I do not own any of the characters or the Hobbit (just the AU storyline and my OC) those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reull Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fan fics would not be in existence.

Please review! I love getting them-they keep me encouraged! J

Kili woke with a start. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and feeling more refreshed than he had been for at least a week. The draught Thorin had given him had given him a deep and dreamless sleep, and he had needed it badly. Very badly.

The haunting nightmares plagued him, replaying that moment when he thought he was going to die. Then he would hear the blood curdling scream, and then all he could see was blood. He would be holding pressure on the girl's wound, and she would look up at him with eyes wide open, and say over and over again, "It was your fault." He would look up, and Thorin would be staring at him, condemning him for even thinking of asking elves for aid, before shaking his head and walking away. Fili would be screaming his name, but his feet were rooted to the ground and he couldn't move.

He would keep apologizing, saying, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Help me, please!" to everyone, but no one would listen. And as the blood spurted through his fingers, everything faded out, until all he could hear was, "It was your fault. You killed me. It was your fault."

He would wake to his brother shaking his shoulders gently, saying, "Kee, it's going to be all right. You are safe. No one can hurt you here. You are safe." He would then lay on his brother's chest, feeling the soothing heartbeat until he slipped back into fitful sleep. His brother could reach him. His uncle didn't reject him. He was safe.

Last night, when his uncle started yelling at him about the elves, Kili thought for certain that his nightmare would come true. At least, the part where Thorin rejected him would. So, when his uncle had lifted his hand, Kili suddenly became terrified. He wasn't aware of backing up or tripping. All he was aware of was his uncle, and the thought that he would be struck.

Growing up, he never stopped hearing terrible stories about the elves. Of course, he had heard the story about how the elves had abandoned the dwarves in their hour of need from both his uncle, and his mother, and Mr. Balin and Mr. Dwalin. But, unbeknownst to his uncle, when he was around the forge, or when he was in training waiting for his turn to spar, or when he was around some of the other adult dwarves in the dining halls, he would hear stories. Terrible stories, of the elves kidnapping dwarf children to enslave them in their forges, of elves haunting young dwarflings at night when they could not sleep, of elvish magic placing curses on the crops of neighboring villages so the dwarves wouldn't have much to eat. He had heard stories that went so far as to say that elves were once in league with balrogs and dragons, and would instruct them to destroy the dwarf kingdoms whose leaders displeased them.

But, when he had seen elves for the first time, and Lord Elrond had fought to save the young girl's life, Kili had been in shock. And when Gandalf even supported Lord Elrond's claim that the girl be taken to Rivendell, his jaw had hit the floor. These elves were nothing like the stories he had heard. He could see the many, many years of wisdom in Lord Elrond's gaze, and the friendliness in them despite the animosity between their races. And, despite Lindir and others, Lord Elrond had not only welcomed them as guests, but as guests of honor.

He had dined with them, a thing that had not been known to happen for hundreds of years. He had treated Kili with the utmost respect, and though the elvish clothes had not been to Kili's liking, he had seemed to sense that Kili had been in horror over what had happened and knew that he would wish to wash the blood off his clothes and hands as soon as possible. And he had provided clothing for him to wear in the meantime so he would not be shamed.

No, Lord Elrond and his house had, for the most part, shown Kili that much of what he had heard growing up was merely hate fueled stories intended to scare young dwarflings. He did not doubt his mother or uncle or his respected elders that were in the company. He would never venture to guess that anyone had out and out lied to him about elves. However, he was beginning to understand that perhaps his uncle may have been wrong, at least about this elf. Maybe not all elves were bad. He wasn't sure anymore.

So when his uncle had become angry at Kili seeking them for aid against Thorin's will, Kili was terrified. His uncle had hated elves with a passion for many long years, even long before Fili and Kili had been born. It was only one of three things that Kili ever saw his uncle get that angry about, the other two being Smaug and Azog. He knew that Thorin tried to hold his temper against them in check for the sake of them and their mother, but once he had seen Thorin lose his temper completely, and he had been hiding at the time.

