A/N: I decided to dive headfirst into the Hobbit fandom so here's my oficial contribution to the 'Fili and Kili are too effing cute to die' movement. XD I promise that the following chapters will be both longer and less saddening, but I decided to start out with Thorin getting to sort of make peace with his nephews' deaths before he dies himself. The next chapter will be coming soon and will involve Kili and a German Shepherd, and in the meantime I have a love of reviews and will respond to them. :) Leastways, enjoy! ^-^
Thorin Oakenshield could hear birds in the background, birds returning to the mountain that he had fought so long and hard for- fought himself for, even. Now, though, he would only return to the Lonely Mountain to be laid within it. He knew he was dying, he'd known it from the very second the battle began. A feeling, deep in his heart, that wouldn't leave him. Thorin had gone into the battle knowing that he would not walk away. So no grief for himself tore at his heart while he waited for Gandalf to find the halfling, so that he could try and say how desperately sorry he was before his time came.
So no, while regret he had aplenty, there was no grief in him- not for himself, he should have amended. There was grief more than enough for his two nephews. They had already fallen to death, Gandalf had told him of it with a look on his face that made the wizard seem like he were as old as Arda itself. It was all Thorin could do not to scream with pain when he'd heard the news. This was never supposed to happen; none of this was ever supposed to happen.
His nephews' faces flashed through his mind with painful clarity- Kili's wicked smile as he pulled a successful prank and the way Fili would watch and just roll his eyes like the loving and long-suffering brother he was- and he closed his eyes tightly, wishing that he could banish the images from his head. Dead because of you, his mind whispered to him coldly. Because of your greed and stupidity. Because you were a foolish old man who couldn't protect what mattered most while you were busy with what mattered least. He knew now with a clarity that only dying could bring that all of the gold in Erebor and the rest of the world would never again matter. They never had.
What really mattered would soon be buried next to him.
It seemed that Gandalf had read his mind because before he left to find Bilbo he leaned down and gripped Thorin's shoulder with a hand like a vice. "Look at me, Thorin Oakenshield," he commanded, waiting until the king obeyed to continue. "Their deaths were not your fault, nor will they ever be. They fought and died with true honor, and you should be proud of them. As they would be of you." He swept out of the tent to go and find the hobbit so that Thorin could make his last apology and die with some semblance of peace.
It was only a few more seconds before the very nervous hobbit came into the tent, making to shut the flap behind him, but Thorin stopped him. "Leave it," he requested with quiet forcefulness. "I wish to see the sun and hear the birds. I wish to see life before I go to death." Bilbo nodded wordlessly, trying and failing not to let his sadness show. Thorin said his farewell to the child of the kindly West and some healing came to his heart to be forgiven for his wrongs. But still his nephews' images danced in front of him, the two play-wrestling with one another as they were so wont to do. Alone in the tent, Thorin let the tears fall from his eyes.
Do not mourn, a soft voice said in his head. Mercy will be had upon them, Thorin Oakenshield. The world phased out and changed, showing his nephews again, alive and well in a place he could not even begin to recognize with people- humans- that he'd never seen before. Tears sprang to his eyes once again but this time there was no sadness.
"This... this is the future?" he asked hesitantly. He could almost feel the voice smiling at him.
It shall be, Thorin, it responded. They will be given new life. Go now in peace to the halls, where your ancestors await you. Let grief trouble your heart no more.
When Gandalf the Grey returned to the tent, he found Thorin lying dead on the bed, with a contented smile on his face.
The dwarves of Erebor buried their king two days later, when the Halls had been improved enough entomb him respectably. Fili and Kili they laid to his right and left, and spread their weapons down at their feet. The dawarves' laments hung on the air like a mist as the Elvenking laid Thorin's sword on his grave. Then the graves were shut, the rock was sealed, and the last of the line of Durin began their long sleep under the ground.
In the darkness of the tombs, a light began to glow.
And in the light, the two youngest heirs of Durin began to vanish.
