Hey!

Alright, I've never written about Hobbit before, but I got an idea and it didn't leave me alone. This will be a multi-chapter story and it will be updated slowly as I don't have a lot of time for it. But it will be updated! Eventually. I plan to finish this.

I have been rather angry at times reading other stories concerning Kíli and Fíli. People always seem to think that Kíli is always reckless and irresponsible and the weak one out of the brothers and I don't really agree with them. I see so much good in Kíli, although Fíli is a great person too. I just want to tell you, what I think would happen if the Battle of The Five Armies did not go as Tolkien wrote it.

Well, please read this and let me know what you think. I'm eager to hear your thoughts.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Something About War

A war. It was an awful and deadly matter, yet beautiful in ways one could never understand without seeing it first. The beauty of the battle lay in the bravery and love racing through every fighters' veins as they fought furiously for freedom and for home. But still, the utter terror hanging over the battlefield would have driven anyone to the verge of madness.

It was the very first war he had ever experienced. He couldn't help but think that very likely it would be the very last one as well. He was feeling the exhaustion rip his body apart. It felt as if every single one of his muscles was on fire. The fainting noises made no sense to him anymore and his arms were starting to feel numb. It felt pointless to try and keep a track on the Goblins running towards him, because there was no way he could count them all anyway. They were everywhere.

He was alone. At least as alone as anyone can be in the midst of a raging battle. He was surrounded by Goblins and Elves and Men, but none of them were his own kind. He had been separated from his brother and uncle in very early stage and though he still could hear their distant yells and shouts, they were nowhere near him. He was certain that if he died that day in the battlefield, he would die a lonely death.

He wished only to be united with his family again. His own kin. He did not need an easy escape from the battle nor did he need a comforting hand on his shoulder waking him up from this dreadful nightmare. He needed his brother fighting beside him and his uncle leading him towards the dangers and the enemy. He did not feel the need to extend his life if it was to end then and there. He just needed to see their faces for one time, may it be the last or not.

He stood on a large rock on which the Goblins had him cornered. He had been keeping his stance for a while now slicing and sticking around with his sword as fast as possible. He had been searching for a route or a moment to descend from his castle without ending up with his back strictly against rock. No need to say he had been unsuccessful.

Then there was the moment. A terrifying scream echoed over every battling creature and ripped the attention of the Goblins from him for a second. He didn't waste any time though and jumped to another rock where he was able to gain a better footing. He was now a bit further above the crowd that was surrounding him and very much more able to see around. Still, he felt cornered and underpowered. He needed to think something. And fast.

He searched the ground around him and was just about to leap to another rock, when he stopped dead on his tracks. His gaze had hit its mark just about fifty feet away where a group of Goblins had enclosed at least five of Dáin's Dwarves and twice the amount of Elves. He could recognise no one, but it did not matter. They were his allies and so they were all equals in battlefield.

He changed his direction and jumped towards the crowd with a terrifying, challenging battle cry. His face was scrunched up in fury and he waved his sword in a large circle. Never before had he hoped so much to have a bow strapped over his shoulder. Now he could have really used it.

Not bothering to mourn over the missing object he rushed towards his goal slicing through every Goblin that dared to come across him. His muscles were aching but he kept pushing through. He wasn't the only one fighting though. The Dwarves and Elves he had rushed to aid had drawn their swords and daggers and were re-joining the battle with all their might after a moment's despair.

He found himself smiling and silently rejoicing the fact that they were indeed gaining the upper hand, when a massive pain exploded in his shoulder and forced him on his knees. The cry that erupted from his lips was unlike anything he had ever heard and for a moment he did not understand where it had come from. And then the source of the voice dawned on him along with the realization that he was unable to move his right arm at all without wanting to collapse and throw up at the same time. He had been hit. With what, he wasn't sure, but it hurt. A lot.

For a split second he was certain he would never be able to wield a sword or use his bow again, but then he commanded himself to get it together. It meant nothing that he wanted to lie down and curl up into a ball, since he was in no position to grant such wishes to anyone, least of all himself. He had to stand up and fight if he did not want to join his forefathers.

Slowly and unsteadily he pushed himself off of the ground picking up his fallen sword to his left, slightly weaker fighting hand. His wounded arm hung uselessly against his side as he turned around and peered at his surroundings. He might have stopped for a while, but the battle certainly hadn't. Warriors from each of the five armies were dying everywhere and this time the noise was almost unbearable. Blood curling shrieks and low thumping when a body hit the ground.

Not for the first time and hopefully, not for the last either he was grateful for the variety of his warrior training and the fact that it had included a lot of work with his left hand too. He made a mental note to thank his uncle and master Balin after the battle. They had taught him everything he now needed to survive. And if he had anything to say about it, he would survive. Perhaps he would not be in one piece, but it would be a minor problem.

