They are not mine, but I feel that sometimes they are.

My nephews are strong intelligent lads, but they are missing the gleam that is in my eyes.

But that's alright. Because they don't know.

My sister protests at their knowing at first, but then she falls silent, biting her lip as she nods.

I read the book to them. My heart hardens as I tell the story, recalling how the Dragon swept through the kingdom, leaving trails of fire and suffering behind. The younger boy's eyes darken, and I am again struck of how much he looks like me. My older nephew looks up at me, and I now see the angry spark in his eyes.

Now they are almost ready. But not quite. They are still children.

After a few years, I give them weapons.

My sister watches as I pull a sword out of my trunk, handing it to my oldest nephew. He looks down at the shiny blade, eyes narrowed, before he sweeps it into the air in a perfect stance.

I give my younger nephew a bow, suited for his small size, as well as a quiver and dark eyes shine momentarily, before he draws the string and shoots the target dead center.

I knew they had toy weapons, but their adaptability to real weapons were astounding. I raise an eyebrow at my sister, and she smiles slightly, before turning away, her hands to her eyes.

I train them everyday, and I watch as they grow into men my brother-in-law would've been proud of. They are finally capable warriors now, able to both defend and attack.

When we prepare to leave, my sister embraces both of them, with a mother's love and a warrior's strength. She turns to me, and I hug her hard, because to others she may be fierce, but to me she was still my little sister.

"You bring them back to me, Thorin." She whispers, her voice a hushed hiss.

"I promise." I murmur back, letting her go. I can already hear my nephews calling impatiently. As she watches us leave, I see her angrily wipe a tear away, before she rushes inside.

I know what was in her mind. I am not her brother for nothing.

"You will break that promise."

And here, on the battlefield, watching their bodies convulse and still, and feeling the blood of my own fatal wound trickle down my chest, I knew she was right.

And I hope she forgives me.