Ever since I saw BOFA, I felt like a fix-it fic was necessary. Don't get me wrong: while I disagree with many decisions PJ has made especially concerning the last movie, I'm still incredibly grateful that he didn't change the fates of the three Durins. It would have taken away alot from what Tolkien wanted to show us in his book. The good don't always survive. Sometimes the kindest people die before their time, and in war it's usually the young people who die first.
But it didn't have to end this way. The moment Fíli and Kíli were seperated in BOFA, I knew that PJ would kill them off, and it made me wonder how things might have gone differently if they had stayed together. That is where this story picks off. It will still contain lots of h/c, angst, it'll be bloody of course, but I promise the ending will be a happier one. I'm working on chapter 5 at the moment, and I haven't decided yet if that will be the last one, so expect 5 - 6 chapters total.
Not today
There is only one thing we say to Death: "Not today." – Syrio Forel, in: A Game of Thrones
1. Divided we fall
The surface before the tower of Ravenhill was pure ice, and Fíli could feel it crunch beneath the soles of his boots. He grabbed his sword tightly and allowed himself a quick glance at his brother. Kíli had insisted that he was fine, but still Fíli was concerned about the younger one's state. It wasn't long since he had been close to death, after all, and Kíli might be a good actor, but he couldn't completely hide the slight limp from his older brother. The wound from the Morgul arrow had healed well, but it was obviously still troubling him. Fíli clenched his jaw. Kíli shouldn't have come, he shouldn't be fighting in a battle such as this when he was not up to his old form. But Mahal knew he was glad for his brother's presence, for he knew just as much as Kíli that while they were both great fighters, it was fighting together that made them invincible. And invincible was what they had to be, if they wanted to survive this madness they had been catapulted into.
They had been lucky so far, though. The first encounter with the orcs had been like nothing Fíli had ever experienced. It had been brutal and cruel, he had seen them fall, orcs and dwarves and elves alike. But by some miracle, he and Kíli had made it out with only a few cuts and bruises that were hardly worth mentioning. His shoulder ached a little where it had been struck by a mace, but the orc that had wielded it had already been falling, blood gashing from its chest, and the blow had been rather mild compared to what could have been.
It could have been his end.
Fíli shook his head once, trying to rid his mind off these thoughts. It didn't matter now. What mattered was Azog, the pale orc. Thorin's orders echoed in his ears.
Search the towers.
He glanced at Kíli again, and deep down he realised that it wouldn't be that easy. It was an experience stemming from his childhood – trouble always seemed to find the sons of Dís, especially Kíli, and Fili had the unsettling feeling that this wouldn't change in Erebor.
In that moment Kíli's eyes met his, and the black-haired dwarf curled his lips into a soft smile.
"We'll be fine," he mouthed, and as the air crystallized before Kíli's face Fíli tried his best to relax. He should be the one reassuring his little brother, after all.
They reached the tower quickly. For a moment the two dwarves only stood there, straining their ears. They were surrounded by silence, a frightening silence in which the snowflakes fell like drops of blood onto a marble floor. It was then that the unsettling feeling in Fíli's stomach returned. Fear clawed at his heart, unreasonable fear for there was nothing to be scared of amidst these abandoned stones, but fear nonetheless. Something was wrong.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, he stood completely still, and then he heard it. It was but a whisper, barely audible through the stone walls, but it was enough to send shivers down his spine. He knew, in that moment, that Thorin's intuition had been right all along. Azog was there, probably on the upper floor, waiting for them.
He startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Kíli was staring at him, worry mirrored in his brown eyes as he raised his brows.
He didn't know.
He didn't know that Azog was up there, and Fíli clearly remembered his uncle's words – Stay together – but in a moment of clarity he understood that there was no way he would allow his baby brother to get in harm's way. It was the most stupid idea he had ever had, he was certain of it, but every ounce of reason was wiped away by the fear that seeped into his bones as images of his brother in Azog's hands stirred in his mind.
"Stay here, Kee, search the lower level. I've got this."
The words came automatically, his only means of keeping his younger brother out of danger the way he had been doing for decades until this cold winter's day at the Lonely Mountain. He knew it was foolish, and at any other time he would have laughed for it was usually Kíli who did the foolish things. Not Fíli. Not he who had been raised to be responsible, tactical, smart.
Going on alone was anything but smart. But it was better than taking his brother into the dragon's lair that was the upper level.
He pressed a hand onto Kíli's chest as the younger one stepped forwards, ignoring his command, and their gazes met for a moment.
"I mean it, Kíli."
Kíli's brown eyes were wide, the expression bearing a striking resemblance to that of the day when the stone giants had separated them.
"I belong with my brother," he rejected, gripping Fíli's tunic tightly as he fought hard to keep his voice low. "That's what you said, Fee. Together, Fíli, we need to stay together."
