Fili stood restlessly at the left flank of the gate, looking out into the encroaching black as the stars began to emerge. He shifted only slightly, detecting the pattern of familiar footsteps, anticipating the approach of his ever-watchful younger brother.

"Will you sleep?" he questioned, without turning away, as the footfalls came to a halt beside him.

"No," Kili answered, staring into the distance. "There will be plenty of time for that later."

Fires danced below in the encampments of men and elves, swaying hypnotically with the rhythm of the wind, and the young dwarf prince sighed anxiously, the weight of many troubling visions pressing down upon him.

"Are you so eager to meet the enemy?" his older brother chuckled, having noticed that Kili was already bedecked in his entire suit of dwarven armor.

"Just making sure it fits," came the cocky, evasive response.

The sunrise would bring war, whether either of them were prepared, and if he was to rally, to face the onslaught at his best and bravest, he would need to remain unhindered by the discomfort of his trappings.

"You do know," Fili pronounced with forced optimism, "that we will find a way to victory?"

"Maybe," he replied, unmoved. "Or perhaps this our punishment for the greed and pride of our fathers."

"At least if we die," the elder prince said resolutely, "we'll take some of those bastard orcs to hell with us."

"If there is such a thing," Kili stepped cautiously to the foot of the forest path.

"Where are you going little brother?"

The only response was a short glance backward, with the tiniest hint of a smile.

Kili moved quickly down the face of the Lonely Mountain in the direction of what he could only assume was the elven camp. Branches broke under his heavy boots, but his own noises faded to a dull hum in his ears, his sole focus, finding a way to the object of his affections. There were so many things that needed to be said before the chance had passed. He ran through them in his head, unsure of which he'd be able to force out and which would fall hopelessly unclaimed upon the warground, when finally he succumbed to the ravages of the enemy. He briefly wondered whether it would be the elven prince, Legolas, his lady's ousted almost-lover, who would finally run him through in the throes of battle, taking certain pleasure in bleeding him dead and dry.

When he'd reached a suitable distance from his destination, he slowly began pulling apart his shining armour. Shoulder pieces, chain mail, chest plate; he laid them carefully in a pile, half hidden in the hollow of a rigid escarpment. Not until a river of auburn flashed across his periphery, did he realize that his Tauriel had actually found him.

"How is it that someone so quiet creates such a loudness inside my mind?" he said, smiling.

"How is it that someone so loud has not yet let his voice arise to dissolve this fray?" she returned.

"You ask me, my lady captain, to stand against my own. Something I have never, and would never, ask of you."

The elf closed some of the space between them, unwilling to back down.

"If it meant the difference between my survival and decimation, mellonin, I believe you would."

"Thorin is our rightful leader," he stood his ground, "and where he leads, I squire after."

"You would march to your death under the veil of his maddness? The darkness is beckoning him, and blindly you follow?"

"I will march by the side of my uncle, my king. To his glory or ruin, my loyalties know no consequence."

"Have you not loyalties to me as well?" she pleaded, producing the rune stone he'd given her from within her leather armour.

"I do. Although it pains me," he turned his head away, "my love for you is my weakness, my desire for you my downfall. But nothing can change my fate now, dear lady. The battle field lies before us, and in its judgement my future is broken or made."

"The will of the Valar does not await you there," she urged, raising a hand to caress his cheek. "Only the reckoning of a thousand blades, fueled by ancient hatred and greed."

His eyes squeezed shut briefly, as he pressed a tender kiss to her palm, before rising again to meet her gaze, resolute in his convictions.

"I am not a future king, nor a farmer, nor a craftsman. My place within the circle of my kin is as an instrument of war."

"After all that has transpired within the hallows of this land, you still continue to doubt your self worth?" she asked sorrowfully, taking another step towards him. "Can you not see? You are the string that binds your company together. If you plant the seed of doubt inside their minds, they will water it, and like a tree of hope it will grow. You can stop this from happening with a careful word."

"Even a careful word, my love, against my king would be treason. I am only the shield that guards my kinsmen from the deadliest of blows, and I will shelter them with honor," his eyes grew fierce, "and defend them with my life."

"Then you are being led to slaughter!" she spat back angrily.

"From the moment I first held a sword," he said forcefully, pulling her closer, "I already accepted that I would meet my end in a blaze of blood and glory, sacrificed upon the altar of a sacred battleground. You and I," he brushed his lips against hers, "were never meant to exist."

The heat built palpably between them, a chemistry borne of darkness and danger, and his grip across her bicep grew crushingly tight as their cheeks, noses, and eyelashes rubbed and fluttered in achingly sweet proximity.

"This will end," her eyelids flickered shut, "in an explosion of horrors, of death, and fire."

"I already know what it is to burn," he whispered ardently, before finally claiming her mouth in a deep and fervent, bruising kiss.

One of his hands wrapped commandingly behind her neck, the other finding the small of her back to press her against him with an almost painful strength. Within moments he was sweeping her off the ground, stepping forward to force her body against the rock wall, while her long slender legs wrapped exquisitely around him. His lips roamed, she burried her fingers in his hair, and their hips ground against eachother indecently, fueling the inferno of their excruciating passion.

"Why do I torture myself with you?" he rasped breathlessly, exploring her feverishly with his hands.

"If your legacy dies tomorrow," she pryed her eyes open to stare into his, "then I will kill your pain tonight."

Her consent was all he needed, and almost immediately, her leggings were on the ground and he was inside her pouring out all of his love and devotion. Each stroke became his apology, each thrust a fractured lullaby that spoke of his regrets. And in the anarchy of a perfect, forbidden moment, they crashed over the edge in a broken cluster of kisses, liquid, and limbs.

For hours they made love in a cocoon of amorous despair, laced with silent tears and fearful gasps, never wanting to let go, even as the blanket of night began to lift. When finally the cruelty of the world could wait no longer, she wordlessly reassembled the layers of his armor with trembling hands, placing each piece in flawless care, until a brilliant silver soldier had come together before her.

He held her face in his hands as salty droplets shimmered down her cheeks in the glow of dawn, allowing a single tear to flow unabted from his own eye. One final, intense, almost spiritual kiss, and he departed to take his place at the crest of the mountain.