AN: Sorry for publishing this in the middle of another fic. The next chapter for the Arrow fic will follow soon, but this little one-shot has been burning a hole into my desktop for a while and I wanted to share it. It's a story which Hobbit fanfiction meets one of my favourite films, Once Upon A Time in the West. Welcome to the Wild West of the Misty Mountains! If you like this, please have a look at my friend Italian Hobbit's latest fic "Worth of a Life" that takes an excellent in-depth look at some of the underlying themes. Enjoy reading and please leave a review!

"You can't, he's not even of age! Leave my brother alone!" Fíli shouted, trying to kick the Man who was holding him. He felt ashamed for begging so blatantly, but these ruffians were threatening Kíli's life and he was willing to bear any amount of shame in order to rescue him. His struggle was useless. The Man just tightened the grip he had on his arms and laughed. Another had Kíli pinned to the ground, crushing him under his weight. Kíli's wide eyes clearly showed that he was panicking. Fíli was thinking fast, he had to stay composed to get them out of this situation, had to make sure his brother was safe and unharmed.

"What do you want?" he demanded, voice much stronger and calmer than he really felt.

"Oh, we've got what we want," said the third Man, who had a long scar across his forehead, patting the pockets of his coat that he had filled with the gold they had taken from the Dwarves. "Now it's just a matter of entertainment. Might as well have a bit of fun with you two little bunnies. Do you think he'll scream when I cut off his fingers? How many until he begs me to kill him instead?"

Fíli felt rage rise inside of him, but he clenched his jaw and kept silent. The Man bent down to him so Fíli could smell his foul breath, and Fíli felt the height difference between them even more; saw just how small and insignificant he was. Immediately, the shame came back. He was not insignificant. He was a prince of Durin, and more importantly, he was Kíli's big brother and he would get him out of this. His voice was icy when he spoke again.

"Let him go," he said, drawing great guffawing laughs from the three Men. "He is nothing to you, he is naught but a child."

Kíli's silence at that was evidence of just how scared his brother really was. He had stopped the struggle against his captor and was looking up at Fíli with such trust that it hurt the elder's heart.

"Oh, a naughty little child, is he now? How should we punish him then? I could give him a good beating, since your father doesn't seem to be doing a very good job of disciplining the ugly bastard," the Man taunted, but Fíli was not focussed on his words. His eyes were trained on the fourth Man who stood a little apart from the small group. He was even taller than the other three, with grey hair and a closely cropped beard. He did not say a word, but from what Fíli had seen during the actual ambush, he was their leader and the others listened to his command. His silence unnerved the young Dwarf. Dogs that bark don't bite, the old saying went. It felt very appropriate here, the old Man's silence oddly foreboding. Fíli let his gaze linger on him, not even listening to the heckling from the others. He was not easily angered and mere words held little power over him.

Fíli scanned the little clearing for escape routes. There were several. If he managed to get the Man behind him to loosen his grip for just a moment, he should be able to disappear into the trees with relative ease. His smaller size would be an advantage for the ensuing manhunt in the dense forest. If he was free, he could do something to help Kíli, at the very least he would have a chance to do something useful. A sharp slap caught his cheek, making his head snap to the side.

"Don't even think about it," the scarred Man snarled. "Easiest way to get your brother killed is for you to try and run."

To stress his point, the Man holding Kíli down pulled a long dagger and held it to the younger brother's throat, mouth stretching into a toothless grin.

Fíli bared his teeth and growled at them like a dog, which caused further laughter.

"Leave him alone," he ground out. "Do whatever you want to me, but leave him be."

A small sound came from Kíli at that, causing Fíli to struggle more fiercely. His brother should not have to make such noises; his brother should be safe, happy and free of pain. The brute holding him did not even seem to notice Fíli's increased renitence.

"Oh but where's the fun in that if you react so beautifully to every threat to him? A brother's love is just so sweet to watch! The way you support him..." the Man with the scar retorted and the others laughed again.

The old one stepped forward.

