A new story? Already! Yes it is! For anyone reading my CSI fanfics, I am taking a temporary hiatus as depressingly I have lost the inspiration and spark for them :(

Anyway, here is a new story that I hope you will enjoy. Countless times we have seen OCs being sent into Middle Earth and trying to survive. How would it work if it was the other way round? Expect adventure, action, angst and family relationships (Of the non-romantical or incestal kind)

In this story, Kíli is the equivalent of ten years old, Fíli is about thirteen (55 and 60 in actual years)

Translations: In this story there will be other languages including spanish in chapter one. If it is not loosely translated in the story, Kili does not understand and therefore if the reader does not it just adds to the effect. Sorry for any Spanish mistakes, btw, I hope there are none!

What else need you know? I suck at first chapters so I'm sorry if it's not that great. I have actually got a plan for this story. I am supposed to be asleep right now.

Anyway, please,

Read. Enjoy. Review.

Chapter One # The Fall #

He scrambled to his feet and thorns scratched his cheeks. Thorns that should not have been growing in the bottom of a crevice in Ered Luin. Why were thorns growing in the bottom of a mine pit?

He wasn't in the cave anymore.

He was in a forest. How the hell did he get into a forest? He had closed his eyes for only seconds, bracing to hit the floor.

"Fíli!" He called shakily, looking around for his brother. When he didn't see him, Kíli's pounding heart beat faster and he called out again, his voice quavering again. "Fee?"

Strange bird calls were all that responded.

Wherever he was, all he had with him was what he had been holding moments before; his bow, a small bag containing a couple of apples, some bread, a spare cloak, a handful of arrows in a small quiver, half a flask of water, a knife and a tinderbox, and something small that was still stuck to his palm.

A bead from Fíli's hair.

Kíli felt his lip start to tremble, but he swallowed and pursed his lips instead. A true warrior may feel fear but will never show it, his Uncle had told him that many times. He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, strapping his quiver to his back and nocking an arrow after deftly braiding Fíli's bead into his hair. He tucked the lone braid into the clasp that always held his hair away from his face – he hated braids falling into his face like Fíli's and Thorin's did. And he never had the patience to let his uncle, mother, or even his brother sit there and braid his hair.

Then he took a hesitant step forwards.

He had to be dreaming. There was no way that he could fall through a crevice in a cave and end up in a forest. It was impossible. And no one is ever trained for the impossible.

The child in him wanted to scream for Fíli or Thorin or Dwalin or even his mother, but the Heir of Durin inside him decided that silence was the best strategy. He would sneak around unseen until he found his way home. Surely he couldn't be too far from the Blue Mountain? If he kept his head down he would be fine.

Before he could even decide which way to go, an agonised shriek from the east almost drew a scream from Kíli's own mouth and the fifty-five year old braced to run. However, curiosity had always been a quality of his (or a flaw, depending on how you looked at it) and he found himself drawing towards the sound. Ducking under branches and dodging sticks, Kíli snuck towards the source but paused when he reached a clearing, sheltering behind a bush to observe the strangest campsite he had ever seen.

The tents were bright blue, and he had never seen material like it. His curiosity was diverted by the sickeningly familiar red splatter that covered the flattened grass. Footsteps came closer and Kíli nearly stood forward to ask for help, but a man's voice begged in a strange language and the desperate tone froze the young dwarf where he stood. An ear shattering bang crashed through the air and the man's impassioned pleas ceased. Kíli watched in horror as a large red pool seeped towards him, and a chilling silence filled the air. Seconds later it broke when a gruff male voice growled foreign words in a cold voice. A woman emerged from the opposite tent with a wail. Frozen in place, Kíli yearned to help, but before he could move the banging sound was back, and this time Kíli saw what the bang did. His blood ran cold as a hole appeared in her forehead and blood splattered everywhere. She slumped to the floor, dead, and Kíli barely suppressed a whimper. He shrank into the floor, too afraid to move as the man's voice spoke again.

