A/N: I had a stomach bug that knocked me flat in January. So I did what I always do when I'm sick and stuck in my armchair - I put on the Behind-the-Scenes makings of the Hobbit. I was at the start of a writing-fast I was doing as part of a prayer event at church and felt like death curled up in a blanket, so I was ill-prepared to ward off the plot bunnies that hit me during those three days! Including this one.

This is my first venturing into the world of J.R.R. Tolkien and I am petrified! I hope you don't mind my playing in the fandom for a bit!

Disclaimer: Everything is done in the name of fun. If you recognize it, it doesn't belong to me.

CHAPTER 1

Thunder continued to rumble over the Misty Mountains as the stone giants and their unfathomable disputes slowly drifted away. Rain pelted the broken path, threatening to churn the whole ridge into a landslide. Bilbo pushed to his knees, his hands submerged in frigid water. Everything inside of him was shaking as a fresh gust of wind buffeted the narrow ledge where the Company was huddled. Distantly, he heard Thorin shout something about finding shelter and the intermingled voices of the other dwarves as they shuffled past him, looking for their ashen faced family members who had somehow managed to survive a sudden, wild joyride upon a giant's knee.

He swiped at his face, his eyes stinging with rainwater.

"Up you get, Bombur! There y'are, lad!" someone shouted behind him.

Slowly, Bilbo got a foot planted beneath him and then the other. He rose, his fingers scrambling for a hold on the slick cliff side as he swayed. The whole mountain seemed to be shifting beneath him like a boat in the sea and nausea was playing at the back of his throat. When he was finally standing straight, he brought his trembling hands to his lapels and absently smoothed them against his chest. His gaze remained fixed back the way they had come, although he wasn't truly seeing the place where their path had been severed, nor the void beyond it where the giant's legs had once been fitted against the side of the cliff.

"Where's the - Bilbo!" He started when a broad palm clapped onto his shoulder. Turning, he came face to face with a very sodden-looking Bofur. "Are you all right?" The dwarf's eyes swept over him once and then he smiled with relief. He gave Bilbo's shoulder an encouraging squeeze before he jerked his head towards the path ahead. "Come on. Thorin's found us a place to sleep."

Bofur led him up to where a black crevice dipped into the face of the cliff. Bilbo blinked at the space as lightning flashed along the ridge, at a loss as to how Thorin ever spotted it in the dark. There was a moment of concern when Bombur had to twist and squeeze his way through the narrow gap, but when he pushed to his toes and sucked in a great breath, he just managed to make it through with Bofur and Bilbo following close behind.

The area was cramped, full of protruding rock formations and a low ceiling, but it was also wide enough for thirteen soaking dwarves and a hobbit to stretch out over the sandy ground and the wind and rain hadn't found a way in yet.

So truly, luxury at its finest.

Bilbo flinched at a clatter off to their right and there was Glóin, eagerly rubbing his palms together as he knelt over a small pile of sticks and bramble he had somehow procured. "Right then!" His rough voice was quite cheerful. "Let's get a fire started."

"No," Thorin snapped, passing behind the dwarf. Bilbo's heart sank. "No fires. Not in this place."

Glóin and Óin exchanged glances, seeming disappointed that they could not display their full fire-starting skills given the circumstances. They settled for lighting a few of the lanterns, pulling them all out of the darkness as the group stripped of their gear and packs. Thorin continued to pace, his pale gaze passing over the dwarves again and again until he managed to convince himself that his whole Company had really survived the thunder battle.

"Get some sleep," he said at length. "We start at first light."

"Best get to it," Bofur murmured, shoving his way between Dwalin and Dori while Bilbo slipped right behind him. "Don't know about you, but I could use a drink and a proper bed right about now." He flashed a cheeky grin which Bilbo could not summon the energy to return. His thoughts were wandering back to the calm libraries, lavish meals and comfortable rooms they had enjoyed in Rivendell.

Why had they left again?

"Bofur," Thorin said, turning away from a murmured conversation with Balin, "take the first watch."

The toymaker lifted his brow and then shrugged. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said, patting the hobbit on the shoulder as he wandered back towards the front of the cave. "Mornin's comin' fast."

