Through the fifteen times
He walked through the smoke and reek, following the tiny wind what blow through the valley.
He walked, not looking anyone who passed him, his gaze on the ground.
He kept his hands hide, covering his wounds.
Only thing what he could think was the though of Thorin and the Company.
Were they alive?
Any of them?
It was getting dark but whole east side of the battlefield was in fire. He stopped to look the flames.
He was getting tired and before he knew he was kneeling on the ground, vomiting and he closed his eyes, knowing that in the morning there would be left only bits and pieces from him. He wished that it wouldn't be anyone of the Company who would find him, if anyone could find him from middle of the dead.
He though how much he whished to hear their laugh again.
He though how much he whished to be at home his hands deep in the soil and hear the song of birds on near tree where he used to climb when he was younger.
How much he hoped that he would be happy again.
That it would last forever.
But now he had learned what the freedom was, he had fought behalf of the peace.
He knew that he had made right choice when he had followed his friends.
They had home now.
It was worth of dying.
He never felt how he hit the ground.
He never felt how the strong arms picked him up and carried him away.