Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Part thirteen in the 'Violet Nights' series. Enjoy.

A LIFETIME OF SHADES OF GREY

Click clack, click clack, click click clack...

Nori couldn't think in silence. He'd always liked to gather little noises around him – the wood and metal beads in his beard and moustache, the multiple earrings in his ears, and of course his ever-present collection of rings. Dori always said that Nori made more than enough noise, especially since Ori was always so comparatively quiet. It was a good thought, that sometimes the brothers could be a balance, that they could be in harmony.

The strange thing, well, strange to other people but not to Nori, was that while he was frequently noisy, he could also be incredibly silent. He could walk into a room full of people unnoticed. He could spend hours sitting in a pub or getting on and off buses, gathering scraps of conversational information all the time without anyone realising. Dori said that Nori had learned to do that because he was criminally nosy. Dori was right, not that it was always a complaint of course, not when Nori's gathered information so often kept them and their friends safe.

Nori knew what he was good at. It made him smile in the dark.

He spent a lot of time with Bofur and Bifur, together the trio formed a very different kind of harmony. They synthesised gossip, hearsay, and electronic whispers into rock-solid possibilities. They knew what to look for, how to discern what was most likely to happen. Together with Dwalin's more physical approach and presence, they were the Durins' highly-effective security department. Nori carried a couple of official badges, none featuring his real name, that said as much. It was useful to always carry official ID; you never knew when you might need that kind of in.

"And where did you get that?" Dori had asked the first time that Nori had produced a badge from one of his pockets – on that occasion, it had claimed he was a police officer.

Nori had revealed a crumpled packet of cigarettes and a lion-shaped lighter. "Same place I got these."

He'd lit a cigarette and offered one to Dori who'd glared at him meaningfully. Nori had just smiled and carried on smoking, flashing his badge as he'd walked past the security officer keeping everybody cordoned off. Dori hadn't hesitated to follow, muttering about what would happen if Nori ever taught Ori had kind of behaviour. Nori's grin grew at the memory, after all Ori had Dwalin to teach him perfectly reasonable survival techniques, didn't he? Dori tended to ignore that fact, seeing as Dwalin also kept more than one eye on Ori. He'd protect Ori with his life, which was all Dori wanted. And if Dwalin didn't keep Ori safe, well then, Nori would make sure Dwalin knew how both Ori's brothers felt about that.

Nori squinted upwards, it'd been a bleak cold winter but the season hadn't managed to snuff out the sun. There it was, beaming down weak watery rays. The light touched Nori's weathered face, he smiled, a chink was all he needed, less if the occasion called for it.

He had a box of sweet pastries tucked under one arm and a cigarette behind one ear. Both his ears were hidden by the pulled-up hood of his large brown and grey jumper. Nobody was giving him a second look, which was exactly the way he liked it. He admired the new graffiti on the wall near the local Boot's, there was colour work and shaping there that Ori would love. Nori slipped his phone out to snap a photo to send to his brother later.

He kept his pace unhurried – there were few things more suspicious than someone running at high speed through a crowded town centre – and made sure to pause near street performers and shop windows. He took the world in and enjoyed it.

Nori flicked a couple of coins into Cynthia's cap as she finished an impressive fiddle solo and caught his eye briefly but her gaze didn't linger. He'd see her later anyway and if anyone asked, she'd deny ever seeing him. He always did the same for her.

He tapped a finger idly against his pastry box, copying a scant few notes of Cynthia's tune. She knew what it meant – he'd be saving her a pastry.

He headed onwards, giving money to Morley during his fire juggling act and buying a Big Issue from Kathy, who currently had green and pink streaks in her hair and several mismatched white gold hoops in her ears. Nori made plans to do an exchange with her soon – he liked the look of a couple of those earrings. He had a few of Sabrina's homemade bell bracelets to pass on anyway.

He had a full morning ahead of him; there were at least three soup kitchens to wander through, where he'd spirit away bread rolls, salt shakers, and maybe a key or two, he liked to keep his hand in, literally. And he'd listen as the people who were part of the city's streets, its very fabric, muttered and spat, saying things that didn't make sense, only they did to Nori. He could jigsaw-puzzle truth out of the barest scraps of rumour, especially when he had Bifur's electronic whispers and Bofur's nightly eavesdropping to use as well.

He might do one of his juggling acts on the corner by The Green Man. He had a busking license, not in his own name of course, but a proper license all the same. He'd juggle balls and clubs and some sharp-looking cutlery. The more unexpected the act, the more chance there was of pulling in a crowd and compelling them to donate.

Then, when the sky was starting to bruise up nicely, he'd find Cynthia in Court Church's graveyard, sitting with her back to Mr Grantham Tinsling's gravestone and clutching a familiar tin in her hand. She'd roll a joint or two and they'd take in the air and smoke together. He'd offer her the promised pastry as she draped a companionable arm around his shoulders, her velvet coat soft against his neck. She was one of the few people that he ever let touch him now. Nobody would bother them there, apart from Samson and his dog, Digs, who'd snaffle up any pastry remains.

