The glow from the fireplace was the only source of light in Kíli's room, the dying flames barely chasing away the shadows strewn across his sombre face. He stood in front of the full length mirror, his eyes unseeing as he secured the last tie on his tunic, uncooperative fingers fumbling with the fabric as thoughts of his brother ran rampant in his mind.

He stared at his reflection without emotion, his eyes blinking slowly as though they themselves were weighed down with the knowledge of what was to come. A creak of hinges had his eyes flicking to the side in the mirror, watching over his shoulder as his mother slowly walked into the room. They stared at each other through the glass for several moments before Dís moved closer, tenderly picking up Kíli's hair clasp from its place on the dresser and standing behind her son, gently gathering his hair and pinning it at the back in his usual style.

Kíli watched his mother as she pulled his hair into some semblance of order and noticed that her fingers lingered just a moment longer on his clasp, as though drawing some unseen strength from it. He turned to face her, closing his eyes briefly as her hands came up to cup his face. He exhaled softly as her thumbs stroked the dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep and crying silently into his pillow all night while clutching his brother's stuffed lion to his chest.

Dís turned her son towards her, placing a soft but lingering kiss to his brow before tapping their foreheads together lightly and pulling him against her, to lean into her for comfort and strength. She would have taken standing there for eternity over what was about to come, but the soft patter of boots on stones by the door had her pulling away and the pair turned and faced Thorin. Staring at Thorin now, dressed in coal black furs and leather was unfortunately not that uncommon a sight, for his mourning outfit had been used one time too many in his lifetime.

Thorin locked eyes with his sister and nephew before bowing his head to the pair, signalling that it was time for them to join their people. He watched as Kíli took a shaky breath before scooping up the stuffed lion Fíli had refused to part with as they moved from adolescence into adulthood, and slipped it inside his tunic pocket.

He told himself it was there to draw strength from if he needed it to get through the night, but he knew deep down that it was the last connection he'd ever have to his brother, and it only felt right to have it there with him. Inhaling deeply Kíli turned on his heel and exited the room, all three dwarves walking in silence as they tried to deal with the emotions that were ravaging their hearts.

The light of the full moon cast an ethereal glow on the land as the three exited their home, and a soft breeze ruffled their hair as they made their way to the town gates. Kíli kept his head down as they walked, because now was not the time to try and appreciate the natural beauty of the landscape especially as the wilderness that he had associated with safety for so long only brought about a sense of anger; anger at the world for its cruelty, for taking his brother from him, for going on like nothing had changed when his whole world had shattered.

His thoughts were clouded in grief so why was the moon shining so bright? Why was it not hiding in a sky filled with clouds that threatened to burst with rain just like his own emotions wanted to burst free? No, in that moment he hated the wilderness and the world because it had turned its back on him, it had taken away the one that mattered to him most.

They arrived in the town square and Kíli felt a tightness in his chest as he looked around the faces of those that had gathered. Every dwarf and man had come out that night, all dressed in black and many with lanterns dangling from their fingers. He watched as Thorin moved forwards and the crowd parted for him, every person there bowing their head as their king in exile passed. He followed after his uncle, every footstep feeling heavier the closer to the gate he got and his fingers clenched painfully in the fur of Fíli's toy lion. He wasn't aware of those bowing their heads in respect to him as he and Dís passed, nor that the crowd gathered together once more and followed them in procession. He kept his gaze on his uncles back; a strong sturdy presence like an Oak tree that despite the battering of grief he had suffered through would remain standing tall.

And so, led by a much loved king in exile the community of Ered Luin passed the gates of their home to farewell their fallen prince one last time.

Kíli came to a stop behind his uncle and it took him several moments to realise where they were. They were on the shores of the River Lhûn; the place where he and Fíli had learnt to swim when they were younger, the place that he and Fíli frequented when they wanted to swim or fish, away from others and free of responsibilities. He wasn't sure why they had stopped here, but as he looked further upstream he noticed the townspeople stopping at a raft, and from the shadows of the lanterns he saw offerings being placed on top before joining them once more. He frowned and turned his attention to Thorin, unsure of what was happening when he spotted something next to Thorin that made his heart stop.

A plaque set in polished stone that came to Thorin's hip.

