Author's notes: I've had this plot bunny for a while, and hey! Why not?
Kili felt consciousness rising, but his bed was soft, the sun was warm, there were soft sounds and sweet smells, and all he wanted to do was drown himself in the soft and sweet and warm. But his body's desire to arise overcame that notion and so Kili blearily rubbed his eyes, then blinked into the light filtering through his windows curtains. As much as some of the other dwarves might deny it, Rivendell was a beautiful place. Kili yawned then scrubbed his mouth to get rid of any drool. Wait. Kili frantically felt over his chin, first with one hand and then with both. No. He had to see how bad the damage was. Who would do this to him? Why? What would anyone gain shaving a dwarf of his beard? Did everyone get stone drunk? Was someone out for revenge? Through the haze of questions bombarding his mind Kili remembered that the room the Elves had put him and Fili in had a mirror. He struggled out of bed, in his panic entangling himself in the covers and practically falling out. He steadied himself by a hand on the side table, and either did not see or did not register that his hand was longer and slimmer than any dwarf's should be.
Kili stumbled towards the dresser, his limbs all askew. A subliminal part of his mind entered the notion that he felt like he did when he was entering his adolescence: all arms and legs and no balance anywhere. But Kili paid no notion to the nigglings of his mind, so intent was he on reaching the dresser whereupon the mirror rested.
After a few gangly panic-stricken moments (which seemed like hours to poor Kili) he reached the dresser. He looked down at his hands on the edge of the dresser, breathing heavily. For all his urgency he didn't really want to see. But a moment later he raised his head…
And shrieked.
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