Fíli could tell by his brother's set jaw that he would be moved no more than the mountain itself. Kíli was determined to follow him, and who was he to blame him, after all? They had stuck together for seventy seven long years.
But he couldn't allow Kíli to put himself in danger like that. It was his duty as the older brother to keep him out of harm's way. It always had been, always would be.
"I belong with my brother," Kíli repeated quietly and Fíli understood even when he was still trying to ignore it. Today would not be the day to separate them, no matter what the sinking feeling in his stomach tried to tell him.
"Azog's up there," he said. It was a statement rather than an attempt to make his brother change his mind. For a short moment he could see fear in Kíli's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by fierce determination as he nodded.
Slowly Fíli went forward, hearing Kíli's footsteps behind him, and he felt as if the walls surrounding them came closer with every step he took. It was dark, but of course it didn't bother him. Dwarves could adjust easily to dim light. Suddenly Fíli heard his brother inhaling audibly. It was a short sound, one that could easily be overheard and would have gone unnoticed by anyone but Fíli – Kíli had heard the orcs, too. He grabbed the hilt of his sword more tightly. All his senses screamed at him to turn around and get his little brother to safety. But he wasn't only a brother anymore, Fíli realised, he was a soldier. And as a soldier, his duty was with his king.
Thorin needed to know what was happening, he needed precise information, details were of the essence and might save the lives of many on the battlefield. That was why Fíli pressed on, ignoring the uneasiness that grew with every second. After turning around a corner he stopped abruptly. Voices could be heard now, though Fíli didn't understand the words that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He recognised the Black Speech immediately and he shuddered. Kíli was at his side and cautiously stepped a bit further, head low between his shoulders, his right leg jarring slightly on the rocky ground. Quickly Fíli followed, fighting the urge to grab his brother by the collar and yank him back. Another corner in the maze of passageways, and all of a sudden Fíli forgot to breathe.
He saw the group of orcs not far away, who were apparently unaware of the two dwarves, judging by their lax postures. But that was not what made Fíli tense with sudden fear.
It was the light coming from behind, casting his own dancing shadow onto the ground, along with the distinct sound of heavy footsteps. Frantically he turned his head, searching for a tunnel leading away from where he and Kíli were trapped between the orcs before them and those approaching from behind. His heart hammered against his chest as his fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword.
Kíli turned his head and their gazes locked. Kíli's brown eyes were wide, glinting in the light of torches that came nearer way too fast for Fíli's liking. He, too, had his hand on his sword, and Fíli could see a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the coldness around them. He reached out with his left hand and squeezed Kíli's lower arm lightly in order to give him the reassurance he needed. They didn't need to talk. Fíli took a deep breath. They had fought before. They had been trained all their lives for this. Just another day in the training ground.
And Mahal knew ten orcs were nothing compared to Dwalin when the dwarf warrior was in a bad mood.
The thought brought a small smile to Fíli's lips, which in return made Kíli look at him in confusion. Before he could say anything, though, the light of torches became brighter; the footsteps were now just around the corner, and Fíli steeled himself for what was about to come.
The clash came out of the nothing. One moment Fíli had smiled at his brother, the next his sword met the steel breastplate of an orc whose club missed Fíli's head by mere inches. The orcs were few in numbers, but they fought fiercely, swinging swords and maces while grunting and gnarling at the two dwarves who stood their ground.
Fíli decapitated his opponent with ease, but at the same time he could hear more orcs coming. Those they had watched just seconds before came to help their comrades, and with a sinking feeling Fíli realised that he and Kíli were trapped. He fought harder than ever before in his life, ducking and spinning around as best as he could in the narrow passageway, wielding his sword with his right hand. Orcs fell by his hand as he fought with more strength than he knew he possessed.
"Fíli!" his brother yelled with panic in his voice, and Fíli turned around just in time. The blade of the orc smashed against the stony wall where he had stood the blink of an eye ago. For a short moment Fíli got a clear view on his brother, and it was a sight that made his blood boil with rage. Kíli was bleeding from a deep gash on his upper arm, and he stumbled backwards as the orc he was battling raised its sword once more.
With a war cry Fíli darted forwards, throwing cautions to the wind as seventy seven years of brotherly instinct took over. He bumped into the orc that stood in his way. Pain flared up in his right shoulder where he crashed against the armour of the orc, but the sudden force knocked the enemy right off his feet, sending him down where he came to lay on the ground, his throat slit by Fíli's sword in a swift motion. Without stopping for the dead orc Fíli flung himself at the one facing Kíli, burying his sword in the orc's back just as Kíli, too, jumped forwards. Stabbed with dwarvish blades from both sides, the creature gasped for air with a gurgling sound that made Fíli almost feel sick. He removed his sword, and as Kíli mimicked his action the orc collapsed. Black blood seeped out of its twisted mouth as well as from the deep wound in its chest, and the orc choked in its death throes before the body went still. The brothers eyed each other for a split second. Kíli sported a few cuts on his face, the sleeve of his tunic was dark from the wound, but Fíli noted that the bleeding must have stopped already. As for himself, he could feel a dull throbbing in his shoulder and a stinging sensation at the side of his neck where a blade had grazed his skin, but apart from that he was surprisingly alright.
