The following oneshot is based upon a suggestion from SakuraDragomir. It is a prize for a competition I held several chapters ago in my longest fic, 'Strangers Like Me', and though it's been a long time I have finally finished, and I'm happy to say that it's not all that bad!

So, please Read, Enjoy, Review, and SakuraDragomir - this is for you :D

Soon We Will Be Found

"Remind me again, why am I doing this?"

"Because, my dear hobbit, our 'esteemed' princes have created a catastrophe worthy of Mordor and Thorin is less likely to skin the messenger if it is you." Bofur insisted, steering Bilbo down one of Erebor's countless dark tunnels.

Bilbo pursed his lips. "Hmm, I can't say I agree with you on that one Bofur. Remember what happened the last time I brought Thorin bad news?"

Bofur's face hardened and his grip around the hobbit's shoulder's tightened. "Aye, but don't talk of that. You know Thorin regrets that over most everything else. Besides, that's more to the point – he won't be able to even threaten your life without experiencing an all-consuming guilt that would reduce our noble king into a blubbering babe within minutes, so he won't do it. Everything's going to be fine."

Unconvinced by the renewed ease in Bofur's voice, Bilbo simply hummed noncommittally and allowed the dwarf to lead him deeper into the mountain. The flickering flame of the lantern cast interesting shadows on the walls around them and their footsteps were the only sound. Well, Bofur's footsteps. The light danced on ahead of them, illuminating a fork in their path.

"Here we are," Bofur declared cheerfully, clapping Bilbo on the shoulder. "Now, I'm off to try and find the younger of our wayward princes – good luck with breaking the news to Thorin!"

"Wait-wait-wait-wait, Bofur, wait!" Bilbo protested as the dwarf made to disappear down the right fork.

"Aye?"

"Where exactly am I going?"

"Oh, of course. Down the hall to the first left, then the sixth right down that hall, follow that corridor down to the end and take the second stairwell on your left. That should take you to a slanting corridor. Walk up there for a minute or two and there'll be a lovely look door on your right – no, your left. That's right, the left. Then you go through the door into one last corridor and the room you'll be wanting is the third door on the left. If Thorin's not in there, he'll likely be in the War Council room but you'll know where you are and how to get there once you're there." Bofur assured him cheerfully.

Bilbo stood for a moment, blinking repeatedly as he tried to memorise the information. "Right… Alright. And I can't just go the long way around because…?"

"Because it's the long way around. Trust me, this is a lot quicker." Bofur promised, tipping his hat.

"Right…" Bilbo sighed. "I take it you've been this way before?"

"No, but I checked it out on a map of the city with Dori and I'm damn near certain it works."

"You checked it out on a-?" Bilbo choked in disbelief. "Bofur!"

"What?" the dwarf shook his head. "It's perfectly fine. You'll be with our majestic king in no time. Now, I've got to go. I'll see you soon, Bilbo."

Smiling wryly, Bilbo shook his head as Bofur handed him the lantern and disappeared. Repeating the somewhat disorientating instructions in his mind, Bilbo set off down the left fork. The gloom seemed somewhat darker when he walked alone. Perhaps it was because he was not used to be alone – not in the dark depths of a dwarven city at least.

He could be alone in front of his nice cosy fireplace in his wonderfully comfortable armchair with a good book and nice cup of tea, but no. Somehow, he had allowed himself to be talked into staying in Erebor for the first few years of the rebuilding of the city. A great honour it would be, Thorin had said, to have Bilbo watch their city return to greatness. Bilbo had been easily swayed by the king's poor state at the time – it was hard to refuse the wishes of a friend who had recently been all but impaled, especially when said friend's loveable nephews were in a dire state themselves.

Still, seven months on from the Battle of the Five Armies Thorin, Fíli and Kíli were healing well and Bilbo had not yet come to seriously regret his decision. Yes, he would complain sometimes but he never really meant it. He took the first left and continued on down the corridor, counting the numerous doors on his right.

"One…two…three…four….five…six." He nodded to himself and grasped the handle. The door wouldn't budge. "Oh, come on! Trust Bofur…. 'perfectly fine', he says. 'You'll be there in no time' he says. Well, don't lead me to locked doors then, you stupid dwarf!"

With that, Bilbo threw himself against the door. To his surprise it opened and he tumbled through, almost falling over the edge of the tall, stilted walkway on the other side. He cried out as the lantern fell out of his grasp and down the chasm below, but his eyes widened at the seven second wait before he heard the ever-so-faint smash of it falling to the ground. Swallowing, Bilbo slowly got to his feet and brushed himself off.

That was close. Too close.