Bilbo watched him go, torn if he should follow after his friend. His stomach was still taking slow somersaults inside of him and Bofur's endless, jovial chatter offered a much needed distraction. On the other hand, now that his initial shock and adrenaline were ebbing away, he felt that he could drop where he stood and sleep, unencumbered, for a month. He let out a heavy sigh and wandered away from his shaken and grousing companions.

He dropped his pack against the far wall and ran his fingers through his sopping hair. After peeling his overcoat from his shoulders, he flapped his vest around him, wincing at the wet slap of it against his undershirt. His leggings clung to his skin, icy and uncomfortable. His palms and the tips of his fingers and toes had been scraped raw from clinging to both the path and the cliffside. His hip had also taken a nasty hit when Ori and Bofur had hauled him up into safety. A shudder ran through his frame.

If not for Thorin...

He's been lost ever since he left home.

He shook his head, wishing that some of the embarrassed heat in his cheeks would filter down to the rest of him.

He has no place amongst us.

Bilbo lifted his chin against the words as he spread his coat over his pack to dry. Then he set about trying to find the most comfortable patch of damp sand to rest on.

No one apart from Bofur had spoken to him since Thorin's sharp admonishment and Bilbo was fighting hard to not dwell on the fact.

Well, he thought, of course they hadn't. Every member of the Company had either been on the ill fated side of their broken mountainside or had had a brother or a cousin or a nephew who was. Five dwarves and a hobbit might have faced the horrific jolting and crashing and nauseating swinging that came with clutching at a giant's knee.

Eight dwarves had been forced to watch them.

No, surely their silence wasn't personal.

But he felt it all the same.

Thorin's curt words replayed in his ears until his thoughts turned sour and he found himself quite miserable in the cold. With his back set against the hard stone wall and his arms folded over a heavy chest, Bilbo closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was safe and warm by the hearth in Bag End with a fresh cup of tea and thick slices of hot, buttered toast ready at his side.

He has no place amongst us.

And the worst part of the whole debacle?

He didn't entirely disagree with the king.

Why had they left Rivendell again?

Well, he knew why the dwarves had left.

Why had he left again?

Bilbo swallowed against the tightness in his throat.

A soft scratching caught his ear. Ori had settled closest to the hobbit's bedroll and also sat propped against the wall. He had his legs drawn up beneath him and his journal on his knees and was surrounded by several sheets of spare paper. He was jotting down notes and seemed in far better spirits than the hobbit despite his own damp shirt and bedraggled appearance. His head was craned to the side as he absently turned his page, carrying his thoughts down along the margin. Nori sat beside him, idly watching his brother work while he unraveled his decimated hair and beard and set to reshaping them.

They had spent a few moments in companionable silence when Nori tipped his chin. "That's wrong."

Bilbo stirred, drawn out of his gloom. Ori started as well, blinking owlishly as he returned to the present. "What?"

"There." Nori tapped at a section of cramped writing. "Weren't Fíli up there with you. He was with us."

Ori looked from his brother to his notes and back again, his usual timidness dissipating as his brow furrowed. Bilbo felt his own rise in surprise.

A very select few had been allowed to look through the young scholar's journal and sketchbook where he kept the recordings of their journey. Bilbo had been denied the privilege. After all, he had committed the ultimate offense of not being born a dwarf. But among the others, Ori was just as secretive of his writings as the rest of his people seemed to be about, well, everything else. His muttered excuses of, "It's not ready yet," and, "I need to rework a few things," had become a mantra of sorts.

A mantra which had been repeated so often that most of the Company had stopped asking about it altogether.

Which seemed to suit him fine.

As far as Bilbo could tell from distant observation, however, Ori was dedicated to his task of chronicling Thorin's quest and meticulous in his craft. He often sat apart from the fire after camp had been made, using the last hours of daylight to work while his companions lounged, and usually only joined them after Dori's needling about his supper had turned into full out nagging.

It had never occurred to the hobbit that any of his details would dare to be out of place.

And, apparently, the young dwarf was unaccustomed to having his recollection challenged.

