A/N:

This is something I was inspired to write after seeing The Battle of the Five Armies a few days ago. It was, in my opinion, a fitting end to the Hobbit trilogy as well as Middle Earth cinematic productions. I remember reading The Hobbit back when I was in fourth grade, and although there were some points when I doubted these films would do the book justice, in the end, Jackson pulled through, and I think I used about five boxes of tissues. I still get teary eyed just thinking about it.

But I can only hope that I'm not the only one a little disappointed with the way that Fili died. There were no monologue and no one who leaned over his body and grieved, no one cried for him. (Although we may see that in the extended edition) I was very saddened by this, because Jackson had written Fili to be a very interesting character, at least for me.

Anyways, here's my take on what could have been running through his mind in his last moments. It's based heavily off of the movie adaption, because in my mind the book and the movie are two entirely different things. In the book Thorin is about three times as old, and is carried to a tent by Beorn, impaled by several spears. In the movie, he's depicted at around forty or fifty, and dies sprawled out on the ice with absolutely no one around until Bilbo shows up. Just so everyone understands that I'm not ignoring what happened in the book, rather this is written as a mash up of both.

Please also be aware that I wrote this with the intent of the "unreliable narrator" effect. Fili's thoughts are his opinions, and not necessarily fact.

This story was heavily based off of Birdy's song: Not About Angels, something that reminds me greatly of Fili.

There will be spoilers and feels (if the introduction didn't already spoil things for you) I do not own The Hobbit.

/

They say that when you are about to die, your entire life replays in your head, all in the timespan of a moment. I never really believed them; I wasn't worried about death. I wouldn't have to be for at least another hundred years or so. I was far too skilled in combat, far too fit and healthy minded to die.

My mother had warned us that the world was vast and strange beyond the walls of our city of Ered Luin. She had tried for days to convince us to stay back, to help manage the dwarf settlement and further our study. Thorin was impartial to it, although I could tell that he was uneasy at the thought of us out in the wild, facing dangers we had yet to experience save in the stories mother had told us at night. But nothing could convince us to stay back. Kili and I were the adventurous sorts, and more than ready to see the world, to trek over the misty mountains and to witness the vast halls and spacious places of Erebor.

He had told us stories when we were younger about what it was like there. The city had been carved into the mountain, with dark emerald paths leading to and fro, far down into the gold mines. He'd told us about the statues of Thrain and Thror that guarded the huge doors of our home, and about the Arkenstone that was his, and eventually my birthright. There was an army unnumbered, and riches that seemed infinite. All the while he would have wistful eyes that never seemed to quite meet ours, as if they were seeing only his memory of Erebor.

So when he came home on a Sunday evening, and called together a meeting to discuss the potential quest to reclaim our home, we knew that we'd be going. There wasn't a doubt in our minds, not a single one. We were afraid of course, we'd never really been more than a few miles from Ered Luin, maybe a village over if mother allowed. The desire to leave and see new places was deeply embedded in our hearts, as well as the need to see our home, which was with us since the day Thorin first told us a bedtime story.

And so we went, both a little afraid of what was to come, but excited nonetheless. Kili had several female admirers that he had said goodbye to, much to my amusement. He reminded me of our Uncle Frerin in that way, flirtatious and playful, not concerned for his future because he was not the heir, his older brother was. I was not like him, having been trained since day one to sit up straight, to be diplomatic in all of my actions and to take life seriously (although I did not always live up to that standard). I was learned in several languages and writing styles, as well as economic and governmental affairs. I could trace our family's bloodline back thousands of years, and could tell the difference between a dwarf of the Iron Hills and a dwarf of the Blue Mountains by just a glance. Balin had taught me the ways and histories of our people, while Dwalin had taught me how to fight, had helped me forge my first axe and had taught me that in some circumstances, it was not cowardly to flee- something that confused me for many years to come.

I also knew that it was more likely than not that once Thorin settled Erebor and our people; he'd marry and bear children, having an heir of his own direct bloodline. I knew that it was unlikely I'd ever sit on the throne of Erebor, and that all of my training could very well be for naught, but I went through with it anyways. I owed that at least to my mother, who had high hopes for the dwarf I'd become. "You look so much like your father," she'd tell me often, "I pray you will be as he was."

Dwarf women never quite fancied me- or maybe they did and I was too busy preparing for the position of king to notice. But why would they fancy me anyways? I wasn't Kili; I didn't tell jokes and talk to whomever I deemed worth my company. My smile wasn't quite as bright as his, because there was always something on my mind, an assignment I had to finish or a duty to fulfill. Dwarf women all wished for suitors like Kili, loud, stubborn and good natured. He had dark hair, as most women wished for, and although he lacked a decent beard, he'd likely grow one in the next few years. Even human girls at local villages would blush and giggle as he passed them, waving cheekily.

I thought about finding someone for myself sometimes, my mother and father had just been so happy together, had been so good for each other. I'd always longed for someone to fill my lonely existence, and yet no one seemed quite interested in me, or maybe I was too worried about other things to notice. It didn't matter now- I suppose.

