A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my Fíli… my real-life counterpart and best friend ever since I was learning how to walk. During our last phone conversation we talked briefly about this chapter, and she was the one who ultimately made it come together. Thanks, Big Bro—uh, Big Sister. *laughs softly* You've always been my inspiration.

Arc II: Being Big Brother — Chapter VI

"Reputation is an idle and most false imposition;

oft got without merit,

and lost without deserving."

– William Shakespeare, "Othello"

Several days went by before I was able to shake myself out of my cloud of gloom. The aftermath of Kíli's and my adventure to the creek had left me feeling confused and aching on the inside, my mother's ill-timed words echoing around my skull. It seemed so senseless that such an innocent day could end so badly, and I was sickened by it.

But there was Kíli to rouse me to higher spirits, he who is rarely down-hearted for long. I never asked what Thorin and Mother said to him that night, for though Kíli went to bed in a sulking mood he was chipper as always by the next morning. His good humor has always been extraordinarily contagious, and Kíli almost never allows me to remain stewing in my own thoughts. At his prodding I hesitantly confided in him a few of my darker feelings, and with his usual breeziness Kíli swept them away as though they were but harmless dust. The added stress of the incident left its mark on me, but my brother's confidence and enthusiasm allowed me to release much of the unnecessary guilt. When I was finally able to smile he laughed with delight, and my heart was lifted by the sound of it.

Sometimes I wonder when people began assuming that I am the "responsible" one. It would seem that silence is mistaken for wisdom; solemnity for maturity; for it is only in general countenance that Kíli and I have ever really differed. He and I have been equal terrors while growing up, causing mischief and mayhem hand-in-hand. Saving our skins almost always fell to me, I'll grant you, and keeping an eye out for my brother was a task I naturally inherited from his very birth. Still, despite my worrying and fussing over him as a child, I cannot say it ever kept us out of any fewer messes than if I had not. Maybe I just protected Kíli from breaking his young neck during any number of our more foolhardy exploits. In terms of outstanding behavior, however, I was no better or worse than my little brother, and more often than not I was the mastermind behind our devilment. To this day my mother doesn't know that some of our worst pranks were entirely my idea—including the enormous pie fight which utterly destroyed the summer baking exchange that one year, yes; I was the sole instigator of that incident, and proud of it! In any case, if Kíli gets into trouble more often than I do it is only because I have enough sense to avoid getting caught.

Seriously, though: me, responsible? As if responsibility was something I chose because of some great strength of character or twisted code of honor. Egad! The only choice I've ever really had is whether or not to do what I'm told. Some choice! There are many whom I must answer to, many high expectations to fulfill; responsibility is handed to me in fistfuls and basket-loads. If there is any trait I possess for which I deserve recognition, it is diligence, for all I can do is manage whatever is loaded upon me. Obedience is hardly an outstanding achievement... unless you happen to be my little brother.

Oh, don't get me wrong; I'm not implying that Kíli is disobedient by nature. He just loves to play. He's always looking for a new thrill, another adrenaline rush, and as of late he's gotten more restless. For reasons unknown Thorin has been less forgiving than normal, unwilling to turn a blind eye to my brother's more harmless antics and Kíli's been chomping at the bit. It doesn't help that there's been this minor financial crisis going on and we've all been under more pressure.

My brother thrives on tomfoolery. Kíli lives for the next game, the next exciting thing, and that more than anything else is what tends to lead him into the wrong kind of mischief. He rarely actually intends to break any rules, commit any true wrongdoing; it just sort of… well, happens. And for better or for worse, Kíli seems to have far more time on his hands than I do. My brother has been left to go on much as he always has—running about with his friends—whereas I have more responsibilities and duties than ever. It's maddening how much more freedom he has than I do!

I still like to play around, too. I just don't admit it openly because my elders seem to believe otherwise. Oh no, Fíli? What a solid lad. Good, clean, no nonsense. Fíli has no time for foolish games. Fíli has outgrown his brother's ridiculous pranking stage. Fíli only engages in the most upright of pastimes. Fíli is far too mature for such stupidity and would never, ever go sneaking around to swipe firecrackers for devilment.

I've never met this Fíli. He sounds like a boring fellow.

"But you understand, right Gimli?" Kíli is crouched on one knee in the dust, peering earnestly into the little face before him. "This is to be our little secret; agreed?"

The child with flaming red hair and a dirty face is our rambunctious baby cousin, currently the latest victim to my brother's persuasive charm. He stares at Kíli with all the gravity of his five years, carefully studying his face with a tiny frown. Finally, he crosses his arms.

