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Any other time, riding through the forest as fast as he could without fearing for his horse would be a joy.
This time, however, they were running away, and there was little Celegorm found more galling.
But the battle had turned against them, and there’d been little choice but to retreat, and if they were going to keep the pursuing force of the enemy off their backs, they had to go fast.
What few of them that were left, that was.
About two dozen were riding behind him, no more, and none of them were his brothers. In all the confusion, he’d been separated even from Curufin.
He growled under his breath. There was no use thinking about that. Not now.
The wind shifted and carried with it the sound of battle crashing somewhere to their left in the trees. Celegorm turned his horse towards it immediately and held up a hand to signal his men to do the same.
A good fight was just what he needed, and he saw flashes of red between the trees.
Feanorian red. It was their own people who were in trouble.
He pushed his horse faster.
He caught sight of their banner between the trees.
Maglor’s people. Maybe Maglor himself.
But the orcs had found them first.
Celegorm let out a war cry and urged his horse into the fray.
With the fighting spread throughout the trees, he wasn’t sure how many there were or who was winning, but in the moment, it hardly mattered. All that mattered was the swing of his sword through flesh, the spray of blood in the air, and the way his own blood raced to meet it.
One dead, two dead, three dead, and his face split in a fierce grin as here, at last, he got to do what he’d been longing to do since they’d fled -
The orcs swarmed towards him, blood light in their eyes, and he charged forward to meet them.
Four, five, six -
And then he was falling from the saddle, ripped from it, claws tearing into his leg even as they threw him down.
From the left. He was always forgetting to look to the left -
His side would be one immense bruise, but he’d fallen on top of the short-sighted beast and knocked them both to the ground. He didn’t have room for his sword, so he lunged forward and bit deep into its neck with his teeth, ripping and tearing and not caring about the black blood that bubbled into his mouth.
The orc shuddered and went still.
He spat his mouth clear and stumbled to his feet. HIs sword was still in his hand, he realized belatedly, that was good -
Someone hurtled into him, and he nearly fell to the blood slicked ground again with the force of the collision. He spun, sword ready, but he checked himself just in time.
Maglor.
He’d come in from his left, pushing Celegorm clear of a blow, and his own sword was already cleaving the head of the orc who had attempted it.
The thing’s head made an audible thud as it fell to the ground. The rest of the skirmish had started to fall into silence.
He checked his surroundings thoroughly this time before concluding they were clear and finally turning to face his brother.
“Well met,” he said cheerfully, but he choked on the words even as he said them.
Maglor hadn’t just pushed Celegorm clear of the blow.
He’d gotten in the way of it.
The orc’s sword had bitten deep into Maglor’s shoulder. Blood didn’t show easily on Maglor’s red tunic, but he could see it even so, spreading far too fast into the cloth.
“Well met,” Maglor said faintly, and he swayed dangerously towards the ground.
Celegorm was there in an instant to lower him down to the grass more gently. He ripped off his own cloak and found a spot on the inside that was still more or less clean to press against the wound. An infection would be bad, but if they couldn’t stop the bleeding, that would be far worse.
“My lord?” someone cried, and he couldn’t be bothered to see if it was one of Maglor’s people or his own.
“Bandages,” he barked out now. “Now. If there’s a proper healer, I want them, and if there’s not, someone grab my horse and get my pack. Go!”
He had herbs in there that would help. He spent too much time hunting in the wilderness not to have learned a few of the basics, just in case.
The blood of Alqualonde might keep his brother from songs of healing, but plants were far less judgmental than songs of power. They’d work for him just fine.
“You weren’t guarding your left,” Maglor said in a voice that would have been far more accusatory had it not been so faint.
Celegorm grimaced. Huan does that, he wanted to say, but of course he didn’t. Not anymore. He should be used to that by now.
“How did you make it through the battle?” Maglor went on, sounding almost scandalized by his flawed swordsmanship, and his tone almost made Celegorm want to laugh.
“Curufin,” he explained, pressing harder on the wound and ignoring Maglor’s flinch. “He guarded it for me.”
Maglor’s eyes darted around hopefully. “He’s here too?”
He shook his head tightly and gave only a bare grunt of acknowledgement to the hands that thrust his leather pack down beside him. “No.” He couldn’t put pressure on the wound and find the supplies he needed. He didn’t dare take the pressure off for even a moment, so he tore his eyes away from Maglor’s whitening face to see just who had brought it to him.
Lariel. Perfect.
“You know what I need,” he said. “Don’t worry about the rest of it, just get it ready as soon as possible.”
She nodded tightly and dumped the pack onto the grass, sorting through its contents with quick, sure movements.
He turned back to Maglor to see that he had gone even paler than blood loss warranted.
“Curufin. Is he - “
“He’s fine,” Celegorm cut in. “Or he had better be. We got separated in the retreat. Have you - ?”
Maglor shook his head, just a fraction. “You’re the first,” he said, and then he bit his lip to hold back a cry as Celgorm’s weight shifted and sent what must have been a new wave of agony through his arm.
There was far too much blood seeping through the cloak.
“Hey,” Celegorm said roughly, and he had to resist the urge to shake him.. “Hey, look at me. Remember what I told you when Maedhros was … gone?”
Maglor took a shaking breath. “That I should stop trying to be him because I couldn’t pull it off half so well?”
“That too,” he admitted. “Drop the stoic act already, you don’t have the face for it like he does.”
Maglor actually laughed, a sound that turned into a choked back scream as the movement rattled his shoulder.
“Yeah, like that.” Lariel finally pressed the paste smeared bandages into his hand, and he shook his head and handed them back to her. On three, he mouthed. “I meant the other thing,” he said, while he counted off the beats in his head.
“What other - “
He moved aside quickly, and Lariel was there in the next instant, pressing the improved bandage down and tying it tight. Once she was done, Celegorm was right back in his old place, pressing on the new bandage.
Maglor’s hand hands were tensed into fists from the pain, but he hadn’t cried out again.
He really had picked up too much of Maedhros’s stoicism.
“I told you,” Celegorm said as if they had never been interrupted, “that you weren’t allowed to die and leave me as the oldest. And since we haven’t found Maedhros yet, the same rule applies. You’re not allowed to die yet.”
“Not until we find Maedhros,” Maglor agreed faintly. “Then we renegotiate.”
“Sure,” Celegorm said placatingly. “Whatever you want.”
It wouldn’t be changing anything, but as long as Maglor hung on, they could talk about whatever he liked.