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The earliest memory that Fíli can recall is of a dark head of hair nestled in a bundle of blankets and a delicate little hand gripping his fingers. He may have been born years earlier but if you asked Fíli when his life began he would say that it started when he first saw that babe nestled in his mothers arms; when she said, “his name is Kíli.”
…
Kíli made him promise to look out for himself in battle, to not rush to his aid if he should fall. Fíli could never say no to Kíli so of course he said yes, he always said yes.
…
All mentions of promises were forgotten when he caught eye of Kíli sprawled and bleeding, face twisted in pain, mere meters away from his feet. That was not a man, nor a prince, nor a warrior. That was a baby boy he knew all too well who looked at him with tears in his eyes and a pained furrow in his brow. The child he swore to protect from harm was lying on that battlefield and Fíli could turn away from him no more than he ever could.