A/n: Hello everyone! So I know the Battle of the Five Armies came out ages ago, but I just watched the extended edition, and ALL the feels came back. Even though I hated the way Peter portrayed almost everything (when did the movie turn into a romance instead of a family-centered film?), I was still heartbroken when Thorin, Fili, and Kili died. Especially because they should have died TOGETHER. And so, I decided to pull this out of the archives and post it.
I tried to write it so the reader could decide which brother's perspective this story was in. Not sure I succeeded in that endeavor; I'll post down at the bottom which brother I had in mind when writing it. Also, I gave both Balin and Dwalin the title of "uncle" in this story because of how close they are to Thorin and the boys (even though technically they're the boys' second cousins). I liken it to how Frodo calls Bilbo "Uncle Bilbo" even though that isn't how they're actually related.
Last note, I use the word Nadad towards the end. As near as I can tell, this originated with the amazing Dwarrow Scholar who has put together an immense dictionary of Khuzdul words and phrases. So that's where I got it from. It means brother.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. If I did, we would have had WAY more Beorn in the movie, there would have been no redheaded she-elf, and Thorin, Fili, and Kili would have died the way they did in the book. 'nough said.
~~~~Line Break~~~~
The journey had been long; the road rough. But they had finally stood in the halls of their fathers. Seen the sights they had been told of since their births.
They had gone exploring in the vast halls of the mountain, used mounds of gold taller than they were as sledding hills. They had dressed each other in the most ridiculous pieces of armor and jewelry they could find in the treasure room. Effectively made fools of themselves, but they didn't care. They had been home.
That first night they had stood together on a balcony that looked out towards Ravenhill. He had forgotten his coat — as usual — and his brother had been exasperated with him. They had joked and reminisced about the many adventures they had been on in the past 4 months. It had felt good, but more than that it had felt right.
They had stayed there until the last glimmers of sunlight had faded from the horizon and the stars had come out. They had had a competition to see who could spot the most constellations the soonest.
He looked back on that night now and remembered. He remembered how peaceful it had been. Except for his and his brother's petty squabbling, the night had been silent. Not like now. Now his ears were filled with the moans of the dying, the cackles of goblins, the howls of wargs coming down from Ravenhill.
That evening had been filled with joy. They had reclaimed their home; they were where they belonged. They were no longer members of an outcast society. They had a place to call their own.
Now there was only dread. It was a heavy ball of lead sitting in his stomach, turning his limbs to stone and causing his spirit to falter. The enemy was all around, and the only thing he could do was deflect their blows as they rained down on him. He could tell from their faces that they were eager for his blood.
He had never faced a true foe before and now that he had, he regretted all those childhood fantasies of the glory of the battlefield. He wished he could go back to those days. Days when the most he had to worry about was whether or not Uncle Balin would give him extra homework that night, when he knew that Uncle Thorin and Uncle Dwalin would be there to protect him. Days when he was not the one having to be brave.
Their uncle had fallen in his stand against Bolg's bodyguards long ago. His armor had been pierced many times by their spears despite both his and his brother's best attempts to keep them away from their beloved uncle. Each time he saw a spear stab Thorin, he felt like he had personally been wounded.
Finally, Thorin had grown too weary from his wounds and had collapsed. There hadn't been a moment's hesitation between his brother and him when that happened. They leaped forward, swords flashing before them to the defense of their mother's brother.
His brother stood opposite him, protecting Thorin where he couldn't. Their swords swung in tandem as they took out foe after foe. Long hours of training and practice had made it so they didn't have to look at each other to know where the other was at. They were two halves of a whole.
Then his brother slipped; his knee giving way as he tripped on a discarded weapon. Before he could recover, a goblin had driven his sword into his chest. He watched in horror as a look of intense pain crossed his brother's face, and he fell to his side.
He screamed his denial. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening! With a snarl of rage, he killed the goblin he was fighting and rushed over to his brother.
