Barricaded inside the halls of Erebor listening to the sounds of the elves, men, dwarves, and orcs wage battle on the outside, Fíli had never felt so ashamed or so utterly hopeless. How had it come to this?
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On the eve of battle he had found no rest, not even in sleep and so he roused himself just before the break of dawn in order to commence his watch. There he sat alone on the platform, scouring the desolate plains for any sign of movement but all was eerily still, even the snow had ceased to fall sometime in the night.
As the soft winter sun crept over the hills and illuminated the city of Dale its rays of light filtered through cracks and holes in the structure as if to highlight the scars of the past, but Fíli thought that it only made the city all the more breathtaking. Sighing he wondered if Sigrid was safe and wished for her a long and happy life, if anyone deserved it she did. He imagined her leading her people; protecting and inspiring them with her kindness and courage. But then in his mind's eye he imagined her falling in love with another, raising her children, spending the years of her life with someone else, and forgetting him as he slept for eternity under the Mountain. He furiously brushed away the tear that splashed onto the cold stone floor.
That was when he heard a scuffling at the base of the platform; it was coming from outside the Mountain. Jumping up and pulling his blades from the scabbards at his back Fíli felt his heart rate quicken as he stepped towards the edge.
"Who dares to enter the Mountain of Erebor?" He called out over the rampart, tensed to jump back and sound the alarm.
"Don't attack! It's me." came a muffled voice, huffing and grunting as it worked its way up the wall.
Fíli nearly dropped his swords in shock before hurrying to help pull the would-be invader over the ledge. "Bilbo, I thought you were in the Mountain. What are you doing out here?" He said in hushed confusion as the hobbit swung his hairy feet over the ledge and dropped down onto the floor panting.
Bilbo gasped in great lung-fulls of air holding up an apologetic hand and Fíli waited patiently until Bilbo could gather his breath into speech. "I went to Dale to speak to them; to Bard, Gandalf, and the Elvenking. Fíli, I think I have found a way so that there will be no war."
"Bilbo," Fíli sighed. "The sickness is too strong and uncle cannot be swayed from this course; he will not give up any share of the treasure, no matter the cause."
Bilbo smiled sorrowfully. "That is exactly my point, I dare not tell you anymore just in case… well there is no use worrying about that, but for now there is still hope; we may all come through this alive."
Why, why at Bilbo's words had Fíli seen a future flash before his eyes when it would only be ripped from him; Sigrid beside him, her hand in his, his brother's laugh, his mother's embrace, his uncle's smile. In that moment Fíli would have given anything to have another's heart, a heart that was not so easily prone to hope when hope was futile. He wanted to rip his own out of his chest and hurl it far from him for he knew only too well the pain of feeling it break from within.
"Fíli?" Bilbo's concern broke through his thoughts.
"It's nothing." He brushed away the concern. "Thank you Bilbo Baggins, thank you for all that you have given us. Now go before you are found out and rest well my friend."
Bilbo rested a kind hand on Fíli's shoulder. "There is no shame in reckless hope, you dwarves would never have come knocking on my door if didn't have it, and if you hadn't I would still be sitting at home with a full pantry but something missing in here." Bilbo tapped the place over his heart. "Don't give up on hope Fíli; that is the fight that truly matters." Then he turned and crept silently back into the Mountain's halls, leaving Fíli to brood on his words as the sun continued to dawn over the Mountain.
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Later that day when the armies of elves and men were assembled at the barricaded doors Fíli stood resolutely behind his uncle. He had been too late to stop Thorin from turning Bard away, just as he had been too late stop the sickness from taking a hold, and although he felt he could not atone for these wrongs he would now stand behind Thorin and defend him in peace or battle until his last breath because that's what the uncle who raised him would have done.
But the uncle who raised Fíli and his brother would never have tried to have Bilbo thrown from the ramparts. After that Fíli knew that there would be no turning back from the fight at their doorstep; if Thorin was so consumed that he could not see Bilbo's good intentions then there was truly no help for them. Or so he had thought, until their Ironfoot kin came over the crests of the eastern hills, armed and fearsome to behold. It had been a glorious sight and reminded Fíli and Kíli of the tales of old that spoke of glorious victories and courageous fighters, enthralling and inspiring the two young dwarves since before they had held a weapon in their own hands.
