Here's my fourth and final Christmas gift to a friend, a belated present for dandytowel on tumblr!
This is my first venture into the Hobbit/LOTR fandom, but it will not be my last. It's also an experiment in present tense. I hope I did well.
This is set purely in the movieverse, very angsty and sad. Major spoilers for BOTFA, if you haven't seen it yet. Enjoy!
Protect
Drums sound, deep beneath them - or is it above them? Fíli cannot tell. He glances around, not daring to poke his head out of the tunnel. He doesn't know what's out there. He can't risk running into a trap, not now.
Behind him, Kíli runs forward eagerly, reckless as always. His brother's eyes are bright, his teeth bared in a fierce grimace. His sword is raised. He is ready for a fight.
Quickly, Fíli turns around and stops him, restraining him with a gentle hand. He looks into Kíli's eyes, pushing him back into the tunnel, shaking his head in warning.
"Stay here," Fíli orders. Frustration evident in an indignant tilt of his head, Kíli looks at his brother questioningly. A brief pang of fear momentarily stops Fíli from continuing. Kíli was always getting himself into trouble - dropping important objects, tripping, rushing in without thinking, even going so far as to fall in love with an Elf, of all things. Fíli had to protect him, to keep him safe until Kíli learned to keep himself safe.
"Search the lower levels," Fíli continues. He's afraid, afraid of what's out there. He can feel it in the air, in his bones - something bad is on the wind. Something evil. Orcs and goblins, hiding in wait for him. He can't let Kíli near that.
Their mother Dís had given Kíli a rune stone, as a promise, to remind him to be safe; to Fíli she had given only her love - and a plea.
"Keep him safe, Fíli," she had whispered in their final embrace. "He has the stone to remind him, but I worry. I worry for him, and for you. Be safe, be well. Reclaim our home."
Fíli promised then, and he renewed his promise now. They would live to see Dís again - or Kíli would, at the very least. He would protect his brother.
He can see that Kíli is about to protest, to insist that he come along with Fíli or the opposite, but Fíli lowers his hand from his brother's chest and turns to look out into the pale grey light of day, the exit of the tunnel. There is a pause. Kíli takes a half step back, gazing intently at his brother.
"I've got this," he says, as slow and confident as he can muster. He can hear Kíli take a step away from him, toward the lower levels, but he doesn't look back. He hopes Kíli will be safe. He hopes Kíli still has their mother's stone to remind him of his promise.
Fíli takes a deep breath and walks out of the tunnel and into the light.
The opening is short, and he darts across the frozen ground to another tunnel. He walks, and keeps walking, up and up a gradual incline. Soon he comes to stairs, and he climbs up them, stepping with soft feet.
The stairs end and level out into another tunnel. Fíli looks around. There is nothing; no orcs, no drums, no sign of life. He bites his lip, tense. The air is still - too still. Fíli is apprehensive. He fingers one of his knife hilts and takes a step forward.
There is still nothing. Fíli takes a slow, deep breath. Maybe there is nothing here. Maybe the orcs are in the lower levels...where Kíli is.
He pales and takes a step back. Suddenly there is torchlight up ahead, and the far-off but not far-off enough crunch and grumble of steps. Something is coming. Fíli's heart pounds in his chest. He can hear orc-speech.
The glow of torches grows stronger, the vile sound of orcs grows louder. Fíli whips around, scrambling the other way, but there is commotion and light from that tunnel as well. He turns his head this way and that, panicked. He is trapped.
He takes a deep breath and scowls. "For Erebor," he growls, unsheathing two of his daggers. He still had four left. He can hold them off for a little while.
The orcs are soon upon him. Fíli yells out, half-hoping Kíli or Dwalin or Thorin will hear him and come to his rescue, half-hoping they will stay far, far away and keep safe.
His mind quickly becomes locked in the battle, and he thinks of nothing but where he will lodge his next knife. Fíli loses his first dagger so quickly he is not aware of it until he bruises his fist on orc-armor. His second one is lodged in the spine of one orc, and he cannot pull it loose in time.
Fíli feels a sharp pain on his left arm, and sees a blade cut it open. It had been aimed for his belly; luckily, he had been turning before it met its mark. He curses loudly, pulling a third knife from his belt and throwing it into the skull of the nearest orc. His target crumples to the floor, dead, and he feels a thrill of satisfaction.
It soon vanishes as he hears a roar from behind. He can't tell what the orc is saying, but suddenly the others back off. Fíli grabs his last dagger and whirls around, looking for the commanding speaker.
Azog the Defiler steps out of the shadows, a cruel glint of evil in his ice blue eyes. Fíli yells and rushes the pale orc, but his enemy hits him on the side of the head forcefully, knocking him to the ground. The breath in his lungs escapes him, and for a moment Fíli sees nothing but spots in the blackness.
The pale orc laughs as Fíli's final dagger flies out of his hand, then steps on his weapon, breaking it in two. He scowls something to him in his foul speech, a sneering laugh escaping his scarred lips. Fíli gasps for air, his bloodstained fingers reaching for the shards of his broken blade.
Azog growls to his underlings, and Fíli is ungently hefted from the ground. He is weak, frail. He struggles, but it is not enough even to earn a reprimanding blow from the orc carrying him.
Up and up they go, Fíli still in a shocked daze. He hopes and fears and knows what is coming. They keep him alive only for some further torment. He will not live long.
Azog stops and shouts down from his perch. Fíli is not listening, he is trying to think, but his head is spinning, and the stench of orcs is not helping him focus.
Suddenly, the orc holding him walks forward and shoves him into Azog's grip. Fíli stares down at the three figures beneath him: his uncle Thorin, Dwalin, and the halfling Bilbo.
Fíli cannot see his brother anywhere. That is good, he realizes. It means Kíli is alive. It means he has protected him.
Fíli has only one thought: to protect. He must protect his brave, reckless little brother; his proud, heroic uncle; his friend, mentor, and comrade, Dwalin; and even the kind, well-meaning and courageous Bilbo.
"Go!" he shouts down, aware of his imminent fate. The urge to protect drives all else from his mind. Fíli knows what is coming, and he accepts it. Thorin and Kíli will survive, he knows, even if he does not.
Azog says something else, but Fíli's eyes are locked on his uncle.
Azog raises his prosthetic sword-arm. Fíli can feel the blow coming. He calls out, pleading, his last thought to protect his kin: "Run!"
Azog runs his blade through Fíli's midriff. He gasps, choking on air he cannot breathe, the pain too much to bear.
The light dies in his eyes, a last sigh escaping his lips to the wind. His body falls, limp, to the ground and past his shocked and distraught brother, but Fíli is not alive to see it.
Fíli knows Kíli is alive, safe, protected. He has succeeded, at the cost of his own life. But it is worth it, to know as he dies that his brother is well and his promise fulfilled. To protect Kíli, it is worth it.
Fíli knows.