He was alive, and it was wrong.

How he had survived he did not know; from what he had heard one of the men from Lake Town had noticed that he was still alive as they found him, lying next to his brother who had already passed to the Halls of Mahal.

He was alive, while his older brother and his uncle had both fallen, and he would do anything to change that. This was wrong; he was supposed to be the irresponsible younger brother to Fíli, Thorin Oakenshield's heir, and when, in hopefully many years, Fíli became king, he would be there; loyally standing by his brother's side, while still coming up with a few pranks now and then; just to keep his older brother on his toes.

Now he, Kíli, was King beneath the Mountain instead, and it was wrong. He was just a child, for Mahal's sake; 77-year-old, how was he ever supposed to be a proper king of the newly restored kingdom? If only he had died too, then Dáin would have become king, Dáin who was much more suited for the crown than he was.

A knock on the door brought Kíli out of his thoughts and then Balin entered, carrying a bowl of something Kíli instantly, by the smell alone, recognised as Bombur's best broth.

"We thought you might be hungry." The older dwarf said, handing the bowl to Kíli who sat up and gratefully took it.

It was true, he was hungry. Since he had learned of the fates of his brother and uncle the previous day he had been unable to eat anything. And that was not including the days he had been unconscious since the battle.

As he ate, carefully to not upset his stomach, he couldn't help but smile a little; it was clear that Bombur had gone out of his way to make the broth the way Kíli loved the best.

"How are you, laddie?" Balin asked after a while.

"I would lie if I said I'd never felt better." Kíli replied between mouthfuls.

"Of course." The older dwarf said placing a light hand on the younger's shoulder. "The funerals are tomorrow. We took the liberty of arranging them without you."

"Thank you." Kíli managed to choke out, handing the, now empty, bowl back to Balin before lying down again.

"Rest now. I'll come and fetch you tomorrow and make sure you're dressed appropriately for the occasion." Balin said kindly before leaving the room.

It was only as he was waiting for sleep to come that Kíli realised something; Balin had referred to him as 'laddie', not 'your Majesty', something he was very thankful for as he wasn't yet ready for his old travelling companions, all of whom were older than he was, to start calling him 'your Majesty'. One day, he knew, he would have to get used to it, but not yet. Until he was actually crowned he would prefer to remain Kíli the boy.

The next morning Balin, as promised, came into the room to help Kíli get ready. He was carrying a bundle of simple yet richly woven clothing. Something that would remind people that the person wearing it was king now, but at the same time not weigh the new king down with the burden of being king.

"What if I'm not ready to be king?" Kíli asked, once he was dressed.

"Now let us just put Thorin and Fíli to rest." Balin said kindly. "This is the day to grieve and to remember. Worries about what may come will have to wait for tomorrow."

Nodding slightly Kíli followed Balin out of the room, to the worst day of his life.

Most of the day passed in a blur. He only vaguely registered that king Thranduil placed Orcrist on Thorin's tomb, and Bard doing the same with the Arkenstone. One thing he did notice, however, was the looks the dwarfs from the Iron Hills were all sending him. Without words they all asked the same question:

"How can this boy ever be king?"

It was a week from the double funeral to the coronation. A week to be spent mourning for the old king, and for the new king to prepare and get ready. As if he could ever be ready.

The night before the coronation Kíli couldn't sleep. Once the crown was placed on his head the next day it would serve as a final reminder that his brother and uncle really were gone. He was not fit to be king. Most of all he wished that Fíli and Thorin were still alive, but they weren't and he knew that it would help nobody if he spent his days wishing for something he could never gain, yet there was still one person who was much more suited for the crown than he was. Suddenly he knew what to do, and finally he managed to drift into a, mostly, restful slumber.

He didn't say anything as he, once again aided by Balin, prepared for the coronation the next morning. He knew the older dwarf would try to change his mind, but the decision had been made.

The moment he entered the Throne Room everything erupted into a huge roar as all the gathered dwarfs, the vast majority from the Iron Hills, starting making as much noise as possible.

Casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Balin, who, as his advisor, walked with him, Kíli begun to make his way towards the great podium, never once taking his eyes of the big throne, his throne.

As soon as he reached the podium he turned around in front of the throne to face the crowd, while raising his hands to indicate that he wanted silence.

"If things had been different," he begun once the crowd had gone silent, "then my uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, would have been King beneath the Mountain now, and when his time came to pass to the Halls of Mahal, then my older brother, Fíli, would have become king after him. Now they're both gone, and I am left alone."

He felt his voice crack and swallowed, he could not break down now, not yet.

"I am just a child." He continued once he had managed to get his emotions in check. "A child who has inherited a crown he is not ready for."

With those words he turned around and took the crown from its place on the throne, and then he walked over to where Dáin was standing.

"Therefore I will ask you, Dáin Ironfoot, son of Náin, will you take this crown, which I am not fit to wear?" Kíli said, finishing his short speech, while handing the crown towards Dáin.

Just as noisy the crowd had been when he had entered the Throne Room, as quiet it was now. It was as if nobody dared to even breathe as they anticipated what would happen. Then Dáin shook his head.

"No. I will not. You are king beneath the mountain now, no matter what you, or anybody, may feel about the matter. It's true that you're young and inexperienced, but you will not remain so. And one day, I promise you, the pain of losing your brother and your uncle will not feel so horrible." Saying that he took the crown and gentle, but firmly, placed it upon Kíli's head, before turning towards the crowd.

"Long live the king." He shouted as a thousand of held breaths were released at the same time.

"Long live the king." The crowd repeated, as with one voice.

"Long live the king." The chanting continued while Kíli slowly made his way back towards the throne and sat down. His plain; to give the crown to Dáin, had failed.