This is my first Hobbit fanfiction so any feedback would be appreciated :) Slight spoilers for The Battle of Five Armies.

It shouldn't have come to this.

Fili had been forced to wrestle his way through the crushing mass of goblins that had attacked in a swarm the minute Thorin's injuries had overcome him, as if the dwarven king's cries of defeat were some sort of signal to lure them closer. He'd sliced through warm bodies with malice, edging closer and closer to his uncle in the hopes of reaching him and offering some form of feeble protection. If he failed in that endeavour then he was all too aware that any one of the grotesque creatures nearby could take it upon themselves to finish off the wounded king. That was one thing that the young dwarf could not allow.

Fili was unsure of how long he'd fought the mass – time was relative in the brutality of battle – but the exhaustion that nearly had him keeling over and the fiery aches that wracked his battered body indicated that he'd reached the end of his tether. It was with some relief, then, that the enemy had finally slipped away in defeat as Fili stood over the bodies of many of their allies. He imagined they were now in search of more rewarding prey.

He grit his teeth against the pain as he clambered over the shattered bodies of friend and foe alike, attempting to ignore the gruesome wounds that had robbed so many of life that day. Most had been trampled carelessly into the mud.

However, he was too aware of his own injuries to waste his time pondering the wounds of the dead. An arrow had pierced his left shoulder, the agony that accompanied movement rendering that entire arm useless. Blood trickled slowly down the side of his face from where a dagger had narrowly missed his eye and the rest of his body was wrought with bruises and cuts from sources he'd long forgotten. A flash of shame washed over him as he realised that on the slim chance that his uncle still breathed, he would be of little use to him.

He tensed as a quiet whimper sounded from the pile of surrounding bodies, so faint it could almost be mistaken for the wind. Fili glanced around briefly, seeing only the fallen and several lone wanderers searching for loved ones amongst the dead.

Those who still had the energy to fight carried on the raging battle in the distance, close enough that Fili could hear the screams and see the eagles swooping overhead. However most of his allies were too far away to be of any use to him or his uncle and he had lost sight of his brother long ago. That thought worried him but he crushed any emotions down before they could reach his face. He couldn't afford to entertain the possibility that harm had come to Kili.

Instead he kept his guard up and edged carefully towards his wounded king, hoping that he would not be forced to defend him alone. He was now aware that smaller groups of goblins and orcs still lingered nearby and only having one good arm to fight with was hardly an advantage on Fili's part.

The pained whimper rang out again, practically ringing around Fili's head despite how quiet it had been. How pathetic. He held his sword tightly and headed in the direction of the sound as quickly as he dared. He silently hoped that it was simply his imagination or the agonised cries of a dying enemy, one he could easily finish off without consequence should he feel kind enough. However there was an icy dread creeping into his heart and a familiarity in the creature's voice that disturbed Fili too much to be truly ignored.

The icy grip around his chest only intensified as the wounded creature finally summoned the strength for a choked cry, one that had probably required more effort than it should have done.

"Fili!"

This time he ran.

Fili hadn't allowed himself to comprehend this. He had admittedly been all too aware of his own mortality and had spent the past few days preparing himself for his own fate in this battle, growing cold to the idea that it could mean his death. He was even somewhat prepared for the possibility that his seemingly invincible uncle could come to harm, resigning himself to the fact that should such a thing happen he would gladly die defending his king.

However, even as he had sat by his little brother's side and braided his hair in preparation for the oncoming battle - after laughing at the younger's feeble efforts and offering to show him how to do them properly - he had always planned for Kili to survive. He'd reassured his brother every time a small flicker of fear and unease was betrayed in his dark eyes. He'd refused to believe that Kili's fears were in any way justified. After all, he'd told himself ever since his baby brother had first been a small bundle sleeping in his arms that he would never let any harm come to him. Today was not supposed to be an exception.

The cries had halted but Fili continued to search, taking in the faces of the bodies he'd tried so desperately to ignore earlier. Mutilated corpses with distorted features stared back and Fili could feel bile rising in his throat. As he looked for any sign of his brother he continued trying – with little success – to reassure himself that Kili would be safe. Fili would find him and take him away from harm. The alternative was not an option.

After what felt like hours his eyes fell upon a familiar bow, beside which lay a small, curled up figure. Fili raced towards his brother, ignoring the screaming protests from his legs, and collapsed onto the wet mud beside him. Wary of any wounds Kili may have, he gently rolled him onto his back and prayed to every deity he could think of that his brother would be alive.

The gods refused to listen.

A choked sob escaped Fili as he saw the extent of damage dealt to his sibling, his hands ghosting over the arrows that had embedded themselves deeply in his chest and abdomen staining his clothes with warm sticky blood. Pale, sightless eyes that should have housed a bright twinkle stared accusingly up at Fili, the ghost of pain still lingering on pale features. A painful reminder that the elder had been far too late.

Smothering any broken words or sobs that he desperately wished to release, Fili gently closed his brother's dark eyes and brushed a tattered braid behind his ear. If he ignored the overwhelming guilt that had washed over him and the caked mud that marred Kili's face and hair he could almost convince himself that his brother was resting, as he had done so often under the stars this past year and during their too-brief childhood. Almost.

However Fili knew he could do no more, and any motivation to fight had abandoned him long ago. He was vaguely aware of a quickly approaching mass of goblins who seemed to have labelled him as an easy target. He could feel no fear at their presence though, nor any relief as he saw Beorn carry his wounded uncle to their castle; their home, or what should have been. Fili had, at least, been successful in defending Thorin but he could feel no sense of achievement over this. The emptiness that had overcome him drowned out everything else.

In different circumstances, he supposed, he would have used this opportunity to take his sword and charge towards the advancing enemy. He would have slayed as many as was humanely possible before falling valiantly and with honour, as many of his race had done before him.

Instead, he planted a light kiss to Kili's forehead and waited patiently for death to return him to the arms of his brother.