"Rope," he demanded in a raspy voice. The scarred Man scrambled to retrieve some from their saddlebags. The grey-haired Man took it, roughly turned Fíli around and tied his hands behind his back. Fíli tested his bonds immediately, but the cord was strong and there was no slack in the knots. The old Man busied himself with a longer piece of rope and Fíli strained to see what he was doing. He found out when a noose was fitted around his neck, rough hemp digging into his skin. He could not hold back a shocked gasp and heard Kíli shout from where he was still being held to the ground.

"Don't do that, you can't kill him, you have no right!" he screamed, voice panicked and so high-pitched that he sounded more childish than he had in years. Fíli felt terribly foolish for having landed them in this situation. He never should have taken his brother for this little excursion, he should have known better.

"We won't kill him," the old Man growled, pulling Kíli up by his hair and dragging him towards Fíli. "You will."

Fíli had no idea what that meant, but he could hear Kíli's breathing hitch and saw the terror in his eyes, so he knew that he had to remain calm, that he had to stay strong even though there was a noose around his neck. He swallowed heavily. He could do this, he could get Kíli out of this, he would not fail his little brother.

"Don't worry Kíli, you'll be fine," he murmured. "They won't harm you, you'll be fine."

"Oh, we'll see about that, little fellows," the scarred Man jeered.

"He'll live," the leader said. "You'll both live if he can just... stand tall."

He grabbed a hold of the rope and dragged Fíli over to a tall tree with wide, sturdy branches. Fíli had no choice but to follow him, feeling like a dog on a leash, but powerless to do anything lest he wanted to tighten the noose around his own neck. The Man threw the end of the rope over one of the largest branches, several feet above Fíli's head. At a gesture from him, two of his companions walked up and grabbed Fíli's arms.

Fíli had no idea what their plan was, but he felt himself being hoisted high into the air as the third man kept a secure hold of Kíli's shoulders. His brother seemed to be too scared and perplexed to show any sort of reaction. Kíli was still so young and so innocent; he should not be here at all, certainly not without a guard, some proper adult to keep him safe. Fíli himself was clearly inadequate, useless, strung up by his neck like a pheasant after the hunt, a disgrace to the entire line of Durin.

The old Man secured the rope to the tree, then carefully probed the noose, making sure it was not too tight around Fíli's neck. They evidently wanted to avoid instant decapitation, it flashed through Fíli's mind. Maybe they even had the skill and experience to calculate the required length of the rope according to his weight. Fíli briefly wondered whether they wanted him to die quickly or to struggle for endless minutes. It was their decision, not his. His only part was to die in whichever way they saw fit. The powerlessness of his situation made him feel ashamed. When the Man stepped back, the other forced Kíli forwards, carefully positioning him under his brother's feet. Suddenly Fíli understood their vile plan.

"No!" he shouted, rope painfully cutting his throat. "You Orcs! You can't do that to him!"

He tried to lash out, but he could not move his head, his hands were tied and the thugs still had a firm hold of his legs. They were smirking, paying no heed to his screams.

"Down," the old Man finally commanded and the others stepped back, carefully depositing Fíli onto his brother's shoulders. Kíli yelled, whether in pain or surprise, Fíli could not tell. His own neck was uncomfortably stretched, the rope tightening slightly every time he wavered a little. Kíli was not even fully-grown yet. He might be the taller of the two, but Fíli knew that he was far heavier than his brother. If – or rather when – Kíli fell, Fíli would die.

The scarred Man picked up Kíli's harmonica, the one he had been playing during their lunch break what felt like an age ago, the one that had probably drawn these robbers to them in the first place.

"Play," he ordered, ramming the small metal instrument between Kíli's teeth. "Keep your loving brother happy."

A dissonant tone could be heard as Kíli's breath left his lungs. Fíli groaned.

"Don't you worry, Master Dwarf," the Man mocked. "We won't harm your precious little brother, he is welcome to walk free, just as you requested."

The four of them settled down to watch the drama that unfolded in front of them, reclining lazily in the lush grass, and stuffing their pipes. They did not speak, they just watched, waiting for the inevitable – Fíli's death.

"Kíli," he called his brother softly, knowing he did not have much time. "This is not your fault, none of this is. You are not to blame for... for whatever happens here. You hear me, you will be fine."

Another huff through the harmonica answered him.

"Play me the song of death," one of the Men jeered.

