A/N: Good heavens. *blows dust off this fic and erupts into a hacking cough* This story has sat idle for way too long! I apologize for that, but I was in mourning and I had to take time off from stuff. Still, me and The Blue Canary are finally able to give you a frightfully (deliciously) long chapter, so maybe that will pacify you all? Hmm?

Thank you to all my reviewers and readers who have continued to read my work. You know who you are. :) Hugs and Fíli-themed muffins to everyone. Of course, hello to any and all newcomers! After such an incredibly long hiatus that I will do my best not to repeat, here is a lovely new chapter for you all. Enjoy.

Arc II: Being Big Brother — Chapter VII

"'Tis one thing to be tempted …

Another thing to fall."

– William Shakespeare, "Measure for Measure"

Thorin's words concerning Kíli rattle around in my head.

"He needs to learn from his mistakes, learn that even though he is no longer a little child he is a youngling nonetheless, and 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."

As strange as it is for my uncle to be asking for help—and my help, no less—I understand that he is concerned about Kíli's increasing bouts of mischief and wants him to amend his behavior. He worries. He's always worried about my brother, really. In truth, Kíli's nature has the tendency to breed anxiety in the hearts of his elders because he best learns through making his own mistakes. He was the kind of child who had to touch a stove multiple times in order to learn his lesson, due to an incredible stubbornness that makes it difficult for him to accept a flaw in his logic. It has often been painful to observe these kind of scenarios occur over the years but my brother often has to select the stonier road towards discernment. It has become a familiar pattern: Kíli gets into another scrape, learns another valuable lesson, and Thorin grows another grey hair. My dear little brother is a wonderfully bright lad, though a willful and often very foolish one. Then again, I wasn't often much better, though nowadays I'm not given time or leisure for foolishness. Even if I do mess about, I'm not treated with the same level of leniency as my brother.

I wish I could be foolish. I wish my uncle would not worry so. And I wish that he would not ask me to look after Kíli.

Then again, I've always looked after my rogue little Kíli and Thorin has always been a worrier, so nothing has really changed. All is as it should be… at least, that's what I tell myself.

Soon enough it becomes obvious that all is not as it should be Kíli's temper has become almost mercurial and there is a distinct undertone of exasperation to all things he does. There are subtle changes: annoyed eye-rolls when he thinks no one will notice; obedient smiles that turn sour when his back is turned; a passive-aggressive manner of pushing his chair into the table after a meal. These things are the first indicators of a problem in my little brother's head. I am wondering what to say or do about it when one day I catch Kíli in the act of sticking his tongue out petulantly at Thorin's retreating back. So, taking advantage of the moment I stop him with a raised eyebrow and a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Hey. What's chafing your drawers?" I ask him not unkindly.

He blinks and shrugs one shoulder, looking a little sheepish but not apologetic. "Just drives me up a wall, he does."

I shake my head. "That tongue will do you no good unless you're using it to say something useful."

"I never say anything useful!" he snaps back suddenly. I must look as startled as I feel because he frowns and his mouth twists ruefully. "Sorry. Forget it, Brother," he says, and abruptly walks away.

That was the second indicator. Sharp of word and impatient, Kíli becomes less communicative and leaves me constantly in the dark.

The third is when he continues with an alarming caliber of pranks that I desperately try to mitigate, the kind of things that involve ropes and pulleys and fire. Sometimes I am forced to intervene. The worst is when he put hot coals into Dwalin's boots as means of revenge after the dwarf had told him to "hot foot-it" to practice and not be such a surly so-and-so. Kíli thought it brilliant, but though the fire it caused was bright indeed I thought it less than desirable. Thank goodness I was around or the nearby hay bales would have surely gone up in smoke and perhaps the pony stalls with it. I confess I boxed his ear for that one, though he merely whined and said he thought it'd be a nice way to warm the old dwarf's toes.

"Do you have a death wish?" I growl at him, "Or have you fallen out of bed onto that idiotic skull of yours one too many times?"

"I dinna," he whimpers pitifully, rubbing his ear and pouting slightly; "It's all a misunderstanding." Then he frowns at me in accusation. "You hit me."

"And I'll do it again if you repeat such stupidity," I reply grimly. "For goodness sake, Brother, this is the kind of thing that will get you locked in your room until next summer on bread and water rations only! You're lucky if I don't tell on you."

