They vanish out from under his nose, in the one moment he thinks it is safe not to be watching. What does he know? He isn't their father.

They set off for school that morning, faces as bright and happy as they ever are these days. Fíli holds his brother's hand, and Thorin hopes vaguely that he remembered to wash their hands and clean their teeth before they left. For a six-year-old, he is very reliable. Bofur walks them to school in the mornings, but they won't let him carry them any longer. Kíli waves goodbye cheerfully, irrepressible as ever. Thorin turns back to his coffee and scowls at the paper, where there is yet another story on the dangerous reports of criminal activity invading Inverness.

He works through the morning, grateful for the silence. Kíli doesn't speak in proper words, but he jabbers incessantly in the language that only Fíli can understand, and it is sometime enough to drive Thorin mad. His sister had known how to handle them. She is two months in her grave. Thorin studies notes and budget reports, everything Bombur has found for him on Smaug, and there is nothing he can grasp. It is like trying to defeat smoke.

He looks up when the post comes, tumbling onto the mat with a dull thud, and frowns at it. The post doesn't come until two. A quick glance at his watch is enough to have him on his feet, cursing himself for his inattentiveness. He was meant to have picked Kíli up before noon. Shoving his arms into his dark leather jacket, he glares at the silent phone. The school ought to have called.

He stomps along, not bothering to avoid the puddles. It has rained for a solid week, and Fíli has whined every day because he wished to see the dolphins in the Moray Firth. Balin has filled his head with stories, and Thorin is expected to make them come true. The primary school is only a few streets away, and Thorin pushes his way through the doors, ignoring the stares and murmurs on all sides.

He has only been here once before, when he registered the boys, and it takes a moment to remember where the nursery class meets. The bright artwork on the walls is a good clue, though, and his eyes fall on one piece of work that is fastened to the wall. MY FAMILY, it reads in bold letters across the top, and the dozens of black-scribbled, bearded, spider-shaped people leave no doubt as to the artist. Thorin smirks a little, mollified, and opens the door quietly onto a lively scene of children playing. There are hundreds of the little monsters, it seems, and it takes him a moment to be sure. Kíli is not there.

"Mr. Oakenshield?" the teacher asks nervously. She isn't smiling. Thorin has never seen her round, cheerful face absent of a smile. "I'm so sorry, sir. There wasn't anything I could do!"

"What are you talking about?" he asks, not caring that he sounds dangerous. "Where is Kíli?"

"I don't know!" She steps backward, putting a wooden table between them. "They had the appropriate paperwork. Here." She offers a sheet of paper which trembles between her fingers, and Thorin snatches it roughly, his heart beginning to pound. Words jump out and fade away too quickly to be read, but he understands, and his fingers close sharply on the paper, crushing it into a ball in his hands.

"Taken?" he roars, brandishing the paper at her. The children are not playing now; they are watching him, and some are beginning to cry. "They took my nephews?"

"It-it's only for their own welfare, Mr. Oakenshield," she says nervously. "There were concerns!"

"Concerns?" The children huddle together, staring up at him with wide eyes. "My nephews have been stolen away because some primary school teachers had concerns?"

She puts her chin up, moving to stand in front of her students. "There's nothing that can be done here, Mr. Oakenshield. You'll have to get in contact with the appropriate authorities. I am very sorry." She sounds like she means it, but Thorin cannot see anything but Kíli's bag, abandoned on his little blue peg. He storms out of the room, barely pausing to rip Kíli's art from the wall.

It is a useless gesture, but he stops in at Fíli's classroom, where all of the children are stunned and quiet. His teacher is no more helpful, and far more accusing. He stares at Thorin with dark eyes and makes insinuations about the state of Fíli's clothing and how he will not answer questions about his family, and Thorin knows where the reported concerns stemmed from. He could crush this man with one hand - but there is no time for that.

By the time he reaches home, Thorin is shaking with rage and loss, clutching Kíli's drawing and the silver clip that Fíli likes to wear in his bright hair - the last thing he has of his mother, and they left it behind when they stole him away. He wants to roar at the sky. He wants to rip out the throats of the people who have taken his nephews. Instead, he goes inside and snatches up the phone, stabbing at the numbers that have been printed in unforgiving ink on the crumpled letter.

"Children's Services, Inverness," a woman's voice answers. It is businesslike and kind, and Thorin feels a murderous rage rising in his throat.

"You've taken my nephews," he growls, and his fingers are clutching the handset so tight they ache. "I want them back NOW."

"I'm afraid I need a bit more information," she says. He could scream. "Names?"

"Oakenshield. I'm Thorin Oakenshield, and they are Fíli and Kíli."

"Hmmmm," she says, drawing it out. "I do see that we've taken custody of two children with those names, but the surname is not Oakenshield. Fíli and Kíli Campbell?"

"They don't go by that name," Thorin snaps. "But yes, those are the children I'm looking for."

"I'm afraid it's a complicated matter, Mr. Oakenshield," she says efficiently. "There will be a hearing within three days to determine their placement. If you can prove the allegations of neglect and dangerous conditions for children are unfounded, you may re-take custody at that time."

