Thanks everyone for the reviews! To the guest reviewer: I promise that this will have a happy ending. ;)


Bran thought about it. "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?"
"That is the only time a man can be brave," his father told him.

- Bran and Ned Stark in: A Game of Thrones


2. Sparks on dying embers

A deep voice filled the air with harsh words Fíli didn't understand. And then, when the last words had faded, he turned around the corner.

Fury took hold of Fíli's heart then, anger he hadn't felt ever since he had seen Thorin lying motionlessly on the ground with an orc's sword at his throat. The Defiler wouldn't escape again.

Azog was watching him. There was something in the cold, hardened gaze that Fíli couldn't read. Beside him Kíli was shaking with rage and fear. The orcs they had fought just minutes earlier were still, probably waiting for a command. There were few of them left. Fíli was standing completely still. Everything was mute but for the steady beating of his heart. The stab wound was still bleeding sluggishly; he could feel the warm blood on his skin. He forced himself to take calm breaths, in and out, in and out, in tune with his heart that reminded him that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken.

"So this is how low Oakenshield has fallen?" Azog sneered. His broken Westron sounded even more terrifying that the orcish tongue he used to speak in. "Too much of a coward, the khozd shorakh, sending children to fight for him?"

Fíli could feel the blood boiling in his veins. He grabbed his sword tightly and tried to keep the other orcs within the periphery of his vision while Azog was pacing before him. Part of him yearned for an attack, just to get it over with, but the other, more reasonable part told him to keep still, wait, and above all, watch out for Kíli.

"I could kill you easily, you know," Azog snarled. "You're weak, just like the rest of your filthy bloodline."

Suddenly he nodded at someone behind Fíli's back. The young dwarf spun on his heel, ready to defend himself, but froze when a scream tore at his heart. He knew then that he had made a terrible mistake even before he turned his head.

He was barely aware of the blade ripping his armour apart just below his waist. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the fight happening before his eyes and yet so out of reach. Kíli was bleeding, he could see that, and he felt cold fear claw at his heart when Azog's prosthetic arm connected with Kíli's broad sword. He stumbled when he put his full weight onto his right leg.

Furiously Fíli swung his sword at the orc that kept attacking him and didn't stop when another enemy took his place. The sound of metal clashing against metal echoed from the stony walls. Someone had to hear the fight, Fíli prayed, someone would soon come. Thorin, Dwalin, they weren't so far away.

Thorin.

Realisation hit him hard. It was what Azog was aiming for, that was why he was keeping him and Kíli alive. Somewhere along that trail of thought Fíli's prayer changed. He prayed that Thorin was far away, that he would rally his forces instead of taking on Azog by himself. He prayed that his uncle would be spared the pain of seeing another family member dying by Azog's hand.

He prayed that please, please, let Kíli live.

He buried his sword in an orc's gut. A kick with his heavy dwarvish boot sent the creature flying against his approaching comrade. A well-aimed throwing knife made the light in the second orc's eyes go out. Fíli ran.

It was only a few leaps to where Kíli was still keeping his stand against Azog. It wasn't far, but to Fíli his feet felt like lead holding him in place. He wanted to shout out a warning when Azog lifted his weapon once more, and it was only due to decades of training and battle tactics engraved in his bones by Dwalin – "Don't shout at your comrade when he's in one-on-one combat, the distraction will get him killed!" – that he didn't make a sound. He could only watch helplessly as Kíli stumbled, tried to regain his balance and wield the sword at the same time, and fell. Immediately Azog was above him.

Fíli's war cry shook the walls.

His sword clashed against Azog's side. The pale orc roared, more of surprise than of pain, Fíli knew, and turned away from his prey. Fíli only had a split second to gaze at his brother. He could see that the left side of his face was covered in blood, as was the sleeve of his armour. But it was the fact that he was deathly white and unmoving that sent Fíli's mind reeling.

A guttural growl escaped his lips as he charged after Azog. He hardly felt the pain in his shoulder and upper leg. Everything was wiped out, the pain, the fear, nothing was left but burning rage and the words that kept repeating themselves in his head as he parried Azog's attacks and landed blow after blow in return.

Kíli. Mother. Thorin. Dwalin. Balin.

He was fighting for them, for they had come so far and lost so much along the way. He was fighting for them because they had done the same for him more times than he could count.

Sweat was running down his forehead, his arms were shaking. Still he never stopped, not when Azog's blade bit through the metal of his armour and sent a searing pain up his right arm that immediately combined with the throbbing of his shoulder. Azog was bleeding as well, and it was that sight that kept Fíli going.

Kíli. Mother. Thorin. Dwalin.

"No one is coming for you, dwarf scum!" Azog sneered as Fíli staggered after him. He blocked Fíli's blow easily. The blonde dwarf didn't respond. He wouldn't waste precious strength.

"I killed the dark one. He's your brother, is he not?"