The inhabitants of Erebor were exultant in their joy not only because they were no longer fatally outnumbered but also because perhaps Thorin had never planned to sacrifice them for Erebor, and perhaps something of Thorin Oakenshield was yet to be consumed by sickness.
Then the orcs had arrived as Gandalf had heeded and the battle lines were re-drawn as Ironfoot, elves, and men united against a common enemy and Fíli's battered heart hoped again, but Thorin ordered them to remain within the Mountain.
Now he sat inside the great halls wanting to be numb to it all, longing to never feel again, longing to escape everything; the pain, the hopelessness, and the shame. He let the golden shield and breastplate he bore fall to the ground; he didn't need them and he wasn't worthy of them.
He had made the choice to stand behind his uncle and deep down he knew that on some level it had been the right choice, but there was nothing right about the sounds of slaughter he could hear from the battlefield.
Fíli let his head fall into his hands and tried not to listen to the sounds, wishing that he, like Thorin, could disappear into the Mountain and not be chased by this tormenting guilt. He couldn't stand to think of her face; the determined hope and strength he had seen in it would surly kill him, or worse, and the thought twisted his stomach like a blade, perhaps Dale had fallen and she herself was dead. Fíli's mind saw her eyes, cold and forever frozen in the excruciating pain of her final moments. He screwed up his eyes tight, desperately trying to drown the image in the darkness.
He didn't know how long they waited or how long they listened not speaking to each other. It felt like an eternity, an eternity punctuated with the cries of life's last breath echoing from the battle field. He couldn't watch.
But then Thorin emerged from within treasure hordes and Kíli stood fast, the anguish in his heart too much to contain. Fíli saw the look in his younger brother's eye and knew that he was offering Thorin the last of his hope to either throw in his face or use to reignite his own.
Fíli didn't believe it when Thorin uttered the words, he was sure that it was his imagination. He listened to Thorin humbly ask them to stand by him in battle one last time but still he couldn't bring his heart to hope for surely it was a cruel illusion. Even when he saw his uncle's eyes, their manic desire vanquished he did not let himself hope, he just couldn't do it again.
He rearmed himself in a daze as they prepared to go to war, even Kíli's bright eyes could not penetrate the doubt and disbelief that shrouded him.
"Fíli?" Thorin approached him contritely, half fearful of his nephew's response. He could see the despair in the young dwarf's eyes and it tortured Thorin that he had been the one to put it there. "Fili, I … I am so, so sorry, for all that I have done." A tear slid down Thorin's cheek and fell into his greying beard.
Fíli fought to hold back what he knew was coming, to protect his fragile heart.
"My sister-son I can ask for nothing more from you than what you have already given. I know now what you have always known and I am sorry it took me so long. But my only redemption is that one day you will be a true and great King and I will simply be your uncle, and there can be no higher honour than that."
And somewhere within Fíli's heart what little there remained of his hope stirred and then it roared because Fíli wanted to fight. He wanted to fight for Thorin, to fight for Kíli, for his mother, and for Sigrid. To fight for a future surrounded by those he loved, and most importantly to fight for himself and his own heart; to fight for his right to live in hope and happiness until the end of his days however close they might be.
Fíli looked at his uncle and wordlessly stepped forward to press his forehead against Thorin's. "Uncle," he finally said, his voice shaking with emotion. "there is nothing to forgive."
Thorin closed his eyes tightly and as they stood there together Thorin knew that he would treasure this moment and his nephew's loyalty in his heart until the end of his days. Then he turned to face his company with Fíli stounding proudly beside him. "One last time." Thorin repeated, shouting the words into the halls and through the stone barricade. The company met his cry and prepared to make their last stand.
Fíli stood with his brother as they exchanged a glance. "Together?" he asked.
"Always." came the reply.
Fíli's only regret as they broke through the barricade and stormed the battlefields was that he had hoped that he might see her face just one last time. But all he had were memories and echoes, and for now that would have to be enough to see him through.
"This was an awful, idiotic idea and I can't believe that you talked me into it." Sigrid grumbled as she Bain and Tilda ascended a nearby mountain, the weak morning winter sun rising above them.
"Don't even try to blame this on me, you know full well that if I hadn't suggested it first you would have had the same idea soon enough." Bain scoffed as he ploughed ahead through the snow.