"An' what's in it for me?" he demands solemnly.

"Why, equal share in the spoils, of course," Kíli replies with equal solemnity; "And a bag of peppermints for your trouble."

Gimli regards this for a moment before answering. "Make it two an' it's a deal— one now, one later."

"T'is daylight robbery!" exclaims Flán with indignance. The blacksmith's son glares at the small boy with impressive ferocity, green eyes flashing. "You seemed happy enough with a single bag, before."

"Tha' was before," Gimli retorts. "If I'm gonna risk getting caught then I'mma gonna need some indem… inden-imin… indemin-im-ity."

"Indemnity?" Kíli supplies helpfully, while Flán snorts with disgust and I roll my eyes. Only the son of a financier could spout words like that.

"Or else the deal's off," the boy finishes, nodding his head with finality.

Kíli smirks slightly. "I only have one bag with me at the moment. You'll have to take it as a down payment until I can get you another."

Gimli hums with disapproval but soon shrugs in acceptance. "I s'pose it'll have to do. Alright— it's a deal!"

The small boy holds forth one grubby little hand, which Kíli accepts in a firm handshake. Then Gimli turns and skitters across the road into the house like a small tumbleweed.

"He'd better not get caught," Flán grumbles, wrinkling his freckled nose. "He'd only squeal on us."

"It'd be his word against ours," Tasli counters, dark eyes like coal flashing momentarily. He glances at Tamli, his twin brother, who shakes his head with a sigh and puffs a strand of jet-black hair out of his face.

"Brother," I tell Kíli ruefully as I rub my chin, "I'm beginning to wonder if this was not one of your brightest ideas, after all."

He only smirks at me. "Rubbish! It's a splendid idea and will reap lots of good, clean fun. And don't worry about Gimli. The kid's got spunk and he's no tattler."

Flán still looks skeptical as he runs nervous hands through his thick mane of carrot-colored hair. "But stealing Mr. Glóin's whizzpoppers, Kíli…"

I wince slightly at his comment. "Aye, you neglected to mention that part of the plan."

"By Durin's beard, lads, they're not Glóin's," Kíli hisses impatiently. "Look, he's been keeping dozens of leftover boxes of fireworks from last month's festival. Everyone chipped in coin for those—they are public property so they technically belong to us, anyway. He's only holding onto them temporarily."

"Still, they are in his keeping, and not explicitly oursfor the taking," I sigh. "Why didn't you just ask for some?"

"Because, stupid, that would spoil our prank," Kíli laughs, shocked at the idea. He pats me soothingly on the shoulder even as I give him a withering look. "Fear not, Big Brother; everything is under my control."

Tamli chokes back a laugh. "Maybe that's what worries him," he rejoins.

Kíli grimaces darkly at his friend before smirking and grabbing him in a loose headlock, wrestling lightly with him while the rest of us shake our heads.

We are hidden in an alleyway and the others are busy peeking around the corner, waiting for Gimli's signal. Rather than crowd against them I shuffle to the end of the line, lean against the wall of the building and slide down to the ground as comfortably as I can. I shiver, for it is a cooler day and I had not thought to bring my jacket as Kíli had. Harrumphing quietly to myself I try to relax, but the insufferable 'elder brother sensibilities' warning signals are beginning to echo dully in the back of my brain. Something keeps telling me that this is a bad idea but I am trying my hardest to ignore it because darnit, I want to have some fun.

My little brother came up with the questionable but delightful prank that we are about to set in motion. Had he not asked for my participation when I was in a foul mood and hating the rest of the world, I most likely wouldn't have agreed to go along. He proposed to arm ourselves with pocketfuls of snappers—you know, those novelty little fireworks that one throws against the ground to produce loud popping noises— station ourselves around the village, and discreetly toss them at the feet of unsuspecting passers-by while remaining hidden. Then, once wearing out our stream of victims, to relocate in the Men's marketplace and do it all over again. Simple, but nonetheless enormously entertaining. The idea of was extremely attractive—especially the idea of going to the marketplace. I've got a grudge against the foul-mouthed, corpulent tradesman at the book cart who always bellows "No loitering!" to any dwarves who come too close for comfort. I have been itching to pay him back for his rudeness. The idea of his puckering little mouth opened in a silent 'O' of terror as harmless mini-explosions flew all around him from nowhere was too delicious to pass up.