He was given no time to retreat or tend to his wounds before a swarm of Goblins came running towards him. He bettered his footing and stood straight and strong, eyes cast forward and willing the enemy to meet him. Willing the Death itself to meet him and fail in claiming him.

Never before had he fought like this. Never had he felt such wrath and he hoped he never would feel it again. It was unnatural and probably hurt him the most. It made him feel uncontrolled and exposed. Truthfully, part of his façade included certain vulnerability and madness but it was just a cover. He was mostly seen as an incredibly skilful warrior with a reckless, uncaring and stupidly proud head. Only a few knew his soft, quiet side. The side that made him care about the world and the side that allowed him to sit down and read a book without feeling the need to protect himself or his loved ones whenever he heard the tiniest noise. And how hard it was to balance between his two hearts. How hard it was to be a child and a grown-up at the same time.

He stumbled through the battle, the pain disturbing his concentration and movements. He was not dancing around as fluently as needed but he was still faster than most of his opponents and that only was enough to defeat them. Then it was all over in a split of a second.

He did not have time to see what happened, let alone react to it. One moment he was on his feet and the next he was lying on his back on the ground. His left leg was on fire and for a second he wondered if he should find out the reason or not. Finally he gave in to his curiosity only to wish he had not.

A huge Warg had its teeth clasping tightly around his thigh. He could see blood and flesh and bone under the ruined, torn fabric of his trousers. The gruesome sight made him want to vomit. The urge was almost unbearable as he tried to hold it in. The knots in his stomach clenched and loosened and clenched and loosened and finally his body stopped resisting. His head turned sideways and he heaved contains of his stomach on the rock floor just as the Warg bit harder and lifted him fully off the ground.

Oh, how he wanted to scream and cry and die. But it was no avail. His throat being sore from all the shouting and retching could not muster up any sound and as tired as his body was the darkness would not come. And the Warg kept ripping and biting. He could have sworn it knew how it was hurting him and it was what it wanted.

Suddenly, he felt a harsh jerk swing his body and the pressure at his leg lessened when he flew gracelessly through the air. A low thump with which his back collided with a rock was barely audible and it did not bring any solace to him. The pain stayed along with his consciousness. He pondered about smacking his head back and forcing the darkness to come and claim him but he knew how dangerous game it was. It was like playing hide and seek with the Death. Although, right at the moment, he was quite certain that it would come anyway, as the startlingly red teeth of a Warg appeared above his face and it let out a growl full of blood lust. It craved to kill and kill it would.

Lying there, hopelessly floating in and out of the light haze of his mind, he reflected back to his first battle against the Goblins. They had won, but only barely. He had been injured and then thrown back first against a tree. He had been frightened and unable to help anyone as his own body was failing him. His brother and Uncle had defended him and afterwards treated his wounds and aching muscles with so much care he felt ashamed. He had sniffled how he did not deserve to be helped and loved so as he was nothing but a burden. And as soon as the words had left his mouth, his Uncle had swatted the back of his head lightly and murmured to him that nothing was expected from an injured dwarfling and that he would always deserve all the care and love directed to him.

"Remember something, boys. Fear is not weakness. Pain is strength. And I will always, always be proud of you, no matter what."

He had always known Thorin Oakenshield was a smart man. Even when they were just little dwarflings – he and his brother – they had wanted to become just like their uncle. They had wanted to be strong, loyal and honest and to follow their uncle whenever he went wherever he went and especially when he would go reclaim the Erebor, where he would be the King under the Mountain as he was destined. But now these words seemed light and useless. His fear was eating him and he was weak and the pain did not make him any stronger. He just laid there waiting for the final blow from the Warg. He wanted it to end. Mahal, how he hoped it would all end.

Then, a familiar cry pierced the air followed by another and he found his will again. He would not die without telling his uncle how much his stubbornness annoyed him, nor would he die without telling his brother how stupid he looked while he fought. And he definitely would not die before he had embraced them both once more and told them how much they meant to him. How much he loved them.

With that, he began searching. He extended his left arm from his side reaching for anything he could use as a weapon against the vulgar creature above him. Blood from the Warg's teeth was dripping on his face and made it harder for him to focus. Still, with a stroke of luck he was able to locate a handle of an axe left there by some unfortunate soul who had lost their weapon.

At first his fingers seemed to lack the strength to grip the weapon, but he forced himself to grasp the wood and lift it. With an agonizing cry he swung the axe and it embedded itself into the neck flesh of the Warg. The creature howled and growled and its claws dug deeper into the skin of his stomach drawing a thin line of blood and making his world spin around once again. Then the wolf-like monster breathed its last warm and heavy breath across his face before collapsing right onto him.

Then, he watched as the Great Eagles flew over all heads and listened carefully to the shouts full of hope. This battle would not be lost. His vision slowly blurred and the voices around him faded. He could only think that he had yet to die.