A/n Welcome to my oneshot. Whatever you do, do not listen to the Last Goodbye while reading this. On the other hand, that was pretty much the only thing I listened to when I wrote this so... This is mostly canon compliant (movie and books), other than some likely errors with exact scenes since it's already been a week since I saw the movie. Well, I hope you enjoy, more on why I wrote this at the end.
Fili stealthily crept through the tower, scouting as he was told. Then he heard goblins up above him so he turned to go the other way down the stairs, but there were goblins there too. The young dwarf tried not to panic, as he'd learned when he first started fighting lessons. Panic would do one no good in a fight. But there was no place to hide. He took a deep breath and braced himself for a fight. He refused to go down without one.
But they surrounded him faster than he expected and when he went to attack, knocked his weapons aside. They fell out of his hands, and Fili knew he was doomed. He just wished he could have seen Erebor restored. The dwarf braced himself for his death. But... they didn't kill him immediately like he expected. Instead they dragged him up the stairs. He struggled, but the orc had a tight grip on his neck. Fili gasped for air but he wasn't in danger of suffocation yet.
He prayed to Mahal that it would be over soon. That his brother would survive. That the orcs don't win this battle. He prayed harder than he had ever prayed as they dragged him into out into the open and held him out in front of his Uncle. He knew his brother was near and probably witnessing it as well.
But all Fili could think about was that this would not be the glorious death he had always envisioned himself having if he had an early death. In fact, there was nothing glorious about death at all. That didn't make him any less glad that he died for his cause, but the whole thing was far less glorious than he could have imagined. He wasn't even going down fighting. He was going to be executed as a taunt to his uncle. He started feeling light headed; being held up by the neck over an empty space tended to equate strangulation, but it was also clear that was not the way they wanted to kill him.
Hopefully his death would be the last of the deaths today. Hopefully his brother would survive to woo that elf and break those barriers and scandalize the elders. Hopefully his death would bring about something good in his world. But Fili, son of Dis, daughter of Thrain II, knew in his heart that things could get worse. That both his brother and uncle could die. He prayed it wasn't so, but something told him that it would come to pass.
The elder nephew of Thorin closed his eyes as the orc finished his speech. He heard a sword drawn be hind him and braced himself for impact. A solitary tear slid down his face, noticeable to only the orcs who did not care to look, and so did not notice.
"I'm so sorry... Please... live..." he whispered his last words before piercing pain became his last living memories as he was let go... and he fell to the ground, hitting hard, and already staring unseeing at the sky above.
Kili had not encountered many goblins, and those he did, were easily dispatched. He felt lucky so far. Hopefully his luck would hold and he would not die this day. He was beginning to see that war was not filled with the glorious battles he had heard in stories. It was filled with pain and suffering. Exhaustion and hunger. Death and dying screams. Dirt and blood. Yet it was all necessary to survive, especially since they wanted to restore Erebor to its pre-dragon state. Adding to his feelings, this was nothing like any of the fights he had ever been in.
He ducked around a corner and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Yes, this was necessary. But it was not glorious. There was nothing glorious about the deaths that had occurred and that would occur before the battle ended. Their deaths meant something, true, they died for a good cause. Freedom, money, family. All good causes. But that did not make their deaths glorious. It just made their deaths meaningful, and especially in cases where they had family, sad. But they died for their family. Those families would certainly say battle was not glorious, so why had Uncle always portrayed battle that way?
As Kili ducked back into searching for Azog, he realized he rather wished his Uncle had told them the truths of war. True, they had always been told of the injuries and deaths, and how could they not? Many of the results of those battles were always in front of them. But this suffering. This endless fighting, wondering when it would end. This exhaustion. The blood, sweat, and tears. Suddenly Kili wished he had stayed behind with Gimli, or that he was too young to be taken to war. He certainly felt like he was too young after all now. Not even the mild fights they'd gotten into along the way had prepared him for destruction like this.
The dwarf shook his head as he threw himself into fighting the few orcs that appeared in front of him. He could not afford to be distracted at this time. That would surely get him killed. He could dwell on death and glory or rather the lack thereof once the battle was over.