He was just in time to keep the death blow from finding its mark on his brother. Killing that beast who had wounded him gave him great satisfaction.
He slid to a stop next to his brother and rolled him onto his back. He placed his hand over the gaping wound in his brother's lower chest. Tried to ignore the rush of warm blood over his fingers as he applied pressure.
"You'll be okay." He said. "Just hang on."
His brother gasped in pain and tried to remove his hands. "You're g-gonna get… yourself ki-killed." he muttered. He grabbed onto his arm with strength that belied the pain he must have been feeling. "You,,, you… gotta,,, gotta go." He began coughing and flecks of red appeared on his lips.
"Stop talking. You've got to save your strength. I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing." He pressed down harder on the wound.
"N-no, you don't. Y-ou never...know what... you're doing."
He tried to smile, but it was hard when all he wanted to do was cry. "Stop talking, you nitwit."
His brother huffed a chuckle which quickly turned into a fight for breath, "Not.. a …chance. Someone has... has to be your…your common sense."
"Well, it isn't you." He countered. He glanced up from his brother to check on their surroundings. The goblin ranks were closing in around them and all nearby support was engaged. "Keep pressure here." He said grabbing his brother's hand and placing it over the wound. "Don't let go. Understand?"
His brother leaned back into the ground and closed his eyes, but he nodded. "D-don't worry 'bout me. You…you get out of here. D-don't want you… to get hurt either."
The goblins were even closer now and he could tell that they would not allow him to leave. They were determined to wipe out the line of Durin that day.
"I'm not leaving you." He whispered, leaning down to bestow a quick kiss on his brother's sweaty brow. "Don't die on me, you hear?" It was a plea — a desperate plea — one he knew his brother would not be able to answer.
His brother didn't answer; his eyes were closed and his face was pale. He wasn't even sure if he was still conscious. He didn't have time to check.
He grabbed both his sword and his brother's and rose to his feet. He positioned himself so that he was standing between his family and those who would harm them. He would not go down without a fight.
They came at him two and three at a time. He set his jaw and struck with his blades. He didn't think about how they were losing the battle, or about how his family was bleeding to death not ten feet behind him, or about how there was little to no hope that he would survive this next engagement. All he thought about was the fact that he was the last defense between those same foes and his brother and uncle.
He took down enemy after enemy, cutting through limbs and piercing armor to get at the flesh underneath. He ducked under swipes aimed at his head and blocked thrusts to his chest. He countered the goblins blow for blow, not moving an inch from the spot he had chosen. He did not give the beasts any opening at his family.
That was until wargs decided to join the squabble. Three of them came running into the fray, mouths opened in snarls and wicked gleams sitting in their eyes. Two of them went to join other fights at his back, but one drove straight towards him.
The fear coursing through his body magnified ten-fold. He was already tired, his movements slowing down with each passing second. While goblins were relatively easy to handle, wargs were a different matter entirely.
The warg snarled something at the goblins and they backed off. The warg stopped ten paces away from him and crouched low. Its eyes narrowed as it looked beyond him to the forms of his brother and uncle laying on the ground. What could only be called a grin crossed its face, and it looked back up to look at him.
"You'll not touch them." He swore, pointing his sword at the beast.
Keeping low to the ground, it charged him. He was able to leap to the side to avoid the first slash of the warg's claws. He countered with a swipe at the beast's hind legs, but its skin was too thick. His sword just skidded off of it.
What he did manage to do was make the animal angry, and it rounded on him quicker than he would have thought possible. Within a blink, the beast had lunged at him aiming for his sword arm. He dropped to the ground and rolled, narrowly avoiding the teeth that would have otherwise torn his arm.
Maneuvering onto his feet, he thrust his sword with all of his might, trying to land a blow on the beast's side. He managed to penetrate, but his sword did not go deep enough before the warg twisted and stepped away with a yelp. The movement caused him to lose his grip on the sword he had struck with as well as jerked him a few steps towards the warg. He gripped his lone sword with both hands, watching the beast's movements, trying to predict when and how it would attack next.