"Three days? That's unacceptable!" He's nearly hoarse now from the effort of not screaming every thought that passes through his mind. "They've just lost their mother two months ago. You can't take them away from their family this way!"

"We do what we feel is in the best interests of the children," she shoots back, all fire. "Let me be blunt with you, Mr. Oakenshield. If we had known about this situation, we would have taken the children as soon as the mother passed. It is a clear case of neglect, child endangerment, and possibly criminal charges to follow."

"They are not neglected! They've got many adults looking after them."

"Their teachers report that they are often unfed in the mornings, their hair and nails not looked after, and their clothing is generally unclean. Furthermore, the little one - Kíli, is it? - is clearly developmentally delayed, but you have done nothing to meet his needs."

Thorin swallows hard and sits down. It is true that he doesn't always manage to get them fully groomed in the mornings - not when he is trying to manage the family, watch their backs for the pursuit that was inevitably only a few steps behind them, and figure out how to keep them all fed with no income, no government assistance, and a real danger lurking around every corner. They all do their best to look after the little ones in the morning, but none of them have children. They are all wandering in the dark.

"Kíli is not delayed," Thorin grinds out from between clenched teeth.

"His teacher reports he does not talk."

"He communicates with his brother! He hasn't needed to learn proper speech - Fíli translates for him."

"Mr. Oakenshield, that is a deeply disturbing situation. This seems like a case of unhealthy codependence that should be addressed immediately, and Kíli is clearly in need of remedial speech education."

"I'll work on it," Thorin growls. "But you cannot keep them away from us! They need their family."

"Their family seems to be placing them in danger," she answers coolly. "Tell me, Mr. Oakenshield, is there anyone in your family who isn't wanted by the law?"

"You can't hold that against the children!"

"We don't." Her voice is like ice. "But neither will we condemn them to a life of poverty and crime. We will pursue the best outcome for both of them."

The conversation sounds like it is beginning to wrap up, and Thorin leans forward, pressing the receiver too hard against his ear. "Let me see them," he begs, pride fading as his desperation rises. "Please. They can't think they've been abandoned."

"We will be happy to arrange visitation, under appropriate supervision," she says pleasantly. "Why don't you give me your address and the number where you can be reached, Mr. Oakenshield?"

He sucks in a breath, recognising the tactic, and slams down the telephone. If he goes to a visitation, it will be swarming with police officers, and they will all wind up in prison - and then there is nothing he can do for his wee lads.

He destroys the kitchen of their awful rented house, throwing dishes and smashing mugs and screaming with rage, and their little items sit on the table innocently, like a farewell. It is fortunate that Dwalin is the one who finds him, because none of the rest could have handled his anger. Dwalin wrestles him into stillness, calms him with a deceptively controlled rage that promises destruction as soon as they can make a move.

The rest come home one by one, and Thorin must share the story over and over, growing wearier each time. The last promise he had made to his little sister - to look after her children - and he has broken it so badly. They call Gloin and Bombur, telling the story once more, and begging for help from the only people who might be able to help them.

Thorin doesn't sleep that night. He walks the streets of Inverness, not minding the rain, as if he might find some sign of the children - Kíli, babbling incessantly in his surprisingly clear little voice, or a flash of light off Fíli's golden hair. They might have vanished from the earth, for all that he finds.

The Sons of Durin do not go to work the next day, to the underground and illegal activities that keep food on the table. They split up that day, wandering Inverness in ones and twos, and Thorin knows they are not being cautious enough. He cannot bring himself to care.

He winds up by the river, in a quiet patch of rocky grass where the weak sunlight dapples through the leaves of the trees. Fíli has been aching to go down to the water and splash about, and Thorin has not made the time. He loses himself for a while in the quiet rush of the water, and goes home before dark, more sad than angry now. Nori has news.

"I saw Fíli," he says straight away, and Thorin comes alive, shoulders snapping back.

"Where? Can we get them out?"

Nori shakes his head. "Not them. Fíli. He was with a family in Tesco. I didn't dare let him see me."

Cold fire rages in Thorin's chest at the idea of his boy with someone else's family. "Did he look well?"

"He looked lost, Thorin," Nori says gently. "Like he doesn't know what to do with his hands. He wouldn't talk to them he was with."

"Where was Kíli?" Dori asks, dismay wrinkling his face. "They can't have separated those two lads!"

"They might," Thorin says coldly. There is nothing left for him to smash. "They seem to think them too close."

But as unsurprised as he tries to seem, his heart aches at the thought of Fíli without his dark, cheerful shadow; of Kíli, without his voice. They were not made to be apart.

The days pass in a useless haze, and they accomplish nothing. Bofur seems to shrink into himself, losing his cheer, and Dwalin and Balin snap at one another like Thorin has not heard since he was young. They are all lost, sad and frightened, and there is nothing to be done but wait. Ori scans all the papers, looking for any news, and eventually turns up a blurb that notes there has been a hearing. The children are remanded to care for the next six months at the least. Ori weeps, and the rest pretend that they don't.

