A/N I seem to only be able to come up with depressing ideas when it comes to fanfiction. One day I'll write something happy... As always feedback of any kind is appreciated and I hope you enjoy :)

Disclaimer : I do not own The Hobbit. If I did it wouldn't be nearly as well written.

Thorin was never one for regrets. To regret something, in his mind, implied that he was expected to torture himself over his past mistakes -regardless of how insignificant they may have been in the long run - without ever actually acting in order to repair them. There was very little point in wandering a lost path in his memories only to stumble over every little wrong-doing or misjudgement he came across. Thorin was well aware that he had made several mistakes in his long life. However, very few of these had been grave enough to continue to haunt him.

Despite these notions, at this particular moment he experienced regret of an intensity that was almost tangible. Pain flared angrily from an arrow's head imbedded in his side and the aftershocks of every other beating he'd endured in this bloody battle, but his own injuries were no longer of any importance. His wounds were a mere nuisance compared to the tightness in his chest as he finally acknowledged just how dreadfully misguided he'd been all those months ago when he'd thought requesting the aid of his nephews had been a good idea. It was far too late for such thoughts now - he could hardly expect to fix anything. If, under some miraculous circumstances, he managed to escape this battlefield with his life then the only thing he could possibly look forward to was the need to seek his sister's forgiveness.

He doubted he'd ever receive it. He was unworthy of such a kindness.

Thorin glanced at the figure leaning heavily against his side and gathered his wounded nephew closer to him as if such actions could possibly prolong the boy's life. Kili only whimpered pathetically in response, his head lolling and the hand that should have been trying to staunch the blood pouring from his stomach falling limply to the ground. Thorin quickly replaced it with his own hand and instantly felt the sluggish flow of blood seep past his grubby fingers. His only reassurance in this moment was the fact that he could still feel the slight rise and fall of his youngest heir's chest.

This was his own fault, all of it. Had his unhealthy obsession with gold and the need to reclaim his rightful home not brought him this far then perhaps none of this bloodshed would have come to pass. Perhaps he would not have been struck by an enemy's arrow and fallen with his role in the battle now completely worthless. Perhaps he would not have seen the paralysing fear cross the faces of both his nephews as they rushed to his aid and began defending him out of a loyalty he'd helped plant in their minds when they were just children. And perhaps he would not have been forced to watch idly as an orc's blade impaled Kili's stomach and witness the subsequent anger in Fili's eyes as he'd beheaded his brother's attacker and rushed headlong into a group of enemies, gripped in a rage – induced frenzy, and he too was cut down.

Thorin had never before experienced such helplessness. He'd tried desperately to raise himself to his feet in order to defend his nephews instead of it being the other way round but he could no longer move his legs, let alone fight. In fact he could do nothing but cry out in grief as he watched his young heirs fall before his eyes.

Kili had dragged himself through the mud and scattered bodies to reach his uncle's side in a last ditch attempt to guard his wounded king but the seriousness of his own injury had quickly become evident and these roles had reversed; Thorin now holding his nephew by his side while Orcrist lay nearby should he be forced to use it.

The younger dwarf seemed oblivious to his elder brother's fate and Thorin had every intention of keeping it that way. If the blurred haze caused by blood loss was causing Kili to lose sight of the horrors surrounding him then perhaps that was kinder than being forced to face the grief that the loss of Fili would ignite. This was the only comfort the dwarven king could possibly offer, especially as it was taking every ounce of his self-control to not scream out in rage.

Thorin instantly grew more alert as his nephew stirred slightly in his arms, his breaths now worryingly strained. He could practically feel every weak inhale rattling in Kili's chest. Thorin hushed the boy as soothingly as he could, stroking his tangled hair as he had done many a time when his nephew had been overcome by illness in his childhood. Kili's head raised in response to his uncle's actions and glassy, unfocused eyes found Thorin's face. With a voice that seemed barely recognisable as his own, he eventually managed to choke out a broken "Uncle?"

Thorin met his gaze with a weak smile, the pain from his own wounds forgotten for the moment as his instincts as an uncle rose to the surface. "I'm here. It's alright now."

Kili's eyes fluttered, and Thorin wondered for an agonising moment if he was going to be forced to watch yet another of his loved ones leave him behind, but the boy's head shifted to rest on his shoulder and he could just see two pale brown eyes gazing out at the now seemingly desolate battlefield before them. "Fili? Where… where is he?" Kili's breast heaved with each forced word and it seemed that only a silent determination allowed him to utter so much as a syllable.

