Of all the dwarves in all the land! Bilbo fumes as he stomps away.

It had settled in quite soon after they had departed the Shire that to the dwarves he was more a source of comic relief than someone that had anything to do with burgling. He was a fish out water in the purest sense, and quite frequently he felt like that made him seem like a burden more than anything else. He was sure Thorin thought so. But Kíli…he hadn't thought that of Kíli.

Until now! Bilbo finds himself in one of the lower gardens, a place blessedly dwarf-free. Why did I even come!? The nerve!

Before Gandalf had come along he'd never had any intention of running out his door. Well, he supposes that isn't entirely true. But surely all hobbit tweens run around in the woods pretending to be off on grand adventures. He might have never seen any others, but that didn't mean anything. And yes, the stories his mother had woven with words at bedtime had sparked a deep curiosity but he was a Baggins. He belonged in the Shire.

At least that's what he had convinced himself.

When thirteen strangers, and that bloody wizard, had invited themselves over to empty his pantry and destroy his plumbing he had tried hard to hold onto his irritation, even though his curiosity sparked as they spoke of their lost home far to the east. The dwarves were a secretive race, that he knew, and that was about all he knew. They were folk of the mountain and skilled with metal. They were travelling smiths and weapons masters. But more than that he did not know.

And all these weeks on the road with them hadn't garnered him any more knowledge, at least not on their race as a whole. But he had noticed things about each of his companions, things that set them apart and things they shared in common.

But the dark-haired brother had been different. Kíli had been quick to smile and even quicker to joke with him instead of at him. And where the others wielded their axes and swords with a certain skill that should not be surprising, Kili used a bow, though he lacked none of the efficiency or skill of his fellow dwarves. He hadn't felt like he was quite so out of his element around the young dwarf.

In the Shire he wasn't dead weight, but he never truly fit in. At fifty-one he was considered an oddity to his fellow hobbits. He had reached his majority decades ago but remained unmarried, which was about as strange as a hobbit could get, save from venturing out of the Shire on an adventure with a wizard and thirteen dwarves. He had sealed his fate as the community outcast as soon as he had stepped over the border of the Shire.

Maybe some part of him had hoped he would find a place among the thirteen strangers, and maybe part of him had thought that Kíli would be the first one to accept him. It was a foolish notion and he knew it but he had always taken after his mother's side; he'd been a dreamer and full of wishes since he was a fauntling.

He blows out a sigh and stares up at the star-filled sky.

Fool of a Took.

O~o~O

If they had spent any amount of time together before, Kíli would swear that Bilbo was avoiding him. While that still might be true he spent no less time with Bilbo than he ever had but still he regrets his words. Impulsive and brash. He's always had a way of speaking before he fully thinks things through. In the mountains it was a front, a way to distract others from his differences with a fast tongue and brilliant smile. Here it was just a habit he found hard to break.

He can't think of a time he's regretted it more.

"What did you do to anger Master Baggins?" Fíli asks one night several days after they've come to stay in Rivendell waiting for the crescent moon to reveal the location of the door in Thorin's map.

Kíli looks up suddenly, eyes darting to his brother then to the hobbit who has his back firmly to the both of them and was well out of earshot anyway. Was it that obvious? Had Bilbo said something? "You know?"

His brother bumps their shoulders together. "Look who you're talking to. Of course I know. Not to mention every time your eyes settle on our esteemed, little burglar you get that look like someone kicked your puppy."

"I don't have a puppy," Kíli mutters. "And it's not like we interacted much before now anyway."

Fíli sighs and ruffles his hair affectionately. "Come-on, you can tell me," Fíli encourages him.

"I said something to Bilbo, but I didn't mean it the way it came out."

"You rarely do," his brother teases but when it doesn't garner him the usual grin he stills. Kíli is obviously troubled. "Have you told him this?"