Below him, the faint light of his broken lantern glimmered for a second before fading, leaving Bilbo in almost total darkness. Throughout the city there were series of skylights and mirrors that filtered in natural light, and intriguing chandeliers that could fill an entire hall with golden light within moments, but there was no light here. It was utterly dark, and Bilbo did not like utter darkness. Unlike his dwarven friends, he had no idea how to navigate his way without any light.

Muttering under his breath about the things he would like to do to Bofur if the opportunity came his way, Bilbo stood up and put his hand above the wall, following it slowly down the passageway.

"Right," he murmured, "Where do I go… end of the corridor, second stairway on the…left?"

Well, this was about as easy as selling shoes to a hobbit. Bilbo could not see a thing – in fact he only found the end of the tunnel when he walked straight into the first staircase.

"Oh, for the love of!" he cursed, nursing his scraped shin. He skirted around it and found the second staircase, ascending it slowly and carefully. Discovering the slanted corridor, Bilbo walked up, fumbling with the walls in the darkness. As soon as he found the door on his left he pushed it open and walked through, unaware that the door Bofur had spoken of was, in fact, three feet in front of him.

He stepped through the doorway and straight into something old, musty and awfully dusty. Coughing, Bilbo staggered away, putting his hand straight into an old lamp. To his surprise there was still oil in the bottom of it, and within moments his hands had found an old tinderbox. He smiled to himself in satisfaction as he lit the lamp.

When he turned and saw what he had crashed into, Bilbo let out a small shriek of horror. A corpse was hanging there, a rope around its neck, and he had walked right into it. As he willed his racing heart to settle, Bilbo realised that the poor dwarf must have been there since Smaug first set foot in the mountain – he must have chosen a quick death over starvation, incineration or even being eaten alive.

It was not the first body that Bilbo had found, but it never seemed to get easier. Swallowing, he tried not to imagine the dwarf's final moments and backed away, only to bump into a ledge. He turned and clamped a hand over his mouth to try and stop himself from throwing up. An infant's body lay before him in a crumbling basket, swaddled lovingly in old clothes with two stones over their tiny eyes in the way that Bilbo had watched the dwarves place stones, gems and coins on the eyes of their dead after the battle.

Looking back to the corpse, Bilbo realised that the desiccated clothing was a skirt – the dwarf was in fact a woman, and from the looks of things she had ended her life after the death of her own child. Staggering away from the horrific scene, Bilbo tried to find the promised last corridor, but he tripped over something on the floor and fell to his back.

The swinging lamp light illuminated the face of a small child and glittered off of the old gems resting on their lifeless eyes and Bilbo yelped and scrambled backwards, toppling right off of the edge.

The hobbit screamed as he fell through the air, but there was no one around to hear him. In the dark depths of a lost passage in the Lonely Mountain, Bilbo crashed from rock to rock to the cavernous ground far below, and as his body broke over a large boulder he let out a weak plea for help that he knew no one would hear.

And then his eyes closed.

"So," Thorin paused, staring into the fire with his hands clamped behind his back. "Allow me to ensure that I understand you… You and your brother decided that it would be wise to catapult rubble off of the side of the mountain, and within the course of this marvellous plan you managed to destroy one of Dale's outer watchtowers?"

"Aye, sir." Fíli admitted humbly. "It was only partially destroyed and it was neither Kíli nor I who actually took the shot, but it happened and I take full responsibility for our actions. I will go to Dale personally and apologise to Bard myself."

"Aye, you will," said Thorin. "But first you will explain to me where your brother is and what part he played in this?"

Fíli shuffled uncomfortably, and despite the seriousness of the situation Thorin had to stifle a smile. Even in the face of what was probably the worst trouble he had ever caused, Fíli was reluctant to place any blame on his brother. "I'm not sure where he is…"

Thorin turned and looked at Fíli sternly. "I'm not sure that you understand the severity of the situation."

"I do, my Lord," Fíli insisted. "May the Valar strike me dead if I lie, I know full well what we have done and I'm sorry. It was an accident. Kíli only helped move the catapult and shoot one or two shots out where it would hit no one, I swear it. I am sorry, Thorin."

I know, Thorin thought. "Go to Dale know. Take Balin and Dori with you. They will protect you – and hopefully stop any more damage from being done. And if you see your brother you will send him straight to me, I do not care what he is doing. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Fíli bowed deeply.

"Go!" Thorin barked, and his nephew left the room hurriedly. The king rubbed his forehead.

"Well, this is lovely and peace-threatening," Dwalin growled. "If this idea wasn't Kíli's and Kíli's alone I'd be very surprised – and when I get my hands on him he's going to wish that he stayed hidden!"