Still, I don't feel entirely good about this rather shifty enterprise. I know exactly what Thorin would say, especially about conducting such a prank on Men. "Relations between Men and the dwarves are already tense nowadays," he would say irately. "Are you trying to start a war or what?"

It bothers me that I have to feel so uptight every time we try to do something fun like this. It bothers me to think that our Uncle would be disappointed in our behavior, and that he'd be dismayed that I went along with it. And then at the same time, I'm wholly exasperated at myself for feeling bothered by any of this at all. It's absolutely ridiculous. This isn't about safety; it's just a little silly misbehavior typical of lads our age, right? This is harmless! But then my own words come back to taunt me.

There's no such thing as 'harmless' anymore.

"Botheration," I mutter to myself, disgusted.

"Hey, woolly bear." Flán slips beside me so quietly I start with surprise. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong."

He smiles amiably. "You're picking at your sleeves. Something's on your mind."

With an irritated huff I pull my hands away from the fabric and glare at him, trying my hardest not to succumb to his kindly expression. Flán has been our friend since early childhood; no other dwarfling knows me or Kíli as well as he does. His inherent streak of mischief endears him to my brother, but his equal sense of prudence draws him towards me as well, making him the perfect intermediary. I know that Flán can perceive that something in my relationship with Kíli is beginning to shift, and that he has also sensed the recent changes in me. I know him well enough that he does not need to say it out loud.

"You're too nosy," I scoff lightly. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to mind your own business?"

"Oh, aye; that she did; the fine, upstanding lady of breeding that she is. A merchant's daughter knows a thing or two about business, but y'know," Flán smirks impishly now; "My father's only a low-class tradesman who has no qualms about who gets offended, and I am my father's son." He bumps his shoulder against mine. "Spill it."

Smirking, I return the gesture and bump him back with my own shoulder. "It is difficult to say," I admit quietly. "I do not have the words for it. Only that I wish my mind was not so constantly fettered by ideas of consequence and responsibility."

Flán nods. "That is the bane of being the older sibling, I suppose," he muses. "Wouldn't know how that feels, though my sissy says things like that from time to time."

I give a wan smile. "I reckon Nála could grasp my frustration, then. Poor girl, burdened with a little bratling like you as she is."

My friend acknowledges the wisecrack with an expression of mock offense. He sniffs indignantly. "And here I'm trying to be nice to you!"

"I am not your sister, so easily swayed by niceties," I respond dryly.

The red-haired dwarf rolls his eyes but he continues doggedly on his course. "Fíli," he asks, elbowing me gently. "What fetters your mind on such a nice day as this?"

Pausing, I glance ahead to where Kíli and the twins are carefully peeping around the building corner and snickering to themselves. "I wish," I finally murmur, "That I felt a part of things, and was not only pretending to be feel a part of them."

Flán's brow deepens in a confused frown. "What do you mean?"

I shrug helplessly, unsure how to explain myself. "I mean… I feel as though I'm on the outside looking in. Things just don't feel the same to me, even a silly prank like this; it feels wrong somehow and I don't want it to. I want it to feel normal. I want to feel normal. I don't even feel right in my own skin."

Flán grimaces, a touch of uncertainty still on his face but there is empathy flickering in his expressive green eyes. I turn away, discomfort pooling in my stomach at my confession. He's a good fellow but he is young—two years younger than Kíli, in fact—and I cannot hope for him to really understand.

"Well, you asked," I mutter.

"Look, friend." He sighs and lays a hand on my knee. "Don't try so hard, one way or another. Don't force yourself into an old mold and… don't kill yourself trying to find a new one. Just carry on as best you can—" Here he smiles brightly; "—and everything will fix itself one way or another. It'll be alright in the end."

I find myself taken aback by the directness of his response. "You make it sound so simple."

Grinning, Flán clambers back to his feet. "Maybe because it is."

At that moment we here a low whistle echo from across the road.

"It's Gimli!" Tamli hisses. "He's got 'em!"

Flán offers me a hand and helps pull me upright. "Now, no more worryin'. You think too much, Fíli. It's time to have fun!"

I laugh a little and nod, and with that we join the others and hurry to claim our prize.

Remember, Da? I told you the same thing once. "You think too much."

Maybe you spent so much time thinking because even simple things can be quite complicated.

We had only just become gloriously invested in our game when my time with the lads was cut dreadfully short. I had completely forgotten that I was scheduled to have a training session with Dwalin that afternoon, and so I had to leave the others when we had barely gotten started. Flán and Tasli were arguing about the best technique for throwing snappers at a long-distance range when I departed.

