A Rather Chaotic Revision of The Fellowship

~Eighteen~

The fight seemed as sudden as it had begun. And though none would accept its ending, it was dreadfully eminent from the moment orcs first sprang into the clearing. How could they have been so foolish?

Gandalf was pushing them back, to the empty side of the road. Caranthir saw Glamdring as it slashed and blazed through snowy air and flesh; for one bright moment, fleeting as it was, the orcs seemed to falter in their tracks. Hope was almost restored. Then they'd charged back, others in the horde emerging from the side, pushing them from the icy road. It was then the Maia ordered them, the hobbits specifically, to run.

By Arda, that had been a mistake. They'd been cut off from them, from the Ringbearer, and running back for them would sunder them all further. Caranthir had chosen to ignore this second reality, breaking from their circle, over to the over half of their group. The heavy footsteps that followed, were they Gimli's? No matter, the rest of the group was at his tail. He winced, but did little as he thought he saw a sword go flying from someone's hand (he couldn't quite see). An axe swung towards his face; Caranthir ducked away and slashed, feeling dark blood flow and warm his fingertips.

There was a scream, someone crying out as they were taken -- short, one of the hobbits, maybe, hair and face smeared with grime. Caranthir squinted, hoping with all his being it wasn't Frodo, but the dark hair was a point, while the clothes seemed to tell otherwise. He charged forward, ready to find out, but an orc tackled him and they both fell. For a moment, it was all snow, blood, and pain. Caranthir struggled, stabbing at all he saw, and in one heartbeat of an opening surged upwards with a snarl. Whoever it was had been dragged away.

There was still black, sticky blood on his sword when he'd felt a goblin's own blade held against his throat. He was sure the snow beneath him had not always been so dark, black orc blood mixed with lesser amounts of red. It all looked terrible, anyway. Better than all red, though. For a moment, he saw not snow, but halls of pale marble and fine stone, all soaked in pools of that red. The memory made him feel sick, and he swallowed.

Thrashing and fighting despite this, he could feel the defeat on the air, even in his vain struggles to get back to the group. Had Frodo escaped? Gandalf? He couldn't get any look while hopelessly struggling off orcs. Stupid of us to think we'd last.

Then there was an explosion of pain in his skull. Caranthir reeled backwards for a moment, snarling as he fell. His thoughts fled, and darkness took him.

~

It must have been the headache that awakened him. Though it was sleep, it felt somehow longer, despite his current oblivion, as if he had been sliding in and out of dreams rather than utterly unconscious. Awareness returned to him in degrees, each ongoing minute (although he really couldn't tell time, unconscious and buried in the snow) seeming to multiply the pain. It was that, and the cold. Caranthir could feel over time the scratching, bitter snow, swallowing up to encase him, ready to draw him down as if into a freezing, quiet coffin; or drown him until he was but a still, heavy husk on some forgotten seabed. Slowly he could feel himself return, if not little by little. All his senses seemed hazed, thoughts muddled. The cold was everywhere. He was lying, freezing and alone, in a snowdrift, and no one was going to come for him.

Caranthir inched forward with his hands, though they were left numb by the cold. He scratched at his head for a moment, then stopped as his hands smeared with something dark and sticky. Sitting up, trying to ignore all this, he waved weakly, clawing at the snow. He gasped for a moment as the motion started him rolling downhill, to a slope rocky and blanketed with ice. Scrambling hands dug around for balance, stiff feet pushing him uphill a few inches, back to the snowdrift in which he'd awoken. His breaths were shaky, fast, as he staggered up from his crouch to rise, trembling. Where were the others?