He scoffs at the empty threat. "Don't worry. I'll find something else to keep me occupied."

And he most certainly does. It's only a week later I find him in the kitchen on the receiving end of a tongue lashing by our irate mother and uncle. Apparently the scamp had set loose several thousand ladybugs in our local meeting hall and was summarily caught by nearby adults. He confesses to having purchased the little critters from a passing caravan for that very purpose, and even as Thorin points an angry finger at his nose Kíli still can't help smiling to himself. One look at our uncle's face is enough to make me shiver, however, and I hover uncertainly in the hallway nearby.

"Do you realize," Thorin roars quietly, which is always a terrifying thing, "That an important meeting was to be taking place there on the morrow?"

Fearless chestnut eyes gaze unwaveringly into furious cerulean ones; an unspoken challenge. "That's why it's funny," he replies, a drawl to his voice. "You 'ave to admit tha' much."

"Don't talk like that," Uncle tells him a little too sharply. "You're not a commoner. You may be acting like a little barbarian but I won't let you turn into one."

"Thorin," our mother sighs, "Can you stay focused, please?"

"No," he growls back at her. "I daren't say anymore; I'm finished here. You know what? He's your son—you deal with him. I have things to do."

Kíli's eyes widen as Thorin storms out and his calm exterior falls away; gone is the proud and stubborn young dwarf, for what remains is a sad and lost little boy. I have mere seconds to process this dramatic change when Thorin spots me lingering in the shadows.

"You. With me," he says sternly, crooking his finger. I spare my brother one more glance—in which he sees me and lowers his gaze as Mother begins scolding him again—before I quickly follow Thorin outside. He shuts the door behind him and he looks down at me with a dark eye.

"I didn't know anything about it," I quickly tell him, not liking his expression. "I swear."

"Fíli, I gave you a job, one I thought you quite capable of handling."

"I'm not his keeper," I reply dourly. "I cannot possibly know what he is going to do every step of the way, Uncle. I'm trying my best."

He sighs, irritated. "I know you are. I am not asking you to move mountains or to solve a perpetual flaw in his character, but… maybe you just need to try a little harder; be more forward with him. Has he spoken to you at all, or have you broached the subject of his behavior?"

I shake my head bitterly. "He's unwilling to talk and I've already tried. Why don't you talk to him?"

The dwarf's face clouds even further, but instead of getting angry at my retort he just huffs and turns away. "He needs his brother," he responds tightly, "And I think Kíli would be more willing to listen to you than me."

Frustrating rising, I try to pursue the matter. "But, Uncle—"

"I have no more time to spare for your foolish brother's antics today," he says with a dismissive wave as he steps off the porch and heads toward the road. "Think on what I have said."

Thus he ends the conversation, leaving me standing on the porch and wondering what I am supposed to do next.

Weeks go by, and summer begins to wane. The nights gradually turn colder and so does Kíli. While I convince him to tone down his unbearable antics it does little to improve the situation, at least for me. His sassy, cheerless attitudes increasingly lead to petty disputes between us even when I have done nothing to provoke him. Oh, I try to do as Thorin asked; I try to talk to him as the time stretches on but Kíli efficiently shuts me down over and over again. I keep trying, and I keep failing, forced to retreat quietly into the shadows as my brother fumes alone in his own personal prison of the mind.

There is also a marked lapse of diligence in his personal conduct and routines, but when I gently comment on it he becomes exceptionally ornery. I know that if he expresses such malarkey in front of our elders he will find trouble aplenty, so I steel my nerves and decide that enough is enough: such nonsense cannot be left alone to incubate and grow further out of proportion, so instead of backing down I face the confrontation head-on. My brother, of course, is less than appreciative.

"Fíli, so help me, the next time you open your mouth I better not hear you telling me to pick up my things."

Ruefully I cast another distasteful glance at the disarray of items on Kíli's half of our bedchamber. Assorted items like discarded tunics and trousers, small piles of cleaned clothes not yet stored away, and various personal effects lay carelessly scattered across the floor. Others may engage in such habits but my brother and I have never been allowed the dubious luxury of disorderliness.