I felt the edges of my armor strain against my skin as the orc held me up by the back of my tunic, over a ravine for the world to see. Thorin was at the other side, as well as Dwalin and Bilbo. Bilbo was a good lad, really he was. I still remembered how befuddled he had looked when Kili and I entered his home, and I proceeded to take out each of my weapons and stack them up in his arms. I remembered him telling Kili off for wiping his foot on the furniture, and being entirely uncomfortable for most of the evening. But he'd always been loyal to us, despite his home sickness and strange needs (who took a handkerchief with them to burgle a dragon?) I remembered fondly his kind words and optimistic attitude, he was never quite as rowdy as we were, but the few times we did get him to open up I was astounded at how much like us Bilbo could be. I think each of us dwarves had grown a soft spot for the hobbit, even though we would not admit it.

I couldn't help but feel sorry for Bilbo in all of this. He was just a little Halfling after all, not a warrior or a soldier. He didn't belong out on the battlefield watching people die. He shouldn't have even been there, watching as the orc shouted in his guttural language. I knew a bit of Black Speech, and managed to catch the word "die", not that I really questioned what exactly he intended to do with me. However, things seemed to be so much sharper when he said it, when I began to understand what my fate would be. I felt my bones fill with dread.

"Go!" I shouted desperately, watching as Thorin took an anxious step forward, his eyes filled with despair. I wasn't ready to die; I wasn't ready to leave the world, not like this, not with them watching. They needed to get out of here, as far away from the orcs as they could.

I used to romanticize death when I was younger, thinking that I'd be content with dying in a battle field as long as it was in the effort of a noble task. I thought I'd die fighting, giving my enemy fatal wounds so that at least if I were to go, he'd go with me. I had imagined myself sprawled out, blood covering my face and clothes, saying goodbye to my friends as they wept over my passing. That was how I thought it would be like.

But there was nothing noble about me in those moments. I kicked and I struggled and I screamed and I cried, yelling "Run!" as loudly as I could. I hoped Kili wasn't near; I didn't want him to see me as weak as I was. I didn't want him to see me like this, shrinking in fear like a coward.

I half expected to be saved at the last second, as always happened on our quest. Quick thinking, the arrival of Gandalf, or just blind luck had been the cause of our survival so many times, and always when things were about to crumble. Maybe someone had brought a bow and would be able to shoot down the orc, or maybe he'd trip and stumble, giving me enough time to escape his grasp and get out of harm's way.

But there was no "despite the odds" factor, not this time.

It may have been selfish, but as I felt the cool metal of his weapon press against my tunic, I couldn't help but ask myself in my mind, 'Who's going to miss me?'

Kili would, I knew that at least. We'd always been together since the day he'd been born, I'd comforted him in his hardships and he helped me to smile through my own. I'd stayed with him when he was injured in Lake Town, and I'd kept my mouth shut throughout the entirety of his falling in love with that elf girl. I helped him from place to place until he was healed, and smoked with him late at night after all of the others had gone to sleep. Kili was such a large part of my life, I only hoped that I was as big a part in his.

Thorin wouldn't miss me- at least not how I wanted him to. I loved my uncle with all my heart, and I'm sure he loved me as well, but it was only an obligatory love. He didn't play with me in my younger years like he did Kili, he didn't smile at my jokes, only told me that I had far more important things to do than fool around. We had our moments, but in the end I knew that I really was only an heir- perhaps an heir that he got along well with, but still only that. Thorin would marry and have his own children, and the line of Durin would continue, or at least it would continue through Kili. I'd fade into memory after a few years, and perhaps he'd think of me fondly from time to time, but not as I wished him to.

I could only pray that he'd stay snapped out of the dragon sickness long after I was gone. I remember how I felt when I'd first laid eyes on the gold, my heart seemed to swell and my head pounded in my ears. And suddenly, no one, not Kili or Bilbo or my mother or anyone else, really seemed to matter. I wanted to go down to the gold, to move my hands through it and to count each piece. It was only when Thorin threw the gem and I caught it, that I returned to my old self. This was a dangerous and deadly lust, one that had turned him mad before the end. I watched him return back to his old self right before we went out to join the battle, and I felt something deep inside my chest for Thorin. He was always my role model, I had quietly did as he did and spoke as he spoke, and I hoped that one day he'd see me asmore than just an heir- perhaps as a friend or a companion, or even just a nephew. But our time had run out, and in the end it seemed I would never prove myself to him.

My mother would miss me, which was obvious. Kili had always been her favorite of course; she did not give me a stone that read "return to me" at our parting. She did not remind me over and over again to be safe and to be wary, only to protect my brother and my uncle, as I'd always been told to do. Did that mean she did not love me? No, she'd always loved me. She just trusted me more than Kili, I was not as reckless as him, I was quieter and more calculating in what I did, and she knew that. She was the kindest and strongest woman I'd ever known, and it had been an honor to be her son.

Was this how it was going to end? So sudden and cold and remote- like a frost that sneaks over the grasslands overnight, one that takes months to shake off. I didn't regret anything, I couldn't bring myself to. Kili would be alright on his own, Thorin would and so would my mother. No one would miss me.

Perhaps if I were to-