It had been in the armory in the Blue Mountains. He had secretly followed Thorin into the training room while Fili had been off with their mother on an errand. He was supposed to stay home and practice his reading, but he had decided to watch his uncle train instead. He hid behind a rack of swords, and watched Thorin go through his training alone. His eyes widened in awe at the complicated footwork and intricate patterns that his uncle weaved with his sword, and strangely enough, his uncle spoke when he trained.

Much of what he heard would undoubtedly have earned his uncle a hiding from his sister, king or no, had she overheard it. It was most certainly not meant for a dwarfling's ears. He cursed Azog for murdering his family. The practice dummy lost an arm for that one. He did other moves, and shouted at Smaug for destroying Erebor. The dummy lost its other arm. His uncle panted, and took a sip of water.

He began the next attack, cursing and shouting the elves for abandoning his people. Worse than an enemy, who had always been an enemy, was an enemy who had once been called friend. He stabbed, hacked, and slashed at the dummy, before beheading it, sending the stuffed head rolling under the rack where Kili was hiding. The errant dwarfling had held his breath, fearing that he would be caught, and petrified of the sheer anger radiating from his uncle at this point.

Then something happened that Kili had never seen before, and would never likely see again. Thorin completely lost his temper. He grasped the hilt of his sword, and with a loud curse sent it flying into the very rack where Kili was hiding. The terrified dwarfling had screamed as swords crashed all around him, curling up into a tiny ball. By some miracle of Mahal, he had not been killed or even had more than a few tiny scratches.

Thorin had rushed over to the rack faster than Kili had ever seen him move, his face drained of blood and all anger forgotten. Tears had flown down his face as he threw swords out of the way, not caring if he was cutting himself in his haste. He finally saw Kili's back, and Kili could feel his uncle's hands shaking as he sucked in a breath.

"Mahal, no," he whispered, his body shaking with repressed sobs. "KILI!" He reached under the young dwarfling's arms and pulled him out of the pile of swords as carefully as he could, trying his best not to injure him further. When Thorin saw that Kili was alive, and mostly unhurt, he had thanked Eru with everything he had, and he began to sob violently. He had curled Kili in his lap and cradled the frightened young dwarfling close. Kili had felt the tears landing unbidden into his hair, and cried along with his uncle.

"Uncle Thowin, you scareded me," he had cried, fisting his hand in his uncle's braids. Thorin held the tiny dwarfling close.

"Forgive me, Kili. Forgive me," he kept saying, rocking back and forth. Kili had not known it at the time, but when Thorin realized his blind anger had nearly cost him his sister-son, he had vowed to instill the lesson of never fighting in anger in his two nephews from the minute they could bear a training sword. It was a lesson Thorin never forgot.

When Thorin had gotten angry at Kili last night, for a very brief second, Kili had seen the same look in his eye on the day of that training accident so many years ago. It had completely terrified him. All rationality left him as he shrank away from his uncle, fearing that he would hate him as much as he hated elves. And there was a certain bent sword rack in the Blue Mountains that testified how much Thorin hated elves. Kili had no desire to have a similar fate.

Thorin must have seen the same fear in Kili's eyes that he had then, and spoke to Kili just as gently. Kili wondered if it had truly been the drought that had helped him sleep well, or rather if it had been that the tension between him and his uncle had finally lifted as offenses were acknowledged and forgiven.

Whatever it was, he was glad for the rest. Doubtless he hadn't been thinking very clearly with his lack of sleep. It had certainly slowed his thinking. Sitting up, he looked out at the sun, and his eyes widened as he realized it must be near noon. He never slept this late, unless he was ill. He scrambled from the bed, and ran into the bathroom to get water for the washbasin. He wet his hair and ran his fingers through it, before fastening his silver clip in it. He threw on his spare set of clothes from his pack that the company had brought with them, and took off at a run toward the dining hall.

XXX

The dwarves had finished breakfast, and most of them went outside to a training ground that was near their quarters for a few hours until lunch. Besides being useful, the training had ensured that there would be minimal interaction with the elves, something that both the elves and dwarves were very thankful for. And it had provided poor Bilbo with the opportunity, er, requirement that he begin to learn to wield his new "letter opener". The dwarves were eager teachers, despite their pupil being rather, well, uncooperative. It provided most of the dwarves with some rather amusing entertainment, and, despite Bilbo's complaining, his skills did begin to improve, albeit slowly.