How was he supposed to talk to someone who wouldn't acknowledge his presence? And what happens if he buries his foot further into his mouth? It is a distinct possibility. He shakes his head and busies himself with lighting his pipe.

"It will work itself out, little brother."

Of course Fíli is right but that was no immediate consolation. Bilbo seems content to ignore him, and Kíli, as troubled as he is, feels powerless to do anything but let him.

That's why it's a bit of a shock when Bilbo bridges the gap first, the next night, when they are sitting beneath a darkening sky enjoying a late meal. Fíli offers the hobbit a small smile as he approaches and wordlessly accepts the plate of food he is offered, not-so-subtly kicking Kíli in the back when he does. Kíli barks out a protest and glares up at his brother who nods at Bilbo as he walks off to talk to Balin.

"Are you hungry?"

Kíli accepts the food wordlessly, hoping the tiny smile he offers the hobbit is thanks enough. He doesn't want to open his mouth again and somehow offend the other man just by offering his thanks. They stare at each other for a few moments before the hobbit moves to leave.

"I'm not just a Baggins," Bilbo says suddenly, stopping mid-turn making the firelight bounce off of his curls in a way that catches Kíli's eye. "I'm a Took too, and sometimes that gets the best of me."

And with that he's off again, and Kíli watches him with confusion and a sense of relief as he settles in one of the alcoves on the far side of the open veranda where they had set up camp. He's fairly certain that was some form of an apology, not that he was owed any.

"What did he say?" Fíli asks, settling in beside him.

"I'm….not sure."

A deep chuckle from behind them has both brothers careening around to find the grey wizard who had managed to disappear for much of their time in Rivendell. "What Mr. Baggins was explaining is that while he is a Baggins by name he takes after his mother's side of the family, the Tooks, in temperament—probably more than he'd care to admit. He lets his temper get the best of him at times but he is quick to forgive as well."

"Gandalf, why did he come?" Kíli asks. Perhaps the wizard can sate his curiosity.

There is laughter in the old man's face but he shakes his head. "That is a question you'll have to pose to our burglar. I'm afraid I cannot speak for him." The wizard smiles around the stem of his pipe. "There are many reasons he might have chosen to join this company, and still many more why he might not have. I could fathom a guess but it would likely be wrong because hobbits, as I've come to find, seem so very simple yet after you think you've learned all there is to know they will still find a way to surprise you."

Surprise seems to be a recurring theme if Kíli has anything to say about it. He isn't sure how he finds himself in the library the next morning while the majority of the dwarves are still dead to the world but he can recognize an odd occurrence when he sees one. It has been many long years since he's been in a library, still many more since he stepped foot in one willingly. This place is larger than any they'd had in Ered Luin. There are books on every surface, carefully placed onto each shelf. They span the length and breadth of the room and he thinks Ori would probably never come out again if he sees this place.

His bare feet make hardly a sound on the smooth stone floor and he's brushing his hair out of his eyes when he comes across Bilbo with a book splayed across his lap and a cup of tea in hand. The hobbit looks up at his approach and seemingly can't help the laugh that spills out at the sight of the sleep-tousled dwarf.

"What?!"

"You just don't look awake," Bilbo explains as Kíli tries to stifle a yawn. He offers the dwarf his cup of tea and Kíli is too surprised to do anything but take it and lift it to his lips. "It's good, this."

"Lemon and chamomile," the hobbit offers.

For dwarves the act of sharing food and drink from one another's plate or cup was an intimate one, something shared between the closest of friends and kin. To accept was a sign of respect and trust, and the customs of his people demanded he refuse but it was too late now, and it had been such an honest gesture that Kíli found himself unwilling to listen to tradition.

"May I join you, Master Baggins?"

"Only if you'll call me Bilbo."

Kíli sinks to the ground with a radiant smile. "Bilbo then."

