Chapter 4, everyone!
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Chapter 4: Day 1 – Gandalf
Gandalf grimaced as the scent of death came over him in thick waves.
The whole camp reeked of death and blood, but the field where the battle had taken place was the worst. Bodies were scattered all around, with arrows sticking out of them and red tendrils of blood coloring the ground like tiny rivers, never-ending.
The old man's eyes carried sadness, but they were alert as they scanned the battlefield, searching for the small Hobbit that had not been seen since the battle had begun. Gandalf did not want to think the worst, but his heart was heavy as he walked around the dead. Behind and around him was a group of Dwarves, led by one of Daín's officers; a bulky Dwarf with a grim face hidden beneath a helmet of skillfully hammered steel called Hór. They had been out since the early hours, determined to do what they could to find who was dead and who was not. Another Dwarf was running around with protocols and scrolls, crossing names of lists and writing names, depending on in which state they found the missing persons. Further away, some Men and Elves were doing the same.
"Tharkûn!" barked one of the Dwarves and Gandalf looked up at the sound of one of his many names.
He hurried over as the Dwarf looked troubled. Gandalf ran over with a speed that was strange for his age, jumping over dead Goblin bodies should it be needed. He clutched his staff tightly.
"What is it?" he asked gruffly and the Dwarf nodded towards the ground, revulsion and pity flashing across his face.
"Could you do anything?" he wondered, almost grudgingly.
Gandalf knelt down next to the Elf lying on the ground. He was still breathing, but it was with difficulty. His golden armor had rent and it was covered in dirt and blood. His hair was tangled, face pale and contorted in pain. Gandalf tried not to grimace as he examined the huge gash that had almost separated his head from his neck. It looked horrid and Gandalf's heart ached in sorrow. He doubted that the Elven warrior could even hear them and he was surprised that the Elf was still breathing. The kindest would be to end his misery, but at the same time he found that it was hard to form the words and take a life.
"I cannot", he said simply and stood up again, looking down at the Dwarf who seemed reluctantly fascinated with the Elf's wound. "Sometimes, it is too late and nature needs to have it cause."
"Never seen one of them dying before", the Dwarf muttered, glancing at the Elf one more time. "Never seen one of them alive before this battle, either."
Gandalf let out a heavy sighed. At the same time, the Elven warrior drew his last breath – a wheezy sound, the sound of something bursting, choking – and his eyes turned glassy, lost. He was dead and he was only one of many. Gandalf closed his eyes, muttering a prayer under his breath. It was not the first prayer he had spoken this day.
"Well, he's dead now", sighed the Dwarf and rubbed his dark eyes with rough hands. He flipped through his notes, a piece of charcoal ready. "What's his name?"
"I don't know", answered Gandalf lowly, skimming over the dead Elf's face and then out over the battlefield, empty save for the dead. "I do not think I've met him before."
"I'll just mark it as another unidentified then", said the Dwarf and made a black line on one of the notes. "The cart should be here soon to pick up him and the others. Then his kind will bury him as they see fit."
He turned and started to walk away, leaving Gandalf behind. The Wizard knelt down again and closed the Elf's eyes. It was the least he could do, what he did to all the bodies they found. Yet he felt the dead's eyes on him as he walked away.
"Alright, we make for camp!" barked Hór and his voice were carried away by the wind. "We will come back later or tomorrow. A few more on the cart and then we'll go!"
The others hurried to obey his orders. They dragged the cart forwards up the slopes. It was laden with bodies, trying to be placed with respect, but in the end just looking miserable. Others of the group helped carry bodies to the cart. Their faces were not much visible behind helmets and their natural hairy appearances, but they would not hold any expression than quiet anger and grief. While the Dwarves worked with the bodies, Gandalf stepped up next to Hór, his bushy eyebrows pulled together in a frown.
"What do you mean with heading back to camp?" he asked. "There is still much to be done."
Silently he thought of Bilbo. The Hobbit, for all his brave heart, must be scared out of his mind or he could be wounded or dead. Gandalf would never forgive himself if that was to happen and he knew that the Company of Thorin Oakenshield would not either. Hór let out a deep breath, almost a groan, and looked up at Gandalf with eyes hard as stone.
