This was it. Fíli had spent many nights in his life listening to the legend of how Thorin, the young Dwarven prince, had proved himself as a leader in battle; how the vision of him wielding nought but an oaken branch against the Defiler had inspired the battle weary dwarves to victory. Now it would be Fíli's turn to forge a legacy in defence of those he loved, to prove to his people, and to himself, that he was worthy of being a son of Durin.
They were nearly there and as he, Kíli, Thorin, and Dwalin ascended Ravenhill astride Dain's battle rams Fíli could see the derelict watchtower set against the sky, ominous statues of ravens guarding its highest platforms. But despite what awaited them at their destination Fíli had never felt surer of their course. He knew the plan, there had been no need to discuss it; Thorin and Dwalin would engage the orcs from the front and Kíli and Fíli would follow from the sides. It was just how they were supposed to be; charging forward with the raw strength of the Dwarves but ensuring that they protected each other's back; warriors and family as one, everything was as it should be.
The sure-footed ram leapt from stone plinth to stone plinth taking Fíli higher above the others. As he got closer and heard the clash of the first swords he hooked his feet behind the ram's armour, freeing his hands to grip his twin blades tightly. Then as the ram leapt from above and into the fray Fíli unhooked his feet, diving into a roll and using that momentum to plunge his swords straight through an advancing orc before he came to stand completely upright, ready and eager to face the next opponent.
He slashed, swung, and hacked at the orcs, working in tandem with his brother as if they were of the same mind; where Kíli struck high Fíli struck low, when Fíli blocked Kíli attacked. Together they were no match for the orcs and with Dwalin and Thorin at their side they had soon littered the ground with the bodies of the enemy. With a final hack the brothers brought down the last orc on the landing and Fíli looked around anticipating a counter attack but all was still and quiet, there was not a living orc in sight.
He turned to Thorin for direction but Thorin's eyes were locked on tower of Ravenhill, scouring every crevice and landing in sight, however Azog was nowhere to be seen. "Where is he?"
The other's followed Thorin's gaze. "It looks empty. Do you think Azog has fled?" Kíli wondered optimistically.
But Thorin knew better. He knew with absolute certainty that Azog was not finished with the line of Durin because he himself was only too familiar with the pull of the manic obsession that had driven the Pale Orc to pursue him across the lands. "I don't think so." Thorin turned to face his nephews. "Fíli, take your brother, scout out the towers. Keep low and out of sight, if you see something report back, do not engage. Do you understand?"
Fíli nodded solemnly, recognising the responsibility and trust Thorin was placing in him and proudly determined to fulfil it.
Before more words could be exchanged Dwalin returned from the upper landing. "We have company." He growled. "Goblin mercenaries. No more than a hundred."
They turned to see that sure enough, goblins were clambering over the decaying debris of Ravenhill and scuttling towards them.
Fíli and Kíli stepped forwards to stand with their uncle but Thorin held out a hand. "We'll take care of them, go!" He urged and they did as he said.
As the brothers crept across the frozen lake and towards the tower ruins Fíli could not shake the unease that seeped from the air and into his bones. Surely Azog would not slink back into the shadows again, not when the battle was his to win? But, if they could just catch a glimpse of his location then they could get the upper hand. The brothers kept moving stealthily forwards, keeping low should they needed to make a swift escape.
The wind seemed to whistle through the tower, and Fíli had the eerie notion that it was the whispers of spirits. He pushed the thought away. Now was the time to do his duty not allow misgivings to get the better of him.
They ascended the first flight of stairs to the lowest platform of the main tower, the wind now howling through the open space, crying out in the forgotten language of the earth and sky for the brothers to turn back, but they only moved deeper into the ruins.
Then they heard it; a noise from above; small enough to not yet send them back to Thorin but loud enough to demand exploration. As the wind's cries intensified Kíli squared his shoulders and stepped forwards, sword at the ready.
Perhaps a deeper part of him heard the warning cries or perhaps it was simply the irrepressible, instinctual need to protect his brother from harm but Fíli threw out a hand and held Kíli back.
"Stay here, search the lower levels." He whispered. Kíli looked hesitant. "I've got this." Fíli added reassuringly both to himself and to Kíli who nodded, trusting in the tactical wisdom in his older brother's words and turned to follow the direction.
Fíli felt his heat quicken and sensed the memory of her hands in his as he squeezed them tight, stepped forwards towards the tower stairs.
It wasn't until he had reached highest platform of the tower that he heard the definite sounds of orcs. He could hear many feet marching to the pulse of deep drums and saw firelight flicked of the walls in all directions, cutting of his only exit. Fíli felt his mouth go dry, his pulse quickened as he fought off the panic that threatened to cloud his mind. He turned to find Kíli and report back to Thorin but he knew with dreadful certainty that he had walked straight into a trap. He turned, frantically searching the walls around him for gap to slip through so he could warn the others, but no sooner had he begun he felt a sharp pressure in the centre of his back and froze, realizing with mounting terror that he was caught with no way out and nobody to help him.