Nori would probably sleep there too, blending into the shadows cast by stone and tree. Cynthia's legs would be folded up against his back, sometimes Samson or Morley concertinaed themselves into the space at Nori's front and he'd wake up to a mouthful of straw-textured hair or tobacco-thick coat, making him shudder, his stomach and senses deeply unhappy. He'd quickly slither out and start the morning by treating them to whatever was going cheap at the Overlook – Sabrina's little home from home and her main source of income. Through the sash window situated near Lloyds and the flower market, you could order bacon butties or newspaper cones of crispy chips dripping with grease. She made a sugary cuppa too.

Kathy might be selling her magazines down there before lunch too, so Nori could make that trade and maybe buy her a bacon butty or two, Kathy had had that hunted look about her recently which meant she'd gone without a full meal for at least a day or two, for Kyle's sake of course.

Dori always muttered about how Nori smelled, about the state of his clothing and the dried dirt on his skin. Dori always complained, but Ori always smiled and carefully touched Nori's wrist, silently confirming that yes, Nori was fine and that Ori was pleased to see him. Nori's mouth usually arched up in response, Dori's didn't.

The brothers might have been able to work in harmony sometimes, but they weren't often harmonious.

Dori should have been grateful, because it wasn't just everyday people on the street who didn't notice Nori, Smaug didn't notice him either. Nori was a shadow, unimportant because officially he was dead. Bifur had adjusted important official records, an action that still stood up to the greatest scrutiny. Not even Cynthia knew Nori's real name. Nori was a ghost and he took full advantage of that.

He wasn't often at Erebor, not inside it anyway. That wasn't where he belonged; he was more at home beside the exterior brickwork and in the service alleyway out the back. He could take note of footprints in the mud and recognise any unexpected callers. He could gaze at the people queuing to get in and pick out ones for Bifur to identify via his cameras and for Dwalin to keep an eye on. He wasn't always right – he hadn't picked Kenley out as a troublemaker, Kenley who had gone on to cause endless problems, including smashing up Thorin's heart. Nori often pondered that, how Kenley had slipped under his radar. He still sometimes studied Bifur's footage of the man, tapes and tapes of how he'd behaved amongst the crowds at Erebor and with Thorin. Nori was still learning.

When he visited his brothers' flat, he wore different clothes and personas each time and he never used his key. Sometimes, he wore a t-shirt with The Overlook plastered across the back in thick black letters whilst carrying a couple of bags of wonderful-smelling fish and chips. He'd buzz one of the Durin flats and slip in for a quick chat and exchange of information. He'd be a man with flyers to stuff under each flat's door, or he'd come to read the gas meter or check the electricity. Smaug's men were watching of course and he never gave them any reason to notice him.

Nori had only gotten to visit Violet Nights a couple of times with his brothers; once the Durins became regulars there it was too risky for him to join them. Now, he only turned up there alone and in disguise, on different days and at different times. Bilbo was told not to use Nori's real name, a request he complied with wearing a quizzical expectant expression. Nori didn't explain though, Thorin could do that. Nori liked Bilbo, so he always returned any cutlery and trinkets that he took from the café. He often bought a round of orange scones there to deliver to Dori. Dori still complained though, he always did. He worried too much; Nori was fine.

Nori had a family that he couldn't spend much time with – that was probably for the best anyway, he and Dori were always likely to come to blows if they occupied the same room for too long (half an hour was their current record). Nori had soup kitchens, street corners, and bacon butties. He had friends who needed to be invisible like him, friends who didn't ask questions and who helped him unquestioningly because he did the same for them. He had gravestones and a shoulder he actually felt comfortable resting against until it was time to move on again. He did that a lot, he kept his routine fluid.

He packed his pockets with tobacco and teabags, along with the many looks, gestures, and gaits that kept who he really was hidden. He slipped through the city's cracks, a risky ramshackle life that Dori hated but that suited Nori just fine – even inside he usually chose to sit on the floor. Anyway, even Dori knew that somebody had to do it; somebody had to be the ghost in the fight to keep the monsters from the door. At least this way it was somebody who enjoyed being invisible and living close to the ground.

Nori whittled and he pickpocketed and he sent smoke rings up to the sky. He ate pastries with Cynthia, and swapped jewellery with Kathy and helped her dye her hair. He swiped tinned spaghetti hoops for Samson and a spare sausage or two for Digs. He cleaned Susanna's sash window, for sugary tea and the latest hubbub. He watched from under his hood as men with bulky jackets and hard trained looks shadowed the Erebor group. He worked hard to find the unobvious tails too but he was sure that he never found them all. He wore gloves that Ori had knitted for him years ago.

He missed a lot though, like Bombur's cooking – that rabbit broth of his was still the best thing to drink in cold weather. He missed Dwalin's fights with Thorin and Balin's knowing looks. He missed Fili and Kili's public displays that made people's lips curl so tellingly and the quiet tenderness between the brothers that the same people rarely noticed. He missed Dis' sharp tongue and Bofur's singing and how Bifur and Florella continued to cultivate a tiny garden in their flat, Bifur's splintered speech more of a comfort than a problem now. Nori missed arguing with Dori and seeing Ori grow up a little more each day. He only got scraps of them all now.

He didn't complain though, he still got scraps after all. And outside of the Durins, he still had company that he could trust. He was rarely alone. He still clicked his rings together.

Click clack, click clack, click click clack...

-the end