Disclaimer: I sadly do not own these adorable dwarves, they belong to JRR Tolkien.
"I promised, Kíli, I promised Mother. Please don't leave me."
Fíli was never one to beg for anything. As a Prince, and of the line of Durin, he never had to (except maybe for an extra cookie from his mother). Kíli was the one to beg, from his uncle, his mother, and even his brother. He'd beg Thorin to take him to training with Fíli. He'd beg Mother for ale, while Fíli and Thorin drank, and she'd declare him to be too young. He'd beg Fíli for anything, more food when he was still hungry, more space on the bed, and he'd get it.
But Fíli never begged and that was why he ignored the pain, excruciating pain, like fire burning his body, licking every one of his many wounds.
"Oh Kíli, please, please, don't leave now."
He opened his eyes to see Fíli leaning over him, blocking out the winter sun, his face bleeding, hair dripping. The blue eyes filled with fear and worry and a million other things that Kíli could not decipher.
"Fee." Blood trickled out his mouth. He closed his eyes again and wet hands stroked his hair, just like when they were children. Just like when Kíli was sick. Just like that time he injured himself so badly he thought he might actually die.
Just like now.
"It's alright, Kíli." It was not alright and Kíli knew it. He knew Fíli knew it too. He knew he was dying as he knew he was lying in a pool of his own blood, bleeding out from the wounds in his chest, his ribs crushed from Azog's mace, protecting his uncle with both shield and body.
Tears from Fíli fell on his face, falling onto his cracked lips. They slipped down his face, mixing with the blood dried on his neck and in his hair. They wet his closed eyelids and kissed his nose. The pain easing away as the tears fell.
Fíli had always been there to fix the pain, every day of his life and that was one constant that would never fade for Kíli.
Fíli stroked his brother's hair until his chest stopped moving, until his heart stopped beating; Offering comfort until the very end. This was not how it should have ended, with him comforting Kíli as his little brother died in his arms, watching the life seep out of his eyes. It should not have ended with himself bleeding out as he kept a straight face for Kíli, while the blood leeched out of his legs onto Kíli's smashed and broken ones.
It's alright, Kíli. It was not alright and Fíli knew it. He was struggling to draw breath as he lost feeling in his fingers, combing Kíli's tangled hair. It was always tangled, if only he let Fíli braid it. Not that it mattered now.
His little brother was dead and he was dying. He closed his eyes and leaned on Kíli's crushed chest, remembering when Azog flung him across the battlefield, his mace covered in blood despite the armour Kíli wore. He remembered the way he stood in front of Kíli's unmoving body, defending him until he too fell, his legs breaking beneath him. Fíli looked at Kíli's face smudged with tears and blood and dirt and wiped it all off, knowing Mother would be so angry that he was so filthy.
Fíli smiled a sad smile wishing for all the world they were back home in the Blue Mountains and he could feel his mother's rage as they tracked mud into the house, again. Oh Mahal, how he wished this was all a dream, that he'd wake up with Kíli snuggled against him, his warmth reassuring. But this wasn't a dream, Kíli was only warm in the way fresh corpses are and the only rage Dís would feel would be her own guilt of letting them leave.
I'm so sorry, Mother.
A/N Hello again! I know...another tragically sad angst-y BOTFA? Yep and there's more too, but this ones twice as long as the other. I swear I've written others that are much longer!
Reviews are very much appreciated.