"Because that's obviously not why he's hiding," Nori drawled.

Thorin glared at the thief turned spymaster. "Do we know yet if anyone was hurt?"

"Not yet," Nori pushed himself up off of the desk. "We're still waiting for the news to come in."

Thorin sighed heavily. Why did his intelligent, strong, skilled nephews have to be such fools? It was as if they didn't have any sense at all. "Glóin, find Bofur. Tell him that finding Kíli is our greatest priority – I need to see him. As soon as possible."

"Right," Glóin bowed quickly out of the room.

Thorin met Dwalin's eyes as they were left alone in the room. "Do me a favour, my friend."

"Aye?"

"When we find Kíli, try to hold back a little. Allow me to reprimand him too."

The kettle was whistling sharply, and Bilbo wanted nothing more than to just ignore it, but something told him that he couldn't. His bed felt wrong – it was digging into his back and his pillow was poking into his skull. It also felt soaking wet.

The piercing was beginning to become painful – he was going to have to get up and take it off of the fire. With great annoyance, Bilbo opened his eyes.

He wasn't in Bag End. He wasn't even in his quarters in Erebor.

Bilbo was in the pitch dark, and the whistling was not a kettle. It was pain, searing pain, piercing his skull. He was lying on the ground, and he had never been in more pain in his life.

A soft gasp broke free from his lips as he prompted himself to breathe. Despite the cold rock beneath him, his head was resting in a puddle. A warm puddle that reeked of iron.

The hobbit could feel his heart racing as he slowly came to the realisation that he was most probably lying in a pool of his own blood.

Alright, he thought to himself. Alright, don't panic, don't panic, just breathe… breathe… you should just see how bad things are before you see about getting up or anything like that…

With that in mind, Bilbo decided to try and figure out where the blood came from, but when he went to move his arm he screamed in pain. It felt as though he was being torn in two and stabbed all at once – if the bone wasn't broken there was definitely something else that was very, very wrong.

He tried to shift but his legs wouldn't move and his head felt heavier than if a dragon was sitting on it.

Bilbo was in trouble, and there was only one thing that he could do.

"Help!" he let out a terrified, strangled scream. "Help! Help me! Help!"

The darkness only grew darker as his screams echoed in the silence, and finally Bilbo's breath ran out and he could do nothing to stop himself from being sucked down into unconsciousness.

"Are we going the right way?"

Kíli pursed his lips. "I think so… Do we go left or right here?"

"Why do you think I have any idea?" Ori screwed his nose up.

"Well, you're supposed to be the brains of this operation." Kíli glanced down the corridor. "Thorin's going to kill me."

"You mean us… I'd say right." Ori guessed.

"Alright," Kíli began walking down the right corridor. "And no, I do mean me. You'll get a telling off, but Thorin will beat me to within an inch of my life, then Dwalin will skin me alive and Thorin'll hit me on the head to finish me off and there'll be nothing that anyone can do about it. I'm doomed. Doomed forever."

"You're a drama queen."

Kíli raised his eyebrows at his friend. "Excuse me?"

"You're a drama queen," Ori smiled. "You're not going to die. You're Thorin's favourite. You get away with anything."

"That's not true!" Kíli protested. "Fíli's always been the favourite – he's the one that does everything right."

Ori hummed. "Perhaps, but you could still get away with murder."

"Murder, most definitely. Destroying inter-racial relations between Erebor and our closest neighbour… probably not."

"It was an accident!" Ori protested. "Bard will understand."

"Will he?" Kíli winced. "Not to mention the fact that we must've been missing for hours now!"

"That may be a problem. They'll think that you're hiding."

"What happened to 'we'?" Kíli protested.

"I haven't done anything wrong other than to accompany the wayward prince, and I could probably argue that in my favour. I have no reason to hide."

Kíli scowled at the truth in that statement. "Well, unlike normal I'm not hiding. I'm lost."

"I know that," Ori reminded him calmly. "I'm lost with you."

"Ah!" Kíli cried out in glee. "Look! The hall of kings!"

"Oh, thank goodness!"

The two young dwarves raced forward into the hall, only to bump right into Bofur.

"Aha! We've been looking for you!"

"And we've been looking for you – all of you!" Kíli insisted. "We got lost."

"Did you now?" Bofur rolled his eyes. "How did that happen?"

"We chased after the boy who fired the shot. I think he's since died of embarrassment – we couldn't find him." Kíli explained. "Where's Thorin?"

"Looking all over for you."

"Ah…" Kíli reconsidered. "Where's Fíli?"

"On his way to Dale to make an official apology. And you are now on your way to see Thorin."