"I don't know where you've picked up this abhorrent habit as of late, brother mine," I intone severely, "But this will not do."

Kíli is sprawled on his bed, lying on his back and holding a book a few inches above his face. "Do tell," he yawns, not bothering to turn his head. "What is your point, exactly?"

Biting the inside of my cheek lest my frustration gets the better of me, I make no immediate reply. Instead I take a slow and calculated breath through my nose and focus all my strength into maintaining my composure. The last thing I want to do is provoke my brother further. Afterwards I choose a calm, logical, strict approach.

"My point, Kíli, is that we've been taught to treat our possessions with respect. Everything we own was hard-earned by the toil of our Uncle, and this—" I gesture forcefully at the surrounding chaos; "—this is unacceptable. I've never known you to engage in such sloppiness and I won't let you start now. You are capable of far better care than this."

"Oh! You won't let me, huh?" Kíli lowers the book from his face and looks down his nose at me. "Since when do you control what I do and don't do? Since when do you get off telling me what's what?"

Gritting my teeth I swiftly whisk a large pile of clothes into my arms, take three enormous strides to his bedside, and dump the lot right onto his upturned face. He yelps with indignance, flailing desperately while I fold my arms firmly across my chest.

"Since when, you ask?" I reply steadily. "I say since you abandoned all good sense and decided to live and behave like a little troll!"

Kíli emerges from beneath his soiled clothes, wrinkling his nose unhappily as he struggles to a seated position. He glares at me, eyes flashing in rebellious anger as I stare coolly at him.

"Why do you care so much?" He tries to sound unruffled as he makes this demand, but his young voice cracks several times, betraying his frustration.

I pause before answering him. Even now, an ounce of fondness cracks my stern demeanor and the tiniest of smiles tugs at the corners of my lips. "Because we are kin, Little Brother, and I hold warm feelings for you though those feelings are being sorely tested at this moment," is my calm reply. "But if you don't want me to make your days a living misery, you will get off our backside this very instant and clean this pigsty up immediately." I raise my eyebrows at him meaningfully.

Kíli snorts, an incredulous smirk on his face. "That's not what I meant, and if you'd get off your high horse for five minutes maybe you'd actually listen to me."

I shrink back, stung, but he's not finished.

"I meant," he continues, "Why do you care so much about being clean and orderly? Why do you care so much about what Mum says?" He narrows his eyes and his voice gradually becomes more agitated. "Why do you jump to Uncle Thorin's every word and call? Just—just why, Fíli? Why does it bloody matter so… so bloody much to you?" And he smashes his fists uselessly against the mattress, nostrils flaring and jaw angrily jutting out.

Watching him glare at me without any regard for his prior behavior, without thought for the effort I've gone to for his sake, and without feeling for the concern I've long expressed to him, makes my thin thread of patience suddenly snap without warning. My brother's temper is well known—it flares bright and burns quickly, easy to excite and soon to fade. Mine, on the other hand, is difficult to provoke… but once provoked, it is an ugly thing. The look on my face must betray the imminent storm because Kíli stares at me with sudden apprehension, the faintest flicker of dismay fluttering over his face as I step forward.

"I care because I have self-respect!" I holler, "And because I have the decency to respect those around me. And all that aside, O brother mine—" I step ominously closer and Kíli actually shrinks back slightly; "—I care because I don't have a blessed choice but to care. It's been drilled into me from day one. As soon as I stop doing what I'm supposed to do, I have a small army at my heels alerting me to my every failure!"

Kíli clamps his mouth shut, not daring to utter another word but he inhales sharply when I shove my accusing finger into his chest.

I snarl at him. "I don't have the luxury to sit around and feel sorry for myself for weeks on end. People expect more of me and I expect more of myself. I am a prince, exiled or no, and I have a duty to be the best I can be regardless of accolade or reward." Here I pull away sharply and begin roving around the room, continuing my tirade. "I get up in the morning, I study, I learn, I fight, I go to bed, and I wake up to do it all over again. I do what I have to do regardless of whether I like it or not, regardless of how amorous I feel towards the job at hand. Why? Because it's called responsibility." I punctuate that last word with a kick at a wayward boot and send it flying across the room. "It's lonely, difficult, and folk care little for my feelings about it, yet that is the way it must be. Last I checked, Kíli, you were a prince, too; you've got more than enough to keep you busy, enough to keep you from wallowing around and contemplating how lousy your lot in life happens to be. Does that give you enough reason, you spoiled brat, or do you want me to write you a carefully detailed list in red and black ink, in my best Khuzdul letters and stamped with Thorin's seal?"