If this was how it was to end, Fíli thought with grim determination, the least he could do would be to try and take some of them down with him. He knew he couldn't reach any of the blades sheathed at his back and he wouldn't be able to access the axes at his boots but he was nothing if not armed. Feeling the knife point in his back Fíli spread his arms wide in apparent surrender but as soon as he felt the pressure lessen slightly he moved his arms swiftly backwards, making sharp contact with his opponent's arm and forcing the blade away from his back, thrusting his elbow into the assailant's face before whirling around and pulling the blades from their sheaths at his arms.
What he saw then made his blood run cold. The snarling orc he had knocked aside was clambering back to its feet but that was the least of his problems; he was surrounded and utterly outnumbered. A dozen or more orcs were encircling him and at the front towered their monstrous leader; an Orc so pale he seemed translucent, an Orc with a crude blade in place of a forearm and Fíli recognized Azog the Defiler. He didn't have a chance of fighting back.
"Drop it or we kill your brother first." The pale Orc growled, his mouth twisting in a cruel and victorious leer.
Fruitlessly calculating, Fíli let his daggers clatter loudly to the floor, hoping the sound would alert Kíli that something was dreadfully wrong but over the howling of the wind Kíli heard nothing from above.
The deep drums pulsed louder as Azog dragged him towards the platform and Fíli was certain now that the others would hear it and with awful clarity he realized that Azog intended to slaughter him so that Thorin could watch; could see the death of his line and the fate that awaited him.
When they came into sight of the lower landing Fíli saw Thorin with Dwalin and, to his surprise, Bilbo. He watched them gasp in horror as Azog hoisted him into the air, dangling him above the ground many feet below like garbage. But somewhere in the terror of his imminent death Fíli was grateful that he could not see Kíli; that his brother was not there to watch him die.
So this was it, these were to be his final moments on earth and as Azog proclaimed his vengeance on Thorin and Fíli accepted his fate he could think only of those he loved.
"Go!" He yelled urgently to Thorin, hoping that if he couldn't do his duty to stand by Thorin in life then at least by his death he might give his family time to escape. But Thorin would not leave; he would not let his beloved nephew die alone, even if the only comfort he could give was to look into the terrified but determined blue eyes and desperately hope that his own spoke the words that time would not grant.
Fíli sensed Azog draw back his bladed arm to end his life and with his last breath he screamed for Thorin to run, silently begging him to find Kíli and to keep him safe; to complete the task he had failed and return. And as he felt his death drawing closer he saw her face; Sigrid's beautiful face before his, felt her intoxicating soul reach his through its soft grey windows and felt the squeeze of her hand in his; a goddess ready to lead him on to the heavens. He didn't want to leave this world yet, he wasn't ready, and not when there was so much he hadn't said, so much he hadn't told her, so much he hadn't done…
And then there was a whistling through the air, he heard a cry of pained outrage and before he knew what was happening he felt the hand that held him up release and then Fíli plummeted to the ground below. Fíli had just enough time to register that it must have been Kíli who had shot the Pale Orc's hand before he crashed into the ground and the world faded into black nothingness.
-―――――-
"Fíli!" An urgent voice drifted to him through his dark haze, like a torch eating the darkness of a cave he mused dreamily.
"Fíli please, you have to wake up!" The voice called more urgently this time, it was a soft voice he rather thought, a voice made of the blazing dawn and morning dew; he knew that voice. He started fighting the haze but it was like lifting endless layers of thick, heavy cobwebs.
He thought he felt a hand caress his face, roughened to touch yet tender in gesture and Fíli's conscious mind clung to it like an anchor and with great exertion he managed to drag himself from the depths of the darkness. He opened his eyes.
Sigrid knelt over him, her hair tumbling free from its confines and her breathtaking face twisted in concern. "Don't you dare close your eyes again, come on Fíli stay with me." She said fiercely, her hand still at his cheek.
"Sigrid?" He said, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. He felt the tantalising weight darkness pull at his eyelids and he struggled to keep them open.
"Yes. I'm right here. You're going to be alright."
Fíli looked wonderingly up into her eyes. "Why are you always saving me?"
He could almost feel her breath on his face, her voice barely more than a whisper, she felt so real. "Because you showed me how to save myself and I'm not ready to let you go."
He groaned as he tried to lift his head but found that it also was entirely too heavy. A dulled pain throbbed in his back and legs and with the feeling of dampness around him he came to understand that his fall had been broken by a rather large mound of snow at the base of the tower. The cold began to chase away the haze and slowly he realized that it would be impossible her to truly be there and that either he was dead and dreaming or the fall had knocked his mind around and he was awake and seeing visions.