The orc laughed a maniacal cackle that sent shivers down Fíli's spine. He clenched his jaw and forbade himself to listen to the taunting words. Kíli would be alright. He wasn't dead, he'd know if he was. For a moment the picture of Kíli's bloodied face swam before his eyes.

"You'll answer for this."

At first Fíli didn't recognise the cold voice as his own. He flung himself at the large orc, ducked at the last moment as Azog launched forward, and whirled around. Desperately he tried to seize Azog's moment of confusion. It was something he had practised time and time again with Dwalin. But this was no training ground. He hit the orc with his sword, though instead of pushing the blade into Azog's back from below, he only managed a blow from the side. It was the wrong angle, he realised immediately. He could feel his blade jar the orc's ribs, but it didn't go through. Azog roared and spun around, and Fíli heard the thud of fist hitting bone before the blow sent him flying. For a moment he thought his neck had been broken; stars were dancing before his eyes and his hand gave way as he tried to push himself off the ground. He had lost his sword and felt panic rise for the first time. He craned his aching neck, all while Azog was approaching tauntingly slow, obviously relishing the moment.

Kíli. Mother. Thorin.

He could see his brother and he thought he was twitching where he was lying. Just a minimal movement of the fingers, a slight nod, there was something, there had to be something, anything. Fíli's eyes then perceived something else.

His shoulder burned up with pain as he reached out his hand. He clenched his teeth. Azog was so close that he could hear his harsh breathing. He strained his fingers; the hilt was so near, so very near.

Kíli. Mother.

A shadow fell over him, blocking every light from his view, and suddenly Fíli's world exploded into a cacophony of blinding agony. His mind went blank, his surroundings became a blur in the semi-darkness, and a scream tore from his lips that drowned out Azog's sneer. He couldn't see, he couldn't move, and then he couldn't feel anything at all and he wondered briefly if he was dead after all. A little voice inside whispered that it wouldn't even be so bad.

He blinked twice, then once more, and slowly the figure before him resolved itself into a clear shape.

He didn't dare to turn his head. He had heard the cracking sound, he had felt the bones breaking under the heavy boot, and as Fíli desperately tried to gather what little strength he had left he could feel a fire clawing at his right arm that made him want to scream and never stop. He willed his body to move, to fight, yet the pain took his breath away and he only stared, wide-eyed, at the horrible creature that had haunted his uncle for so long.

"I killed one king. Mighty Thrór, king under the mountain, I ripped his ugly head from his weak shoulders!" Azog laughed. "I will kill your uncle, I will finish what I started, but before he dies he will see your head on a spike, and your brother's, too, and when he dies it will be mercy for that miserable excuse for a king."

The orc stood above him, his creepy eyes locked on Fíli. They held a dreamlike expression that Fíli had never seen in an orc before. It scared him to the bone, an image from a nightmare, horrible and gruesome. And Fíli knew that this time he wouldn't wake up to a caressing hand and tenderly whispered words that promised him that he was safe. There was no safety, not in this forsaken place where his brother was lying still and pale and maybe dead, where his own body was betraying him by sending waves of agony into every bone, where all hope was lost within the cold walls of Ravenhill.

"Fee?"

A whisper, faint and barely audible, probably inaudible to anyone but him. Fíli gasped and found the source of the single word, his eyes locking onto brown orbs in the distance and taking in the sight of his brother who was moving ever so slightly as he tried to raise his head. The small word echoed in Fíli's ears. And just like a spark can reignite a fire from smouldering embers, the word became his lifeline.

Kíli. Kíli. Kíli.

The fingers of his left hand clawed into the stony ground. He wasn't ready to go.

With a groan he rolled himself to the right, almost blacked out when his shoulder and arm screamed in protest of the sudden movement, and then his fingers curled around the cool hilt of his sword. He swung it with his left hand while he was still on the ground. It wasn't enough to kill Azog, but Fíli had the element of surprise in his favour. In one fluid motion he got to his feet and attacked once more. Azog howled when a deep gash appeared on his thigh, he staggered once or twice, but didn't fall. Fíli gritted his teeth. He wondered briefly if Azog had even noticed that Kíli was conscious, and silently he willed his little brother to stay put.

Metal clashed against metal. Fíli was fighting instinctively; the world around him was a blur, his vision white at the edges. Azog, too, had given up talking. No more taunting words came out of his twisted mouth, no insults or arrogant remarks. Fíli hoped that it was a good sign.

But his own strength was fading fast. He stumbled as he blocked an attack. He tried to regain his balance, but Azog came at him again, swinging his enormous weapon with full force. The blow knocked him off his feet and sent him flying into the wall. The impact drove the air right out of his lungs and he gasped with pain as his right arm seemingly burst into flames. For a moment he lay crumpled on the ground and couldn't move as the gigantic creature approached him again, not as slowly and tantalisingly as before, but quickly and determined to kill. He thought he could feel the draught as Azog wielded his blade.

For a moment Fíli wondered who would tell his mother that he wouldn't come home.


A/N: khozd shorakh = dwarf scum.

Reviews make my day!