Silence.

The air is charged as I stare at Kíli, still livid, and he stares back with a dismayed frown on his face. Moments pass and still our gaze does not break. Then he blinks, slumps, and his gaze flits down to the coverlet. He sighs and awkwardly looks round himself and the rest of the room, his face dark with troubled thought; still, neither of us speak. Kíli picks at his sleeve and sniffs uncomfortably. I growl in frustration and stomp to my bed in a most un-adult manner, plopping down with my back to him as I cross my arms. While I busy myself with reigning in my still-surging temper I hear him wordlessly slip to his feet and begin snatching items off the ground to be tossed onto his own bed.

Several minutes pass in this manner. When I realize that I will not be able to calm down sufficiently while we yet share a room I rise to my feet and stiffly turn to leave, but his quiet voice interrupts my departure.

"We both know I am not you."

I pause in my step. Tilting my head, I turn to look at him. "What is that supposed to mean?" I ask gruffly.

My brother shrugs as he examines a wrinkled tunic. "I'm just Kíli," he responds in a sullen voice, his face glum. He doesn't meet my eyes. "I'm not important."

Impatience prickles my insides. I have no interest in indulging my brother in another one of his self-pity parties. "That's a load of horse feathers and you know it," I growl, "And it's not a viable excuse for shoddy behavior. Shape up, brother. I don't have time to be chasing you around."

Without a second glance at him I storm out. I hear the soft echoes of what may have been a response but I don't pay any attention; I'm too frustrated to listen to him anymore.

More than that, I'm tired of playing grownup. I want to be alone.

Something in what I said seemed to stick with Kíli because he soon alters his ways. He cleans up his part of the room—and his whole act. No more ill-advised pranks, no more unnecessary attitude, and no more acts of laziness. Kíli becomes quiet and respectful once more. Well, maybe a little too quiet, but he does what he is told without complaint and completes the work put before him. Maybe he is rather somber, lacking that normally devious spark that makes him so endearingly exasperating and entertaining, but I am yet too cross with him to question it. If I have any fault it is that I can hold a grudge for a good long time. Even with my brother's drastic improvement I am still vexed over what passed between us, and the fact that he does not apologize for it or bring it up again does poorly for my good humor. Perhaps if I had been less self-centered in my response to the situation, I would have noticed that something was still not quite right.

Thorin seems to accept the return of relative tranquility as a matter of course and does not comment on it directly. He does express his satisfaction, however, by giving me a subtle nod at the dinner table one night after a particularly polite comment by my brother during the conversation. If something about the whole thing somehow appears tainted, Mother is the only one to notice it and appear concerned. For my part, I am through with the whole matter and I wash my hands of it.

In the end this newfound peace is not meant to last; the day that Thorin leaves, it shatters.

Kíli and I are working on our studies in our bedchambers when there is an impatient knock on the door, quickly followed by our uncle's brusque entrance. There is a light travel cloak wrapped about his shoulders and his face is grim. He hovers in the doorway, a particularly agitated air hanging about him like a shadowed fog.

"I will be gone for a few days; four or five, maybe more," he announces. "Inform your mother when she returns from market and tell her not to worry. Be sure to mind her when I am away." Here he lowers his head slightly, frowning at us sternly from beneath furrowed brows. "And this, this is important: do not leave the settlement for any reason. Stay indoors at night. That is an order."

And just like that Thorin vanishes from sight. Kíli scrambles up and grasps at the doorframe, leaning forward into the hall. "Wait!" he calls after him desperately. "Where are you going? What's going on?"

"Never you mind, lad." Thorin's voice, tinged with irritation, echoes clearly against the stone walls. "Just do as I say. I shall return soon."

