A/N: Here it is, the prologue of my new Hobbit fanfiction! I know some of you have been waiting for this after seeing the fanart/preview I posted on DeviantArt (username lilis-gallery, for those who are interested), and I hope you won't be disappointed. I know you're expecting some angst, and trust me, angst is just what you will get!

Under Hill is dedicated to my lovely friend Stephanie a.k.a. Italian Hobbit, who is one of my favourite writers and who has kindly accepted to be a beta for me. I'm not a native English speaker, and she has been absolutely amazing and most helpful. THANK YOU !

Several hours after the storm, the icy wind lashing the sides of the Misty Mountains had finally turned into a quiet breeze, and the torrential rain had given way to an intermittent drizzle, barely audible in the cave where Thorin and his company were taking refuge for the night. The only sound echoing against the dark, ragged stone walls was the Dwarves' soft breathing and snoring; yet despite his best efforts, Kíli could not sleep.

He was exhausted and he knew that he would probably need all his strength when the company followed their route in the mountains the next morning, but he had been unable to sleep a wink since the Dwarves and Bilbo had settled down in the cave. Every time he shut his eyes, the same haunting image flashed before his closed lids: Fíli's distraught expression as they were separated during the battle of the Stone Giants. The scene kept playing in his mind over and over again, and the fact that his brother, along with the rest of their companions, was now safe and sound, sleeping peacefully right next to him, was not sufficient to erase it from his thoughts. He remembered Fíli's outstretched hand as the rock split under their feet, his alarmed cry and the cold panic that had twisted his own insides as he had realized what was happening.

Laying on his right side, Kíli glanced at Fíli's sleeping frame, wondering if his older brother had been as shaken as he was by the incident. Even though the moment had been brief and its outcome had not been tragic after all, it had cast a whole new light on their journey. For the first time, Kíli was beginning to comprehend just how serious and hazardous their quest could actually be. Sure, Thorin had taken the time to warn his nephews against all the dangers they might encounter in the wild, hostile parts of Middle-Earth; he had spoken of Orcs and Wargs and Goblins, of braving snow storms and crossing turbulent mountain streams, but never of having to face all these perils separated from each other. And Kíli couldn't blame him: up to this point, he had never considered it either.

Kíli felt like he could handle anything with his brother at his side. He had faced the three Trolls knowing that Fíli was only a few feet behind; he had fought the Wargs with Fíli standing right next to him. It had never even occurred to him that there could be such a thing as life without his older brother. Because there couldn't be, really. If their quest to reclaim Erebor shouldtake an irreparable turn for the worse, Kíli only hoped that he and Fíli would go together.

Stop thinking like that.

His own sudden surge of pessimism surprised him. Fíli was usually the one who saw the darker side of things. Fíli was the one who had once admitted, a few days after they had left Bag-End, that all of Thorin's companions might not survive the journey to the Lonely Mountain. Kíli had quickly waved the thought off, too excited about their first real adventure to think about its possibly disastrous consequences.

Now, however, he understood his brother's doubts. He also understood the distressed look on their mother's face as she had watched Fíli and him leave for the Shire that crisp morning in Ered Luin. No matter how hard she had tried to hide it, Dís had looked genuinely frightened, and Kíli could now see why. He had heard Thorin promise her that he would bring her sons home safely, but after the Stone Giants mishap, he was aware that it was a promise his uncle might not be able to keep.

Kíli shook his head and rolled onto his back, trying to chase the grim thoughts from his mind. For now, they were all safe. Fíli was safe – snoring softly beside him, fast asleep and oblivious to his brother's concerns. Kíli convinced himself that if the Company had survived Orcs, Trolls, Giants, thunder storms, steep mountain paths and Elvish food, they would most likely survive all the rest.

Staring up at the moist cave ceiling, he let his mind wander to Erebor, to Smaug the Terrible, to Thorin sitting on his throne deep under the Lonely Mountain. He thought of reclaimed homelands and hoards of gold and Fíli and himself dressed in regal garments and shining armour, and felt a faint smile appear on his face as he closed his eyes.

"Wake up. Wake up!"

Kíli started violently at Thorin's loud cry and bolted upright; it took him a little while to realize he had finally fallen asleep. The cave was still plunged into near-complete darkness. He shot a glance at Fíli, who was sitting up next to him and looked just as perplexed as he was; he saw all the Dwarves exchange worried looks and Bofur and Bilbo standing near the entrance of the cave. In the Hobbit's right hand, the small sword he had found in the Troll-hoard glowed bright blue, and Bilbo seemed petrified.

Before Kíli could ask any questions about the strange, glowing blade or his uncle's alarmed yell, he heard a low rumble and felt the ground shake slightly beneath him. Everything happened so fast he barely had time to register it – he uselessly gripped a jagged rock on his left as the ground suddenly split open, and let out a cry of surprise as he fell into the darkness.