As he blinked again the world shifted further into sharper focus and the clashing sounds of metal reached to his ears, and although he knew little of death he was positive that that sound was not a part of the other worlds. He sat bolt upright, the terror of his heart pushing aside any of the lingering darkness. Kíli, Thorin, and Dwalin. They were in danger if not already dead.
Imaginary Sigrid opened her mouth to speak.
"Kíli!" He heard another voice cry out from far away. How strange that he should hear the she-elf's voice in his imagination.
"Tauriel!" This time he knew he had not imagined it and he jumped his feet. Imaginary Sigrid drew backwards in alarm at this sudden movement.
"What are you doing?" She asked, watching as he patted himself down until his fingers found what they searched for and he produced another weapon from the lining of his coat.
"What I should have done before; I'm going to save my brother."
Imaginary Sigrid nodded, almost knowingly Fíli thought, but then of course she nodded knowingly, she was a part of him.
"Be safe." She whispered, squeezing his hand. She felt so real, so alive.
Fíli squeezed her hand back and without another word he turned to chase the sounds of clashing swords. But he looked back at the last second, sure that if she was by some miracle the real Sigrid that she would be standing where he had left her, but alas there was not a trace of the fierce golden haired human and Fíli turned away again, wishing more than anything that she had been real.
He could hear Kíli's fierce cry of exertion and charged onwards, ignoring the sharpening pain in his back and leg as he leap up steps and flew through passageways, following the trail of bodies and the clash of metal that rung through the air.
As he rounded a bend he saw him; Kíli held up by the throat, Bolg raising a pointed mace above his chest, ready to bury it in his brother's heart.
With a cry of rage Fíli leap from the rocks above, diving at the mace rather than at Bolg in a desperate to get it away from Kíli's chest. The force of his attack dragged the sharp point away from Kíli and out of Bolg's hands and the Orc seemed to freeze in shock at the sudden appearance of the golden haired prince.
Fíli and the mace clattered to the stone floor as all those in the vicinity froze; Bolg, Kíli, and Tauriel, staring at Fíli as he kicked the mace over the edge of the rocks and twirled his own weapon in hand.
"Release my brother now Orc scum!"
Bolg blinked and then threw Kíli aside who grunted as he landed while Bolg stalked towards the golden haired dwarf, raising his monstrous fist to strike.
Fíli struck first. Anticipating Bolg's aim he stepped sideways at the last second and as the orc lurched forwards into the now empty space Fíli struck him from the side, hacking into the orc's shoulder.
Bolg bellowed in rage, clutching his shoulder as fowl black blood oozed from the gash. Then with a cry of rage the orc used his uninjured arm to make a sweeping motion that was supposed to knock the golden haired dwarf off his feet but the arm never made contact before it to was sliced, this time by the raven haired dwarf and the two brothers advanced upon the orc. Bolg staggered to his feet facing away from precipice, unarmed and injured but still deadly. He never saw it coming; as the two dwarves charged forward blades in hand Bolg stepped backwards with the intention of bracing himself but a swift kick to his leg from behind unbalanced him and he teetered on the edge for a moment before a final kick from the she-elf sent him plummeting over the edge of the rock face.
As they stood near the edge Kíli turned to the panting figure of his brother and nearly crushed him in a fierce embrace. "We thought you were dead." he thickly said into his brother's hair.
Fíli winced but embraced Kíli just as tightly. "Not yet little brother, I belong here with you."
Kíli released his brother, holding him at arm's length to look him up and down incredulously. "But you fell so far and you did not move."
"I was knocked out but landed on a well-placed pile of snow." Fíli shrugged. "But I should be thanking you, if you hadn't sho Azog in the hand I would have been far worse off."
"Fíli," Kíli looked at him bewildered. "What are you talking about; I do not have my bow, how could I have shot Azog? I thought he just let you fall?"
Fíli frowned and then turned to Tauriel who had approached them cautiously. "Was it you, Tauriel?" He asked, using her name for the first time.
She shook her head mournfully. "I also do not have my bow."
Fíli looked around as if hoping he might spot his saviour nearby, but all was empty. "Who-" his question was cut off by the distant sounds of battle and Fíli recognized the guttural cried of Thorin amongst the clash of metal.
He turned to his broth. "We must go to him." He turned back to Tauriel. "Will you come with us?" He heard Kíli's intake of breath beside him.
Tauriel smiled softly, taking Kíli's hand in her own. "I wouldn't be anywhere else." Kíli beamed and pressed his lips to her hand.
