Short Tales of Arda by grey_gazania

Fractures

Celegorm saves Caranthir from death during the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. Written for a prompt on Tumblr: "Stay awake."

I don't think I've ever been as frightened as I am when I see Caranthir crumple under Ulfast's mace in the midst of battle. Even Beren's hands around Curufin's neck don't compare, because at least then we had only been facing two foes. Now we're surrounded, with Orcs and Men on all sides squeezing us like a vise.

Ulfast is preparing to strike a second blow, so I swing at him with my sword. He blocks, but it distracts him long enough for Bor's youngest to smite him from behind. I give Borthand a grateful nod. Maybe later I'll be able to figure out what the hell has gone wrong with this battle, but right now, I just don't want my brother to die. Reaching low, I haul him onto my horse with a groan. He's heavy in full armor and my horse is already tired, but I can hear Maglor yelling for us to retreat. Gliroch will have to manage until I can get us both to safety.

I turn to where the fighting is thinnest and start to hew my way through, striking with a fury at anyone who dares to attack, for my brother is supine and senseless and I will not see him harmed further. Others of our people are doing the same; I catch a brief glimpse of Amras as we push through the wall of Ulfang's treacherous kinsmen. Many of them have broken rank and are running now, and I let them go. They're no threat to me, and my brother's life is worth more than revenge.

Finally, finally, I reach one of our camps. It's chaos, with soldiers pouring in looking for help and people rushing to pack up and move further south. But it's safer than the battlefield, so it'll do for now.

I dismount and pull Caranthir from Gliroch's back. He's dead weight, his eyes half closed, and the only sign of life he gives is low moan. Getting his helm off without hurting him further is a challenge, as it's badly dented where Ulfast struck, but I manage. His hair and face are sticky with blood, which is still seeping sluggishly from the wound. I probe at it with my fingertips, keeping my touch as gentle as I can, but he still lets out a pained whimper. I can feel swelling. He needs a healer, and soon.

"Come on, Moryo," I say, slapping at his cheeks until his eyes open. "Stay awake. Talk to me. Tell me something. Tell me— Tell me the palindromic primes."

He blinks up at me blearily. "Palindromic primes?" he says, his voice slurred.

"Yes. What's the first one? Two, isn't it?"

"Two," he agrees. He frowns a little and then, slowly, says, "Three. Five, seven, eleven… Um. One-hundred-and-one…"

He keeps going, but I stop paying too much attention. I don't know if he's getting them correct — mathematics was always his and Atto's passion, not mine — but he's awake and talking, which is what I want. I scan the throng around me for a healer. Finally I spot Melloth, and I flag her down.

"Snap the shaft off and keep moving," she says, and it takes me a moment to realize that she's talking about the arrow lodged in my upper arm. I open my mouth to answer, but she's already turned to Caranthir, her deft hands and sharp eyes taking in his injury.

"Fractured skull," she tells me; Caranthir's eyes have fallen closed and he's biting deep into his lower lip, clearly in pain from her examination. "I can get him to the point where he'll be safe to travel without incurring any permanent injury, but no more than that. There are too many wounded, Celegorm, and we need to move."

"Do it," I say. "I'll take care of him after."

She nods and sets to work, and I breathe a sigh of relief. That's one brother safe and accounted for.

Now I simply have to find the other five.