Footsteps approached and suddenly a huge man emerged around the side of the tent, holding a strange metal object in his hand. Though he didn't know what the object was, instinct fuelled Kíli's desperate scramble backwards.

He did not stand a chance.

The man barked at his companions in the strange language and grabbed Kíli by his hair.

Kíli screamed and thrashed around like a mad thing, swinging his iron arrows towards his attacker but the man simply snatched away his bow and lifted him clean off the floor.

"Get off!" Kíli yelled, kicking out at the man's legs, but height wise he didn't even reach the man's shoulders and the man was somehow more muscled than Dwalin and Thorin combined. Kíli was powerless to stop himself being carried into the midst of the bustling camp.

There was a lot of shouting and big people rushing around, ignoring the bloodied bodies on the floor of the woman and the man who had clearly lost their fight.

Kíli didn't stop fighting for a moment.

His elbow smashed into the man's chin, his feet connected with the man's legs but the man's knee smashed up into Kíli's lower back making his eyes water with pain.

Through the teary haze he could distinguish a little between men and even women that were running around in strange clothes.

The leader of the group was obvious. His clothes were even stranger looking than the seemingly durable green clothes of his men. His clothes were clean cut around the edges, it looked crisp and smart, but incredibly strange, and his grey hair and grey eyes made him seem both vulnerable and deadly.

There was an ice in his eyes that would have frozen the more sensible Fíli to smart silence.

Kíli on the other hand would not listen to the common sense telling him to still himself. He fought back harder than ever, not reacting when the man pointed a metal thing to his face. It was just a little lump of metal, and there was no way that it could have made the loud bangs that had made holes in the woman's head.

When he didn't react, the grey man snatched the bow from the man holding him and nocked an arrow, aiming steadily at Kíli's face.

Now Kíli froze every muscle, ready to snap back into action, but the man coldly spoke words that he could understand. "Do you wish to die on your own bow, boy?"

Kíli shook his head, his eyes trained on his own arrow.

"Stop. Fighting."

Kíli went limp in the big man's arms in total surrender, but the bow didn't waver.

The grey man snapped at several other men, and they swarmed forward.

Kíli found himself thrown against a tree, two men dragging his arms behind the tree and pinning them there, the others grabbing his legs.

"Get off me!" Kíli cried. "Let me go!"

The bow was back in his face. "Silence."

Kíli stilled, every single muscle tensed as the man started pulling at his clothes, inspecting them closely, especially the stitching around the bottom of his tunic. Then he grabbed Kíli's chin and roughly pulled his face up, studying Kíli's face.

Kíli grunted in protest as the man's cold hands poked at his chin and pulled his lips apart, looking at his teeth.

Kíli squirmed as the man tugged at his ears - why was he looking in his ears? What was he looking for?

Kíli growled as the man moved the skin above his eyebrows, effectively dragging the big brown eyes open. His heart thudded erratically - maybe they were slave traders? There had been word of a group of the evil men slipping through the multi-cultural towns at the base of the mountain.

If they were slave traders he would never see his family again.

The man then started to pat Kíli's chest, feeling the strong, tightly packed muscles that were already there, though Kíli was disgruntled to admit that other, younger dwarves had more muscle than he did. He'd been tall and slender for a while now.

Kíli struggled weakly, discomfort burning every vein. Another pair of men were rooting through his bag, but his attention was instantly returned to the grey man when he started the move towards his hair.

"No!" Kíli cried suddenly as the thin metal clasp was ripped away and his hair fell loose around his face, his new braid banging against his cheek.

He could feel the man pulling the solitary braid away from his head, fingering Fíli's bead and bringing his knife towards it.

"No!" His cries of fear turned to screams of anger and his weak struggles were strengthen with passion fuelled fear. "Don't, get off! Get off!"

They were going to cut his hair.

For the first time the man paused. "Why?"

"Don't cut it!" Kíli struggled. "Don't touch it!"

