Well, against my better judgment I'm off to see BOFA again tomorrow. (Grins sheepishly.) Seeing as I know who is going to die and how, and I can't bear to watch it without the proper dose of fanfiction, I wrote this up quickly to speed me on my way.

The question of the ages: How could Fili possibly have been weaponless when the Azog captured him?

He'd stolen his first knife when he was four. Still an infant, with a new baby brother and the harsh words ringing in his ears, "Your father's not coming home." It was Adad's knife he'd snuck under his pillow. He'd felt as though somehow, with his father's spirit attached to the blade, he could protect himself.

The collection slowly grew. A penknife from Dwalin; a butter knife from Bombur, scraped against a rock until it was lethal; a switchblade from Bofur once Fili first learned to whittle; a hunting blade from Thorin. Fili kept all them his pocket, until one day Dis cried out in despair as they clattered out of a jagged slit. Fili had expected a scolding, but instead Thorin led him straight to the forges. Iron hammering began the next morning, and leatherworking in the afternoon to create sheathes for his handiwork.

Fili grew up in the heat and glow of the furnace. Iron bended to his will and swords shaped under his hands, almost as if the metal had waited in anticipation for the right smith to bring forth the elegance of steel blades. Daggers and knives, broad blades and short swords; there was nothing Fili could not create. The weapons he did not sell, he carried with him everywhere. They were his shield; his protection.

He was rather surprised the Elves managed to find so many. Not even Dwalin, fussy mother hen that he was, could pick out every single blade lest Fili roll on them in his sleep. Still, there was always the dagger hidden under the toe of his boot, and his father's blade strapped to his right calf. They hadn't found everything.

Once the dragon was passed and gold coins clinked under his feet, Fili began collecting again. He had no time to create his own swords, but sharp objects there were in plenty. Thin penknives concealed in armor threads. Broadswords he could strap across his back. Knives and daggers and long seax blades, with sheathes for every limb. Shoulders, wrists, ankles, thighs – Fili started to wonder how no one noticed the bulk under his clothes. Only Dwalin 'tched' and began to tap Fili on the head instead of the shoulder, wary that he might clap an unseen blade.

The overprotection came in handy, near the end. Arrows clattered harmlessly off a shield more durable than mesh armor. Knives flicked into Fili's palm as though leaping at the chance to jab out an Orc's eye. Every time he stumbled, every time something went wrong, there was a friend waiting to save his life.

And so when he found himself cornered in the tunnels, and later dangling from the choking grip of the very Orc they had sworn to destroy, Fili only did what came naturally.

He yanked his father's dagger from the right leg sheath and struck.

His arm wrenched in protest at the angle, and the ground rushed to meet him as Azog let out a guttural roar. Icy rock slammed his shoulder and Fili screamed. Dislocation. It could have been death.

Kili's voice was a ragged shout as he grabbed his brother and dragged him under the overhang. Wheezing, reeling, Fili leaned against the wall to catch his breath.

"You're all right, Fili. You're all right, aren't you? No, don't do this. Look at me, Fili. Where are you hurt? What did he do to you?"

"Fine." Breathlessly Fili waved off his brother's fears. "I'm fine."

Sore, aching, with a headache that would crush his skull by evening, but alive. Most of his friends were gone. Fili felt as though he was marching into battle without armor.

"You're sure? Your – your shoulder. Do you want me to…"

Kili gave him no warning before he yanked Fili's arm, forcing it back into position. Fili bit down a scream and buckled down, hissing curses at his brother's impetuousness.

Warm arms wrapped around him and Kili squeezed briefly, touching his forehead to Fili's. "Don't send me away again. Don't ever do that to me."

Feeling stronger, Fili sheepishly nodded. He patted himself down and sighed when he only came up with one thin blade. "Just a knife…"

Rolling his eyes, Kili reached behind his neck and yanked out a broadsword. Fili gaped in disbelief, stupefied as his brother handed it over.

"What?" Kili said contritely. "I learned a few things from my older brother. Come on; let's go finish off that ogre."