"I'm following orders", he said gruffly. "My King and Lord wanted reports on the dead to deliver to the Dragonslayer and the King of Trees. I will not be alone amongst his men to leave our report of today. Soon the sun will disappear and I do not want to be out here in the dark. We are doing what we can, but we have enough to worry about without the dead." Hór peered up at him with his mouth turned into a bitter smile. "You are wise, Tharkûn. You know I speak the truth."
Gandalf didn't answer, just gave the Dwarf a chilly look and stomped off.
"Oh, the ways of Dwarves", he muttered under his breath, not knowing if he was most annoyed at himself or everybody else.
The sun was not yet gone, but lingered above the horizon like a pale moon. Gandalf could see it clearly from where he sat down on a rock at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. People were tiredly leaving the battlefield to return to the camp, dragging some carts behind. He saw Hór and his group amongst them.
Gandalf closed his eyes and massaged his temples with one hand as one of his arms was bandaged after the battle. His staff leaned across the rock; near at hands should it be needed. Even with his eyes close, he could not pretend that he was in another place, because it still smelled of death. Absentmindedly he wondered if it would smell like that in years to come. Some things did not just go away.
He thought long and had of what to do next. He knew Thorin was dying, he knew that Bard – after the heat of the battle – had doubts about his leadership and he knew that Thranduil easily would grow impatient should they not make permanent arrangements soon. Gandalf had met many Kings in his days, great leaders and not so much, and they had all had had the same stubbornness and pride. Their alliance was frail now that the war was over, now that they had defeated their common enemy.
A massive gush of wind attacked his face and would have blown off his hat should he have been wearing it. Gandalf opened his eyes, his free hand reaching for his staff. He was greeted by the sight of Gwaihir, the Lord of Eagles. The large bird had gone unscratched for most of the fight, his feathers shiny and dark. Two round, golden eyes met Gandalf's and the Eagle clicked his beak.
"You look tired, distressed", he said in his shrill voice.
"Aye", mumbled Gandalf. "That I am, but it will pass with time. Some day."
Gwaihir nodded and turned his magnificent head to watch over the battlefield and the corpses.
"Did you tell them that they did not need to bother with our dead? We let nature and others claim them. We are hunters, but when we die, we become someone's prey."
"I did", said Gandalf, bowing his head. The others had been relieved that they did not need to take care of yet more dead, though they had not outright said so. "Once again, I thank you for your assistance. You helped us win a war."
"Perhaps. We do not like Goblins."
"No. At the moment, I don't think anyone does."
Gwaihir clicked his beak again, his perhaps most dangerous weapon. He shook his wings a bit, impatiently, as if he wanted to set for the sky as soon as possible. Gandalf almost envied him.
"I did as you asked, but my kin and I have not spotted any Goblins near. Alas, they wouldn't have moved during the day. I should be wearier when night approaches."
Gandalf nodded at the advice. He had made sure that the Elvenking had sent out a group of lookouts, just to be safe. They had not yet made it back. Gandalf was about to thank the Eagle again, when he thought of something else.
"I wonder", said Gandalf slowly, peering up at the great Eagle with careful eyes. "You did not happen to come across a Hobbit during your search? A small creature, like the child of a Man…."
"I know", interrupted Gwaihir. "I remember him. A small creature, an easy prey. I did not see anyone of that sort and I don't believe I would if I looked properly."
Gandalf understood the meaning even though the Lord of Eagles did not say it out loud. He thought Bilbo was dead and the Wizard started to fear that it might be true. Nevertheless, he would not give up. Vaguely, he recalled having heard Bilbo's voice before the battle broke out, where the Elves had stood in the beginning of the fight. He decided to have a look there before believing that the Hobbit was gone.
Gwaihir spread his wings again, making Gandalf's beard blew into his face. The Eagle nodded towards him and set off to the sky, screeching, but with a few last words:
"Do not look so grim. The battle's won. It is over."
Gandalf couldn't keep back a shudder and he thought of death, of a missing Hobbit and of an evil power lurking in Mirkwood, someone called the Necromancer.
"No", mumbled Gandalf, looking ahead and seeing a dark shadow in the eye of his mind. "I fear something bigger has begun."
That was Gandalf. Any thoughts?
Next chapter should be up in a couple of days.
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