Fíli could have rolled his eyes; he could have dragged his brother away from the elf and advised him to forget her for their sakes and for Thorin's, but the sight of his brother's joy softened his prejudices. These two would face an onslaught of opposition to their union and if all they could manage was a few moments of bliss who was he to deny them? After all, he thought as he watched Tauriel pull her hand away to press a fierce kiss to Kíli's lips, love was not something to be contained or stifled, especially when time was mercilessly mortal.
By time they had reached Thorin it was too late to assist. Thorin stood on the frozen water watching as the body of Azog drifted along with the current and the Eagles flew overhead to vanquish the orcs on the battlefield. They raced toward him.
"Thorin!" Kíli called out, overjoyed to see their uncle alive and unharmed. Thorin lifted his head and gasped at the sight of Fíli sprinting towards him. He had just turned to meet his nephews when Azog's blade broke through the ice, piercing Thorin's foot and pinning him where he stood.
Fíli's joy turned to terror in his mouth. "Thorin!" he cried out just as the Pale Orc broke through the ice.
Azog now stood above the pinioned Thorin and drove the blade towards his chest but Thorin raised his own weapon just in time so that it held death at bay, straining with all his might to keep the blade from plunging into his chest.
They were locked in place, Azog's blade unable to move against the dwarf's strength and Thorin unable to do any more than he did now. Thorin looked into the cold blue eyes of the pale Orc and knew as he had known before that Azog would not give up, not until all of Durin's line was dead or else he was defeated. Thorin knew what he had to do. If it meant that his nephews and the rest if his kin could live in peace then it would be worth it. This would be his redemption.
"No!" from the right charged Fíli and Kíli, both screaming in hate and love as they brandished their swords.
The orc had no choice; he reluctantly withdrew his blade from Thorin's to defend himself against the princes of Durin.
These two worked together and began to move slowly as if to the opposite sides of an invisible circle that surrounded the orc, opening up the space so that Azog had a greater area to defend and more time in-between blows. Even with his monstrous size they were weakening the orc's capacity to attack as he continued to turn between the two.
Thorin drew himself up from the ground. He did not notice the pain of his foot or feel the warmth spilling from his boot onto the ice with each step forwards but he came to stand halfway between his two nephews as Azog turned from one to the other, barely making it in time to block the next blow. He did not wait this time, not even to watch as the Pale Orc's cold blue eyes widen in shock. With a great bellow Thorin swung his blade through the air and the orc's head thudded to the ground, Azog the Defiler was dead.
"Fíli?" Thorin turned and staggered towards him.
Fíli himself felt light headed, succumbing to the suppressed consequences of his fall but he embraced his uncle.
"How?" Thorin asked as he held himself up on Fíli's shoulder.
"Never mind that now uncle, let's get you to a healer!" Fíli ordered, trying to fight of the growing throbbing in his head.
Thorin smiled tiredly. "No. I said that you would make a great king one day, but today I am still your uncle and I give the orders; no healers."
Fíli put a hand to his head, half in exasperation and half to stem the painful thudding. "Whether you are my uncle or my king I am still your nephew and your heir and you will do as I say before you force me to become king."
Kíli sighed. "If you both keep it up I'm going to be the only king left around here. You're both going to the healers and that's final."
In all honesty the two older Durin's didn't have much say in the matter and were soon borne away from the frozen river, still under muttered protest, to the healing tents that were being set up on the body strewn battlefield below.
-―――――-
It was a day later when Fíli returned to the tower of Ravenhill but only after much sleep and then insisting that Oin's ministrations would do more good elsewhere.
He gingerly climbed the stairs once again, glad that the cries of the wind had ceased and shuddered as he stood atop the highest platform, thinking that only yesterday he had looked down from here and accepted his death. When he turned from the precipice he scoured the stone floor until his eyes caught a flash of silver and red in a corner. Kneeling down he lifted up the two halves of the arrow that had saved his life and examined them. Fíli had never seen another like it; it had etchings along its silver body all the way from the red feathered end to the sleekly twisted head. He took the two halves and carried them over to the edge. Taking the head stained in the blood of the Defiler he cast it from the edge and watched it fall out if sight but with the feathered end he bent down and pulled at a lace from his boot, tying it around the arrow so that it hung like a pendant. Fíli would wear it always as a reminder how short life truly was and as he ran his fingers over the crimson feathers he vowed to find the archer who had saved his life and to never rest until he had succeeded.
AN:
Voilà!
Although everyone livesin my less traumatic version of the BOFA I think that it is still very important to remember that through the tragedy of these characters Tolkien challenged us ask ourselves if the cost of war really worth the prize.
Thank you for your continued interest in this story, it means more than you will ever know! As ever please let me know what you thought, all constructive criticism is welcome.
As for what is going to happen next...In the words of Frank Sinatra: "The best is yet to come."