Filì dropped to his knees. His brother's breathing was faint. Around him the harsh calls of the Eagles sounded, and the shrieks of dismay from the Orcs, but this all was dim. Pain was welling in his chest. His vest was drenched with blood, but he ignored this, cradling his brother's head on his lap. Kilì opened his eyes, and made an attempt to smile. "Filì."

"I'm here, little brother. Just stay with me, please." he choked.

Kilì shook his dark head, pulling another painful breath into his chest. "No, no. I'm going to see Uncle Thorin." He coughed, grimacing in agony. "I'm sorry. I don't want to leave, Filì, but it's not my choice."

"I'll be with you soon." whispered the older dwarf, shifting Kilì's head in attempt to make him more comfortable.

"No, you won't. You're going back to see Istrabar, do you understand me? Go on, and have lots of children. And name one of the little rogues Kilì. Tell Mother I love her, please. I really do."

"I won't be going back…" interrupted Filì again, feeling his life tide ebbing away, but Kilì seemed in a world of his own. "I always wanted to to be Uncle Kilì. It sounds so grown-up." He coughed again. "But growing up isn't as fun as I thought it would be. Tell them all about me, Filì. Tell them how I was always the brilliant one and the magnificent one."

Filì nodded, seeing it was useless. "I will, little brother."

"Good." Kilì managed one last smile. The grip on his brother's hand tightened. "It hurts, but not as much as I thought it would. Goodbye, Filì."

"Not yet. Not yet, please."

"Goodbye..." His hand fell away, his breathing stopped. Filì half-raised himself to his feet, and then fell.