Ori shifted his journal and papers from one knee to the other, out of his sibling's reach. "I am aware of who was on that shelf with me, Nori."

Instead of being dissuaded, his indignation only caused Nori's gaze to glitter with amusement. He sat back, comfortably, as Ori continued, "Bombur was just behind me, Dwalin and Bilbo were ahead, and then Bofur…"

"But not Fíli." Nori said with a sly smile. "I heard Thorin right after the impact on the cliff. He was shouting for Kíli."

Bilbo, who had only been half listening to the conversation, lifted his head as Ori scoffed and turned back his notes with a scowl. "No, no. The path split right between them. Kíli was watching us as we were drawn away…"

There was a teasing light in Nori's eye. He threw a wink in Bilbo's direction. "Are you accusing the king of misspeaking, little brother?"

Ori did not laugh. "I...no, of course not." Trepidation crawled over his features and he shot a nervous look across the cavern. "But I am certain that Kíli-"

"-Is just the most handsome dwarf in all the Blue Mountains?"

The brothers and Bilbo jumped at the new voice. Kíli smiled as he appeared from nowhere, propping his elbow against the stone overhang above Nori's head.

Bilbo shook his head.

After weeks of traveling with a group of cantankerous dwarves, it was easy to forget how stealthy one of them could actually be on their own. This was especially true of Thorin's younger nephew. For a lad so boisterous, he had a knack of moving in near silence when the situation suited him, earning him a position as the Company's scout and hunter.

Granted, his skill was no match to a hobbit, given he was impeded by tramping, heavy boots and prone to bouts of impatience, but among their companions, he was the most impressive. Bilbo hadn't even realized that the young prince had been up and moving among all the craggy outcrops and jutting shelves of the shelter.

As he leered in at them, Kíli bowed with feigned humility.

"You flatter me, Ori."

Nori chuckled, completely unperturbed at being caught in their discussion. "Sorry, lad, we're talking histories here, not fantasy." He jerked a thumb towards Ori, who was busy having quite the opposite reaction of his brother. He was swiftly becoming a violent shade of pink while he rustled through his papers.

Kíli's smile deepened. "And I've made the cut? Fantastic! What'd I do?"

"Depends. Do you want to be known as the brother who was almost or not almost squashed by a giant?"

The prince tipped his head, quizzically.

"See," Nori drawled over his sibling's flustered mutterings. "Ori's been insisting that Fíli was on his side of the path when everything went to pot outside. But I be knowing for a fact that your uncle was shouting for you during our little adventure." He lifted a finger with sage like solemnity. "And I'd say Thorin had the best view."

Nori turned to smirk at his brother.

So he missed when Kíli's ever present smile went rigid.

Bilbo did not.

He frowned at the strange reaction, but in the very next second Kíli had lifted his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug and waved his hand, dismissively. "Oh, is that all?" he said and the hobbit wondered if it was his imagination that made the dwarf's voice seem high and strained. "Sorry to break it to you, Nori, but I was on solid ground the whole time. Well, I mean, apart from when the rock split right between my feet!" His teeth flashed as he cut a wild grin towards Bilbo. "Nearly bowled poor Bifur over trying to get back!"

Bilbo offered him a wary smile in return. The lad's eyes were a mite too bright and his laughter just a hair too loud. There was no imagining that. Something was off and Kíli was hiding it, but what could he possibly have -

"Glad to clear that up," Kíli said, shifting his weight as if to continue on his way.

"I know what I heard."

Kíli froze. Bilbo frowned. Ori's little smile of vindication faded.

And Nori's sharp gaze was fixed on the prince.

His eyes were narrowed, brimming with more suspicion than Bilbo's were with confusion. The hobbit shifted in his seat. Of course. If he had picked up on the prince's odd behavior, there was no chance of it slipping under Nori's keen nose. And of course, he wouldn't let it go.

Honestly, Bilbo was starting to believe that there must be some innate trait buried deep in the heads of all dwarves that had convinced them that no argument was too trivial.

Kíli turned back, his smile faltering slightly. He wrinkled his nose to mask it. "Are you certain? It was really loud out there."