The man paused for the first time, but then he sliced the knife across the bottom of the braid just above the bead.

"NO!" Kíli yelled as the man took away the bed. To his shame, his cry was not down to pride. The only thing he had in this world from Fíli was that little metal bead. "Why are you doing thi…" a sudden thought filled his head and it all seemed to make sense. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to trespass, I'm lost!"

The grey man looked at him with new interest. "Lost?"

Kíli nodded, remembering his uncle's hostile reaction to trespassers in Erebor. He couldn't imagine how much of a threat he could pose to these men, but maybe the dead couple were a threat, maybe they thought he was with them, too. "I…I fell in the mountain, the Blue Mountains, and I landed here and I don't know how but I don't mean you any harm, I just want to go home!"

"What is your name?" the grey man asked.

Kíli hesitated.

"Do not tell your name to those who dwell outside the mountain, Kíli. Within the mountain, your name will bring you home, but outside your name could bring more danger upon you."

Thorin's words were embossed on his brain; his Uncle had repeated them almost every time they left the mountain. Sometimes he wondered if there was a mini Thorin in his head that constantly reminded him of the correct way to behave.

The man took the metal thing and aimed it just right of Kíli's head, pulling his finger back. Kíli flinched and shuddered as the ground behind him exploded.

"K-Kíli! I'm Kíli!" he closed his eyes.

"Kíli who?"

Kíli squeezed his eyes shut tighter and mumbled. "Son of Dís."

"And sister-son of Thorin Oakenshield?" Kíli could almost hear the raised eyebrow.

"Yes…" he whispered, wishing the ground would swallow him whole and spit him up in his nice warm bed in his nice safe room.

There was a long silence, followed by a viscous but muted argument in the other language. His eyes flew open as something pricked his skin.

"Ow!"

The grey man ignored him, swiping the newly drawn blood onto a little piece of white paper.

"Incredible…" he murmured, a smirk crossing his face. "He is truly not a son of man. We must start the experiments at once!"

"They were right!" one of the men gasped

"¡No puede creerlo!" another cried.

"When I get a good look at his brain…"

Kíli opened his mouth to ask who were right, but then he froze. Get a look at his brain? Why, or more worryingly how were they going to do that?

He struggled hopelessly, fear trying to force whimpers from his throat. He clenched his teeth to stop the signs of weakness in their path.

"What experiments?" Kíli asked. "Who are you?"

"I am Silas. And the experiments are just…a way to get you home." The grey man's tone didn't soothe him at all.

"Home?"

"How old are you, Kíli?"

"Fifty-five." Kíli answered slowly.

Silas nodded, and snapped his fingers. The hands pinning him to the tree let go and he slumped down, though he instantly flew to his feet, pressing his back against the tree himself.

"Fifty-five? You're no more than a child, no?"

Kíli nodded his head vigorously, for once happy to admit to youth. Confusion intensified in his mind when he realised that his height was correct for his age, relative to the men. But they were not dwarves, he was the height of a child of man! Had he grown?

Silas snapped at the others in the strange tongue, and they stared at him until he snapped again. Then they were quick to throw Kíli's belongings back in his bag, thrusting it into the young dwarf's hands.

"Do you feel safer now?" Silas asked, but his tone sent shivers down Kíli's spine.

"A bit. Can I have my bow? Please?"

Silas laughed lightly. "Oh I don't think so. I don't know if I can trust you, Kíli, son of Dís. Gomez, take him to the truck."

The man who had dragged him from the wood walked up to him with a sickening smile, taking his arm and leading him towards a strange metal box. The men wanted them to trust him.

Follow your gut, Kíli, the Thorin in his mind reminded him, When you have no other ideas, your gut will lead you true as long as you also listen to your heart and your head.

Well, his heart just wanted to go home. His head was more muddled than Fíli trying to shoot an arrow. His gut it was.

His trained eyes scanned the clearing, his sharp ears picked up each sound. He slung his bag over his back and ran faster than he had ever run before.