It seemed like mere minutes had passed and yet hours before he was taking another breather in an alcove. Battle was funny that way, it was hard to tell how much time passed. Each second seemed like eons, and yet at the same time, it could feel like each fight went by with a snap of ones fingers. He was just about to get up and continue on when he heard an orc call out to Uncle Thorin. Talking about killing 'this one' and then his brother...
Kili scrambled to spot where he could see where they were, it sounded close. He looked up, and saw his older brother held up by his throat. He found he had a lump in his throat. He could see no way his brother would survive this without some sort of miracle. The dwarf took a few deep breaths. He was going to lose his brother. Yet he couldn't help but hope that somehow his brother would squirm out of death's clutches and survive.
But... It was not to be. Fili was stabbed. Kili bit his lip, trying to remain calm as he swore he heard his brother apologizing in his ear. Then his brother landed... right in front of him, already passing on to the Halls of Mandos. He could feel tears pricking his eyes but he denied them the ability to fall down his face.
"No..." Kili whispered in disbelief, voice choked with emotion. "No!" He sprang up with his weapons and charged blindly. No, death was not glorious in war. Particularly not when it came to an execution style death. The young grief-ridden dwarf fought, unheeding of anything. He knew in the back of his mind that this was a bad idea, that it was the orc's plan all along. But he couldn't help it.
His older brother lay there, dead. Never again to tease him. Never again to spar with him. Never again... would they be two brothers. Now it was just Kili, son of Dis, daughter of Thrain II. This pain... this grief... it did not seem like the grief his uncle spoke of when speaking about Erebor and losing his parents. Or maybe it was the same and he was just being irrationally stubborn because this was his brother. His older brother who had always been there for him while his ancestors and the loss of Erebor were only things he could've imagined.
And now they were forever separated. They had always imagined their deaths to be a blaze of glory, side by side on a battlefield, or dying of old age in the distant future. Not... not this. Not one brother executed to get to their uncle. And even if that had not happened, there would not have been a blaze of glory. There would have only been honor, and duty, and them doing what they had to, in order to bring the future their Uncle spoke of, that they wanted to see. There is no glory in death. Not the way the storytellers told it, or the way children believed it.
Kili fought furiously. He had to do something. He had to avenge his brother. He had to make his brother's death mean something. He had to... He just knew that he didn't want to face his grief or the tears sporadically falling and flying off of his face as he fought. His brother was dead. His mind just kept trying to pound that fact into his brain, so that he would never forget. All it did was made him fight all the harder. He spun and spotted Tauriel fighting Bolg.
"No!" the dwarf roared and charged the large orc. He wasn't searching for glory. He didn't care that he could die. All he cared about was making sure he could save one person he loved today. For he did love her. He could concede that it was an immature love right now, but he could feel in his heart that it would grow into the sort of love many dwarves dreamed of having but resigned themselves to being lonely, as no more than 1 in 3 dwarf men would ever marry. If he ever had a chance... and to save that chance...
He stepped in front of Bolg, giving a brief smile to the startled, relieved, and yet worried elf. Then he focused on beating Bolg. He had to defeat this orc. So he could live his life like his brother couldn't. He had to live for the both of them now. But before that, he had to survive this fight. He took a deep breath and the fight started.
It was a blur. He barely had time to think, relying on his instincts and honed fighting skills. As time went on, he had to mentally clamp down on his panic. It was clear he was outclassed. He was simply too young. Maybe if it were Balin who was fighting Bolg he'd be able to fight, but Kili... he knew he was going to lose. But that didn't mean he couldn't attempt to deal as much damage as he could to protect Tauriel. She was a fierce fighter, but he found himself wondering how good of a fighter would one have to be in order to beat this orc. Better to leave him injured for an easier fight for whoever, most likely Tauriel, had to fight him next than just stand there and accept his death. No, he would not face it like a hopeless coward. He had hope that someone would be able to defeat it, and he wanted to do his part.