Kíli took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Half a decade ago he would have scarpered, but nearly dying did put your life into perspective. "Let's go then."

"Good lad," Glóin clapped him on the back. "Let's go then."

Yawning, Fíli flopped into bed and covered his eyes. He was almost completely certain that in his whole, entire life he had never had such a stressful two days.

It had taken them a total of twelve hours to work out negotiations with Dale – Bard had believed their story of an accident immediately, but some of his council were not so sure. The moment he got home, Fíli had been brought straight to the training grounds.

For the past two days straight he and his brother had been undergoing Dwalin's strictest, harshest training regiments. He was exhausted – physically and mentally.

He could really do with some of Bilbo's cupcakes.

Fíli opened his eyes. He hadn't seen Bilbo since before the accident – and that was strange. True, everyone had been running around like headless chickens trying to smooth everything over, but the hobbit was such a presence in the mountain. He had been so tired that he hadn't noticed at all, but something told him that his exhaustion was masking something bad.

Ignoring his burning legs, Fíli rolled out of bed, threw on a tunic and marched straight to the hobbit's quarters, banging on the door.

"Bilbo?" he yawned. "Bilbo?"

There was no response. Something was wrong – Fíli could feel it.

He strode down the corridor to the most likely candidate to know where their hobbit was.

"Bofur?" he knocked loudly on the door. "Bofur!"

After a few moments, the sleepy looking dwarf appeared at the dwarf. "Aye, lad?"

"Have you seen Bilbo in the last few days?"

At first Bofur looked confused, but then he began to look worried. "Not since the day of your little catastrophe, no."

"Neither have I, and I'm worried."

Bofur paused. "Hang on."

A few moments later the dwarf emerged with an outer coat on.

"Let's go find our hobbit."

By the time that they had knocked on the door of every company member, Fíli's concern had been fanned into full-fledged panic.

"Where could he be?" Kíli's hair looked as frazzled as Fíli knew that his brother felt.

"Who saw him last?" Thorin demanded.

Bofur paused. "Last time I saw him was when I sent him to tell you about the catapult incident."

Thorin suddenly went pale and Fíli's stomach swooped. "Bofur, Fíli told me about the catapult. I did not see Bilbo at all that day."

"What?" Bofur's eyes bulged. "But I thought- damn it! We checked that shortcut on all the maps-"

"But you didn't accompany him?" Thorin snarled. "Bilbo is a hobbit, he's not used to the ways of the mountain-"

"This is no time for arguing!" Fíli interrupted. "We should go – now. He might be hurt."

Almost immediately the once sleeping kingdom of Erebor was alive with guards and volunteers, all looking for their missing halfling. The company all split up to take every door on the shortcut that Bofur had explained.

"Oh, Mahal!" Kíli coughed, covering his mouth as they opened the door to a swinging corpse.

"There's another body there," Fíli pointed out grimly. "A babe. The poor mother must've thought it better to die quickly when the dragon struck…"

"Fíli," Kíli murmured, ducking past the hanging corpse. "Look. This body – this child – he's been disturbed."

Sure enough, when Fíli looked over the gems from the child's eyes were on the floor, and the tiny body was in a very odd position. He swung his lantern up and cried out in horror.

"Kíli, don't move!"

His brother froze where he was – a mere inch from the edge of an enormous drop. Slowly. Fíli walked to join his brother, and he shone the light into the chasm below.

His heart jolted.

"Bilbo!" Kíli yelled, terror ringing from his voice. "Bilbo, Bilbo!"

Far, far below them, the crumpled body of their hobbit did not even move.

"Kíli, do you have any rope?" Fíli asked urgently.

"Of course," Kíli dove into his bag, producing a long line of rope.

Wordlessly, the brothers secured the rope around a nearby rock, and began to abseil down as quickly as they could.

The moment he reached the bottom, Fíli wrenched the rope off from around his waist and ran over the jagged rocks to the hobbit's side.

"Bilbo!"

The halfling's body was deathly pale, and the frighteningly large blood pool around him was sticky – it had clearly been there for a while. For a heart wrenching moment, Fíli thought that Bilbo was dead, but then he felt the fluttering pulse beneath the hobbit's burning skin.

"Bilbo!" Kíli cried again. "Fíli, what's wrong with him?"

All of a sudden, Fíli felt like a child again, trying to explain death to his baby brother. Almost the exact same words had chimed out of Kíli's seven year old mouth when their father's corpse had been laid out in front of them.

"Fee, Fee what's wrong with him?"

Fíli swallowed and tried to concentrate on the present.

