A/N: Thank you so much for the awesome reviews; y'all make my day. : ) There will be one more chapter continuing this, hopefully up tomorrow if everything goes right, and then it'll be on to whatever particular scene strikes my fancy lol. Thanks for reading, special thanks for reviewing, and enjoy. : )

"And where is your troll-brained brother off to?" Thorin demanded, coming to a stop in front of Fili.

"Away from you, I would imagine, Uncle," Fili said with a shrug, not looking up from sharpening his sword.

"Excuse me?"

"Well... He seems to think you hate him, Uncle," His oldest nephew said casually, as if he were talking of nothing more than the weather. "Can't say as I blame him, really."

"And just what's that supposed to mean?" Thorin said scornfully, hardening his gaze.

But it had no effect on his light-haired nephew, who still didn't look at him.

"It means, Uncle, that – if I were him – I'd probably think you hated him too. I find myself wondering why you let him raise his hopes about coming along, if all you planned on doing was dashing those hopes to the shoals again and again. It might have been kinder for you to just send him home."

"That can still be arranged, Fili," Thorin threatened, taking a step closer to the small fire. "Don't think it can't."

Finally, his heir looked up, finally meeting his eyes. And the strength Thorin seen there surprised him almost as much as Fili's words did.

"Then do it, Uncle! I would rather have him home and miserable, than sit by and watch you crush his spirit anymore! Either accept that he's here, and leave him be, or find him now, and send him back to the Blue Mountains!"

Kili finally came to rest at the bottom of the path, climbing a large oak tree and nestling himself in its wide branches.

Funny how he was far more at home in a tree, high above the earth than he was deep below it. What he'd told his brother was true enough: he'd always been a little odd for a dwarf, and even he knew it. From his love of trees, to his still-lacking beard, he'd never fit in amongst even his own kin, much less the stuffier, more traditional dwarves of the Blue Mountain where he'd been raised.

Even his weapon of choice – the finely crafted bow strapped to his back – made him stand out. Dwarves simply didn't use bows. Throwing axes, definitely; throwing daggers, maybe, but not bows. Bows were an Elvish weapon. He'd heard that said so many times he'd simply stopped counting, and usually in the tone of voice that implied some sort of devilry.

His mother had often told him that he was fine, just the way he was. That his beard would grow in eventually, and never mind that Fili's had been long enough to braid by his seventieth name day, and Kili still had little more than a shadow at seventy-five. Told him that a weapon was a weapon; simply a tool to be used, and if it saved his life, it mattered little what it was. That there was absolutely nothing wrong with hating being underground; that she herself hated the confined feeling of being in the mines.

Which was all well and good for her. She was, after all, a woman. She wasn't expected to spend her time in the forges deep within the mines. Wasn't expected to live her life underground, or in the dark.

He'd heard the other dwarf mothers muttering about him, their dark eyes calculating when he would appear to take their daughters on a walk, or to go drinking with their sons. Wondering if his blood-line was enough to counterbalance... well, him.

The looks would start as soon as he appeared at the door. After thirty years spent in the forge with Gloin, and fifty years spent training with Dwalin, he was muscular enough, but he just wasn't broad enough. Fili had nearly five inches more round his chest than Kili did, with the wide shoulders to match. Had a good two inches more in height as well. And it just didn't seem to matter how much work the younger brother did, or how much food he packed away, it seemed that he was simply cursed to live with a slight frame and build.

The beard was just the final straw. A dwarf with no beard was as unheard of as an elf with a beard. Every other dwarf his age was already able to braid their beard, or mustache and use their family emblem clasp, except for him. Fili had crafted his own two silver clasps, bearing the crest of the House of Durin almost twenty years ago, under their uncle's watchful eye.

And Kili was left with... with peach fuzz, he thought angrily, hurling a branch down out of the tree. It wasn't fair.

It was only years of instinct that saved Thorin Oakenshield from receiving a rather large bump on the head, sidestepping to the right just in time to avoid the tree limb that was flung down from the tree.

"That better have not been intentional," He growled, standing at the base of the tree, hands on his hips.

"Wha – Uncle!" Kili's voice was an interesting mix of astonishment, and fear, Thorin noted with a grim smile.

"Indeed. And I should hope you weren't aiming for me; that missed by a league." Almost before they'd left his mouth, Thorin wished he could take them back. "Why don't you come down here, and sit with your uncle for a moment?"

"If it's all the same, I'd rather not," Came the very formal response from somewhere high above him.

Thorin ground his teeth for a few moments, before unhooking his cloak from around his shoulders, and grasping at the lower branches. He could hear Kili's gasp of disbelief as the King Under the Mountain slowly began pulling himself up the tree, always careful to test the branches with his weight first. The last time he'd been tree-climbing, he'd been a good hundred and fifty pounds lighter.

And nearly a hundred years younger, he thought with a rueful smile.