So fight viciously Kili did. He paid no heed to their surroundings, to the elf watching him fight. He just fought with the goal of injuring Bolg so that maybe, just maybe his love could survive. This was not a glorious fight, and it would not be a glorious death, yet it would be better than his brothers. At the same time, he found himself half wishing he'd had his brother's death. Sure it would've been painful, but this death... this death will be slow, like most deaths on the battlefield. A quick death would surely be better.
Then... it happened. Bolg struck him down. Kili crashed down onto the ice, wincing in pain, and knowing it was the end. He didn't bother trying to move, he could feel that it was already too late to save him, his wounds too grave to live.
At least... at least now he could join his brother. His love for Tauriel was fledgling, but he'd loved his brother all of his life, and it would have been hard to live with Tauriel knowing his brother was dead. He could have managed, but he was also relieved that he did not have to live with the deep rooted pain he felt in his heart when his brother died. And Kili felt guilty about being able to choose one over the other; familial love over romantic love. Maybe the roles could have been reversed. His main regret was that he was unable to see where his love for Tauriel would go. But there were other regrets too.
He would never see Erebor restored. Sure he had a good idea, but it had to be magnificent when the gold was cleared out and every room restored. He would never be able to see his mother again, and she had now lost both of her sons in one battle. This was not glory. This death... it means something. He was dying for Erebor, for the men of Dale, formerly of Laketown. Dying for the elves involved in the slaughter this battle had become despite them working together. He could feel his life force fading, even as his body fought to live with an inner survival instinct. His breath shuddering. His body shaking.
Kili closed his eyes. This was not glory, but it was a new beginning in the Halls of Mandos. He'd see his brother again. And meet his grandfather, and his father, and all those who had already died. Tauriel would survive, their love young enough she could withstand it with time. She would recover. The dwarf paid no attention to his surroundings, to the fights still taking place. His breath slowed as his spirit let go and fled to the Halls of Mandos.
Another death taken in this battle against orcs, out of thousands, only truly significant because of his status as one of the line of Durin, and having been a part of the original thirteen to travel to Erebor. And for his ability to love someone from another race, but that part of his story was minor comparatively.
Thorin Oakenshield had always known that death on the battlefield was not glorious, ever since the day the dragon invaded Erebor. Yet, this might just be the worst battle he had ever been in. Maybe because there was so much at stake. Maybe because so many were looking to him to lead, and to lead well. Or maybe because he felt the need to atone for succumbing to the gold madness. He thanked Mahal that the dream of being sucked into the gold had been sent to him, for without it, he would've never left the mountain and his kinsmen would have died. He wouldn't have been surprised if his nephews held a mutiny if he had been sick any longer. And they would have been justified, though in that state of madness he would have disowned them... Thorin shook his head and tried to focus on the now.
Currently, he was trying to find Azog to finish the leader of the goblins off. Kili and Fili were around somewhere, and so was Balin. The King under the Mountain frowned. He had to kill that leader. That would disband some of the orc since that would make them unorganized. Sometimes it amazed him the amount of organization orcs could come up with. But kill the source of the organization and it all falls apart. Which would make it far easier for the combined forces of dwarves, elves, and men to win. Thorin would sacrifice his life to this cause.
Erebor must be restored, and it no longer mattered if he died. Perhaps it would be better if he did die in this battle, for he did not know if he would succumb to the gold madness again if he returned to the mountain. But first... where was Azog hiding? That orc had plagued him long enough, and if he was going down, it would be after that orc died himself. This would not be glorious battle.
This would be revenge. And an honorable death. Thorin kept fighting through all the orcs that appeared; none of them the one he wanted. No, death in battle was never a good thing, despite the attempts he had always made to portray it that way, to keep his nephews from discovering the truth of battle.
A loud declaration surprised him into looking up. And he felt his stomach drop at the sight. One of his nephews, who he swore to his sister he'd protect on this journey, was helpless at the hands of the orc he wanted to kill. He watched in horror as the orc made taunts to him... and then... Fili was dead. His heart clenched, and he froze in indecision. Keep to his mission, or find Kili?