Frustration burning in my chest, I kick a lone pine cone out of the path with far more aggression than is warranted. It skips across the lane and ricochets off a rain barrel and a wood pile before it disappears somewhere out of sight, and I feel no better than before.

Why must it always be this way? Why must I always miss out on times with my peers while Kíli is allowed to waste away the day? I shove my hands deep in my pockets, fuming, because I already know the hum-drum answers to that question and it doesn't alleviate my childish anger at the unfairness of it. I'm the elder. I'm the heir. I'm the one of whom much is expected. Soon enough anger melts away and I just feel lonely and more out of place than ever. Oh, how I envy my brother in that moment!

But, like the dutiful prince, I return home without complaint. I attend my training session and it is admittedly quite productive; I learn a method of twirling my twin swords in my hands that is tricky but useful. Perhaps it's only my imagination that Dwalin senses I am somewhat out of sorts, but he gives me plenty of things on which to focus my full attention. I am soon forced to forget my disappointment and it turns out to be a good afternoon.

Come early evening I am washing up in the bathroom when I hear the front door slam and a vaguely familiar voice complaining loudly. I recognize Balin's more reserved tones filtering through the chatter, with a single stern phrase from Thorin echoing throughout before he grows quiet. Curious, I cast aside my towel and make my way to the front of the house... and the scene before me is so amusing I might have laughed had it not been for the tense atmosphere.

Dori, the dwarven merchant fellow I had last seen at the festival, is standing in front of Thorin speaking in a flurry of words and frenzied hand gestures. Balin stands back, saying nothing now but looking very grave indeed. His hand rests firmly on the shirt collar of my brother…

And by all the Valar, my sweet, crazy little brother makes quite a sight. His clothes are utterly soiled; his face smudged and blackened—Mahal, he is absolutely covered from head to toe with soot! Only now do I realize that Dori's clothes, too, sport a liberal dusting of the black powder as well, though not nearly in as alarming a quantity. I stand back, thoroughly flabbergasted by the strange sight.

"So, let me understand you, Dori," Thorin interrupts the riled merchant in a suspiciously even-tempered voice. "You are trying to tell me that Kíli… climbed onto your roof… and fell…into your chimney?"

"Not just 'into' my chimney, Milord," Dori exclaimed, thoroughly upset, "But through it! Down the length of it entirely! He landed smack-dab in my fireplace in the most disturbing cloud of soot I have ever been witness to! You should see the room. Oh, my, the place is a disaster."

"Indeed."

"B-But that is not my greatest concern, of course," the flustered dwarf hastily explains, "My chiefest and greatest source of worry and ire is over your young nephew's safety! Lord Thorin, I-I-I am utterly appalled, I am mortified that this boy—" Dori continues, flinging his arm dramatically in Kíli's direction, "—practically the same age as my own little Ori, would take so foolhardy a risk as to scale the roof of my house! And look at the consequences! Why, thank Eru above that he did not break his neck in his descent down my chimney! My chimney, Milord."

Kíli coughs innocently, though I wouldn't doubt he is disguising an ill-timed chuckle.

It appears that while they were in town, Kíli and our friends had taken it upon themselves to scramble on the rooftops of buildings in order to secretively throw down snappers at the people below. At some point my little brother found himself on Dori's chimney rim in order to toss a snapper down some back alley. But as ill-luck would have it, Kíli somehow lost his footing and fell in. Fortunately he'd managed to grasp the inside of the chimney to break his fall—thankfully he had thought to wear his leather gloves—and though the impact was immense, dwarf bones are incredibly sturdy and he was relatively unharmed.

I swallow the chuckles that are fighting to escape. The sheer ridiculousness of the whole affair is so hard to believe, and yet my sooty little brother stands before us as living proof of the ordeal. I spare Balin a glance and it seems that even he finds himself hard-pressed not to laugh; the way his eyes are crinkled gives him away. As soon as the merchant is gone Balin starts to cough for no apparent reason, even while remaining impressively straight-faced. I would give anything to have myself a good belly-laugh right about now, but giving into such a temptation would likely be extremely unwise so instead I muster my sternest stare upon Kíli. The imp only grins at me, brown eyes sparkling. The whites of his eyes stand out too plainly against his sooty face and I am forced to look away lest I break down in tearful peals of laughter.