The front door slams shut and Kíli bows his head. After a few seconds he yanks himself away from the doorway and glances at me, a hollow expression in his eyes. I sigh and return my gaze to the work spread out on the floor around me. There is nothing to say. Much of our childhood has consisted of Thorin disappearing at a moment's notice to escort our traders to faraway towns, attend business conferences, and visit the border patrol, so we are used to it. Though my heart always seems to beat just a little too fast when he leaves, I have learned to ignore it as folly. Uncle always returns and that is that. I dismiss the dark whispers from my deepest psyche, and instead focus on the immense genealogy trees that I am supposed to have sorted and memorized by Thursday.

"Why does he always do that?" Kíli asks in a small, tight voice.

"He's a busy dwarf lord," I mumble with disinterest. "He does as he chooses."

Silence returns to our small room and I assume that my brother resumes his own work. Some minutes go by… and then the quiet is abruptly destroyed by the sound of a chair being hurled against a wall. Severely startled by the noisy interruption, I whip my head up in time to see Kíli repeat this violence with his books, his mathematical measuring tools, and his inkwell, which smashes against the unforgiving stone. Without so much as a backward glance at the blue ink now dripping onto the floor in rivulets he returns to his desk table and forcibly overturns it with an animalistic growl. Before he can do more damage to himself or the rest of the room I leap to my feet and grab him from behind, locking his arms to his sides.

"Let me go!" he shrieks. "Ge'off me!"

"What in the name of Arda and all the spirits of Ainu is wrong with you?" I hiss at him, gritting my teeth as I fight to keep him within my grasp. "Have you gone out of your mind?"

"Leave me alone," Kíli snaps. He shakes me off fiercely and savagely kicks his fallen desk chair, stumbling just out of my reach when I make a move towards him.

"Kíli—"

"No! Don't touch me!" he snaps, voice cracking again. "J-Just stay away from me. Don't think I don't know what's going on. I've seen you, whispering in corners with Uncle, ever his favorite little soldier. No, Fíli—" He raises his voice as I open my mouth to interrupt; "—I'm done pretending; I'm through. I'm tired of being expected to grovel and beg for every ounce of praise, for every glance he deigns to give. I'm tired of being brushed off and expected to accept it with a demure smile every time it happens. No more."

"What are you talking about?" I demand, baffled by his words.

"Uncle Thorin." The vehemence in which the name is spat surprises me. "Do you know? This is the fifth time this month that he's forgotten or else canceled our training session without a word. I'm not even worth a single word of explanation. I'm not good enough for that. Extra baggage; that's all I am. With all the people and things of importance that he deals with I'm just a bother. But you know what? I don't need him! Who does he think he is, anyway?" He pauses to catch his breath, his chest heaving with upset. "As you said before, everyone has high expectations of you—but me, no one cares that much as long as I stay quiet and out of the way. I'm alone. I'm fine with that; I'm always alone, anyway. So he can just go off on his blasted trip and be gone until next Durin's Day for all I well care. I hope his pony trips in a rabbit hole and he falls smack on that pristine marble face of his and breaks that snobbish nose!"

With that, Kíli makes a sound that might've been an angry sob and kicks half-heartedly at the fallen desk before stalking out of our room. A minute later I hear the front door slam with incredible force.

For a long time all I can do is just stand there, dumbfounded and bewildered by his fury. My eyes drift to the broken glass, the pool of ink now dribbling on the floor, the stained books, and the splintered chair. I try to process what just happened. Slowly, the pieces fall together; all this time, I realize, Kíli has been angry at our uncle. For some reason all that anger translated into a boatload of bad behavior that mystified even me, and now it has all come to a head. And when I continue to think about it I realize what a farce the whole situation really is. Kíli was upset by Thorin for one petty reason or another and he feels ignored. Thorin knew there was a problem but rather than determine the source of the issue himself, he set me on the case, thereby further withdrawing himself from my brother and thus making matters worse. So for all I know this whole mess could have been avoided if our uncle had just dealt with Kíli himself, rather than wasting my time and pitting me against my own brother.

Indeed, to add insult to injury Kíli now despises me as well, when all I ever wanted to do was to make Uncle Thorin happy and bring some order into my brother's chaotic little world. I most certainly should never have been involved like this to begin with, and it has all been for naught. The sheer unfairness and ridiculous nature of the whole thing leaves me feeling cold; between Thorin's apparent indifference and Kíli's total lack of self-control, I am disgusted.