Then his other nephew appeared, fighting in a rage and grief. Thorin cursed, and rushed to join him in fighting. No, there was nothing glorious about death on a battlefield. There never was. At least Fili had a quick death unlike many who laid on the battlefield bleeding out. But he shuddered to think of what Dis would say. And Kili was clearly grieving as he fought viciously.
It wasn't long before he lost track of his other nephew, but he had no time to worry. For Azog had appeared, and he needed all his concentration to defeat the dreaded orc. This orc would not live. But after a while, Thorin began to fear that it was he who would not live. He had not considered that the orc would have gotten better since their last confrontation, just as he had. But it was clear they were evenly matched, and Thorin feared that the orc could be better than him. The mass of orcs attacking him at the same time did not help.
But he would not let such fears rule him. He would fight his best. And he would strike down this beast. Nothing less would redeem him. Not after his actions while he was insane with greed. Not after he nearly killed Bilbo and refused to help his kinsmen at first. He would redeem his actions ere the end.
He turned his thoughts towards outsmarting his opponent. That was the only way, orcs were not smart, but they were brutal creatures. It could be hard to outsmart them as they always went for the kill. And nothing deterred them, not even losing a limb as Azog demonstrated.
At one point, he thought it was over, and he hadn't dealt any damage to his enemy, and other orcs were fighting him. Then he was saved, ironically by the elf prince. And... there was his sword. He took it and stalked towards his enemy. He was much more balanced with it and he enjoyed fighting with this blade far more than the one he had been using.
The fight picked up in intensity as it was now just him and Azog. He had to defeat this monster. He lost track of the blows they traded, the moves he pulled off... The ice made it difficult... wait, ice. That gave the dwarf an idea.
The idea was executed fairly well to his relief, and the orc went down under the ice. Thorin sighed and was about to go look for Kili when the orc floating underneath him caught his eye. Something didn't seem right... The eyes opened. Thorin cursed. Before he could move, his foot was stabbed through the ice. He yelled, partly out of pain, partly out of rage, and partly... out of grief. This was it.
Then his enemy came back up through the ice. And it was back to fighting... And then he was stabbed before he could even injure his enemy further. The dwarf King knew he had to do something, even though he could feel that his time was drawing to a close. So he used the last of his strength to stab his enemy. Azog fell back.
Thorin collapsed back on the ground. He knew his aim had been true. The monster would not live to see another day. He had done it. But at what cost? Fili was dead, Kili could be dead... and he himself was dying.
It was a day he didn't know when he'd see, and had thought he had reached the day of his death many times over the years since Smaug attacked. But he'd always persevered until now. He didn't fear death, merely abandoning his family and people. At least he knew Erebor was in good hands, and would be restored. Durin's line would continue. Death wasn't glorious, nor was battle. It was messy, it was painful, it just was what it was. What was glorious was achieving worthwhile goals, such as reclaiming the mountain. But the deeds that led to it... the deeds he had done afterwards, that was glorious, and for his acts, he deserved this slow agonizing death.
"Thorin!"
That voice... the burglar. The hobbit, he corrected himself. Bilbo had followed them against orders, but with the character the hobbit had shown over the long journey, he was not surprised, and he was pleased to see his... friend survived. But there was the matter of what he'd done to the poor hobbit...
"You were a good addition to my company..." he began weakly. "And I take back what I had said and done to you Bilbo Baggins, I only wish I had time to make up for it..." The hobbit took his hand.
"No, you'll live. You'll have time to make up for it... only, I've already forgiven you." The hobbit sounded close to tears. "Don't let go yet."
"Don't fret master burglar," Thorin assured him. He'd just realized that this could very well be the first death that was not caused by sickness or old age that the hobbit had seen. "It is just my time... I can feel the call of the Halls of Mandos..."
"Thorin... You would have made a brilliant King... They will tell your tale for years to come," Bilbo whispered, unable to say anything else. Thorin smiled weakly.
"They will talk of my glory, of how my death was a glorious death... You... you must tell the truth, of every step of the way, how I acted... how the gold madness took me... Make sure people know that story..."
"I... I will," Bilbo promised shakily.
