Balin finally gave up trying to restrict the blood flow from his wound.

There was no point. No one was coming back for him.

He lay in the middle of the battlefield, staring at the smoke filled sky as he waited for the end. It wasn't as peaceful as he would have imagined it to be. He could hear the moans of other soldiers, probably also about to die. The wound on his side was a harsh, biting pain he couldn't ignore. And most surprisingly, he found himself filled with a sense of regret.

Hopefully a merciful enemy would find him soon and put him out of his misery.

Suddenly, someone appeared in his line of vision, and he struggled to focus his gaze on them. He somehow managed to grin, "... Do a fellow soldier a favour and kill me?"