Cries followed him, cries of shock and anger, but even without the bangs and flashes Kíli knew that he was being chased by more than voices so he did not hesitate for a second. He was lost, he was confused, he had just witnessed a murder and Mahal he just wanted to go home.

More bangs disturbed the ground by his feet and he stumbled, falling flat on his face. A small sliver of black caught his attention and he grinned, crawling on his stomach to the tiny cave. They would never be able to follow him in there.

Check for goblins, you idiot! He chastised himself as he entered the cave. Suddenly a figure came into sight and two terrified screams flared in the darkness.

***

"Kíli!" Fíli screamed, starting to throw himself down the crevice after his baby brother.

"Fíli, no!" Thorin choked, wrapping his arms around the chest of his older sister son and dragging him back to the relative safety of the bridge.

"No!" The blonde wailed. "Kíli! Thorin, let me go to him! Keeleee! " The sobbing broke the King's heart but he held Fíli tightly, regardless of the boy's struggles.

A triumphant cry met their ears as Dwalin bounded back into the cave with Glóin, Bifur, Balin and Bofur.

"I am proud to say that thanks to our hard work, the goblins-what happened?" As Dwalin rounded the corner and saw his royal kin his gloat melted faster than ice in the forges.

Fíli ignored the arrival of the others and yelled once more, trying to claw his way towards the ancient mine pit as his voice grew hoarse. "Kíli!"

"Where is Kíli?" Bofur asked slowly, not wanting to read between the lines.

"He...fell..." Thorin heard the waver in his voice as his eyes continued to stare at the cursed hole, his mind cursing every ancient dwarf who thought it a good idea in the first place to dig so far down.

"No!" Dwalin growled, his eyes widening in fear.

"We have to go and get him!" Fíli cried desperately, but Thorin held him back.

"We will. But it's a long way down, especially by the stairs and you cannot come."

"What?" Fíli's voice rose to a shriek.

Thorin's grip turned to iron and he turned Fíli around to face him, though his voice was gentle."Fíli, we know what we will most likely…what we will find at the bottom. And I won't let you see that."

"No!" Fíli broke, but Thorin dragged him to Bofur, who had a solitary tear trailing down his own cheek.

"Take him home, drag him if you must. Tell Dis what happened; tell her about the attack, about the fall, about everything. Do not let him follow us."

Bofur nodded tightly, his usually warm eyes closed off and distant as he looked at the staircase that would take them to the bottom of the ancient pit. He cleared his throat "Do ye have enough supplies? It's a long way down, at least two or three days."

Fíli let out a small moan and Balin nodded.

"We have packs here from the expedition." Balin's voice was gruff as he gestured to the bags in the corner that had been abandoned during the battle with the goblins.

He passed a couple around, but Fíli and Kíli's lighter packs were already gone. One was on Fíli's back, but the other had gone with the owner - when the goblins had attacked the boys had been ordered to run. They were barely equivalent to teenagers in the ages of men – indeed Kíli himself would have been barely ten years old had he been born a man, and Thorin did not want them to fight.

Balin had never felt such intense guilt. He was the one who had convinced Thorin to take the brothers to on the expedition to look further into the mountain. He was the one who was supposed to be on watch when the goblins attacked. He was the one who told them to run. He was the one who –

"Balin." Thorin's pained voice snapped him from his self-pity and he passed the king-in-exile a bag. "Where's Glóin?" Thorin asked suddenly, but even as the words left his mouth the red-haired dwarf reappeared with the other members of the expedition company who had been separated from them in the fight.

Óin, Bombur, Nori, Dori, and Ori all looked sombre, and a couple even looked close to tears. Thorin swallowed. "Let's go."

"Thorin!" Fíli begged one last time, but Bofur took a firm grip on his arm and started to gently pull him away.

***

"Por favor, no sé nada!" The figure cried and Kíli staggered backwards, terrified. The thing in front of him looked to be the size of a boy, but in its hands it held the most wicked knife Kíli had ever seen.