It leaped at him once more, aiming for his left side. He brought his sword to bear on that side, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Right before the opportunity came, the warg changed directions. He realized too late that in shifting his body to prepare for the left-side assault he had left his right side unguarded.
There was no time to correct his mistake, no time to put up a defense. The warg's jaws closed around his upper arm and shoulder. White hot pain seared through the limb. He screamed in agony as the beast released its grip only to bite down once more closer to his chest and neck. His right side lost all feeling and his right hand dropped from his sword hilt. Not that it mattered, for a second later he was being tossed through the air.
He landed heavily on his back and the air was forced from his lungs. His vision tunneled. All he could hear was a loud roaring in his ears. His mind was screaming at him to move — to do something, to not just lay there or else he would die. He couldn't seem to make his body obey. Slowly his vision began returning and the roaring in his ears diminished. He climbed dizzily to his feet as soon as he was able and looked for the warg. It was stalking towards him licking his muzzle.
He struggled to push the pain from his arm to the side, to regulate his breathing. He knew that if he didn't he wouldn't survive his next encounter with the warg. In the back of his mind, he began to doubt he would survive either way.
The warg rushed and this time he wasn't able to jump aside fast enough. Three new gashes decorated his left arm and he grew lightheaded as he jarred his right arm in the process. He didn't allow it to slow him down, instead he turned and swiped at its muzzle. The skin there wasn't as thick and he scored a deep gouge from the thing's lower jaw along its throat.
Backpedaling quickly, he tried to make it back to his original position near his brother and uncle. He kept his sword pointed out in front of him, though he knew it was an all but useless gesture.
The warg shook its head back and forth a few times before refocusing on him. He knew that this coming charge would be the final one. Blood was spilling from what was left of his right shoulder and he was having problems keeping himself standing.
The muscles on the warg's shoulders bunched. He tightened his one-handed grip on his sword's hilt. Time seemed to slow as the beast charged. He readied his muscles, determined to take down the beast, but knew the only way to do that was to wait until the last possible second and try and get underneath the beast.
His plan worked. Just before the beast's jaws would have closed around him, he dropped to the ground. The beast was not expecting the move and so continued moving forward a few steps which put its belly exactly where he needed it. He thrust up with all of his might.
The result was instantaneous. The warg howled and tried to get away from the sword that was causing such him such agony. All it succeeded in doing was making the wound worse.
His sword was ripped from his hands, and it clattered to the ground. He curled up into a ball trying to protect himself from the death throes of the beast, but didn't succeed. Claws dug into his back and sides, gouging and tearing. Finally the beast stilled, toppling to one side of him.
He lay still for a few minutes struggling to push past the pain that enveloped his entire body. Blood gushed from the many wounds that littered his body, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was going to die; he was bleeding too quickly and help was too far away. He had accepted the fact of his death, but he wanted to be close to his brother when he did die.
Painfully, he pulled his knees under him and pushed himself off the ground. His sight left him and he became lightheaded. His pulse pounded through his forehead and shoulder. Taking several deep breaths, he concentrated on not falling over. After a few minutes, the lightheadedness subsided and his vision returned.
He swallowed hard and looked up to gauge the distance between himself and the form of his brother. It was so far. He didn't think his legs would support him even if he could find the strength to climb to his feet.
He tried though. He slid one foot under himself and pushed up. He tottered for a few seconds, but then found some semblance of balance. Holding his right arm close to his body, he staggered towards his family.
The sounds of the battle had faded. Whether that was because the battle was actually slowing, or because he could no longer hear anything above the roaring that filled his ears he wasn't sure. The fighting that had been going on around them had dissipated, the victors having long since travelled to other parts of the battle field. The only ones left were the dead… and the dying.
His legs grew weaker and weaker with each step. It became harder and harder to continue moving, but he fixed his eyes on his brother and demanded that his body obey him. It worked — until it didn't.