"There is a pulse, but it's barely there. He's got a wound to the back of the head," Fíli murmured, gently gliding his hands over Bilbo's body from his head to his hairy toes the way that Óin had taught him. "Feels serious… I don't think there's any damage to the neck but his arm's broken – shattered more like – he's got broken ribs, feels like his back's alright… it also feels like he's got a broken leg, though I can't be sure. Given his temperature, I'd say he's got a fever too."

"Can we move him?" Kíli worried, as pale as Bilbo was. "Will we make things worse?"

"I don't know," despite himself, Fíli began to feel panic creeping over him to clench his throat. "I don't know what to do…"

Shaking his head as if he was slipping into denial, Kíli ran back to the base of the wall and screamed at the top of his lungs. "Help! We've found him, we've found him but we need help! Help! Help us!"

Content that his brother was raising the alarm, Fíli tried desperately to rouse the hobbit.

"Bilbo, come on, come on! Bilbo, wake up," he begged, tapping Bilbo's face gently. "Please, Mr Baggins, wake up, you have to wake up! Bilbo – Mr Baggins – Halfling – Burglar – Mr Boggins please just wake up!"

Bilbo did not stir.

Fíli felt tears pricking at his eyes but he banished them as the sound of company drew closer. He looked up to see Óin, Thorin, Balin and the rest of the company racing towards them, and he used his last moment alone with Bilbo to whisper what was weighing so heavily on his racing heart.

"I'm sorry, Bilbo. I'm so sorry…"

"It's all our fault."

"Kíli-"

Erebor's youngest prince continued his frantic pacing. "I'm never going to touch a weapon again!"

"Now, that's quite ridiculous-"

"We should never have moved the catapult. Someone was going to get hurt."

"That may be, but-"

"I should be in the training ring – I should have more drills than a dwarf can take!"

"Kíli, now you're just being overdramatic."

"If we hadn't caused all that fuss someone would have noticed – in fact no one would have had to use that shortcut at all!"

"I can't argue with that, but-"

"It's all our fault."

"Will you just listen-"

"I don't think I've ever felt more guilty in my life-"

"Kíli! Will you please listen to me?"

Finally, Kíli shut his mouth and turned around.

"This isn't your fault," Bilbo weakly gestured to his bandaged body. "It was an accident."

"But you nearly died!" Kíli all but whimpered.

"But I didn't!"

"You were unconscious for two days! And that's not even counting the time before we found you!"

"Kíli," Bilbo murmured, a faint smile painting his face. "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"You're not fine, though." The young prince protested. "You're very not fine – Óin said you might not walk for months, months! We could have lost you forever and I'm sorry."

Bilbo shook his throbbing head slightly as Kíli's voice cracked. The poor dwarf was trembling from head to toe, and Bilbo had never seen such guilt engraved into the face of one so young. "I forgive you, Kíli. You found me – you saved me! I'll be fine. If you truly want to help me heal you'll have to stop all torturing yourself. It's painful to watch."

The faintest hint of a smile flickered across Kíli's face. "Sorry, Bilbo."

"You don't need to be…"

A soft knock on the door announced Thorin's arrival. Several of the lines engraved in his forehead fell away as he smiled at the sight of the lucid hobbit. "Master Baggins, how are you feeling?"

"Fed up of your nephew's self-loathing," Bilbo grinned. "But other than that much better."

Thorin glared at Kíli. "Have you been bothering our burglar?"

"Not at all," interrupted the hobbit. Poor Kíli had had quite enough punishment already – he didn't need his uncle's renewed anger directed his way. "He's just been overly apologetic."

The king's glare softened slightly, and he turned his attention back to the hobbit.

"I thought it would please you to know that all and any ill-feeling with New Dale has been completely vanquished – when Bard heard of what happened to you he sent an envoy to show his sincere support. I believe this is from his daughter."

Bilbo took the small, cloth doll from Thorin's hands, his mouth dropping open in surprise. He had seen the toy clutched in young Tilda's grasp almost every time he had seen her.

"Apparently all of Dale's royalty and nobles are very concerned with your wellbeing." Thorin continued with a wry smile. "I also wanted to inform you of a proposal the council put forward."

"And what would that be?" Bilbo asked warily. Thorin's council had never really seemed to know what to make of the hobbit, and their opinion of him was subject to change as easily as the weather.

"They would like to alter the architecture of the mountains main passages, with one key addition."

"Which is…?" Kíli edged.

Thorin grinned, the first true smile Bilbo had seen from the king in days.

"Handrails."

I hope you enjoyed that, please do let me know what you think! For anyone waiting upon Strangers Like Me or the second oneshot - they're on the way!

Thank you for reading, and thank you SakuraDragomir for entering my competition.