Fíli kept silent for a while, taking shallow breaths, trying to stay very still. He lost all sense of time, not sure whether an hour had passed or merely a minute. Eventually, Kíli's shoulders started to shake, and Fíli could not tell if he was crying or merely losing his strength. Every minute movement jostled him and seemed to tighten the noose. The harmonica sounded in strange, sudden bursts.

"Kíli," he tried once more. "You are doing well, you are so strong, I'm so proud of you."

The shoulders underneath his feet shook even more violently, making Fíli teeter precariously. The entire situation was cruel and perverse. Kíli would not last much longer, could not possibly last much longer, but he would never forgive himself for being his brother's killer even though there was nothing he could have done to prevent this. Fíli knew his own life was forfeit, but he would not have his brother suffer needlessly. He could not imagine the shame Kíli would carry for the rest of his life, thinking back to this moment. Kíli's knees seemed to buckle, but he caught himself and stood tall again, swaying slightly. Fíli had to act now.

"Kíli," he said again, though his voice sounded raspy and breathing had become arduous. "You are a good dwarf, never forget that. I love you as much as any brother ever could. And please tell mother and uncle that I love them too and that I apologise for what I have done. You carry no guilt, Kíli, this was not your doing, don't be ashamed for what you have done. I love you."

At the last sentence, he defiantly looked straight into the eyes of the old Man, then tightened his muscles and kicked his brother's shoulders with all the strength he could muster. Kíli pitched forward and Fíli gasped for breath, knowing that it would be his last. He felt the noose tighten, constricting his throat, cutting off the blood flow to his head, squeezing tighter and tighter as his heart hammered desperately as if it still wished to reach its allotted amount of beats before he died. Fíli's vision turned to black as he felt his body fall.

He fell and fell and over the rushing of his blood and his frantic pulse, he heard something else, thought he heard shouts in the distance, but then, mercifully, all was silent.

"Fíli! Fíli!"

Somebody was shouting his name; somebody was slapping him, hard. Fíli gasped and took in a breath, but the air scorched his throat and burned his lungs. He wanted to scream in pain, but no sound came across his lips.

"Mahal, Fíli, wake up," a gruff voice swore.

He did not want to wake up. There was too much pain. He inhaled involuntarily, but more air only fanned the fire in his body and then he was vomiting, his stomach clenching and bile burning his throat even further.

"Fíli!" the voice shouted again and somebody turned him over, thumping on his back with a strong hand. It hurt; everything hurt. When his vomiting subsided, he found himself cradled in somebody's arms, a hand on his face. The voice was soft now.

"Fíli, I know it hurts, but you have to keep breathing. Breathe, Fíli. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four..."

He knew that voice, he knew... breathing, he had to keep breathing. Mahal, it hurt. He did what the voice said – in, out, in, out, he had to breathe, breathing was important somehow. The air still burned, but it was also... he knew he needed air, he needed to breathe. Like a fire that went from bright flames to smouldering embers, the pain slowly subsided. He was still sore and his throat hurt, but it was not as bad as it had been.

"Fíli, can you open your eyes?" the voice asked and suddenly he recognised it. Thorin. Thorin was here and had somehow woken him from the dead. There were memories, memories of standing on Kíli's shoulders, memories of kicking Kíli, memories of dying. He had died.

It took a much greater effort than he remembered it ever taking before to open his eyes and when he finally did, he could only see bright colours that did not combine into anything tangible. He blinked rapidly and slowly his vision swam into focus. Dark hair and his uncle's face, full of concern. He stared up at Thorin, still not entirely sure why he was here, only glad that he was. His breath hitched as he remembered... remembered how he had died and how afraid he had been for Kíli.

"Shhh," soothed his uncle. "Remember to breathe, Fíli. Calm yourself, you are safe now."

But Fíli could not calm down; he could not, not as long as he didn't know. He willed his mouth into forming words, desperate to ask, to find out. His body did not cooperate and for several precious moments, he laboured in vain.

"'Li," he finally rasped, more of a whisper than a word.

"Kíli is right here," said another voice and a heavy weight was deposited onto the ground. Fíli's eyes had to work hard to focus once more, but then he was staring into the brown eyes of his brother, still wide and filled with dread.

