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( open ) Down on my luck
Who| Fíli and Nasir; Fíli and Kíli
What| Fíli gets seriously injured during a fight, dies from the wounds.
Where| The orchards; later on a hideout
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Well, death. And it's Nasir so I expect some good amount of blood. Lovely things.
FOR NASIR;
The place was scarce in food and water, and Fíli knew that the longer it went on, the lesser were his chances of finding anything, and greater the ones that he would run into foe rather than friend. Still, he had to try. Both he and Kíli had reached the very last of their supplies, and he saw it as his own obligation that he would be the one to find them just enough food to at least last them a little longer.
Neither of them slept much, but in their hiding, he was relieved to see Kíli doze into sleep, perhaps out of sheer exhaustion, and though he did not want to leave him alone, they also could not remain here and expect food to come to them. So carving symbols onto the ground in khuzdul - went for food, stay here - he grabbed as many weapons as he had at hand - no more than a good number of daggers and a heavy pipe - and made his way out.
Every place was as empty of food and water as the next one, yet Fíli tried. The orchard seemed to him what once used to be a place with some edible things, so he made for it, pipe in hand as he made his way through the thick air surrounding him, always alert for any creature or even person to come at him.
FOR KÍLI;
The fight had rendered him almost entirely useless, and more than anything Fíli resented that one thing. He had gone to find them food and not even that much he had managed, returning with only a gash across his middle, bruises and cuts everywhere else, and though wrapping up the wound at first seemed to help, in a few hours the fabric was damp in his blood again. And all of it to no avail, as he had achieved nothing of what he had hoped for. His brother curled near him and worried incessantly, but he was starving, he was exhausted and Fíli could hear it in every word, could see it in every line in his face, even when he tried to hide it.
Each breath was a struggle; it had been for a while, but all the more so now. Pain ran sharply through him whenever he moved, each time he shifted, but he kept going even with that, out of sheer stubbornness or entirely driven by the fear that had settled in his gut.
It was not until that pain started to disappear, and he was left with no more than the struggle of breathing or even thinking, his sight falling out of focus as he glanced around him, that he realized.
He was dying. This was it.
"Kíli," his breath ragged, dissolved into a cough that had more blood oozing from the wound, staining his clothes now. He put one hand to his stomach, and the other searched for his brother. Weak, even though he was gripping at the arm as tightly as he could. "Kíli."
What| Fíli gets seriously injured during a fight, dies from the wounds.
Where| The orchards; later on a hideout
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Well, death. And it's Nasir so I expect some good amount of blood. Lovely things.
FOR NASIR;
The place was scarce in food and water, and Fíli knew that the longer it went on, the lesser were his chances of finding anything, and greater the ones that he would run into foe rather than friend. Still, he had to try. Both he and Kíli had reached the very last of their supplies, and he saw it as his own obligation that he would be the one to find them just enough food to at least last them a little longer.
Neither of them slept much, but in their hiding, he was relieved to see Kíli doze into sleep, perhaps out of sheer exhaustion, and though he did not want to leave him alone, they also could not remain here and expect food to come to them. So carving symbols onto the ground in khuzdul - went for food, stay here - he grabbed as many weapons as he had at hand - no more than a good number of daggers and a heavy pipe - and made his way out.
Every place was as empty of food and water as the next one, yet Fíli tried. The orchard seemed to him what once used to be a place with some edible things, so he made for it, pipe in hand as he made his way through the thick air surrounding him, always alert for any creature or even person to come at him.
FOR KÍLI;
The fight had rendered him almost entirely useless, and more than anything Fíli resented that one thing. He had gone to find them food and not even that much he had managed, returning with only a gash across his middle, bruises and cuts everywhere else, and though wrapping up the wound at first seemed to help, in a few hours the fabric was damp in his blood again. And all of it to no avail, as he had achieved nothing of what he had hoped for. His brother curled near him and worried incessantly, but he was starving, he was exhausted and Fíli could hear it in every word, could see it in every line in his face, even when he tried to hide it.
Each breath was a struggle; it had been for a while, but all the more so now. Pain ran sharply through him whenever he moved, each time he shifted, but he kept going even with that, out of sheer stubbornness or entirely driven by the fear that had settled in his gut.
It was not until that pain started to disappear, and he was left with no more than the struggle of breathing or even thinking, his sight falling out of focus as he glanced around him, that he realized.
He was dying. This was it.
"Kíli," his breath ragged, dissolved into a cough that had more blood oozing from the wound, staining his clothes now. He put one hand to his stomach, and the other searched for his brother. Weak, even though he was gripping at the arm as tightly as he could. "Kíli."
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Not waiting for another attack, he pulled two daggers, one from each of his sleeves where he had hid them, one he held close to himself, and the other he aimed and threw at Nasir like the first, hoping this time for a better aimed hit.
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The pained noise he let out was barely above a choked gasp, as the dagger was yanked across his stomach, slicing through skin and flesh and immediately, as he put a hand to his middle and stumbled backwards, blood spilled from the gash, staining his hand and clothes.
no subject