"Good... Good..." Thorin felt himself grow lighter, and knew it was time. Many would call this a hero's death, but to him, it was just death. A redeeming death for his earlier mistakes... Thorin II, son of Thrain II, son of Thror, King under the Mountain passed onto the Halls of Mandos with a simple hobbit as witness.
Bilbo packed his possessions reluctantly. Gandalf was right, if they wanted to get him home any time soon they had to leave now since it would take months. He only wished he could've at least started an accounting of his adventure, the dwarves were already embellishing the tale. Oh, he knew he would too, but he also wouldn't make Thorin out to be some super dwarf who could do no wrong. It was like his episode with the gold madness was to never be remembered.
Oh, but he remembered. He remembered how terrified he was as Thorin threatened to throw him over the gate. How close he was to experiencing death in that moment. He had only told Thorin he forgive him so the dwarf could die with some peace, but part of him was now terrified of high places. And he hadn't forgiven Thorin, not really, though it was a balm to his soul that Thorin felt badly enough that his last words were to apologize and ask that the actual story be remembered. Bilbo could do that. He could easily do that. Though, the one thing he would have to omit was Tauriel, for the she-elf wished for the story to be about the journey, not about a fledgling romance that barely had a chance.
The next months passed quickly and Bilbo barely noticed their passing as he fell into the rhythm of traveling, a rhythm he was sure he would miss. Seems he had a Took side after all, since he certainly wanted to adventure again soon. But he wanted to be home more than anything.
Home. Bilbo smile as he arrived in the Shire. Then he spotted hobbits walking by carrying property of his and he fell back into the Baggins they all knew. He nearly growled (since when did he growl?) when he saw Lobelia with his spoons. He quickly proved he was alive and entered his hobbit hole. It was empty sure, thanks to that auction, but... He was home. Furniture was replaceable after all, unlike lives. And he certainly had gold to spare thanks to the trolls hoard as he and Gandalf had taken it on the way back.
As time moved on, and he settled back into life in the Shire... he discovered that he indeed had changed. He no longer took comfort in the same things his kind did. Sure he enjoyed gardening. He planted that acorn after all, and took care of the plants around his hobbit hole. After seeing Mirkwood, and hearing about Greenwood, he wanted to care for his plants as much as possible, though he tended to rely on a gardener for that, since well he didn't have much a green thumb. But where he truly found comfort was at his writing desk as he wrote poems and worked on his account of the events of his first adventure, for it surely wouldn't be his last. His restlessness wasn't readily apparent to the other hobbits, it was more of a feeling that separated him from the other hobbits.
Bilbo paused and stretched, setting the quill down. That was what set him apart. He had seen death. He had nearly died himself. He had been betrayed by a friend. He had been a hero in a way to the dwarves. He had stolen something valuable. He himself had changed, finding courage where he thought he had none. Just being a hobbit the way he was appealed no longer to his changed self.
But he knew what changed him the most was death. Hobbits did not understand death. Oh sure they knew that everyone would die and pass on into the care of their maker Yavanna and the Halls of the dead. But deaths were usually only because of sickness or old age. Occasionally there were some drownings and other sorts of accidents that caused death, but they were rare, and they were the worst. No hobbit was malicious enough to kill another hobbit. Bandits did occasionally but usually only the more adventurous of the hobbits.
But Bilbo... Bilbo had come so close to dying on his adventure, and it would have been his own fault. Yet the worst thing wasn't his own experiences-except when he thought Thorin was going to murder him-but seeing others die. The orcs it was very hard to see them as people so those deaths didn't affect him. But all those Men in Laketown... All those elves... All those dwarves... And... worst of all, Fili, Kili, and Thorin.
Those deaths had changed him. He'd known them personally, probably better than most dwarves did even thanks to the journey. Heck he almost considered all of the company family... and in one battle, in a few minutes, he lost all three. And that hurt, that ache still in his heart burned deeper than any he had felt, not even his parents' deaths matched it. The only thing equal was the sting of betrayal when Thorin lost it after discovering what he did. Oh Bilbo hadn't expected himself to be welcome after that, but he also hadn't expected to nearly be killed over it. The Thorin he'd grown to know was gone. At least he overcame it and return... which led him to the passage he was writing.