"Unbelievable," I mutter aloud, rolling my eyes and throwing my hands up in defeat. "Simply, totally, absolutely, un-be-lievable. Why me?"

As I stand there surveying the damage, wondering what on earth I am going to tell my mother when she returns, the thought springs to mind that I ought to simply allow matters to run their course. I've been working strenuously hard to fix my brother for Thorin's sake and it's blown up in my face. Maybe that's exactly what I shouldn't do, and instead, I should allow my brother to dig his own grave and lie in it. The next time he decides to be a complete fool, instead of stopping him I should let him go through with whatever idea he concocts. Aye... Let him be a horrid little goblin. With any luck, it'll be right in front of Thorin—and he'll be forced to confront my brother. I can only hope that Kíli will actually do something worthy of Thorin's attention, so that they can both learn a well-deserved lesson.

I momentarily consider going after my brother but I decide against it. Eventually he'll be done feeling sorry for himself, enough so that he can come inside and deal with the repercussions of his tantrum.

Maybe if I had gone after him, a lot would have been different.

Six days later I am dragging myself wearily up the path for home after weapons practice with Dwalin, tired and sweaty and more than ready to sit down when I hear the pit-pat-pit-pat of pursuing feet smashing into the gravel behind me. Wondering who it is I look curiously over my shoulder. Its Flán, my brother's and my best friend; his massive waves of carrot-colored hair are flying behind him, braids bouncing behind his ears, his freckled face bright and eager.

"Hi! Woolly bear!" he calls after me.

I stop to allow him to catch up, and as he skids to a stop beside me puffing comically I regard him with amusement.

"Really, now." I grin down at the dwarf as he bends over to catch his breath. "You needn't have hurried so. I'm too broken down to be going anywhere fast."

"I… I was high up on the hill," he gasps. "I thought I'd might lose sight of you when you turned the bend if I didn't come up right quick."

Chuckling now I turn to face the path again. "Walk with me," I tell him, moving my feet forward reluctantly. "I fear if I stop now I shan't make it home before I collapse of exhaustion.

He ambles easily beside me. "Fíli, I need to talk to you. It's about your brother."

I sigh. "And I thought this was going to be a fun conversation."

"Oh, come off it, Fíli," he huffs, "I know you're cross with him and you fellows aren't talking or whatnot, but this is serious. Please;" he grabs my arm and ignores my annoyed eye roll, "Listen to me."

"I'm listening," I grudgingly concede.

"Well, Kíli came to me the other day and asked me to go camping in the hills. Set some traps, shoot a few quail, that sort of thing. I told him my da won't let me go out, especially at night, he says."

"That's odd," I frown to myself. "Uncle said the same thing when he left."

Flán shrugs. "That's what Kíli said, too. Maybe our elders have gotten wise to our antics and know the only way to keep us out of trouble is to lock us up. I dunno. But Kíli was right upset about it and tried to convince me to sneak out with him overnight."

My eyebrow goes up. "And did you accept?"

"Mercy, no!" the dwarfling exclaims in horror. He wrinkles his beak nose at the thought. "I shudder to think what my da would do if I got caught. T'ain't worth it, no way and no how."

I nod in agreement. His father is a blacksmith with a formidable temper rivaled only by Thorin's. "Okay. So what's the problem?"

"Stop interruptin' and I'll tell you." Flán's red, bushy eyebrows furrow in thought. "Kíli made quite a fuss when I refused and we had a bit of a row. He marched off in quite a state. Honestly, he's been a regular tempest in a teapot, as my old gaffer used to say, and I'm almost certain that he plans to go out on his own."

I snort at that piece of information. "Figures. I'm not surprised."

Flán skirts in front of me and puts a hand to my chest, stopping me in my tracks. "Don't you get it? You've gotta stop him! He shouldn't go alone. It's a terrible idea and I fear that ill shall come of it."

"I'm not my brother's keeper," I snap suddenly, not immediately realizing that I am repeating what I told Thorin those long weeks ago. "What he does is his business."

Green eyes stare at me accusingly. "Would you stop being such a grouch? Kíli could get into a lot of trouble if he gets caught. Even if he doesn't, something could happen to him out there. You need to do something."

At Flán's words, a dark and tempting thought occurs to me.

