Trapped

by ofahattersmind

The characters of Tolkien's 'The Hobbit' and 'The Lord of the Rings' find themselves stranded in a small town in the Blue Ridge foothills of North Carolina. How did they get there, and why is Kili the only one who remembers his life in Middle Earth while every one else walks around with false memories of a foreign world? Heavily inspired by damnitfili's modern Hobbit edits.

1. Chapter 1

Kili crept through the dim halls of a small town museum. Red exit lights offered just enough light to see by, though he'd spent enough time in the exhibits during daylight hours that his feet knew the way by heart. He skipped the wing holding artifacts from the town's history, threading through rows of glass covered tables to the back of the museum where a huge banner emblazoned "J.R.R. TOLKIEN" hung above locked double doors. Kili dug in the front pocket of his jeans and produced tools he hoped would jimmy the lock.

Several sweaty minutes later, a satisfying click shattered the silence and Kili froze, heart pounding as he listened for any alarms, footsteps or sirens. Hearing nothing more than blood thundering in his ears, he breathed a shaky sigh and painstakingly eased the door open. Low lights ran along the bottom edges of display cases and shelving, illuminating a fantastic collection of Tolkien's personal papers and first edition copies of his books, along with posters, photos, costume and prop replicas from Peter Jackson's filmed renditions of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit.

To the last was Kili drawn, his breath catching in his throat as he reached the display containing replicas of the Company of Thorin's personal effects. His eyes misted as he took it all in, each keepsake as precious to him now as if it were his own. He shook himself, remembering that he was here for a reason and was wasting time. Pulling his sleeve down over his knuckles and balling the cuff in his fist, Kili shattered the glass with a swift jab. Alarms blared, but he'd expected that and ignored them as he snatched his runestone and a few other items from the shelves. Shoving them in his pockets, he bolted for the emergency exit as police sirens wailed.

---

The curator watched from the window of his apartment above the museum as a young man exploded through the back door and sprinted across the rear lot. Once the thief cleared the tree line beyond, the curator lifted a cell phone to his ear and murmured into the receiver.

"You may dispense with the theatrics, Sheriff."

A couple moments later, the sirens cut off mid-shriek. The curator smiled and hung up. His plan was coming together beautifully, and the foolish little dwarf had no idea he was a pawn in a much, much larger game.