It has been a full week since they disappeared when Bombur calls, all apologies for the time it has taken him. He has names, addresses, and they move at once. None of them are foolish enough to warn them they should be cautious.

They snatch Fíli first, and Thorin is half-relieved, half-furious to find that he has been practically under their noses the whole while. They knock on the door in the late afternoon, and the foster mother answers, drying her hands on a towel. Thorin doesn't wait for her to speak - just barges in, ignoring her frightened squeak of protest, and shouts for Fíli. He flies down the stairs like a blond wildcat, flinging himself at Thorin with a wordless sob of relief, and Thorin gathers him up, crushing him to his chest and swaying back and forth. He buries his face in Fíli's long hair - now carefully cleaned and detangled, gathered neatly back from his face, and Fíli cannot speak for his sobs.

The foster mother cowers against the door, and Bofur goes to her, smiling kindly.

"Thank you for looking after our wee one," he says gently. "But we'll be needing him back now, you see."

She nods frantically, and points up the stairs. "His things are just up there."

Dori and Ori take off, and Balin looks at her, curious. "You'll let him go, just like that?"

"I'm only trying to do what's best for them," she says, a little less frightened in the face of his kindness. "I'm not meant to fight back in these situations."

"You don't need to fight us," Dwalin assures her. "We only want our lad."

Dori and Ori return, laden with a few small bags of children's items, and the Sons of Durin sweep out the door in a dark flood. Thorin stops by the door as they leave, Fíli still clutching him desperately, and he makes eye contact with the woman.

"You say you want what's best for him?" She nods uncertainly. "We need to fetch his little brother. That is what he needs. Please, give us the time to get away before you inform the authorities." She hesitates a long moment, then gives him a little nod.

"Two hours," she promises quietly, and Thorin lets his eyes express the depth of his gratitude.

It takes nearly that long to cross the town, trying to remain out of sight, and then to find the little flat where Kíli is being kept. Thorin dispatches half of the crew to find them vehicles for the getaway. They make their way to the door, Fíli nearly trembling with excitement and anticipation. They knock quickly - and are nearly bowled over by Kíli, who darts out the door and into Thorin's arms, scrambling up to press himself into his brother's and uncle's embrace.

"Fíli! You came back!" he chirps, burying his face against Thorin's shoulder. "You came back, Thorin!"

Thorin's jaw drops, and he exchanges a startled glance with the other adults. Fíli doesn't seem to have noticed that his brother is speaking recognizable words; he has pressed their heads together, murmuring in his ear like always.

A woman flings the door open, eyes wide. "Kíli! You mustn't run off that way!" She stops when she sees them all, and Bofur moves forward.

"We're young Kíli's family," he explains with a sweet grin. Thorin is grateful for his particular talent with women.

"And this, I take it, is Fíli?" she asks, nodding toward the little boy. They all nod. "If I haven't heard every word about Fíli, I'll eat my apron!" She slaps at Bofur's shoulder. "Took you long enough to get here."

"You - what?" Bofur is genuinely perplexed, and she laughs.

"I've been looking after children for a long while. Most as get sent to me need to be here. This one?" She smiles fondly at Kíli, who drops his head to Thorin's chest and blinks shyly back at her. "I've never seen a child in care who needs his family so badly. You need to get him out of here."

They follow orders, making their way out into the rapidly-falling dusk without hesitation. Thorin's arms are full, beginning to ache already, but he will not give either of his nephews over to anyone else. They are back where they belong, and no-one will ever remove them again.

They climb into the stolen vehicles, roaring away into the night just as the first blue glow from approaching police cars is beginning to show over a far hill. Thorin lets Oin drive, sitting in the back with one arm around each of the children. They're asleep in moments, safe and secure, their chubby fingers twisted together in his lap, one head pillowed on each of his legs. He runs his fingers through their hair, resting his hands on their heads in a benediction.

He is placing them in danger every day, and he knows it. It is his fault that they were taken - his fault for not caring for them properly, and even more for his stubbornness and pride. He could make a deal with Smaug, let him take the mountain and the Arkenstone and their homes, and walk away. They could live without the threat of his henchmen behind them.

But Thorin is an Oakenshield, and he will not bend. There will be no deals with the worm who had taken everything from them.

His fingers tense on the soft, warm heads beneath his hands, and he steels himself for what is to come. He cannot send them to a school again - cannot risk this happening a second time. Once was too often. He will not sacrifice them if he can help it.

But Fíli snuffles in his sleep, moves fretfully toward his brother, and Kíli wakes, crying frantically until he can be assured that he is not alone. They will not recover from this in one night. Oin drives on through the night, and Thorin does not sleep. He will not take his eyes off them for a moment, not even when he thinks it is safe. He is not their father - but he is all they have left.


OK, I'll admit that this is one I wanted to do since I first included the anecdote in Sons of Durin. It stuck with me. Wee Fíli and Kíli are just too precious for me to resist writing about them.