They sit there in companionable silence as Bilbo reads and Kíli sips at the hobbit's tea. It's not normal, this feeling of contentment and being calm enough not to feel the need to be talking or moving. When he has time to stop or to think back home it leaves an opening for the other dwarves to notice just how hard he tries to be the person he isn't and how much it never really works. But Bilbo doesn't seem to judge him; at least he doesn't know their customs well enough for that.

"The other night I tried to explain why I lost my temper and I realize that you may have no idea what I meant."

Bilbo's voice is soft but it echoes in the large room and Kíli jerks around, the cup tinkling to the stone floor as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. "You don't have to explain yourself to me!"

He's interrupted by a laugh. "It's hardly going to put me out, and how can you accept my explanation if you don't understand it?"

"I suppose that's true," Kíli concedes. Part of him thinks he should tell Bilbo that Gandalf, as mysterious as he was, offered some insight but he wants to hear the other man speak. "But first, you must know that I didn't mean for what I said to come out the way I said it."

That admission garners him a smile. "It is alright if it did. I know I'm not like you all, and you are right to question my reasons for being here."

Kíli protests. "I don't doubt you! Really I don't!" And it isn't as if he has any ground to stand on to question their burglar's decision to come on their quest.

"Thank you Kíli," Bilbo says. He looks out the window for a long moment as if gathering his train of thought. "Well you know I'm a Baggins, at least my father was a Baggins. Bungo Baggins—"

Kíli stills and looks up at the hobbit, "You mean like the pony we named Bungo?" he asks in a small voice, earning a laugh. "The very same," the hobbit confirms but doesn't seem put off by it. Someone had read the name somewhere in the hobbit's smial. Of course they should have known it was a family member.

"Anyway, the Bagginses are very respectable hobbits. They are predictable to a tee and prefer the familiar to the unknown. They are very well thought of and you will find that most of them live in or near Hobbiton." He chuckles to himself and Kíli wants to ask what the joke is but he doesn't want to interrupt. "On the other hand the Tooks are more adventurous and there wasn't a hobbit that went off on some adventure that didn't have Took blood in them. They can be quick to irritate but like all hobbits they don't hold grudges long. I think it's impossible."

"And you said your father was a Baggins, so that means your mother was a Took?"

"Yes, Belladonna Took."

There was a smile in his voice when he spoke of her, of both of them, but there was something else. Something buried beneath the fond recollections. Kíli shifts when Bilbo lapses into silence, staring up at the other man who seems lost in thought.

The hobbit's eyes are wide and unseeing, he's focused on something distant. Maybe a warm home in a far, green land. Maybe a time when laughter filled his smial; laughter that wasn't that of thirteen strangers but belonged to his mother and father, who were beyond his reach now.

"Bilbo?"

He blinks several times before his eyes lock with Kíli's. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to do that!" Kíli exclaims and flinches when his voice carries. "It's just—I mean there's nothing to apologize for."

The smile he earns is genuine, a soft tilt of Bilbo's lips that speaks more than words.

"Well, I'm sure that's plenty more than you wanted to know about me or hobbits in general," Bilbo chuckles to himself. "I get the feeling I'm not supposed to ask about you dwarves, but…" He trails off with a shake of his head and bounces to his feet, swooping down to snatch up the teacup from next to Kíli's knee. "Shall we find some more tea?"

The hobbit navigates the maze of halls like he'd been there before down to a lower kitchen where an elf produced another cup and sent them off with a tray complete with a kettle and some biscuits with honey.

Kíli startles when Bilbo thanks the woman in elvish.

"No veren," she replies with a smile.

The hobbit gives a little bow and motions for Kíli to follow him. "Have you been here before?" he asks when they're well away.

"No, but my mother visited Rivendell and spoke of it to me at great length when I was younger." Many nights had been spent before the hearth, her voice rich and loving as she recalled the tales of her adventures to her young son while her husband sat nearby with a smile on his face and a book in his hands. She had painted pictures of this place with her words and it had never left him.