"Please don't hurt me! I just want to go home!" Kíli begged, but the thing wasn't listening.

"Por favor no haga daño a mí, no sé nada! No quiero morir, no hablare nada a nadie!" The whimpers sounded so similar to Kíli's own pleas that the dwarf quietened long enough to look at the boy's face. It was a boy, he decided. A son of man, probably.

"Don't you speak the Common Tongue?" He questioned suspiciously.

The boy stared at him fearfully, and Kíli held up his hands.

"I'm not going to-"

"This way, Silas!"

The overhead yells froze both boys and neither breathed until stampedes of feet thundered over their heads. Kíli counted to one hundred and then let out a deep breath.

He held out his hands further to show that he was unarmed, and leant against the cave wall. Inside, it was just tall enough for him to stand up. Slowly, the boy lowered his knife.

"Quién eres? Como te llamas? Qué quieres?" the boy fired questions at Kíli, who shrugged hopelessly. The boy frowned. "N-no hablas Español?"

So this boy didn't speak the Common Tongue. Well, Kíli was no stranger to improvisation. He pointed at his chest, and said "Kíli" firmly, before pointing and shrugging at the boy.

Suspisciously, the boy replied. "Enrique."

"Enrique?" Kíli repeated. He had never heard such a strange name.

Enrique gave a little smile, before screwing up his face as if trying to remember something. "You why here?"

Kíli covered his face with his hands as if playing peek-a-boo. "Hiding. From bad men."

Enrique nodded. "Yo también." Then he pointed at himself to tell Kíli that he too was hiding.

"Are you from this place? Where are we?" Kíli asked excitedly, but Enrique frowned.

"No speak Engleesh good."

"What's Engleesh?" Kíli questioned, but Enrique stared at him blankly.

Maybe it's their name for the Common Tongue? Kíli thought. He thought carefully, before using the sandy floor to draw the mountains he knew so well. A rough drawing, but a distinctive one, the unique eagle like shape of several of the mountains recognisable to any who had passed the mountains in the flesh. He held up his arms in a 'where/what/why/how' gesture, but Enrique shook his head.

He did not recognise the mountain.

Kíli's heart fell.

"Te has perdido?" Enrique asked, before drawing his own picture on the floor. A stick man was surrounded by trees with a question mark over his head, and Kíli understood. Are you lost?

Kíli nodded vigorously, and pointed at the boy with a 'you?' type of shrug.

Enrique's nose wrinkled in concentration. "No… Me live in ciudad…the, ur… city."

"With your family?"

Enrique recognised enough of the world to draw in the rough sand of the floor a stick man family of a mother, a father, a tall girl and a little boy. He pointed at the boy and then at himself and the parents. "Yo, Mama y Papa." Then he pointed at the girl. "Natalia. Mi hermana. See-ter."

"Sister?" Kíli guessed and the boy nodded.

Enrique shrugged pointedly at him, and Kíli traced a man, a woman, and two smaller boys into the sandy floor, pointing at each in turn. "Uncle Thorin, Ma, me...or yo? And Fíli."

"Fíli?" Enrique giggled. "Kíli y Fíli?"

Kíli nodded, unoffended. He was proud of their rhyming names, but obviously people here (wherever here was) had different customs when it came to names. Absently, Kíli's finger drew across the sand, creating a scene that looked much like his living room at home. Then he drew a little house next to it. Living in chambers in the mountain, his house had never really been a square with a triangular lid, but Kíli wanted to get his point across, and anyway, his friend Ori was the artist.

"Donde?" Enrique asked, lifting his hands up in a questioning gesture. Kíli pointed at the mountains he had already drawn.

"The Blue Mountains." Kíli nodded, pointing to the blue top the younger boy wore.

Enrique's eyebrows furrowed and he took a slab of rock out of a bag so small Kíli hadn't noticed it until now. The rock was black, and incredibly shiny, but Kíli had no idea what the purpose of it was. Suddenly the boy pressed something and it lit up.