Thorin and Fili had gone to see if Kili was awake, and, finding him still asleep, spoke with Gandalf a bit before joining their company. Thorin looked on as Dwalin tried to teach the poor frustrated hobbit the proper stances for the various basic moves. It was an hour and a half into training and poor Bilbo already looked like he had run across half of Middle-earth as sweat soaked hair clung to his forehead and his breath came in pants.

"Bilbo, you need to widen your stance for an overhead block! How do you expect to stay upright if an orc twice your size comes at you?" Dwalin thundered, correcting the hobbit's stance for what seemed like the hundredth time. Bilbo rolled his eyes.

"If an orc comes at me intending to trim my waistline, do you seriously think I plan on staying in one place?" he retorted, "I am going to move out of the way like a sane person would!" Many of the dwarves howled at the thunderous expression on Dwalin's face.

"If an orc comes at you, do you plan on killing it or dancing with it?!" he roared. Thorin couldn't help the chuckle that escaped from his mouth at the image of Dwalin dancing with an orc at a ball. Several of the other dwarves laughed as well, and Bofur pulled out his flute and began a merry tune. Several of the dwarves began to dance, while Nori asked Dwalin who would wear the dress to the ball. A sharp look from Dwalin silenced him. He threw up his hands in defeat.

"Fine! It's not like that little letter opener would do much damage anyway!" Dwalin roared as he thundered away, cursing under his breath about the stupidity of hobbits and other unsavory thoughts regarding their burglar. However many of the company heard him loud and clear and snickered. Bilbo sheathed his sword and placed his hands on his knees, panting loudly.

"I think our burglar has had enough training for one day," Thorin said, looking at the rest of his company, who had stopped dancing. "The rest of you seem to have done less training and more observing, which will not aid in sharpening your skills any more than it will the hobbit's."

Several dwarves sighed and reached for their weapons, before pairing up and separating to spar with each other. A few bags of coin exchanged hands, and Balin, hands full with small bags of coin, came to stand by Thorin. The dwarf king eyed his friend curiously.

"May I inquire as to what wager you seem to have won?" he asked his old friend, and Balin chuckled.

"The wager was about how long Dwalin would continue to work with the hobbit before he gave up," Balin answered. Thorin looked at the bags, and Balin chuckled again.

"How long did you bet?" Thorin asked.

"About an hour and a half," he replied, "Most of the company thought he wouldn't last five minutes. But they didn't know that I had bet with his coin." Thorin threw back his head and laughed.

"Well, at least that ensured that Dwalin would spend a decent amount of time supervising the burglar's training," he said, still chuckling.

"I told him I would bet an hour and a half. He almost had my head for it five minutes in, but I stuck with what I said. Like you, I wanted to make sure Bilbo had enough training today," Balin winked.

"Well, at least poor Dwalin will have gotten paid for his trouble," Thorin smiled, then looked at Balin.

"How did you convince Dwalin to train him?" he asked curiously. Balin chuckled again.

"We drew sticks, and Dwalin pulled the short stick," he replied. Thorin shook his head. Wager or no, he was still surprised Dwalin lasted that long. He had trained many a dwarf back in the Blue Mountains, including helping with Fili and Kili. The difference had been that they actually wanted to learn. Apparently, the hobbit didn't, though Thorin could not figure out why.

Why wouldn't anyone want to learn how to defend themselves? He thought. Being a dwarf, and not a hobbit, it was an unheard of thing to not want to learn at least one weapon. Of course, one could hardly count Ori's slingshot to be a weapon, but still. Bilbo didn't even have that. He would think Bilbo would want to learn how to wield his short sword, even if it was merely to prevent him from accidentally injuring himself.

"Well, I know you said back in the Shire that you were an old warrior, but would you care to spar with me? I would go easy on you, of course," Thorin smirked at his old friend. Balin smirked back.

"Easy on me? I would think you would have better regard for my skills than that!" he retorted, drawing his sword.