A/N: When Dean O'Gorman was asked his favorite line, he said it was, "Kili!" That inspired this.
His brother is in his arms.
"Kili," his mother says, pushing back her tangled braids. Her eyes are bright and tired.
"Kili," he says, turning the strange sound over in his mouth. It is like his name, almost. Not quite.
Kili.
"Kili!" he calls, when his brother climbs too high up the oak tree.
"Kili," he growls, when his brother borrows his knives without permission.
"Kili," he whispers, when the nightmares come.
Kili, Kili, Kili. A curse, a promise, a name on his lips like a prayer.
It is like his name. Almost. Not quite—but he almost knows it better than his own.
No, Kili. Flirting with elves is a bad idea.
"Kili!" he sees the cruel shaft of an arrow, the pallor and stillness of pain on his brother's face.
Please, Kili. He cannot live without his brother.
"Kili…" he lies, voice echoing in the fell golden halls. Uncle is not mad, not truly.
"Kili." It is a vow, hands clasped, mail ringing. They march together, fight together.
Together.
Kili, Kili, Kili.
Stay. Search the lower levels.
Live.
He shouts "Run," but thinks Kili, the name on his lips like a prayer.