He had this thought dancing around his head, but he couldn't find an easy way to put it into his account of the events. But, he decided, he had to write it. And after a few rewrites he could send it to Balin, his main contact of the dwarves, and ask Balin to share the story with others, particularly Dain, the new King under the Mountain, and Dis, the mother of Fili and Kili. The pain she must be feeling having lost her brother and nephews at once...
Bilbo shook his head to clear it. He had too many thoughts and none would stand still long enough for him to write, which usually was a sign to take a break. He put up the quill and packed up his writing supplies before grabbing his walking stick and heading outside. He breathed the air deeply.
He had missed the air of the Shire. Sometimes though, he missed adventure so much he spent a night camping outside. Or spent some time fighting imaginary foes. He was currently planning what he would do, and based on his last visit to Rivendell, he figured his best bet would be to travel there and spend some time studying, for he was not a warrior but a scholar, even if he loved adventure. Besides, the elves intrigued him and the Rivendell elves were far more welcoming than those in Mirkwood though he was sure King Thranduil would welcome him with open arms. He just did not want to return to that forest so soon.
His walks tended to be mostly uneventful except for the young children begging to hear his stories. He chuckled as always, and told them to wait and he'd tell them when he reached a certain point on the path. They dashed off to tell their friends. He shook his head and kept walking along.
When he was telling them stories, embellished for their sakes of course, he stumbled across some rather interesting thoughts as he endeavored to tell the story of the battle and the deaths. It turned out that it sounds rather heroic. And while it was, his heart ached to think of these young hobbits in the role of a hero.
"I want to be heroic like Kili and Thorin and Fili one day!" a young Took voiced as he stood up and waved an imaginary sword.
"Now now, don't be so eager, young one," Bilbo chided gently. "It wasn't all fun and games, there was dirt and blood everywhere and it was chaos. And if you want to be so heroic, that means you would die fighting, would you want that?"
All the hobbit children shook their heads with wide eyes. But of course the curiosity of children knows no bounds.
"Well no but they were awesome! Oh I could be like Gloin then!"
"Well, that could be a good goal, but it's better not to have to fight at all." Bilbo sighed, knowing this could continue for a while.
"But all the best stories are fighting!"
"That may be, but that doesn't mean we want to fight. It's always best to solve things peaceably if possible. Unfortunately, when orcs and dragons are involved, that's never possible."
"Ohh..." Most of the kids chorused.
"But... I want to be a hero."
Bilbo held in a groan. This would be a long discussion. He didn't want to encourage them to seek out trouble. But at the same time he didn't want to crush any dreams. They were so young after all.
That night, when he got home, all he did was grab some bread, cheese, and wine before sitting down and working on the brief passage he knew would never fit in with his account of the events, but it needed to be shared among those dwarves. Maybe it would help them. When he finished, having eaten between words and sentences and paragraphs, he put it all up except for the freshly written passage. He stretched, yawned, and went to take a long bath before going to bed. He would check it for errors the next day before sending it off.
It laid there on the desk where he left it, waiting to be read and remembered. Waiting for dwarves to take in its words. The next day, it would be sent out without a rewrite for it was directly from the heart, and that is exactly what those dwarves need to hear. Miles away, Balin would open the envelope and be stunned by the feeling the burglar of the company had put into it.
Of the Deaths of Thorin, Fili, and Kili
Along with all those who died at the Battle of Five Armies
By Bilbo Baggins
I was enlisted as a burglar for Thorin's Company. As a hobbit, a peace-loving hobbit, I did not know the first thing about life outside of the Shire. I still don't know what Gandalf was thinking insisting I go along, as well as insisting I'm a burglar when I'd never stolen a thing in my life. Well, except maybe some fruits and veggies from the farmers, as all children of the Shire do, but that is neither here nor there. Now that I've had time to take in what happened, I'm grateful he gave me the opportunity to see things beyond the Shire, for I will never be comfortable now living my life the way I had been. Over the months, I grew to know the dwarves of the Company, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin, Dori, Ori, Nori, Bifor, Bofur, and Bombur. I knew them better than anyone I have ever known in the Shire, even the stern Thorin, who was always demeaning me at the beginning. I proved my worth, because once I make a promise and sign a contract, I'm keeping to it.
