarf that sat comfortably against a log, watching the debate with his thoughts behind a mask of an unreadable expression. With his mouth tilted up a little, Rick motioned with his head that Gimli join him and together they walked off, leaving behind a groan of annoyance from the Elf. When they were sufficiently far away, Rick looked down. "What do you think?"

Gimli glanced back at the camp and shrugged. "Either way, it will be a long, dangerous trip, especially with those two."

O'Connell sighed in a long suffering way. "That it will, that it will. That said, I could use some help baby-sitting them. Care to help or...?" He smirked at the Dwarf, who grinned in response.

"I'll not surrender the quest before the Elf does," he said gruffly. "No Dwarf would."

"Yeah, yeah, good," Rick said smoothly, with an ironic smile. "I need a level head. Wanna go save Pippin and Ardeth? It'll be dangerous, of course."

"Of course," the Dwarf agreed quite seriously, picking up on the irony and nodding. "The Elf might get knocked senseless in the fray."

Rick's nodded as well, equally as grave. "We've got bandages somewhere, I'm sure."

"Yes, we do at that, I believe. In one of the bags." Gimli let out a breath and looked back at the waiting group. "Well, that's a sacrifice I'm will to live with. We Dwarves are a strong people."

O'Connell chuckled. "We're agreed then?"

Meeting his eyes, the Dwarf nodded once with a small smile. "Agreed." Neither of them made a move towards the camp. "Quiet over here. I almost don't want to go back and listen to them argue over it."

Scratching the side of his neck, Rick raised his eyebrows and smirked. "I suppose one more sacrifice won't hurt. Even if it means a headache and a need for liquor later on."

Gimli sighed mock-mournfully. "Aye, laddie, aye."

Some days had passed. Ardeth had lost count, he was so wearied from the rough travel he was forced to endure. The Hobbit, at least, was carried to and fro, but the Orcs left him to his feet and did not stop until they needed rest. Being a desert warrior Ardeth Bay prided himself on physical fitness and endurance, but these monsters seemed to have a strength born out of pure darkness, quick and nearly tireless. The terrible pace tested him sorely, as did hunger and thirst. It had been at least a day since their stop near a small stream, the last drink he and Pippin had been given the freedom to enjoy.

Now sitting with the sleeping Hobbit, wiping a dirty hand over the base of his throat where the small knick from the blade of the Wraith stung him, he reflected that perhaps their ill driven speed was possibly not the only factor at work in why he was so tired. He had talked these foul beings into believing Pippin had been nothing more than a fool believing the lies of an Easterling so that he could preserve his fragile existence, but now he wondered if it would matter at all. There had been no opportunity to escape and spirit the Hobbit away into the night. Assuming the little one trusted enough to allow it. That first night there in the dark forest near the river Ardeth had denounced the Hobbit, the entire company he had followed and since then Pippin had been subdued towards him. Ardeth did not know if he had understood the ruse, but could not do anything now to make it clear. There were always eyes upon them. Always.

He gazed at their benefactors in distaste, watching them argue amongst themselves. They argued about food, always, for even they were starving. More than once had it been suggested that they kill him, but though the lead Uruk did not trust him, he guarded him against that fate for the sake of dragging him before this 'Saruman' they spoke of. One thing was certain. If they completed this journey to it's end and were brought before the White Wizard then he would die and Pippin not long after. The only chance they had was escape.

Ardeth absently tugged at the bonds wound tightly around his wrists, but his eyes were upon a nearby forest where he heard strange noises coming from the dark. The situation wasn't prime for it, certainly, but every day they remained in the company of these foul beings brought them that much closer to ruin. At least in the forest there was a chance of survival. He looked back at the Orcs and saw hungry, glowing eyes resting on him. "I'm tired of this," it hissed, wringing its hands in front of itself. "I want something to eat."

The large Uruk growled low, moving his hand to a great blade at his hip. "We've been over this before."

The one watching Ardeth turned its head slightly. "Maybe I wasn't satisfied with your answer from before."

"Shut up," the Uruk hissed and that was that.

If nothing else, this endless arguing also dragged the Med-Jai warrior down and wearied him. In the desert he was no stranger to worry over his life, but he had to admit seldom did he entertain his previous enemies would devour him alive. The prospect chilled him. His previous battles had, for the most part, been straightforward. Kill or be killed. These Orcs suggested things that made him shudder to think on; things like having his limbs torn off and eaten, leaving him alive afterwards to endure having been maimed. Death he could face, but that he was not so sure of.