"Sure I'm sure! I heard the 'kah' in it! 'Kah-hee-lee.' S'what he said." Nori dipped his chin with conviction.

Kíli huffed and tossed his hand as if he were at a loss at the other dwarf's doggedness. "Well...our names are heinously similar," he said. "Maybe Uncle Thorin just got it wrong. Happens to us all the time."

Nori lifted a brow. "Even when Fíli's about to become a smear on the mountainside?"

Bilbo and Ori gulped as one as a muscle pulled along Kíli's jawline and all the humor drained from his face. He remained with his elbow propped on the shelf and his weight resting casually on his left leg. Yet, at the same time, he seemed to draw up as tight as a bowstring. His grin deteriorated into a grimace as he stared down at the thief.

Bilbo was struck by just how he looked like Thorin.

Nori's own smile was placid as the air between them iced over. His fingers abandoned their braiding and interlaced over his stomach while a fierce light remained in his eyes. He tipped his head to the side, waiting on the prince's response.

Sneaking a glance towards Ori, Bilbo found that, for once, he wasn't the only one who had become completely lost in the turn of conversation. The young scribe was looking from one dwarf to the other in bewilderment, anxiety tightening his shoulders as he sat forward and reached for his sibling's elbow.

"Um, Nori…?" he said.

Nori turned his ear towards his brother's voice and, just like that, the spat was done.

He looked away from Kíli with a shrug, mildly returning to the section of beard he had been working on. "Eh. Maybe you're right," he said, "or maybe I just had water in my ears."

"Maybe," Kíli breathed.

They all flinched when Nori clapped a hand onto Ori's shoulder with a bark of laughter. "Guess you were right all along, little one." He grinned. "Seems Balin picked the right fellow to record all our mishaps after all, heh?" Ori huffed and lowered his eyes, shaking his head.

Kíli's entire demeanor seemed to soften. "Of course he did," he said with far more warmth. "But listen, Ori, when I do finally make it into that book of yours, will you do me a favor?"

The scribe tipped his head, warily.

"Will you mention that I'm taller than my brother?"

Ori blinked. "What?"

"Please? Oh, he'd be furious for ages if we managed to sneak it into the histories right under his nose!" Kíli's eyes glittered, merry and infectious. "And he'll never see it coming from you!"

Ori opened his mouth as if to protest, but then seemed to think better of it, looking down to the scraps of paper scattered around him. He drew in a fortifying breath, as if his next words pained him. "I can make a footnote."

The prince laughed and held up his hands. "That's all I need!"

"Kíli!" Thorin's voice boomed from the other side of the cavern. "Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"Yes, sir!" Kíli shouted back. He gave the trio a final smirk. "You're the best, Ori. Good night!"

And he was gone.

"What was that all about?" Ori wondered.

Nori shrugged, still bereft of his usual impishness. "Eh, who can tell with royals?"

Or with dwarves all together, Bilbo thought with a smile as he watched Kíli pick a careful path over the sprawled limbs of their companions.

However, it seemed that the prince's odd behavior wasn't through. Kíli had only gotten about halfway to the spot where he and his brother had laid out their bedrolls when his shoulders suddenly sagged. It was as if some invisible boulder had been dropped upon him.

Bilbo sat straighter in alarm, hesitating as the boy's name came to the tip of his tongue. Kíli's stride lessened and his head was bowed, his hand rubbing wearily at the back of his neck, but he kept walking. And while it took him longer than necessary, he did manage to cross the crowded space without incident.

When Kíli finally reached his corner, Fíli looked up from cleaning his pipe with a welcoming smile. It vanished when he caught sight of the other's face.

Kíli flopped down, dropping behind a craggy wall and out of Bilbo's field of vision but he had little doubt that the older dwarf was being updated on Kíli's side of their strange little encounter. After a moment, Fíli slowly returned to digging the dregs of old pipe weed onto the stone floor, keeping his head inclined as if he were still listening to Kíli's muted story.

Then he froze.

Sharp blue eyes flicked upward.

Straight towards Bilbo.