The journey was rough, there were so many times where we could have died. As a hobbit, each event was the scariest thing I had ever experienced. I had never seen death outside of sickness and old age, with a few accidental deaths. Sometimes I heard of brutal murders done by bandits, but never anyone I knew and most of those hobbits weren't 'respectable' so at the time I was of the opinion that they deserved what they got.
Now, I know intimately what death is. No one deserves death. No one, not even dragons or orcs. No living thing does, but sometimes we must make the decision to kill them, if only to make sure they can't harm anyone else. That is death. Fighting desperately for your life or some cause, no matter what it is, maybe even just so your family will live. That is death. Doing what you have to but failing. That is death. Losing your breath, eyes wide open. That is death. Sometimes quick, sometimes long drawn out and painful. That is death.
Death is not glorious. Death is not to be celebrated when it is caused by injury, for why should we celebrate someone losing their lives before their time? Death just is what it is. It happens to people when they grow old. It happens to people when they get sick. It happens when people stand up for what is right. It happens when people choose to do foolish quests. It happens when they're trying to stop the madness and prevent more deaths. It may be heroic, but that doesn't make it glorious or to be celebrated. The results are what needs to be celebrated.
At the Battle of Five Armies, I disobeyed orders and joined the fighting. After all I had done and seen with my companions over the months, how could I stand aside and watch others die? And once they finally joined in, how could I stand aside and watch them fight without me? It would not have been right. So follow my friends secretly I did.
Fili died first on Ravenhill, a quick execution. That was certainly not glorious, it wasn't even heroic. A quick stab and dropping him several feet, and he was dead. If I had not witnessed it, I would not believe it. Vibrant Fili, killed in such a way? He didn't go down fighting? That was not a death that suited him, but it happened. Kili was next, defending an elven warrior from Bolg. It was not a quick death, but it didn't take him long to follow his brother into the afterlife. Thorin Oakenshield... He killed the leader of the orcs, but not before being dealt a mortal wound. I was with him in his last moments. And you know what?
He said nothing about this being a heroic death or even a warrior's death. He apologized. To me, a simple hobbit over his actions. I suppose I should relate now what he apologized for. Let me tell you, it is not pleasant, and most do not speak of it because they do not like to speak ill of the dead. But after that, Thorin asked me to make sure that the truth was told, so truth I shall tell you.
Upon the dragon's defeat, Thorin grew obsessed with the gold in the mountain. He went on about how much there was, how rich it made them. He spent hours searching for the Arkenstone, which I had unknowingly taken at the time, growing more obsessed and desperate with each passing minute. I'm told that this is the Gold Madness or Dragon Sickness. I do not know if that is true, but I know that the Thorin then, was not the Thorin I had traveled with. He even yelled at his nephews, which normally he was loathe to do.
His determination to hold the mountain and keep the riches terrified me. One day, the day the elven warriors and the men of Dale arrived in fact, I heard them describe it. And I realized, that the stone I had picked up, considering it my share of the treasure, may very well be the Arkenstone. And the more I thought about it and studied it, the more I was convinced. But I didn't believe that giving it to Thorin would make it better. I saw his ire and obsession grow, and knew it would make it worse. That he would pass the point of no return.
So I took the only option I thought I had... I became the burglar he hired me to be, and gave it to Thranduil, the elvenking, and Bard, the then unofficial leader of the men. When Thorin found out, he nearly murdered me right there, I saw his intention as he dangled me over the edge of the gates. I'm forever grateful Gandalf showed up then. I did not want to die at the hands of one I called friend.
That is what Thorin apologized for. His last thoughts were about how he regretted his actions, and also about how he wanted to be sure people knew the good and the bad about the journey, and I can tell you a lot of bad, but I will not detail them here.