Jaw working furiously, Thorin clasps his hands behind his back and very slowly takes ominous steps toward my brother. His eyebrows furrow.

"Kíli?"

The youngster stares at his boots and tries fruitlessly to hide his mirth. "Yes, Uncle?" he replies almost cheerfully.

Thorin's expression grows positively murderous but his voice remains terrifyingly calm. "Do I look at all amused by this?"

My brother must've heard the dangerous placidity in our uncle's voice because he snaps his head up immediately and sobers. "No, Sir."

"Where did you get the fireworks?"

"The fireworks?" Kíli echoes meekly.

A hard stare. "I will not repeat myself."

"Oh! The fireworks, yes. Those fireworks," he splutters, nodding at Balin as though he was his confidant. "Right, um, about those. Well!" Kíli looks back at Thorin with wide eyes and raises his eyebrows innocently. "They were, ah—they were leftovers from the Summer Solstice Festival." He ends with a confident nod.

"You still did not answer my question," Uncle replies dryly.

Kíli withers a little. "No?"

Thorin doesn't bat an eye. "No."

The younger dwarf gulps audibly. "Ehm, w-well… they were at Mr. Glóin's house, Sir."

"Indeed. And Glóin gave you these fireworks, did he?"

Awkward silence.

"Kíli."

"Yessir?" he squeaks.

Thorin is standing directly over the boy now. "My patience wears thin. Do not make me ask you again for an answer."

Kíli hiccups. "Th-Th-they were from Mr. Glóin, aye," he mumbles, avoiding Thorin's pointed gaze. "But… h-he didn't exactly give them to us."

"No?"

"No, Sir. He, uh… he kind-of-maybe didn't know we had, em, b-borrowed some."

"Oh, borrowed?" Uncle raises his eyebrow. "You intended to bring back these fireworks after you had used them, did you? Can you explain to me how this would have been accomplished?"

With a defeated slump of his shoulders and a sigh, Kíli resigns himself to the inevitable. "No, Uncle, I cannot. That would not have been possible."

"Ah. So you took them."

"In a manner of speaking, b-but they're public property of sorts."

"Is Glóin's house 'public property of sorts', then, Kíli?"

A confused frown. "… No, Sir."

"Hmm. Were these fireworks located in his house?"

"Well, yes—"

"And you obtained them from his house without his knowledge?"

"Yes Uncle, but—"

"That's all I wanted to know. Borrowed, indeed." Thorin's voice is a low growl now. "I thought we had discussed the differences between borrowing and petty theft some number of years ago. Or maybe you've forgotten?"

Kíli looks pathetically unhappy now, unable to look our guardian in the face any longer. He shrivels miserably under Thorin's rigid gaze.

"Nay, I have not forgotten, Uncle," he mutters sadly.

The elder dwarf harrumphs with displeasure, and for a few moments he examines Kíli closely as though searching for something.

"Are you uninjured?" he asks finally, strict voice tinged with concern.

"Yessir, I am alright."

Thorin sighs with obvious relief, his shoulders sagging. "… Good." His voice is much kinder, now. "That is… most fortunate."

I realize that I've been holding my breath and I exhale sharply. While it irked me that Kíli could be so ridiculously careless and I thought he'd heartily earned himself a good scolding, I did not wish for more to befall him than that. I don't like seeing him get into trouble even if he has earned the consequences.

At that moment Thorin seems to recall himself for he suddenly straightens and turns around to frown at me with suspicion.

"Did you know anything about this, young man?" he demands.

I hesitate. Caught completely off-guard I can only blink with surprise even as I feel Kíli pointedly stare at me. I realize that I had unconsciously allied myself with the adults in the room and had entirely forgotten my own role in the foolish little plot. Well, this is a first. I've just been standing here like another disapproving grownup. That would explain the quizzical look now drifting over my brother's face.

Always in the past have I immediately risen to Kíli's defense or else tried to take the bulk of the blame, regardless of who was actually primarily at fault. It's an old habit, this oft-misplaced sense of brotherly protection.

No evidence of that today, obviously.

This was indeed a plan that we hatched together, but— this time I wasn't even there! This wasn't my doing, this business with rooftops and chimneys. Maybe I'd wanted to be part of the adventure but I wasn't really, at least not for more than twenty minutes. Why on earth should I get bawled out for this? I know that if I admit even my tiny bit of involvement, Thorin will find a way to pin blame on me; that I should have known better, and all that rot. So what if I hadn't dissuaded Kíli when he first mentioned the prank? It's not my responsibility. It's hardly as though I could have prevented him from going through with it. Once Kíli has his mind set on something even I cannot always make him change his course. Yet I can't help but feel sorry for my little brother in this stupid predicament. I know I ought to stick up for him like I always do, say something in his defense…

But then I realize it's not anger on Thorin's face, but veiled disappointment. Disappointment at the thought of my involvement. More than anything, I really, really hate disappointing my uncle.