The Orcs continued to stir restlessly, most of them still awake, growling amongst themselves about this or that. A small sigh from nearby, almost imperceptible so low it was, betrayed they were not the only ones awake. Ardeth bumped the Hobbit discreetly, not really sure he was going to act, but wanting him ready should the right moment come. Pippin sat up and the Med-Jai looked away, then back again to see two blue eyes on him in puzzlement. Ardeth lifted his head as if in challenge and the Hobbit scooted away distrustfully, backing against a tree where he remained. One of the Orcs snickered.

Ardeth sighed and turned his head outwards, towards the open and it was then he spotted something that caused him to blink. A small movement upon the open expanse before his gaze caught him and he knit his brow, trying to make out the details. Slowly his vision was joined by another perception as the sound of hooves began to enter into his ears. He could see it now. Riders were nearing. But how to use this information, he wondered. He had no way of knowing whether or not these newcomers could be trusted.

Daring another little ruse, he nodded towards the riders and said, "We have company."

Immediately the Uruk self-appointed leader snapped his head to attention, glaring at the procession heading quite obviously straight for them. "Raaaa! Rohan scum!" he shouted, jerking his sword out and readying for battle. "Get up, you lazy slugs! We've got a little fun heading our way!"

The monsters lumbered to their feet, brandishing all manner of terribly shaped blades, some grumbling about having to fight and others grateful for a chance for food. Ardeth backed against the tree where Pippin was resting, watching his foes carefully. He had no idea which one of them had he and Pippin's weapons, could see no sign of them at all. None of the beasts seemed to care for touching the blades wrought by Elvish hands, however, so his guess was either they had been left somewhere or the Uruk had them wrapped up in something. He felt at a loss without a weapon, but recognized the attention spent on he and Pippin waning. It seemed tonight would be the night after all.

The riders came upon the Orcs swiftly, their horses fast and strong, overtaking the creatures. Guttural snarls filled the air, mingling with the shouts of Men. Ardeth drew his legs up and pushed his way to his feet, glancing down at the Hobbit that watched him curiously. "We need to get out of here," he said.

Pippin nodded, his face suddenly alight. It dimmed quickly, his eyes moving beyond the Med-Jai. "Ardeth, look out!"

He turned just in time to stop himself from being skewed by the same Orc that had been so keen on his destruction. He threw himself to the side and dragged Pippin with him, tripping in the process. The Orc skidded to a halt before hitting the tree and looked down with a nasty gleam. "It's time for a little snack," he hissed, holding a dagger high, ready to plunge it downwards.

Ardeth kicked the creature in the abdomen, knocking him backwards long enough for the desert warrior to get to his feet. With a snarl the beast charged back towards him, cutting wildly in rage at having been bested. He managed to evade the first few thrusts towards him, but the third managed to catch him in the arm. Ardeth gasped and jerked away, grasping the wound, feeling blood trickle onto his fingers. The Orc before him looked down in triumph, sniffing at the air like a hungry animal catching the iron scent. "Where's your sword?" it teased, slicing at the air again.

He did not answer, concentrating on winning this battle somehow, though without a blade he felt helpless. As it was he could only dodge and try to disarm his opponent, which was not going to be an easy thing. Ardeth made for the Orc's wrist on the first opportunity, but missed and ended up with a knee catching him in the side and throwing him back to the dirt. He groaned, but knew to move fast lest his enemy gain too much of a chance for attack. He rolled to his back as the Orc scrambled towards the him with its blade drawn, ready to make the kill.

His only defense was to kick out, sweeping the dagger out of the Orc's hands, sending it flying. It growled and hissed, cradling the pained hand and Ardeth took advantage, sending both feet into the Orc's belly and knocking him back into the blade of one of the strange riders, who in turn pressed a booted foot against the squirming monster's shoulder to shove him off the long sword. The Orc fell with a gurgling death, revealing a warrior on a horse above. Ardeth moved to sit up and stopped short when the tip of a sword met his view. "I would take care if I were you, stranger," warned a strong voice.

"Very well," the Med-Jai replied, recognizing he may not have left his enemy in the company of a friend. Easterlings were from a country where darkness ruled, so it seemed, and many may scoff the truth for the lies the Orcs would not believe. Separating his hands, Ardeth sat up comfortably and waited for what would come. These foes would not be bested by a warrior with no sword.

All around the Orcs were dying, taking with them precious few of the Men that dispatched them. The battle was not long, ending with a cry of rage from the Uruk-Kai leader as he fell, grasping in futility at the sword protruding from his gut. Ardeth breathed a sigh of relief that the Men had prevailed, but did not let up his guard quite yet. He watched the warrior that had killed the Uruk bend over and rifle through something on the ground, then remove the two missing Elvish blades belonging to he and the Halfling. His proud, dark eyes swept over the fine steel curiously. "Lord Éomer," called the warrior still standing over the Med-Jai with watchful eyes, "you had better come see these survivors."