"Fíli," Kíli whispered, voice rough and full of tears. "You're alive. I thought... I thought I'd..."

"Aye," Fíli said even though the word felt like molten steel in his throat. "'M fine."

"How...?" Kíli asked and Fíli did not know the answer to that, had no idea how he had actually survived.

"An impressive shot," said the other voice and Fíli finally recognised Dwalin. "Thorin's arrow cut straight through the rope."

Fíli looked up at his uncle who still held him like a dwarfling. Thorin nodded.

"Aye, a bow is a most useful weapon. Two of the Men were dead before you even hit the ground."

Fíli tried to process that, but his brain felt sluggish. Thorin had... somehow Thorin had saved them. Thorin and Dwalin were here now and the Men were not and Fíli could not really figure out how that might have happened. His brain was slow, so slow, and he was tired. Kíli... Kíli was all right, that was important; Kíli was going to be fine.

Kíli... Kíli was screaming! Kíli was shouting something and he did not sound all right at all, and Fíli had to do something about it. He wanted to sit up, but his muscles would not cooperate and his throat burned and his vision swam and Thorin held him, but Kíli was screaming and Fíli needed to see what was wrong with his brother and he had to get him to calm down. He struggled and then his throat constricted and he could not get any air, but it did not matter because he could see Kíli. Kíli was very upset, he was shouting, he was shouting in Khuzdul. Fíli struggled to make out the words over the drumming of the blood in his ears.

"Zûr thùrag me," Kíli screamed. That was... Fíli had to force his brain into functioning, he wanted to make sense of the words, and he needed to find out why his brother was so upset so he could make it better. How dare you. That was it. How dare you. Kíli was mad at Fíli, he was mad at him, he was mad about his lack of leadership, about the way in which Fíli had gotten him into that terrible situation. It was entirely justified and Fíli needed to do something to apologise, something to make it better. He just... he just... his brain wasn't...

"Fíli, breathe!" Thorin's voice was close and it was urgent. Something about breathing, about air. Air, air was... air was important. But his throat was... Kíli, Kíli was upset; Kíli was shouting something about an orc. He must have been so afraid and it was all Fíli's fault. He needed to... he had to get to Kíli. Kíli...

"Fíli!" Thorin bellowed and now he sounded upset and Kíli was screaming and Fíli should have done something, should have said something. "He's choking, Dwalin, get Kíli away from him!"

That was not what Fíli would have said, but he...

"Breathe! Fíli! Breathe!"

Somebody was slapping him and it hurt and he wanted to tell them to stop, but there was no sound. He needed to... Breathe... He needed to breathe. He tried and it burned and he was coughing and it hurt his throat, it hurt so much and he did not want it to hurt, he did not want to...

"Breathe, Fíli! Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out..."

Breathe... where was Kíli? Kíli had been scared, Kíli had been upset, Kíli thought him a fool. The noose, the noose was still around his neck, he had to get it off, he... His hands flew to his throat, but there was nothing, his fingers were grabbing nothing, and there was no noose, just his throat.

"Focus, Fíli! In, two, three... Fíli! Out, two, three... Stay with me, Fíli!"

Thorin was shouting and Thorin was counting and Fíli knew he needed to focus; he needed to do what Thorin was telling him to do. Breathe... breathe... He was breathing. It hurt, but he was breathing, air, air burned, but it was good, air was good for him. He was breathing and it was good. His brain started to function properly again. He was finally focussing on Thorin who was still counting, still coaching him back to regular breathing. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out...

"'Li?" he asked in a hoarse whisper as soon as he could get a sound out.

"Don't worry about Kíli, let's just focus on you for now, lad," Thorin said.

Fíli did not want to focus on himself. He was fine, but Kíli was not and it was his fault. He was so ashamed of how he had handled the entire situation and now he was making a scene instead of letting them all take care of Kíli.

"'M sorry," he gasped.

"Whatever for?" Thorin asked and he sounded truly astonished. "You handled the situation well... and I saw what you did, Fíli. Your brother might not understand your reasoning, but it was a very heroic and selfless thing to do. "

Fíli knew he was no hero. He had failed his brother and was lucky that Thorin had come to rescue them.