Suddenly I am torn.

Years of practice enables me to school my features into a solemn, unreadable expression. "Well, I—had my suspicions." I glance towards Kíli as I desperately try to decide what to do.

"Explain."

"I mean… I knew Kíli had concocted a prank of sorts, but I didn't know the details," I reply uncomfortably, though the answer is honest enough.

Thorin raises one eyebrow. "So you had no idea what your brother was on about?"

Well, no way to dance around this question… time to confess.

"Fíli had nothing to do with this, Uncle Thorin," Kíli interrupts us quietly. "He wasn't in on the plan."

My heart skips a beat and Kíli flashes me a small, secret grin. The little brat just lied for me, confound him! Now my mind races; such a falsehood may free me but it could mean more trouble for both of us if Thorin discovers the truth later on. Yet, I can hardly confess to the contrary, for that would land Kíli in even more hot water. Thorin has absolutely zero tolerance for dishonesty. What am I supposed to do, now?

Thorin has not taken his eyes off me yet. "Is this true, Fíli?"

"Yes, Uncle." The bitter lie rolls off my tongue so easily I am ashamed of myself, but there is naught for it. "I've… been busy. I had training with Mr. Dwalin today."

"I figured as much." Thorin sighs, suddenly appearing quite fatigued as returns his attention to Kíli. He is about to grasp him by the shoulder before he stops his hand midair and grimaces.

"Perhaps I should change my clothes?" Kíli supplies helpfully.

"Aye, and bathe," Uncle agrees firmly. "But this discussion is not over yet. I have yet to decide what to do with you. For now, however—" He shifts awkwardly before waving his hand in a weary, dismissive manner and turning aside, eyes closed in exasperation. "—go clean yourself up. Please."

Taking the rescue route offered to him Kíli eagerly makes his getaway, leaving faint puffs of soot in his wake.

As Balin chuckles at last, his face glowing with merriment, Thorin shakes his head and huffs a short laugh of his own.

"Fireworks and chimneys, indeed. Mahal, help me," he says, smirking at Balin's snort of amusement and grasping me gently by the shoulder. "Thank goodness at least one of my boys has a little sense. That youngling will have me in an early grave."

The overwhelming flood of warmth I feel at Uncle's approval is colored by an enormous sense of guilt. Though my vindication was entirely Kíli's doing, it still feels like a betrayal.

Yet when Thorin laughs and squeezes my shoulder affectionately I shamelessly lean into his touch, so great is my desire for his blessing.

The echoes of grumbling and muttering echo through the hallway. I kick off my boots by the front door and follow the sounds with curiosity until I am led into the kitchen where Kíli is elbow-deep in soapy water.

I grin at him. "What on earth is the matter, Little Brother?"

He pauses long enough to scowl at me. "Open your eyes and look around you!" he snaps, flinging another silver spoon into the sink with annoyance. "The place is a mess!"

Raising my eyebrows at his temper, I glance around the kitchen and notice that it is indeed in a rare state of disarray. Dirty mixing bowls and stirring spoons, pots and pans, saucers and ladles lay all over the room on the table and countertops. Bits of flour, melted cheese, and egg yolk stain nearby surfaces, and I frown in confusion; Mother never leaves her kitchen in this state of disarrangement.

"What, did you try to bake a cake again?" I quip.

"Oh, very clever," he grumps, hurling another bit of cutlery into the frost of bubbles below him. "But this catastrophic scene is most decidedly not of my own doing. Mrs. Neila just gave birth to a girl and all the village dwarrow-dams are in a positive uproar, all intent on throwing some big ol' baby shower." He rolls his eyes in annoyance. "They made enough food to feed an army of hobbits!"

"Don't forget that Mrs. Neila had two miscarriages before this," I soothe him gently. "This must be a very special occasion for her and her husband. And such food will keep them both fed for many a day."

Kíli shrugs, slightly abashed. "You're right, of course. But it would be just my luck that they'd decide to do all the cooking here, of all kitchens." He scrubs an encrusted pie dish and sighs despondently.

