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When they escape from the wargs through the mountain pass, stopping finally in a clearing far from the wolves' howls, Fili falls. He cannot run anymore, cannot breath, and he collapses into the grass in a boneless heap, hands clawing at the ground and a keening wail issuing from his lips that send a shudder through the rest of the company.
Kili is not with them. The youngest member of the line of Durin is in pieces behind the mountain. Distracted so with keeping their hobbit, their youngest and their uncle safe, he had not noticed a warg creeping up behind him until its teeth were already in closing over his chest.
There wasn't a lot of sound, not from Kili, whose voice and breath were stolen by the beasts massive jaws closing over his ribs, just a sick snapping, a choked gasp, and then the wolves decended on the scent and taste of blood. It was over in moments and Fili had to be ripped away from the scene by Dwalin, stuck as he was with his eyes his brother's blood on the beasts' gaping maws.
Now, a few miles from the scene, Fili falls and no one makes a move to get him up again. Ori is clinging to Nori, his wide eyes spilling over, because this is the first time he has seen the death of someone he knew, and he thinks he won't ever sleep again.
It is Dori who moves first, on his knees in front of Fili and tugging the wreck of a dwarf into his arms, and Fili lets him, clings to him and heaves. Dori keeps seeing his own brother in Kili's place, and knows that even though he complains about being the mother hen, about giving up a large part of his childhood to care for his siblings, he would rather throw himself off a cliff, give himself up to torture, than ever be in Fili's place, an elder without a younger.
The other's join slowly, the hobbit and the other dwarves, surrounding Fili and weeping with him. For all his pranks and juvenile actions, Kili was such a large part of their group, a warmth and a light in the dark, and they don't know how to move on without him.
Thorin stays back, face twisted in grief, but eyes dry. He cannot comfort Fili, cannot even look at him and know that it was his duty to protect his nephews, his promise to his sister and to each of them that they would see their mountain again, that they would reign after his time was over and be kings under the mountain. And now his youngest heir will not be given a proper burial, left to rot in the stomachs of beasts, and Thorin hears his promise to Dís that everything would be fine.
The king shakes his head and backs away from the company. His back hits a tree and his legs give out, slumping there and staring, unseeing, at the mourning of his youngest. He should never have let them come. They are too young, will always be too young, to see this kind of battle, to be torn to shreds by wargs and goblin knives, and he is a fool of king to think he could ever protect them. Thorin sits there and sees nothing and knows he is unworthy of the throne, of the arkenstone, and of Erebor, for all the people he has let down.
He must sit there for some hours, because suddenly Balin's hand is at his arm and the sky is dark, and Thorin blinks and looks around in what would be surprise if he could feel anything at all. His dwarves are lying in a circle around Fili, who is nestled in Dwalin's powerful grip and seems to have finally cried himself into exhaustion. Thorin looks at him for the first time and sees the dried tears, the puffy face, and hates himself all the more.
And then Balin is dragging him away and Thorin goes, puppet-like, lifeless, and the term makes him tremble with far more than just cold. The elder is pushing him down onto a rock near the stream, hands on his shoulders, at the base of his skull and the voice that had soothed nightmares and fears is murmuring in his ear.
"Come here, laddie, it's all right." and Thorin rips away with a snarl because it's not all right, it won't ever be because he failed, again. He failed his people when Smaug attacked and he did nothing, when Azog beheaded his grandfather and he did not avenge him, when his father went mad and disappeared, and now he has has failed his sister, his nephews, his entire line and he is being buried beneath the avalanche of all his failures.
Thorin doesn't realize he is weeping until Balin pulls him close, cupping the back of his head and murmuring in khuzdul, withered hands stroking through his hair and down his spine and he spends himself, sobbing desperately into the old warrior's shoulder, apologizing and cursing himself with every breath he drags through his lungs, and Balin only tightens his hold and lets him fall.