Disclaimer: I claim or own nothing. It all belongs to J.R.R Tolkien.
It was a simple sound.
A single, shattered word uttered from the lips of despair. Complete and absolute despair melted into Fíli's bones and it became him.
Thorin, Fíli shouted, and he shouted with all of his fear, and all of his might, hoping somehow the sound of his voice might be enough to save him. Fíli used his voice, when Kíli was unable to find his, and shouted for the two of them. He shouted, hoping his feeble, weak little voice might be enough to give Thorin the strength to survive.
The line of Durin were not bred to be survivors, or warriors, for it was already in their blood. They were born warriors, with loyal hearts and courageous souls, willing to sacrifice all for family. Yet, Kíli did not feel courageous for he could not muster a single word. He could do naught but stare at the King Under the Mountain, who lay broken and beaten in the claws of the great, majestic eagle that soared steadily in the sky.
Kíli was weakened, he was fading slowly, but somehow he found the strength to fight, like Fíli would urge him to, like he knew Thorin would be.
The line of Durin would not be so easily broken, Kíli heard in his head. He repeated these few words like a verse, or a curse, until they sunk in and there was no escape. The line of Durin would not be broken today, he retold himself, but there was a dark feeling he was unable to shake. As hard as Kíli fought, there was a reoccurring thought in his mind. A cruel, dark voice haunting his mind. The fight was worthless, for the inevitable was coming, and it wanted to take him.
Oozing, dark, hot blood spilled from the ripped flesh of his body. Kíli had been torn, he had been broken and weakened from the attack, but he was still determined to fight this, to not let this be his end.
Cool, gentle winds almost washed away his resolve. Kíli felt the winds as they brushed over him, and they were beckoning to him, calling to him with soft, sweet voices. Close your eyes, they said, and he was ever so inclined to listen, to close his tired eyes and allow these great, calming waves to wash him away and take him from the world of the living, the world of the broken and the haunted. The world of the living that was rarely kind, that destroyed lives and tore away kingdoms.
But Kíli refused to leave this mad, cruel word because there was still good to be found in it. He refused to float away with the wind, or descend beneath the cool water, for the sound of Fíli's cries, and the sight of Thorin's body, kept him here.
Thorin, Fíli begged, his painful cries echoing through the air, and it was as though there was not another sound in existence, not another word to be said or name to be called. It was like the world around them had frozen and all that had previously existed had faltered in this dark moment of fear, and all that mattered was Thorin. Kíli could have said a word, but they failed him once more, and he was unwilling to draw the attention to himself when his only concern laid with his uncle.
Waves of time float by, with little attention being focused on where it is they were being taken to. The great, golden birds settled those they carried down eventually. Thorin is carefully laid to rest, followed next by Gandalf who runs to his side and kneels on the hard ground beside him. Silence. It surrounded them all, leaving them frightened. Not a single word, because words wouldn't be enough, because not a soul here has a word to say or a cry to make.
Kíli's memory failed him, and he was unable to recall how he came off the back of the eagle to be standing on the ground. He failed to recall how exactly his feet led him forth, to the place where they are now firmly settled on the ground. Even if he had wanted to step forward, he couldn't. He was unsteady on his feet, and struggled to understand how his wounded body was allowing him to stand. Kíli's only thoughts were of the sight before his eyes.
The line of Durin would not be so easily broken, Kíli promised himself, and it was at that moment that Thorin's eyes opened and a small gasp of air escaped his lips.
"The Halfling?" he asked, but his voice was nothing but a whisper.
Gandalf caught his words and spoke. "Bilbo is here, he's quite safe."
Relief flooded over the company, as Thorin struggled to his feet.
Without a thought, Kíli stepped forward just as Dwalin did. The two gripped Thorin's arms steadily, and assisted him in standing firmly on the ground he had, only moments earlier, laid dead upon. But Thorin was not one to stay weakened for long, or rely on others. He shoved their hands back forcefully, a low grunt escaped his lips as he drew his eyes upwards to Bilbo, who stood uncertainly before them all.
Kíli caught only fragments of words.
You nearly got yourself killed, Thorin hissed, and as much as Kíli had wanted to defend Bilbo's bravery he could not find his words. I have never been so wrong. And suddenly, Kíli smiled. He smiled at the simple sight, of Bilbo being embraced by Thorin, and then it didn't feel so bad. The idea of the wind lulling him to a dark, peaceful sleep was no longer such a terrible thought when he caught sight of Fíli smiling.
Fíli was basking in the soft, iridescent, golden light that fell gently upon all of them, and it was here, in this moment, that Kíli realised a truth; The line of Durin would not be so easily broken, for Fíli and Thorin would continue it, with the bravery and strength which they carried in their hearts.
These hearts would lead them all to the home he had never known, the home that was here, before his eyes. The lonely mountain. It stood in the distance, a far away symbol of all that they had lost and all that they continued to fight for. Erebor was their weakness and strength all at once. It was once the home of their people, and it would be once more.
Kíli felt cold as the waves rushed over his body.
Icy, peaceful waves soaked into his skin and it was like he was paralysed with fear. Fear of the end, of the pain and the darkness, of the loss of light and of his Fíli. Blackness became him. It fell over him, lured him in, and caused him to collapse to the darkness, and finally give in to the pain.
I don't know what sparked this idea..It was originally planned to be a one-shot, but before I knew it I had finished a few more chapters. All you have to know, for this story, is that in the orc attack at the end of the film Kíli was able to get down from the tree, and so he was involved in the battle and ultimately injured as a result of it...Anyway, if you'd like to read more then let me know..
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.