"And if Sigrid hadn't said it then I'm sure that I would have had the exact same idea later." Tilda added as she trudged on beside Sigrid.
"Anyway,' said Bain, turning to face the way they had come so he could see Dale and Erebor laid out beneath them. "It's not as if we are completely disobeying Da; he said to get away from Dale and that's what we've done, but at least from up here we can know what's happening instead of hiding out in the woods."
Sigrid had to agree. She just hadn't been able to reconcile with leaving her Da and their people behind to face the possibility of death while she went off to safety none the wiser, she just couldn't do it, especially not after how far they had come since Laketown and not after how far she had come. "What is this place that we are heading for called again?" She called out to Bain.
Bain's answering yell drifted back on the wind just as the silhouette of a destitute watchtower emerged from the low hanging clouds. "I think they call it Ravenhill."
In no time the siblings had trekked their way to the tower ruins and from a lower platform they were able to observe the armies of men and elves leave Dale and assemble before the impregnable gates of Erebor.
"Do you truly think they will battle?" Bain asked, turning to as Sigrid as his fingers traced the red feathers in his quiver of arrows.
Sigrid considered the procession bellow. "Honestly Bain, I don't know what to think. On the one hand I know that our people desperately need the promised share of gold if we have any hope of rebuilding in Dale or Laketown. But on the other hand I think I can understand why the dwarves don't want to give it away; they lost their home just like we did, and I can't imagine wanting to give away what they suffered so much to reclaim."
"Well, I think we're about to find out." Bain gestured towards the gates of Erebor where they could just make out two distinct figures, one emitting a faint glow and even at a distance the other figure, although less distinct, she knew to be her Da.
They watched in silence and growing dread at the obvious lack of resolution between the two sides when suddenly Sigrid's eyes caught a movement on a hill opposite theirs. At first it was so small that she dismissed it as insignificant, however almost at once it seemed to grow, expanding out along the top of the hill before she realised what the shape was.
"Bain!" She prodded her brother's shoulder urgently before pointing towards the hill. "Dwarves, it's an army of dwarves!"
Bain's eyes looked out to the east and widened when he saw them. "Erebor won't back down now, not when they have armed support. Where's Tilda she won't want to miss this?"
"I think she was making some sort of snow pile at the bottom of the tower; she said something about a fort." Sigrid lent to peer over the edge of the tower to see to where they had left Tilda but what she saw made her heart stop. Tilda was cowering against the wall while a leering orc advanced towards her, sinister blade in hand, ready to bleed her little sister's life blood upon the ground.
Sigrid didn't stop think about her next move but acting on instinct she leaped from the lower platform onto the cushioning pile of snow bellow. The drop had not been as high as it could have been but it still knocked the wind out of her lungs. There was no time to recover; relying on the advantage of her surprise appearance she managed to roll to the ground, her hands grabbing at the daggers still sheathed at her waist, putting herself between the orc and Tilda.
Sigrid stood her ground, daggers held fast. "Don't even think about it orc."
It blinked, pausing for only a second before it tilted its head and bared its pointed teeth in a snarl, and then it pounced.
Sigrid pushed Tilda aside, dodging the snagging blade like her father had taught her and then whirling so that it was on the outside and unable to defend its wielder. Then she struck, sinking one of her own daggers into its thick, blackened flesh with all her might of her love for her sister. With grim satisfaction she watched the Orc splutter but she didn't see the arm holding the its blade swing back in her direction until it froze an inch from her face as the Orc shuddered and slumped backwards, a red feathered bow sticking out from the top of its head.
Sigrid looked up and saw Bain standing on the platform above, bow still drawn and ready to strike again if the orc showed any sign of life. She didn't spare the carcass another moment before hurriedly turning to her sister, grabbing her shoulders and looking her all over for wounds.
Tilda was trembling. "I'm sorry Sigrid, I panicked; I was alone and I saw it and I-I couldn't do anything." She whimpered.
"Hush now Tilda there is nothing to be sorry for, all that I care about is that you are unharmed." Sigrid pulled her sister into a fierce embrace as Bain came running down the stairs and hurried over to them.
"Are you hurt?" He asked as he threw his arms around them, bow falling limply at his side.
