Ok, so nearly a month after I started it... Not writer's block, just busyness. Not sure this counts as 'scary', despite it being posted on All Hallows' Eve... Some elements might.

In which Kíli signs up to a particularly stupid bet, Fíli is mean in the way that only older siblings can be, and Thorin is so unimpressed he puts Smaug's wrath to shame – and nearly breaks the caps lock on my keyboard.

Endurance

It's a niggling question. It niggles and niggles. It niggles as he bumps up and down on his pony's back. It niggles as they set up camp each evening and the wood smoke rises up into the sky. It niggles as he lies wrapped in his cloak, staring out into the darkness, torn between exhaustion and the biting question of whether those on watch are still awake, and…

Eventually, he can't stand it any longer. As the others are chatting, half-asleep, around the fire, he pulls Ori over to one side. He feels he can trust Ori. The young dwarf won't see what he has to say as silly, and he will probably tell him the truth without too much elaboration.

"Orcs." He says, in a hurried whisper, even though they are out of earshot of the company.

"Orcs?" Ori doesn't seem to have quite grasped Bilbo's desire for secrecy. "What about them?"

"Well, really, it's… What would they do if they caught us?" Or, in other words, how tall are the tall tales they all keep telling? And, Bilbo being a small person, will it make much difference anyway?

Ori glances back towards the firelight and the axes gleaming next to ready hands. "Kill us, probably. If we didn't get there first."

"Right." It's not the most reassuring answer, but in all honesty no more than he had expected. It was highly unlikely that foes with such a fearsome reputation were just going to dismiss them with a clip round the ear.

"And that's only if they're especially nice orcs."

Bilbo jumps. "What are you two doing out here?"

"Well, someone's got to keep watch."

"Unless you fancy finding out the answer to your question yourself?"

Bilbo groans internally. Fíli and Kíli had been near the bottom of the list of people he wished to confide this fear in. Only Thorin ranked below them, but that mattered little, since as soon as such an amusing question reached the young dwarves' ears there was little chance of it not having spread with cold-like contagiousness around the rest of the camp by morning, in Bilbo's consideration. But now he's in this deep he may as well keep wading. "And what's the likelihood of our being captured by orcs?"

"Didn't you want to know why you'd be lucky if they just killed you?"

"Not especially, no."

"Alright."

"But- what, well, wh…?"

"Well…" Kíli savours the word. A little too long though. Bilbo begins to get the distinct feeling that he is racking his brains for a suitably gruesome reply.

Fíli settles himself down on a handy rock. "They'd torture us, of course." Somehow it makes it sound as simple to say as 'we're having rabbit again for dinner tonight'. But it's clear from the expressions on the others' faces that this thought hadn't really crossed their minds.

"Er… Why?" Bilbo asks, at length.

Fíli rolls his eyes. "Because they're nasty and nosy and it's something to do."

"Would they want to go after the treasure too?" Ori pipes up, forgetting, as was the dwarves' wont, the inconvenient fact of the dragon. Goblins and orcs are as keen as anyone when it comes to treasure, but not so fussed about being roasted alive.

"If they found out about it, yes."

"I wouldn't tell them." Kíli says abruptly, most likely partly in an attempt to make up for his loss of face earlier.

"Really?" Bilbo asks hesitantly, thinking of all the horrible images that word conjures up. Oh, how he misses the peaceful Shire-folk…

"No. Never."

"Willing to bet?"

The brothers eye each other warily. "What, you mean…"

Bilbo clears his throat politely. "Is this going to be a long term, conditional sort of bet? Because I'm not too keen on setting out to deliberately stumble into a gang of goblins…"

"Not real ones." Fíli snaps. Everyone else is being idiots tonight. "He can't stand up to me, let alone-"

"I can!"

"Prove it."

"Fine."

Bilbo takes an unthinking step backwards, bumping into Ori. "Do you think…?" He quavers.

Ori seems less concerned, well used to the jostling, barging and mock-wrestling that serve as expressions of endearment amongst the dwarves. "What are you wagering?"

"Our honour." Kíli replies darkly.

"Makes it more fun." Fíli adds.

Bilbo takes another step back. "Fíli always wins." Ori whispers in his ear. Bilbo isn't sure if this is meant to be reassuring or not.

"No he doesn't!"

Bilbo ponders this as he watches one brother attempting – in a way that could be interpreted as playful – to twist the other's arm off. "But Kíli's bigger." In Bilbo's experience, this is usually how it works.

"But I'm older. I've been beating him since he was tiny and I'm not going to stop now just because he's gained a few inches." Fíli proves his point by sitting on his younger brother's chest, after a surprisingly short battle. "Normally I let him try for longer." He explains, in response to Bilbo's expression.

"Liar. I'm not normally so tired…"

Fíli interrupts cheerfully. "Sit on his feet, Ori." Ori complies without a fuss.

"I'm not going to tell you anything, you know." Kíli is determined to stick to the script.

"Ah…" Bilbo is getting increasingly uncomfortable. "What exactly are you intending to…"

"Same thing I used to do back when he'd never tell me where he'd hidden ma's cakes."

"No! That's not fair."

