Disclaimer - All characters etc. are not mine, they belong to JRR Tolkien.
When Fíli was a dwarfing he had often dreamed of being in battle, fighting alongside his brother to victory. The tales Thorin told them of orcs and goblins had heightened his imagination to extraordinary levels. He and Kíli would play in the woods pretending to be brave dwarf warriors, fighting invisible orcs.
Their excitement of battle often made their mother sad, but Fíli was too young to understand why. When he had asked, Thorin had said, "Not now Fíli, go play with your brother."
When Fíli started training Thorin told them of Frerin, his own little brother and it had made Fíli hold Kíli all the more tighter in his arms. "I will never let Kíli die, Uncle, I promise." And Thorin, with rare tears, had smiled and said, "You might not have a choice in the matter, Fíli."
The joy of finally being able to train was unmatched. The feel of holding a real sword, not just one out of wood, was incomparable (despite being unable to actually use it). Kíli, watching at the side, was still too young to train.
Five years later, they were training together. Fíli encouraging Kíli even as he fumbled with his sword again. When he presented Kíli with his first bow, the happiness on his face had stayed with Fíli forever.
The smell of sweat hung in the air as he finally won his first match against Dwalin. Kíli, engulfing him in a hug, telling anyone who would listen that his big brother had defeated Mister Dwalin.
But now, lying on the battlefield bleeding out, his little brother dead in his arms, Fíli did not think battles were all that fun after all.
A/N Hello, first fic here. I know it's pretty short, might expand later. Any mistakes are mine so there might be a few. Any reviews are appreciated.