The Lost Company

[Valandil]

Bwaharunghwo Burrows came to his senses and opened his eyes. He held his hands in front of his face. Both hands were still there, but shaking beyond his control. He wiggled his fingers and stretched out his arms. Stiffly he sat up, then painfully stood to his feet.

Looking around himself, he saw dead Hobbits. Lots of dead Hobbits. Dead Hobbits who were friends. Shawghnezum Cliffside, Dixhoregheum Tuck, Oolaamphalegger Oldbuck... all dead.

Here and there were a few dead Orcs, their faces sinister even in death. Behind him a dead Warg, and not too far to his left - one dead Troll, arrows sticking from his hide like quills in a porcupine.

The battle came back into his mind. They had been stationed on a small hillock, with logs and stones providing shelter. At first they had freely fired arrows at the hosts of Angmar who came forth from Norbury ('Fornost' as named by the halflings - ed.). But then the battle had shifted, and an Orc force rushed them and came on them. The tall soldiers of Gondor came to their aid, but too late for some. Then the battle shifted once more - and the Troll came. This time the Men of Gondor were cut off and could not reach them. Many good Hobbits fell to the Troll, before the Troll finally fell.

Bwaharunghwo didn't even remember how the Warg got there.

Looking further, he saw a few other Hobbits stirring here and there. One or two were digging into their packs, looking for something to nibble on. A few others were just coming to themselves like he was. But beyond all that, it was clear that the battle was over - and that they had won! That, at least, was good. Now they could all go home.

He heard the proud neighing of a warhorse. Turning, he saw Earnur, Captain of the mighty host of Gondor - riding alone, away from battle. The Captain looked neither right nor left, but his features bore a visibly pained expression.

Just after him came Glorfindel - mighty warrior of the Elves - also looking straight ahead, though it seemed aloofness in his case - while with Earnur it had perhaps been... shame.

At last came one who was looking about. Dressed similarly to the Men of Gondor, but with other design of dress - both grave and pleasant, he approached Bwaharunghwo, acknowledged him and began to speak. This was Aranarth, Heir to Bwaharunghwo's own king, Arvedui.

"Brungo Burrows!" exclaimed Aranarth. "So good to see you in health, and all in one piece."

Bwaharunghwo bowed. "It's Bwaharunghwo, sire."

"Yes... well, it is good to see you. You and your men... Hobbits... fought bravely and stood their ground in the face of a fearsome assault. Praiseworthy indeed! Where is your commander?"

Bwaharunghwo looked about himself. "I think he lies beneath yon Troll, sire."

There was silence between them for a moment, until Bwaharunghwo asked, "Sire - are you to be King?"

Aranarth's face became entirely grave. "I know not, friend Brungo. None has heard from my father the King since he fled north - many months ago now. Cirdan sent a ship for him, and even that has not returned. It is so unlike an Elven ship to not return to port - unless departing for the utter West - and unthinkable that it would founder. I suppose we will wait for word from him, or news of him. Meanwhile - we will start to find out how many of us are... left."

A messenger came to call Aranarth away, so the two said their good-byes. Bwaharunghwo breathed a sigh. Most of his company of Shire archers was gone - but for Aranarth - almost all of his people were gone.

Someone else now drew near. It was that wizard... Gandalf! And he was walking straight toward him.