Kíli yelped and scrambled away and the boy looked confused.

"No has visto un iPad antes?"

"iPad?" Kíli whispered, and the boy nodded at his magic rock.

"No te preocupas." Enrique insisted, beckoning Kíli over. "Is…happy…"

Though the sentence made no sense, the young dwarf slowly crept closer. Pictures made of light shone from the screen, and as Enrique dragged his finger across the smooth rock, the pictures on it changed.

It was magic!

Kíli watched with wide eyes as his companion pressed on one of the pictures. A map of a strange place dominated by oceans appeared instantly and Enrique repeated his question happily.

"Donde?"

Kíli's mouth dropped open as he stared at the map. Enrique scrutinised his expression before tapping on a city with a little red flag.

It zoomed right in and Kíli felt a little ill. What was this thing? Where was that place?

"Aqui." Enrique pointed at the ground where they were. "Sevilla."

"Sev-ee-ya?"

"Si. Sevilla. Donde está tu casa? Where you home?"

Wishing he'd paid more attention to Balin in lessons, Kíli studied the map. He recognised nothing.

"It's not there." Kíli whispered. If this was where he was now, it was huge! He would never find his way home, not if he lived to be a thousand years old.

Meanwhile, Enrique tapped away on his iPad rock, producing words that Kíli could read with a strange language on the other side of the rock.

We need to get back to the city. My sister speaks English well, she can help us both!

Kíli nodded warily. They didn't have much of a choice – he had few supplies and he needed help. His gut trusted the little boy, but his head wasn't so sure. Either way, he had little choice.

Homesick and frightened, the young dwarf prince followed the small Spanish child out into the light.

Silas clenched his teeth together and he looked at the burly muscular man before him. Fernando Gomez had caught his attention during a cage fight when the fighting machine destroyed fifteen opponents with only a minute's rest in between. The man could crush bones in moments. The man could incapacitate Silas in seconds. The man could kill indiscriminately.

The man was trembling on his knees.

"You let two children escape."

Gomez winced but said nothing. He knew better than that.

"It seems that the time for extraction has begun, Gomez, but you let our first specimen loose! And the boy no more than a child. If we want anything from this, things will be done more carefully around here from now on."

"Why Enrique Cardoza?" Gomez asked hoarsely. "I do not mind killing him, but knowing why would be nice…"

"We must destroy the whole family for the work of the scum to be erased. Now, listen, Gomez. I want that little dwarf brought to me alive. I want him on an operating table. I want to test his endurance, I want to find out just how much the 'hardy' race of the dwarves can take. I want to know if his organs are like ours, I want to know his anatomical strengths and weaknesses. I want to find out as much as I can about these people. I want that boy brought here now." Silas growled. "I have been waiting too long for this."

Bang.

Gomez didn't even know he'd been shot before he hit the floor, dead. Silas turned to the man behind him.

"You heard me, Parkinson. Go and get me that dwarf. Now."

As the Englishman nodded and stalked out, Silas got into the van with a smug little smile. The dwarf wouldn't last a day in this world alone, even if he should reach the city.

Everything from the animals to the zebra crossings would be completely surreal, and no one would believe a word he said if he tried to ask the way home. His supplies were pitiful and his main weapon was in Silas' hands. He did not speak the language, and he was alone.

He was a child. Soon, Silas would get his rewards.

Soon, Silas could have his fun.

I have so much more I want to put in the introduction, this feels a bit…well, schmeur! Anyways, this story will focus on several main themes –

Family relationships

Adaptation and survival

Cultural and language boundries

The bad idea that is the mixing of worlds.

And possibly more that I have forgotten.

I hope I have captured your interest, next chappy will be up soon! This chapter was supposed to be a little muddled to show the confusion Kili and the others are experiencing, but many things will be cleared up in chapter two :)

Thanks for reading.