Ten feet from his brother, his legs just gave out. He raised his left arm to try and catch himself, but landed heavily. His right shoulder and arm screamed in protest, and the rest of his body soon joined in on the complaints. He swallowed a sob and bent his head down to the ground. Tears slipped from his eyes and dripped down his nose.
He was a failure. He hadn't been able to get through to Thorin, to stop this whole war from happening in the first place. He hadn't been able to protect his uncle from getting wounded. Hadn't been able to stop the blade that had pierced his brother. And now he could not even make it back to their sides to die.
But he was a son of Durin, and if they were anything, they were obstinate. He gritted his teeth and raised himself up on his knees. He couldn't walk — his legs were shaking even then — but he would get to his brother and uncle.
He crawled the last ten feet until he reached the spot where his brother had fallen. He was lying exactly where he had left him, hands still pressed over the wound in his chest. His eyes were closed and his skin was pale, but he could see the slight rise and fall of his chest. This time the tears that fell were tears of relief.
His brother seemed to sense his presence because he opened his eyes at that moment. They took a moment to focus, but when they did they lit up with joy. He reached out with his hand and took his brother's hand.
"You're here." He breathed. "I… got… got worried." His gaze swept downward and took in the wounds that littered his brother's body. The mangled shoulder and upper chest, the gashes on his left arm and his torso. "Y-you're hurt. I-I told you…told you to leave." His words were breathy and very quiet. It was hard to hear them. "Should - should have left." The last word was accompanied by a cough and more flecks of red.
He smiled sadly, "Too late for that now." His lips were numb, as was his entire right side. It was getting hard to talk, and his body felt like stone. "Kn-knew I wouldn't leave you."
His brother nodded, "You're t-too thickheaded…f-for your…your own good."
"Your fault. Spent too much time with you."
His brother laughed around another cough. More spots of red decorated his lips and the coughing took on a wet sound as his lungs filled even more. Tears slipped down his face.
His heart twisted at the sight, "D-don't cry." He murmured. He used his good arm to wipe the salty drops from off of grim stained cheeks.
"Hurts."
Tears slipped from his own eyes to land on the face below his. "I know. It will be over soon."
"D-don't… want to …leave." His brother looked up into his eyes. They were full of pain and disappointment.
"I know." He was sure he had to have a knife driven into his heart. It hurt too much for it not to be there. "I'm sorry."
"W-what for?" His brother's words were getting weaker. His weren't much better.
"Sh-" Now it was his turn to cough. The action sent spasms of white-hot pain through his body. "Should have protected you. Should have… done more. 'M sorry." He bent his head down to rest his forehead on his brother's. "So… sorry."
He couldn't keep himself up any longer. His legs had gone completely numb. That lifelessness was spreading quickly up his chest. He lowered himself gingerly next to his brother. It wouldn't be long now.
His brother had turned his head so that their foreheads were still touching, "Don't be… sorry." He murmured. His voice had sunk to the faintest whisper. "Glad… glad 'M with you." His breaths were so shallow it was amazing he was still able to talk.
The tears were falling faster now. He couldn't see through them to see if his brother's eyes were still open or not. "L-love…you, Nadad."
"Lve… u…" The words were barely a breath on his cheek.
He felt it the moment his brother was gone. Felt the life leave the body lying next to him. Felt it as the knife in his heart drove deep and twisted, tearing a chunk out and leaving a gaping hole in his soul.
He sobbed, pressing his face into that of his brother's. "Wait…for… for …me, Nadad." He whispered. His vision diminished, darkening until he couldn't see anything. The paralysis had settled into his arms and chest. His entire body was cold.
The last thing he heard was a roar that sounded as if it came from a huge bear. Then the air escaped from his lungs, and the world around him faded.
~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~
A/n: I wrote this with Kili being the brother who first got injured and Fili as the last one standing. I hope you liked it!