"He is safe." Thorin's heart clenched at the lie but he refused to cause Kili anymore pain than was necessary. "He's probably waiting for you." That, admittedly, was not so great a lie.

Kili nodded in acknowledgment of his uncle's words and Thorin froze as his nephew began to go limp by his side with only a strangled wheeze reassuring him that the boy was still there. He pressed harder against the still bleeding wound, the resulting pain causing Kili to hiss, but it was becoming evident that there was little he could do to stop the flow. He required a healer's knowledge in that field, whether they be dwarvish or elvish, but there was nobody in sight to bring him aid. No allies at least.

Kili was silent for a while, his eyes still scanning his surroundings without ever really taking anything in, before a quiet sob ripped itself from his chest – one that seemed to carry the weight of his entire soul. "I failed…"

"No, Kili, you did not." And, true enough, Kili had only ever done exactly as he'd been trained. He'd fought and slain many of their enemies and, when sheer necessity had demanded it, his loyalty had forced him to become a living shield for his king.

The failure here had been Thorin's alone. He'd expected too much of his nephews and it had been a cruel act to drag them on this quest in the first place. He knew he'd have regretted it if he had let them stay behind, but that would have been nothing compared to his regret of taking them at all.

"You deserve nothing but my pride," he admitted finally, barely able to keep his own emotions intact as he did so.

Kili's response was a cruel reminder that Thorin should have told him this long before now, and often at that. Despite the pain and the young dwarf's incredibly weakened state, he still managed a wide smile and his whole face lit up with a childish joy that had been noticeably missing as of late. "Really?"

Thorin nodded and somehow managed a smile of his own. Kili's joy had always been contagious, however in this situation such happiness seemed so out of place that Thorin almost felt the need to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. The moment dissipated quickly enough though as Kili's eyes slid shut again, his breathing now barely detectable. Thorin wondered how long his nephew had been able to hold on – it had felt like hours since he'd watched his nephew be struck but it could barely have been minutes – and whether he was still capable of fighting the lingering presence of death that had been lurking in the background since the battle began.

Thorin clutched his nephew closer still, almost crushingly so, and it occurred to him that Fili had not received such forms of comfort as he'd fallen. This was the one realisation that seemed to have the potential to destroy him.

"I have always been proud of you, my nephew." Thorin was compensating now and he knew it; he was saying all that should have been said a hundred times before, but that he had been far too stubborn to express. That, it seemed, was yet another regret to add to his now overflowing pile.

His attention was drawn briefly to a scouting group headed in their direction and with overwhelming relief, he realised that it was comprised of his fellow dwarves. At long last, help was coming. A quick gripe of 'took them long enough' flitted through his mind but he cast it aside for the time being. Such complaints would be meaningless given how grateful he was to see some form of aid within his reach.

"Kili-" Thorin shifted to look at his nephew properly before a cold, icy dread clawed at his heart. Kili's body had grown slack and his face had relaxed as if in sleep but Thorin knew better than to hope that this was the case. Kili was too silent for that; his chest had stilled and the wound on his abdomen had finally ceased bleeding. Even as his calm expression betrayed a sense of peace, Thorin knew that his youngest nephew had died in his arms.

He was surprised to find that the crippling grief he'd expected never attacked but with no-one left to protect, and therefore distract him, his own injuries began to flare up once more. It was only now that the direness of his own situation made itself known.

Thorin found that he did not care enough. Death would be a welcome gift compared with the prospect of carrying the weight of his nephews' souls on his back for the remainder of his life and being forced to face Dis after he'd given her his word that her boys would be safe in his care. His only solace was the knowledge that Kili had not been forced to die alone, and even Fili had not had long to wait before he was reunited with his other half.

Thorin wondered if, whether his time arrived in seconds or in years, his nephews could possibly forgive him for taking them to their deaths. That was if he even deserved to be forgiven after he'd witnessed how the quest had twisted and warped the two boys, to the extent that Fili's rage at his brother being wounded had ignited fright in even the mighty Thorin. He suspected that he did not, although that did not mean he would never be granted it. His nephews had always been capable of surprising him.

However, his last conscious thought before the scouting group reached his side and the vaguely recognisable voice of Bofur piped up in the background, was that his nephew's forgiveness would hardly matter in the end when he knew that he could never forgive himself.