The man holding their blades did not look away from them, saying, "There should be no survivors be they servants of the dark." Ardeth tensed and readied himself for more battle.

"My Lord," insisted the rider, finally drawing his lord's gaze down upon the Med-Jai and the Hobbit that hovered nearby.

Lord Éomer met Ardeth's gaze with no immediate friendship. He held the Elvish weapons close and approached quickly, stopping above. For only a moment did he gaze upon Pippin, more cautious with a warrior of his own size. He tilted his head and the pale tale of his helmet slid down his shoulder. "You are of the East," he said with distinct distrust. His brow furrowed over eyes as dark as the midnight that settled across the land. He thrust forward the Elvish blades. "Since when do men of the East craft so delicate weapons?"

Ardeth met him strength for strength, offering the truth. "They were not crafted in the East, but by Elves. Gifts to my friend and myself."

"Elves are now gifting the Haradrim with their weapons?" Éomer concluded with a hard tone.

"I am not of the Haradrim. My company was made of Western Men and some few others on a quest. But we were taken captive." He offered nothing of the details of their quest, but kept an eye on the warrior above him. There was distrust here yes, but Ardeth perceived there may be a small chance at understanding. "I was in the company of a man called Boromir and before that a wizard called Gandalf. There were three other Hobbits with us and a Dwarf and an Elf. Would their names mean anything to you?"

Éomer's eyes glittered in interest. "I know nothing of Dwarves or of Elves. Boromir, you say?" His lips twisted into a smirk. "Trust a son of Denethor to keep such strange company. Yes, I know of him and I know of Gandalf the Grey. A bringer of bad tidings, so say my uncle the King and his," a thread of contempt made its way into his voice, "advisor. But you must tell me what a Hobbit is."

At this Pippin stepped forward, pulling at his bonds. "I am a Hobbit and I would like to be out of these ropes, if you will." He shied away from Éomer's sudden hard gaze. "If it pleases you, that is," he amended and glanced back at Ardeth.

The Med-Jai looked up at the holder of their fates neutrally. "What is it you plan to do with us? Take us to your king? We will go peacefully if it will buy your trust."

Quirking an eyebrow, the Lord Éomer shook his head, seeming to battle his thoughts. It was a hard thing he was being asked and Bay could appreciate that. He thought back to O'Connell in the desert when he had stood brandishing the explosive, warning the Med-Jai away. That had been a hard choice as well. Unfortunately, he did not have the means that O'Connell had to prevent his own death should this warrior decide it must be so. The fair skinned lord looked at Ardeth hard. "I cannot take you to my king. Not now. But neither will I allow you to wander my country freely." The Med-Jai tensed, preparing for battle, but something in the other man's eyes stayed him from making any sudden actions. "Where would your company be now?"

Ardeth shook his head slowly. "We lost them in the south, traveling along the river away from the forests. Whether or not they survived the attack I do not know. The Orcs complained that the rest of their numbers had not rejoined them. It may be that our friends killed them and now continue towards their destination."

"And what destination is that?"

They shared a moment of indecisive silence. Ardeth knew of no lie he could tell, no destination between here and where Frodo had to go that he could cite to protect the nature of what they had been doing. "The quest is not mine and so the destination is not mine to tell," he said truthfully and saw Éomer tense at the words. He lifted his bound hands and would have spread them openly in peace if he could have. "I could have lied, but chose not to, to my own danger. We did not mean to trespass into your lands. Allow us to return to the south and search for our friends."

Lord Éomer narrowed his eyes and Ardeth feared then they would not be freed. The rider's servant still had his sword pointed at him and at an order end this uncertainty, but even still the Med-Jai withheld himself, placing himself uncomfortably at their mercy, hoping it would prove his intentions. Éomer lifted his own sword and brought it before his face for a brief second, then lowered it to his bound wrists. "I think I understand you," he said, slicing carefully through the ropes. "You played a dangerous game, testing me as you have. But you have won my trust--my temporary trust. We will take you to the borders of Rohan and from there you may do as you will." He extended a hand to aid the Med-Jai to his feet. "But know that if you enter into Rohan again I will expect more than a show. It will be your truth or your blood."

A big thank you to my reviewers. I'm sorry I've been so long at this story. Hehehe. Bad bad me. :-X But I'll try...definitely try. Thank you!