The hobbit twitched and began an urgent examination of his cuticles. He rolled his eyes shut, his stomach churning for being caught in his inquisitiveness. He fidgeted for a bit before he chanced a look back and found that Fíli had abandoned his pipe cleaning and was now lying still on his side, facing away from his brother.

With fresh heat crawling up Bilbo's neck, he decided it was time to settle down and get this wretched night over with.

His damp clothing stuck to him, deepening his chill, and he discovered that an alarming amount of sand had somehow snuck onto the top of his bedroll. Grumbling, he swept his hand back and forth, and only succeeded in coating the edge of his palm with more grit until he was forced to give up and stretched out on his side, petulantly tucking his arm beneath his head.

It was far too late to be warring with cold, damp sand.

He listened to Ori and Nori murmuring to each other for a few minutes before they, too, lapsed into silence.

Bilbo sighed, heavily, and then frowned.

Behind his eyelids, he could still see that strange, fixed smile on Kíli's face. Brittle and strained to the point of breaking. And then there was Fíli. Even though he had been sitting far across the cavern, there was no mistaking the expression that had overtaken him in that brief second when their gazes had touched.

The intensity of it, short-lived as it was, had left him unsettled.

Bilbo had always found Thorin's older nephew to be among the more amiable, albeit quieter, members of their Company. To be honest, it had taken Bilbo more than a few days to really get a proper reading of the young dwarf at all, for Fíli seemed to be forever at odds with himself. Almost as if he were caught suspended between everything at all times.

He was not as forward as his brother nor as aloof as his uncle.

He exuded over-confidence in one moment but would withdraw into an almost morose uncertainty if his behavior was even slightly corrected.

Fastidious over his braids and appearance to the point of ludicrousness, he often ended up meandering near the back of the group with Kíli and Ori as if he were trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

His eyes sparkled with mischief and humor, and yet he rarely instigated the pranks and jokes that he and Kíli inflicted on the others. Then he would defer to his brother to defend their antics against their seething elders, only stepping at the last minute with some silvery and unflappable comment that seemed to appease everyone at once.

He was young, Bilbo had decided in the end, and was still trying to find his place on the road and in the Company while also living under blistering scrutiny of his uncle and king. What green stripling wouldn't struggle under that pressure?

What Bilbo couldn't pinpoint was the source of the emotion that replayed itself over and over in his mind. With his eyes fixed shut, he watched as the lad's quiet composure seized rigid and caught the flash of his teeth as he sucked in a breath before he had lifted his eyes.

What had Kíli said to him? And, for that matter, what had caused the younger prince to react in much the same manner in the first place?

Bilbo shifted his frozen feet, folding one over the other to coax some warmth back into his toes. He ran through the whole conversation again with a furrowed brow. Out of everything, the only real offense had risen from Nori's suggestion that Thorin might have spoken Kíli's name instead of Fíli's during a tumultuous moment of fear and uncertainty.

But what of it? Apart from their argument over continuity, neither Nori or Ori seemed to have thought anything disastrous of the slipup. Besides, in comparison to everything that they had just been through, could a simple error really be worthy of such distress?

Apparently.

Eh. Who can tell with royals?

Perhaps Nori was right. Maybe this was just some obscure offense that only affected elite members of dwarvish culture. Maybe Kíli was just hurt that his uncle was capable of such a gaffe during a terrible moment.

Maybe it meant nothing at all.

Then why had Fíli's eyes been filled with such a desperate, glassy fear?

Bilbo sighed again and rolled to his back, wincing as fresh folds of icy cloth shifted against his skin. His head was thrumming. He wished Thorin would have let them have a fire. It was too late for any of this.

Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out slow and turned his thoughts back to their last peaceful day in Rivendell. He pushed down the tight worry in his chest and tried to recall the steps from his bedroom to the balcony overlooking the valley. He hummed a few notes of the songs he could recall and imagined beginning supper with a warm, buttered roll, hearty tomatoes and a generous glass of Elvish wine.

He has no place amongst us.

He shivered. It was going to be a long night.

Thank you for reading! Reviews/Comments are always appreciated. Take care! ~ ST