"We are all fine." Sigrid said soothingly into Tilda's hair.
Bain broke away first. "We need to get out of here now." He said and in his eyes Sigrid saw the realization that made her insides turn cold because she knew with dreadful certainty that the orc had not been alone. That meant that not only where the fighters about to be besieged by an army of Orcs but also that there would be a pack of them headed straight for where Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda now stood.
Releasing Tilda, Sigrid thought furiously. It was all well and good to get far away but if the pack found the body of their scout they would start hunting for what had killed it. "Bain, help me move the body out of sight, quickly."
Without hesitation Bain grabbed the orc by its armour, wrinkling his nose at the foul thing while Sigrid and Tilda grabbed its legs.
"We can throw it over the edge?" Bain suggested, peering at the frozen waterfall.
Sigrid nodded. "Good, but let's not get too close ourselves."
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When the gruesome task was done they set off again at speed not a moment too soon with the intention of keeping the armies in sight but putting as much distance as possible between themselves as Ravenhill as possible.
"Where can we go?" Tilda asked, doing her best to keep up as they made they crossed the frozen river onto the other side.
"Anywhere but here. The orcs must be planning on using the tower." Bain answered
They clung to the rocks, peering around them before venturing forward and relying on the remaining veil of the morning mist to cloak them from enemy eyes. They had made it a good distance when the sound of a deep and unfamiliar horn resounded from the battlefield bellow. Dreading what they might see the siblings drew together to peer down the mountain side.
"Erebor! The dwarves of Erebor are joining the fight." Bain pointed to where the gates of Erebor were broken open casting rock and debris aside as thirteen figures charged from its depths.
"No." Sigrid hadn't meant to say it but the word escaped her mouth as an anguished whisper.
Bain and Tilda turned to her, brows furrowed. "Sigrid this is a good thing, they are on our side now, Da needs their help."
Sigrid watched as the dwarves rallied and surged against the orcs. She thought, or maybe she dreaded that one of the gold clad figures at the front of the surge was Fíli and her heart leaped into her stomach.
"Let's keep moving." Bain coaxed but Sigrid ignored him, transfixed. "Sigrid! We can't stop here, it's not safe."
"Don't you get it Bain?" Sigrid said, not tearing her eyes from the battlefield. "Nowhere is safe, everyone is in danger. No matter where we go or what we do there is always danger."
"Sigrid we don't have time for this, there could be more orcs anywhere." Bain pulled her arm.
"But what's the point of running when we can't escape? Why not face whatever it is?"
"The point is that we live! Sigrid please stop this, your scaring Tilda!"
Sigrid turned to Tilda to see that her sister's eyes were indeed fearful. "I don't mean to scare you. I'm not saying that we should go back towards the orcs, what I'm saying is that we have to find a way of warning everyone that they are up there."
"I don't think that's necessary. Look." Tilda pointed and Sigrid and Bain turned to see through the clearing mist that the Orcs had made their prescience at Ravenhill known by erecting a crude and immense structure atop the highest platform.
"They're not doing a very good job of hiding themselves." Tilda scorned.
"I don't think they are trying to hide Tilda." Bain said, relieved at the distraction.
"Why not?" Tilda asked looking up at the structure.
"Because they're using the tower to signal their troop movements, so their leader can direct the battle from up high." Bain explained.
But another reason had occurred to Sigrid and it made the snow feel warm against the sudden chill of her skin. She peered over the side on the mountain again and saw what she dreaded; four figures, four dwarves, assailing the mountain besides them towards Ravenhill. In her heart Sigrid knew Fíli well enough to be sure that he would be amongst the group sent to take down the leader, both because of his skill and because Fíli wouldn't watch others charge into harm's way without doing everything he could to protect them, and for that she realized she loved him.
It wasn't a grand sweeping moment of realisation like those in the tales of old but a quiet and simple awareness of the pure truth in her heart. In that moment she knew she wasn't just grateful to Fíli or simply attracted to him but that they were meant to find each other and never let go because through the tempest of grief and the pain he was her solace and she was his.
Sigrid looked towards the distant silhouetted tower and spoke the words that mangled her heart. "They're not trying to hide it because they want the dwarves to see it, they know they'll come, it's a trap; they're going to kill them."