They don't return to the library; instead they settle down on one of the many verandas.

"Should I change?" Kíli asks Bilbo as several elves pass by, giving the two lingering glances.

"You are hardly indecent, and I'm barefoot as well," Bilbo replies without looking up, his attention on pouring the tea. "Though your hair is probably startling them a little."

His hair has always been one of those points of contention between him and the others. It's too fine to hold braids well and it's always been messy. Where most dwarves weave intricate plaits that speak of their lineage and bonds, his own locks remain unruly and unbraided. He has a clasp from his mother, one that matches Fíli's, but it is the only ornament he is able to anchor to it.

"Kíli?"

Brown eyes meet hazel ones and Kíli realizes he had been trying to smooth his hair down with little success. "If it offends them I can try to do something with it."

Bilbo tugs Kíli's hands down and smiles. "And why should you care if you offend them? I was given to believe you lot don't care much for the opinion of elves," he says. "Besides, your hair is fine, if a little tousled from sleep. It's a lovely brown and not what I would call at all offensive."

For a moment he smooths down the dwarf's hair, his fingers gently tugging on the wild locks before he withdraws in order to press a fresh cup of tea into Kíli's hands.

"Dwarves are a secretive race," Kíli says, because he wants to share with Bilbo and not just because he feels like he owes him. "And many wouldn't tell you anything but you are travelling with us, and it seems only fair that we—I—tell you something."

He would be in trouble if the others knew and Bilbo seemed to realize the same. "Kíli, I don't want you to get yourself in trouble on my account."

It's Kíli's turn to laugh and he rocks back. "Oh, Mr. Boggins," he begins teasingly. "I've been getting myself in and out of trouble for a very long time. Have no fear."

They spend the next half hour sipping on tea as Kíli tells Bilbo about the importance of braids and what beads mean. "The beads Fíli has on his moustache, those are from me. I gave him to them when he came of age. Really, they're not the greatest of craftsmanship but he refuses to take any others. He says they mean too much to him. Beads are given on special occasions; when a dwarf comes of age, or after our first battle, or during courtship."

Bilbo nods thoughtfully. "So the braids signify the bonds, and the beads to commemorate significant events in one's life?" he asks, and Kíli smiles with approval.

"Do you mind if I ask why you—"

He is interrupted by another voice. "There you two are."

Fili is walking towards them and Bilbo bites back his question and busies himself replacing their cups on the now empty tray. "Breakfast is ready," the blonde tells them. "Though it will likely be nuts and berries, as if we are some woodland creatures for these elves to woo."

Bilbo chuckles. "Maybe they will yet surprise you, Master Fíli."

"You'll forgive me if I keep my doubts," he retorts but he smiles all the same.

With the tray in hand Bilbo stands. "I'm sure you'll want to get dressed before breakfast," he says to Kíli, "I'll try to save you something from Bombur."

Kíli grins and nods while Fíli watches the exchange with a careful eye. "We'll be along shortly, you won't have to hold him off for long," the older Durin assures him. They watch the hobbit walk away before Fíli turns to his younger brother. "You know if anyone found out you were telling him of our ways there would be hell to pay, right?"

He understands, as well as someone who has never shared the ridicule his younger brother has been forced to endure, can. He knows Kíli has struggled his entire life to find his place and this will not help him if it comes to light. "He is not one of us, Kíli."

"I'm not really one of us," Kíli retorts. "Not really."

Fíli's face grows serious and he grabs his brother by the shirt. "Don't say that. You are one of us! You have always been one of us!"

Kíli squeezes his brother's hand. "Will you tell uncle?" he asks and gets a shove for it.

"Of course not! I don't have an issue with it. I like Bilbo, you know I do. Just don't let the others find out," he warns and then pulls Kíli into a hug that is more like a headlock than anything else. "Now come-on. Bilbo won't be able to hold Bombur off for long."

Neither of them notices the hobbit slip from the shadows and trot away.