A/N: I don't own Hobbit or Doctor Who. And yes, I ship Figrid. And if I need to up the rating to T, please let me know! Hannon le for reading. =)
Demons run when a good man goes to war.
All the stories promised victory for those who fought evil. They might receive nearly fatal wounds, they might gaze on the face of death, but they would press on and win the day. The sun would shine again, and evil's darkness would flee into the distance.
All the stories were oh, so wrong. The stories were nothing like the reality.
Night will fall and drown the sun when a good man goes to war.
The orcs were everywhere. A black mass filling the plain before Erebor, like ants swarming upon fruit fallen to the ground. Their swords did not shine, their knives did not glitter, their vicious teeth did not gleam; they dripped with blood instead. The blood of Dwarves and Elves and Men mingled on the blades and soaked the ground beneath their corpses. Such an irony–those who found unity impossible in life found it unavoidable in death.
Death itself was unavoidable today. The Mountain's defenders were many, but its assailants were even more.
Friendship dies and true love lies.
The blond dwarf swung out at another orc, protecting himself even though he knew he only prolonged his own torture. The gashes across his chest stained his tunic red beneath his armor, and he felt his life leaving him drop by crimson drop. But he would fight as long as he lived. For his family (Kili, Thorin). For his friends(Dwalin, Balin, Ori, Bofur, and the rest). For her.
Even as he fought, he could feel her hand in his. He could see her gold-brown hair escaping its braid and dangling over her sun-tanned face–she was not beautiful, but she was strong as no daughter of Men should have to be. She cared for her siblings as he cared for Kili, and he saw that and admired her all the more. He could hear her voice as she stood beside him, gazing up from the lakeshore at star-crowned Erebor. Small, unguarded for the moment while Tilda slept at the campfire behind them. "Fili . . . I'm frightened. An' I don' know wha' of."
He had put his arm around her gently, cautiously. "You won't have to worry about Bard tomorrow, you know. He's a strong man; he killed the dragon, after all. He'll be safe."
She turned her face up to him, pale–or was it only the moonlight? "Aye, I know Da'll be well. But it's no' tha' worryin' me. Somethin' else. It's cold an' sick, an' it won' go."
He didn't know how to comfort her, but the silence only lasted a moment before she broke out again. "Promise me you'll watch out for yourself, won' you? Tha' you'll come back?"
And he defied the odds and promised, and the false assurance brought the roses back into her cheeks and the stars into her dark eyes, and he claimed a first tender kiss before he left for his tent.
He knew he had lied. He knew that was not just their first kiss, it was their last. And he knew he'd be coming back to her, but not alive as she wished.
The odds were too many. The orcs had stacked them high, and they did not plan to lose their wager.
Night will fall and the dark will rise
His breath grew short, and his chest ached from the pain of breathing with an arrow in one lung. But he would not give in to the shadow pushing at the edges of his vision. Not yet.
Through a fog he heard his brother cry out. Wheeling far too slowly, he saw what had to be a nightmare. (Ah, but he'd forgotten: The whole day was a nightmare, and he could not–would not–awake.)
Thorin lay on the bloody ground, a spear in his side. Kili stood above him, sword guarding his uncle more than his own body. Fili launched himself at his brother just in time not to push him away from the sword aimed at his heart, and Kili fell, and the shadow grew in Fili's eyes.
When his brother's last smile flickered weakly and went out, the light in Fili's heart died too.
When a good man goes to war.
A giant bear plunged through the melee, mouth open in a fierce roar that shook the earth, but Fili could not hear it. He saw Beorn carry away the King under the Mountain to safety and was relieved, but he could not smile. When the skin-changer returned and wreaked havoc on the armies of orcs, Fili thought the good had a fighting chance at last.
But he knew he would not see the battle's end.
Demons run, but count the cost–
One final arrow plunged toward his chest, and he let it come. He could not lift his shield anymore, could not think quickly enough to deflect the missile with his sword. It stuck, quivering, in his heart, and he fell. The shadow filled his sight. For a moment he panicked. He thought of his mother, his uncle, his friends, his love. But his eyes would not, could not open again.
The shadow swept over him in a cold wave, and he gave in to the dark at last.
The battle's won, but the child is lost.