"You're the one who didn't bother to lay any rules down."

"But wh-?"

"Stop it! Stop it! Fíli! STOP IT! Ori, make him stop, make him- Ori! ORI!"

Fíli doesn't divert his attention from his furiously wriggling brother for a moment as he provides a commentary for Bilbo's benefit. "He's been this ticklish since he was tiny. Thorin used to think we were killing each other."

"Get OFF!"

"Ticklish?"

All three dwarves turn to stare at Bilbo.

"You know," says Ori. "When you pull someone's boots off and stroke the soles of their feet…"

"Excellent idea!"

"If you dare…"

Bilbo shakes his head. "No."

"You mean, you're not ticklish?"

"Course he's not – have you seen his feet?"

"True, but what about your sides?"

Bilbo still looks blank. Fíli gives a demonstration, amidst what Bilbo assumes are dwarvish curses. "No," he confirms. "I definitely don't do that."

"How did your older brother cope?"

"I don't have one."

"Well, that explains things. Anyway, back to business."

"Shall I take his socks off?" Ori asks helpfully, with the slight unsurety mixed with amusement of someone whose brother this is not, and who is rather ticklish themselves.

"No, I don't think he's washed them for a month."

"A week!"

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere! Stop it, stop it, get OFF me! Fíli! Bilbo, make them stop! Bilbo!"

On the off-chance that he is actually ticklish, Bilbo is not prepared to get involved, for fear of future reprisals.

"Just tell me."

"NO!"

"Fine. Ori, take his socks off."

"EREBOR! We're going to Erebor!"

"And why?"

"To kill the dragon and get the mountain back! Now get OFF ME!"

"Just one more time."

"No! I did it and - stop it! Not my feet, no- Fí- EREBOR! EREBOR EREBOR EREBOR! Happy?"

"I ASKED YOU TO GO AND KEEP WATCH, NOT SHOUT OUT OUR DESTINATION TO EVERYONE WITHIN SIX MILES!"

There is a sudden lull as Thorin takes another breath, during which Fíli and Ori make an admirable effort at looking as though they had never even considered sitting on top of their fellow company member.

"IN MAHAL'S NAME, WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE-"

Dwalin clamps his hand over his king's mouth. "And that makes twelve miles."

It was not the most cheerful gathering that Bilbo had ever attended. He gazes into the fire as the waves of Thorin's tirade wash over them, voice and tone steadily rising until a motion from Balin or Dwalin checks it to a quiet bitter murmur again. Bilbo picks out the phrase 'half-witted fools' several times, appearing in various combinations with such succinct words as 'idiotic', 'thoughtless', 'young', 'reckless', 'childish' and 'irresponsible', all clinched by the rather worrying 'danger to the whole company'. One phrase he takes particular offence at though: "The four of you are the most-"

"I didn't do anything!"

"EXACTLY!"

Quelled, Bilbo pauses to consider this as the diatribe flows on. Perhaps he should have… But how was he meant to stop them…?

"… good mind to send you home."

Bilbo looks around. It seems to have stopped.

"Sorry?" Someone next to him offers, in a tone that shows they know this is not going to be considered enough.

"Why can't you just THINK?" It's not the best parting shot, but Thorin allows himself to be led off anyway. From previous experience, he knows that repeating the whole speech again will have little extra effect.

"Now what?" Bilbo finds himself asking.

"Ah…" Fíli sounds rather more despondent than usual. "He'll rage at us for a few days."

"And then forget about it?" Bilbo asks, not holding out too much hope.

"When we do something new, yes."

Ori rubs his ears. "Are we going to do something new?"

"Well, it just sort of happens, doesn't it? Whatever we do, we-"

"Yeah, I think that's what 'not thinking' is called, Kíli."

"But we're not normally that st-"

"Yeah."

There is silence for a few minutes, then Ori pipes up. "Do you think if the goblins did attack…?"

"…and we killed them all, without the others even waking up…" Kíli enthuses.

"…he would yell at us for be stupid enough to try and handle it on our own." Fíli completes.

"Oh."

"Still," Kíli starts, irritatingly brightly, "If we can brave one of Uncle's rages, then we can deal with anything goblins can cook up."

Bilbo puts his fingers in his ears to block out the inevitable comment about the goblins' preferred delicacy (if road-weary dwarf could ever be considered a delicacy) and chooses instead to be thankful for this blessing of companions, which means he is never alone in Thorin Oakenshield's displeasure for long, even if they are sometimes the ones who get him into it…

"Are you really not ticklish, Bilbo?"

Bilbo ignores Ori.

Kíli shakes his hair out of his eyes, distracted from temporary melancholy by a new thought. Though possibly not the kind of 'thinking' the lecture had been putting forward.

"I wonder if Uncle's ticklish?"

Sometimes Bilbo can't help but marvel at how they've survived this long.

Fíli taps the ash out of the bowl of his pipe. "Really?"

"No."

If you're lucky, another one before the end of November. Yes, you lucky things you. I'm busy, you know. I have siblings to tickle. Unticklable siblings, yes, and ones I'm banned from 'being a nuisance with', yes, but still...