Understanding dawns on me. "Ahh. You're responsible for cleaning all this up."

"It's part of my punishment, aye." He slouches wearily at the sink and leans heavily against it. "That's on top of all the floor-scrubbing and laundering I've been assigned."

I wince with sympathy. "This isn't right, Kíli. What were you thinking?"

"Obviously I wasn't!" he exclaims, throwing up his wet hands and splattering his immediate surroundings with bits of soapy fluff. "How was I supposed to know such an innocent little prank would turn into a big, sooty mess?"

"That's not what I meant. Why did you lie?" My voice is reproachful. "By rights I should be doing this right alongside you."

"Fiddlesticks," Kíli snaps. "It wouldn't be fair; you weren't really part of it and Thorin expects more out of you. Anyway, I'm used to being in trouble. Always seems to happen lately."

I don't miss the underlying bitterness in my little brother's tone. Fresh guilt washes over me.

"Yeah, I can't leave you alone for a few hours without you going off and falling down chimneys, it seems," I mutter, taking note of his miserable countenance. "Is there anything I can do to help, at least?"

Kíli seems to mull this over. "I'm supposed to do this alone," he replies uncertainly. He rinses off a porcelain bowl… then throws it at me without warning.

I catch it with a startled yelp then turn bewildered eyes on him. "What on earth?"

He gives a half-shrug and ignores me entirely. "I can't help being overwhelmed by all these dishes," he muses. "If some happen to fly out of my hands and you happen to catch them, then it's only a happy happenstance if you are there to assist me. Nothing deliberate, you understand."

"Only if I happen to catch them!" I echo in astonishment, but I have no chance to continue because before I can so much as take another breath dishes start flying towards me with alarming speed.

Bowls, cups and all—as fast as I catch one, Kíli tosses two more, and soon enough I am literally juggling all manners of flatware as I royally struggle to land each one safely on the nearby counter to be dried. I find myself resorting to decidedly unorthodox methods of handling Mother's porcelain dishes that include bouncing them off my knees and kicking them aside with my feet. It is a small miracle that none of them break.

"Kíli!" I finally gasp when the barrage of flatware ceases. "What do you think you're doing?"

The dwarfling only grins at me with impish delight. "Just cleaning, is all. Don't you know? Bofur does this all the time with his brother and cousin. It's quite fun once you get the hang of it."

I chuckle, filled once again with utter amazement for my idiot brother's sense of absolute spontaneity. "Oh, you've been practicing, have you?"

"Aye, of course," he pipes happily as he finishes draining the sink. He picks up a dish cloth and quickly swipes a saucer dry before tossing the piece of china to me. "But you, dear brother, could use more experience."

I snort and catch it easily with one hand. "I'm rapidly becoming a master at knife-throwing, Dwalin says. By comparison this is child's play."

A wicked gleam enters Kíli's eye as he begins to sing. "Blunt the knives!—"

"Kíli…" I call warningly.

"—bend the forks!"

"I really don't think—"

"Smash the bottles," he continues, tossing a knife, a fork, and an empty milk jug my way. "And burn the corks!"

"You'll be the death of us all," I growl fiercely, narrowly avoiding losing an eye to the wayward fork. My light-hearted bother only laughs at me and continues to sing the silly little tavern song with great gusto. Despite myself I begin laughing again, and the guilt that has gnawed at me since the previous night begins to ease.

The heaping piles of wet flatware begin to disappear, dried and replaced in their original cupboards and drawers where they belong. Kíli dries them, tosses them, and I put everything to rights. The ridiculous game becomes easier as I get the hang of it and I am beginning to feel quite invincible. Just as I make a particularly dramatic spin to catch a wildly rebellious teacup, I whirl around to face none other than our uncle standing in the doorway. I gape at him utterly stupefied.

"Uncle Thorin!" I cry—and the teacup smashes forgotten at my feet with a loud crash! I physically jump at the condemning sound, and cringe under our guardian's astonished but nonetheless displeased gaze.

With obvious vexation Thorin absorbs the scene before him, clearly trying to assess the situation; but as an amusing expression of confusion flickers on his clouded face he apparently gives up trying to understand. He shakes his head in a resigned manner, and regards the broken china now scattered on the floor.

"Kíli, clean this up in two minutes and I will forget to relay this incident to your mother," he says sternly. "I do believe this was from her favorite set."

"Hey!" My little brother is grossly indignant. "Why me? Fíli's the one who broke it."