A plaque for Fíli.

His breath hitched in his throat as he moved towards it to read what had been inscribed.

Fíli,

Here lies the final resting place of Fíli, son of Dís and Víali, heir to Thorin Oakenshield and brother to Kíli.
Never shall he be forgotten;
The warrior, the prankster, the diplomat, the swordsman,
A loved nephew, a cherished son,
A best friend and irreplaceable brother.

A sob escaped his lips and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain that threatened to tear free, barely noticing the weight of his mother at his side as she wrapped her arm around him and gave him a gentle hug. He fixed tear filled eyes on her and she stroked a hand across his face, brushing the loose hairs that had fallen free out of his eyes.

He looked at Thorin when his uncle began to speak; as he talked of Fíli and the kind of dwarf he had been, of what he hoped he would become and the hole that his death would forever leave in their hearts. Soft cries and whimpers echoed through all those that were gathered for Fíli had been loved by all; he was kind and caring, quick with a laugh and even faster with a blade. He was someone the children wished to be when they grew up and someone the adults wished was their son for the grace and honour and pride that he brought to his family. He was someone that could never be replaced, never be forgotten.

Someone Kíli wanted back more than anything in the world.

Thorin turned and looked to two dwarves who were standing on the edge of the people gathered and after receiving a nod from their king both dwarrows walked back to the raft, whilst Balin came forward and handed Thorin Kíli's bow. He turned to face his nephew and held it out to him with the prepared arrow whose tip was wrapped in an oil drenched cloth.

Kíli looked between the bow and his uncle, not understanding what he was meant to do with it, but when he saw Balin move forward with a lit candle in his hands and watched as the two dwarves pushed the raft into the river so it could float past them to the sea he understood. With shaking hands he grasped the bow, breathing heavily through his nose as the tears were once again held back.

He shuffled forward, aware that the eyes of the town were on him and he watched through watery eyes as the raft came floating down the river; flowers and letters to the fallen prince stacked on top. As it drew nearer Balin appeared beside him and despite wanting to hide away from the world for the rest of his life whilst he grieved for what he had lost Kíli placed the arrow to the candle, watching emotionlessly as the strip of cloth wound around the arrowhead caught fire.

He turned back to the river and watched numbly as the water carried the raft past him and turning to face it he drew the arrow back; feathers against his cheek, string taut and arms aching before he released it. The dull thunk it made as it embedded itself in the wood was all Kíli needed to know he hit his mark, and after several moments the fire spread on the raft until it resembled a burning pyre as it floated away; carrying with it the soul of the brother he loved.

The bow slipped from his fingers, the quiet thud of wood on stone echoed in the silence as a shaking hand delved inside his tunic and withdrew a knife, one of Fíli's that he had refused to part with and the only time it left his body was when he slept, even then it was stored under his pillow. Kíli walked to the plaque and raised his hands over it, his free hand grasping the blade and he dragged it through his closed fist, pulling the knife free before squeezing his hand tightly and allowing his blood to drip onto the stone, the glistening red drops seeping into the carving of his brother's name.

It was then that Kíli allowed the tears to flow and he fell to his knees, harsh sobs tearing from his lips as he pressed his head and bleeding hand against the stone, his shoulders shaking in grief.

"Goodbye my brother," he whispered, wishing more than anything that he could join his brother rather than go through life in the dark and alone.

A gentle hand on his head and a soft murmur of his name had Kíli looking up at his mother and Uncle who were standing behind him and saw the tears and grief echoed on their faces. But it was the soft light behind his mother that caught his attention and he stood, looking around the villagers that had gathered and saw that every dwarf and man, woman and child alike held a blue lantern.

At some unseen signal the lanterns were released and the dwarves began their grieving song; a lone voice started the call and was slowly joined by others. A single tear slipped from Kíli's eye as he looked at his mother and uncle and saw that they each held their own lantern, a third one held between them as they extended it towards him.

He grasped the blue paper delicately, looking to his mother then to Thorin tearfully before he raised his arm and pushed it into the air, watching as their lanterns sailed up to join the hundreds of lanterns that floated up towards the stars, carrying the memory of a golden haired dwarf towards the maker and guiding his soul home.