his exception

chapter thirty-three: arrows

The air was thick with dust and the rank of orc. Clangs and the clash of steel on steel rang around him, and Fíli let his sword fall again, and again, feeling it slice through warg and orc alike, indiscriminate between the two. Around him were unlikely allies; an army of men and elves joining with the dwarves in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain to defeat a common enemy. An alliance, temporary though it was, that had not been seen around these parts in living memory. A shaky alliance, one that would not break through the blood feud between the dwarves and the elves immediately, but serve as a stepping stone to a possible truce.

He had dreamt of this moment. Victory was soon at hand. Fíli could taste it.

Fíli never felt safer or more secure than when Kíli was near. They had never parted, not since the day Kíli was brought into this world and Fíli had made a promise to watch over him during the uncertain times of their childhood. Even now they continued that tradition.

But it was not to last.

A tidal wave of orc was upon them. Fíli and Kíli hacked their way through the latest batch, moving with a dwarf's efficiency. Not too far away was Thorin, whose expression was almost too terrible to behold as his arm moved without mercy, felling orcs and wargs with a single stroke. His enemies, had they been less foolish, would have run away at the sight of the King under the Mountain. To Fíli it gave hope. Thorin was his uncle, his inspiration, a role model to look up to even in the dark of the goblin caves. Thorin was his king.

Fíli turned, ducking under the rough swipe of an orc sword and stabbing his own through the orc's chest. But it felt as though the sword had pierced his own chest. Kíli was no longer beside him. The madness of battle had torn the two brothers apart, and a sea of orc now separated the two. His thoughts all turned to Kíli, his only goal to reach his brother. 'Kíli!' Kíli heard Fíli's voice over the din of combat and his head turned to see his older brother heading towards him. Kíli gave him a great smile. 'For Erebor!' Kíli shouted in a battle cry, thrusting his sword high into the air. Fíli broke through the last orc barriers and staggered to his little brother's side. 'For Erebor,' Fíli agreed with a nod, a little out of breath. 'For Erebor!' both brothers roared, and together, they dove back into the swarm.

Five defeated foes later, and Fíli looked back up to the rock where his uncle was fighting. The orc and warg armies seemed never ending, the two dwarves both felt the strain of battle, and Fíli needed the sight of Thorin to harden his resolve. As long as Thorin was standing, there would still be hope. Thorin was indeed standing – but the hope was tainted. 'Kíli!' Fíli nudged his brother, and Kíli looked up, taking advantage of a brief respite in the attack. Something was wrong. Thorin's blows were growing steadily weaker, and he was leaning heavily to one side. His defences were slackening and his enemies were finding it easier to break through.

'Thorin!' Kíli cried out, and he led Fíli through the armies, pushing aside elves, men, orcs and wargs in an effort to reach his uncle and king. One orc was cut down and another three seemed to take its place. Thorin was king, and every orc was drawn to him, hungry for the glory of being able to claim they slayed the King under the Mountain. Fíli and Kíli stood side-by-side in front of their uncle, weapons moving in a blur, desperate to thin out their foes. Fíli caught sight of his weakened uncle out of the corner of his eyes. Fearing the worst, he cried, 'No!' and his attacks doubled in intensity. If Thorin was to fall, Fíli would be next in line for the throne. But Fíli wasn't ready to be king. He couldn't; he was too young, too inexperienced.

Breathing raggedly, Thorin turned his face up to the sky. He was aching all over; he couldn't seem to remember a time when he hadn't been aching.

An arrow whizzed by his ear out of nowhere, but it wasn't aimed for him. The orc arrow – dark and roughly crafted – seemed to simply appear out of Maethel's leg. The sight of it added a much needed fire to her blood, but only for a second – her wounds were too extensive to sustain a skilled attack, and Maethel suddenly found herself on her back, struggling for air. Her face fell, her arms going limp and her shoulders slumping forward slightly. Fíli, instantly knowing something was wrong, turned to his new friend. "Maethel? Maethel?"

Her vision worsened.

"Maethel? Maethel?" He shouted as he watched her fall to her knees. When she reached her side she looked up at him. His eyes filled with tears, "L-let me find Oin.. he'll fix you up.." Fíli then stood up again, his heart pacing as he frantically turned around in search of his friend. He gave one look back at Maethel who was trying to pull out the arrow.

The orcs were closing around them. They were surrounded. Realistically, Kili knew he should be scared. But it's hard to be when you're hyped up on adrenaline. He had long abandoned his bow and arrows for a sword; everything was in close range. He spun around to face the other way, his back to Fili and Thorin's. He swung his sword in a circle in his hands, like he had all that time ago when he attempted to save Bilbo from the trolls. "Drop him!" He had shouted. They did... On top of him. That was his weakness. He never thought things through and for that he was reckless.

He would give his life for them, there was no question. Secretly, he hoped he'd never have to. That him and his brother would grow old together, and- "Kili!" He snapped out of his daze, seeing an Orc bear down on him. He cried out, but sliced at it and it fell to the ground, dead. He looked around. He could see dwarves fighting the enemy, and the enemies falling dead. His thoughts stopped as he saw the archer. It was aiming at Thorin. At his unguarded back. The arrow was let loose. "No!" He cried, jumping in the way if it's mark, and pulling out his own bow. He nocked an arrow and let it fly, and it hit the archer in the heart... But not before it's own hit Kili in the shoulder. He cried out in pain, but pulled in out with a grimace. Blood was gushing, but it wasn't fatal. At least, he didn't think so.

Kili looked up, searching for more hidden archers. Suddenly, pain tore through his body. He looked down to see an axe sticking out of his stomach. Bolg was on the other end of it, thrusting it deeper into him. He yelled and struck down the Orc, tears of pain streaming down his face. "Kili, NO!" He heard Tauriel cry.

He turned to face the ginger elf, his eyes dazed and glassy. "T-Tauriel...?" He fell to his knees. "Nooo!" Tauriel cried, her heart shattering. "No! Kili!" Suddenly her vision went red and she screamed, striking down every Orc that came within reach. When she got to Kili, she fell down to her knees just in time to catch him before he fell forward.