Thorin raises both eyebrows. "Because you threw it, and more importantly, because I said so. Do you wish me to tell you mother that you finagled your brother into helping you with a chore she assigned you as punishment?"

I can feel Kíli's unhealthy attitude without turning around to see it.

"No sir," he mutters.

"That's what I thought. Now off with you, and no more of this sass."

Kíli slaps the dishtowel down on the table a little more forcefully than called for and stomps down to the hallway closet for a broom. Thorin sighs.

"Fíli," he says, turning to me. "I know you mean well, but I don't need you encouraging him."

Feeling yet a bit flustered and embarrassed, I become defensive. "Encouraging him in what? Uncle, I was only humoring him a little."

"He doesn't need humoring, lad," Thorin asserts firmly, "He needs boundaries. Kíli's been rather testy lately, pushing to see how far he can go before someone puts the brake on his activities. This has become increasingly clearer ever since your little visit to the creek."

The protective side of me hackles at that comment. "I thought it was agreed we were both at fault."

"I'm not assigning him blame, Fíli," he explains somewhat exasperatedly, running his fingers through his hair, "What I'm trying to say is... Your brother hasn't been… in a very teachable frame of mind lately, though I don't know quite why. I reckon it's just growing pains."

Growing pains? Now that's just rich. As though he suffers like I do.

I stare back at him blandly, sympathy for Kíli evaporating steadily. "Indeed?"

"Your mother and I are working to quell his recent rebellious tendencies but I need your cooperation."

"What, am I supposed to be his keeper, now?" I respond dryly, irritation niggling at the ends of my nerves.

"No," says Thorin, his eyes darkening at my sarcasm. "I'm asking you to be the responsible elder brother I know you to be."

And there's that dratted word again. 'Responsible.'

My frown deepens. "What are you asking of me, Uncle?"

He sighs again. "Only this, Fíli: keep a close eye on him. He needs to learn from his mistakes, learn that even though he is no longer a little child he is a youngling nonetheless, and he that he needs to consider the consequences to his actions. I'm counting on you to be the voice of reason, not to encourage him in his foolishness."

I open my mouth to protest, but realize I know not what to say. Thorin takes advantage of my confusion to seize me by the shoulder, much as he had the previous evening, and lean in closer to gaze earnestly into my face. He pauses long enough to glance back into the hallway to ensure Kíli has not yet returned before he speaks again.

"You are growing to become an exceptionally reliable and competent young dwarf, Fíli," he tells me quietly, "and I know I can trust you. With your brother, I only wish to help him grow as steadfastly as you are proving to do, and I know you care about his welfare as much as I. We both know that you are ultimately his greatest guiding influence, and so I ask you humbly for your help in this matter."

An odd yet wonderful sense of accomplishment washes over me. Here I have just achieved something I've craved: Thorin's recognition of my maturity, and him speaking to me as almost a peer. I finally have been offered an "adult" role, but… it is a role over my brother, one which puts me at odds with myself. Surely such a thing will be discordant with my recent efforts to reconnect with Kíli on a more intimate level. At the same time, however, it could lead the way to building a deeper rapport with my uncle that puts us more at equal terms. More than anything I want to demonstrate my ability to handle adult problems, especially if it helps my brother, but I fear the rift it shall cause if Kíli catches wind of this somehow.

"I will do whatever I can, Uncle Thorin," I reply earnestly. Yet doubt remains.

To be continued…

A/N: If you read "A Private Little War" you might have recognized the names of Tasli and Tamli. They were the brothers Kíli mentioned in passing to Fíli in the final chapter. The twins had approached Kíli in friendship after the events of the fight, and as you can see, Kíli forgave and accepted them.

Do yourself a favor and google "yellow woolly bear caterpillar". It's fluffy and precious (you're welcome). I imagine that "Woolly Bear" was a nickname Flán would've given Fíli as a very young child because the critter would've reminded him of Fíli's sometimes-wild mane of hair. (And yes, Flán is my creation, whom I hope to do more with in the future. He has also just made his first appearance in ItalianHobbit's story, "The Ghost of Erebor".)

Thanks for sticking with me. I had plenty of time to write over break, but I couldn't get into the right frame of mind to do so. A month before 'The Battle of the Five Armies' came to theaters, my blonde and blue eyed Fíli-girl died quite suddenly. My soul is adrift. But when we last spoke I promised her an update for this story, and I also promised to finish it. So… no matter how hard it is or how long it takes, finish it I shall.

(This is for you, Fee...)