"Let's get out of here," Kíli muttered after a last glance at the corpses around them. "That should be enough scouting, don't you think?"
Fíli nodded. He was still on high alert, his heart racing as he only slowly realised that they had won this fight against all odds.
"Go ahead."
He stayed close to Kíli. His limp had become worse, which didn't surprise Fíli at all. He should –
Suddenly Kíli fell backward. A warning cry was all Fíli heard before he met the blades of their enemy. Orcs were swarming in, blocking their way, and Kíli scrambled to his feet and raised his sword in defence. Fíli's stomach clenched painfully when it dawned on him that it was futile. They were outnumbered, they were trapped, and he had led his brother to his doom.
There was hardly enough room in the narrow passageway for two dwarves to stand side by side. It might be an advantage, Fíli prayed rather than hoped, because it meant that the orcs could only attack one at a time. It had to be an advantage.
He parried the club of one orc, pushing his sword deep into the creature's gut. The next one lost its head, and beside him Kíli swung his blade just as fiercely. One orc launched forward, an evil looking knife raised high and its face contorted with blood lust. Fíli widened his stance, gripped his sword tightly and prepared himself for the collision. He cried out when he buried his sword in the orc's chest, hitting it from below, and he lost his footing as the orc fell on top of him. He could feel the knife slicing his leather first and then his skin. A burning pain erupted below his collarbone where the dying orc had stabbed him; stars exploded before his eyes as his head hit the stony ground.
He could hear Kíli shouting his name.
Kíli.
He pushed himself up and prepared himself for facing the next opponent, but for some reason the orcs attacked only half-heartedly, coming towards the two dwarves but always stayed just so slightly out of reach. Fíli realised that he was stumbling backwards, up the passageway, and he probably understood their intention the same moment that Kíli did. Their gazes locked for a second. Kíli looked grim, a thin trail of blood was visible on the left side of his face, and Fíli narrowed his eyes. They would not allow the orcs to trap them on the upper level. With Azog.
Fíli darted forwards, knowing Kíli was doing the same, and plummeted against the nearest orc. The impact drove the wind out of his lungs, but the aim of his hand had been true: the creature died shrieking, one of Fíli's daggers in its throat.
Next to him, an orc fell by Kíli's hand. The brothers exchanged a fleeting glance, and Fíli asked himself desperately when Thorin and Dwalin would notice that things weren't going to plan.
"Where are they?" Kíli gasped as if he could read his brother's thoughts. Fíli had no time to answer, though, for the orcs were still coming at them. His arm was burning, he could feel every nerve tingling in a most unpleasant way, and he knew he wouldn't be able to keep on like this much longer. He stumbled once or twice and he noticed that, despite his attempt to get out of the tunnel and back to where he and Kíli had come from, he was slowly but relentlessly forced backward. The tunnel made a slope not far from where he was standing his ground. He daren't think of what was waiting behind that bend.
He blocked another blow from an orc before him. He didn't think about what he was doing anymore. It was something Dwalin had never prepared him for: all tactical plans crumbled when it wasn't just your own life at stake. Every reasonable thought Fíli might have had when he'd entered Ravenhill was gone, replaced by the few words that replayed in his mind.
Keep him safe.
He buried his sword in the orcs chest. The enemy stared at him, and to Fíli's confusion and horror its thin lips spread to an evil smile. The grin remained on the face even when the eyes became empty.
It was then that he heard the sound of footsteps.
It wasn't the shuffling of orc feet that he had gotten used to during the last minutes. Nor was it the thud of dwarven boots on stone. Every step was a hammer on an anvil, the echo reverberating from the stone walls, and he understood.
And he was scared. For the first time, he was truly, utterly terrified.
He wanted to grab Kíli by the sleeve and pull him away, for he couldn't let his little brother face him, but the path was blocked and the orcs were sneering, knowing as well as Fíli what the heavy footsteps meant.
"Fee…," Kíli whispered, eyes wide dark spots on a pale face; he was grabbing his sword with both hands as the footsteps grew louder. Fíli wished he could say something, anything to reassure him, but he didn't find the words in his heart.
This was his fault.
More from Fíli's POV in the next chapter, but Dwalin and Kíli will both get their POVs in the following chapters. Thorin will be busy smashing orc skulls, though, he apologises for that. ;) Reviews are very much appreciated.