Fili and Kili, their deaths happened out of my sight, but I didn't grieve for them any less. After one or two other dwarves, I was closest to them, and enjoyed their company. They were good for their uncle, indeed their youth was good for everyone. They should not have died, but I suppose it is of comfort to know they died defending the newly reclaimed Erebor. I wouldn't call it a glorious or even maybe heroic death, but that is better than many other deaths I've heard about. It's hard to face that they died at the same time, at least within ten minutes of each other, yet died wholly different deaths. Yet, in a way that represents who they were. Inseparable yet rather different once you got to know them personally.
As for all the other deaths, I want to call them needless. They would have been if the orcs had not arrived for Thorin would not give up the mountain and the elves and men would have had to fight the dwarves if not for the rather timely arrival of the orcs. But none the less, they died deaths worthy of their roles of warriors, and they were obeying the orders of their leaders.
I rather hate death for any reason. I would not call the battle glorious for any reason. I saw so much blood and dirt on everyone. I've never been as dirty as I became on the journey. I've never felt as much pain. The screams and battle cries I heard were horrendous, and I never want to hear such again. And I certainly never want to smell the stench of death and of burning bodies again. Battle is not glorious. It is not something people want to happen. It's something to be avoided. Make peace while you can, though I understand outright attacking orcs for they have no reason to argue with. All they know is killing and food and bloodlust.
But do not mourn their deaths overmuch, they would all want you to celebrate the success, to celebrate the reclaiming of Erebor so it could become the stronghold it used to be once again. They would want you to remember them fondly, to have the courage to acknowledge that they had their faults, yet they redeemed themselves of them ere the end. That is what is important.
Despite these losses, I find myself eager to travel again. I don't want to see death or suffering, but the call to travel again will draw me to it at some point, so I am working on accepting that death is unavoidable, and that it can happen in so many ways, many vile. I want to return to the mountain one day and pay my respects once more. I want to study other cultures, and keep writing. This wanderlust has gripped me hard, yet I wouldn't have it any other way.
I hope that this passage is helpful, that you find a new understanding of death and war. If you do not agree, fair enough. I am but a simple hobbit after all who was in way over his head the whole time. Dwarves, elves, and men know far more of the world than I do after all. It does not bother me that I could be wrong, but please do not bother the Shire with your complaints. Us hobbits tend to be suspicious of big people and strangers after all.
I wish you all the best for you and your future. Keep dreaming, keep living for those who cannot. That is what life is about, so live it well.
A/n So what do you think? Did I do well? For me the hardest part to write was Bilbo's. Especially his writing. I can barely read the LotR and Hobbit these days let alone write that sort of language so I hope I did it justice.
This started with my irritation at seeing people complain about Fili's death in the movie. I understand that for many people Fili was their favorite, and they wanted to see more, and so of course that meant him to have a 'worthy' death.
But that's what I love about Peter Jackson's portrayal. He showed that death is what it is and rarely reflects truly who people are. It just happens, whether we want it to or not. I remember my great grandpa, who wanted to live as long as he could no matter what. Two months before his 100th birthday, he was dying and was on life support. In the few moments he was coherent, he managed to convey to grandma (the one who had to make the choice about pulling the plug) that he didn't want to live like this. So we sent him on his way peacefully. Thing is... from his stories about his life, this was a rather peaceful and well, unglorious death for him to have. He sold moonshine, he was a nurse in World War II, he was a cook on a train for years, he ran a shop, and he ended up owning a farm that he loved, especially the animals. When I think about him, dying of pneumonia and having to pull the plug... That's not the death I would think of for him. It doesn't 'suit' him. But that's the way it happens. And we have to live with it.
And that is why the movie sticks with me so much. Peter showed that death happens in different ways, and that sometimes they aren't the deaths you'd expect of the characters. I hope I managed to convey that with my story.
Anyways... I started ranting about this to my boyfriend (who'd seen the movie with me), and this niggling idea began... and finally I sat down and just got it out. I admit it turned out better than I expected though I'm nervous about how people will take it. Oh well. Time to post it. :)