"You're right." I put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, my friend. There is much on my mind. Don't worry… I'll keep an eye out for him, alright."

And I smile at him, though for an entirely different reason. It is because I realize that this could present the most advantageous way of getting back at both Thorin and Kíli at once.

Part of me knows it's wrong but I don't even feel guilty. The temptation is too much.

That very night, Kíli makes his move. It is painfully obvious that he plans on making his getaway because he is so frightfully antsy; he keeps asking me when I am going to bed and continues rearranging his knickknacks on the shelf. I take my sweet time washing up and getting ready, all the while making a great show of yawning and stretching my arms tiredly. Finally we both retire. I pretend not to notice the way he shifts restlessly in his bed and eventually I feign the sounds of slumber.

Not too many minutes later he whispers my name tentatively.

"Fíli? You awake?"

Of course, I do not answer. Instead, I keep my breathing slow and even, hoping to trick him into believing that I in a deep sleep. Kíli calls my name again but when I still do not respond he springs into action. I can hear him throw back the covers and tiptoe loudly around the room, pulling out his rucksack from beneath his bed and grabbing his bow and quiver from the corner. He has to pass by my bed to access the door but when he does his quiver must slip from his hands because it suddenly crashes on the floor. Then all is silent. I try not to laugh because I can picture my little brother standing there, staring at me wide-eyed and breathless, cringing at his own mistake and biting his lip nervously. It takes all my will to maintain my composure and continue my false breathing noises, but I manage. After a while I hear the sounds of the quiver scraping the floor slightly as he pulls it up and the padding of his feet resumes. The door opens, shuts, and he is gone.

This is all so very wrong. I should have stopped him. There is still time; I could get up right now and go after Kíli, scold him severely and forcibly bring him back. Aye, and he will resent me even further, cursing me for being too responsible. I can keep our brotherly code of silence; our elders will be none the wiser and Thorin can continue avoiding the problem.

But that's not what's going to happen.

I open my eyes and cannot help but grin to myself. This is to be my revenge, and I don't regret it one bit.

For a while, everything seems perfect. When morning comes around Kíli is long gone, of course, and I hear Mother call us to breakfast. I roll over with a sigh and stretch contentedly, unconcerned for my brother's safety despite Flán's protestations from the day before; I know Kíli well enough to believe he is wholly capable of taking care of himself for a single night, especially if he is merely camping in the nearby hillside as Flán had suggested. Let him have his fun... The tables will turn soon enough.

As I trip through the hallway and hurriedly tuck the tail of my tunic into my trousers I hear Thorin's deep voice echoing in the dining room. Ah. It gets better and better.

"Uncle!" I cry merrily as I round the corner. "When did you return?"

The dwarf looks up at my entrance and smiles warmly. "Fíli. Good morning. I arrived sometime before sunup." He sighs tiredly, hands wrapped around a hot mug of coffee. "I just wanted to stop home for a day, but then I must go back. Haven't slept yet, I'm afraid."

"It's your fault for returning under cover of darkness like a thief in the night instead of waiting until morning to travel, like a normal person would have done," calls the scolding voice of my mother from the kitchen. She emerges moments later with a bowl of hot porridge and plops it in front of Thorin unceremoniously, but her teasing eyes belies her reprimand. He only winks at her and begins to eat.

"Take a seat, son," Mother says to me as she turns back to the kitchen. "Kíli? Come out here, please!"

My heart beats nervously. "He's not there, Mama," I tell her as nonchalantly as I can.

She glances at me before disappearing to fetch more porridge. "No? Where is he?"

Shrugging, I take a seat across from my uncle. "No idea. I assumed he was already up."

A strange look enters Thorin's eyes. "I didn't see him when I arrived, either." At my questioning look, he appears uncomfortable and redirects his attention to his food. "I have a habit of checking on you both when I return from my journeys."

I stare at him for a moment in surprise, taking in the sight of his haggard face and the worried expression in his eyes; then he looks back at me and I recall myself, turning away swiftly. He actually takes a moment to spy on his sleeping nephews after a trip? I never knew he did that—that is, not since we were babes. An intense feeling of guilt swells in my gut and find myself second-guessing my decision, but I know it is much too late to do anything about it.

Mother reenters the room with two bowls of porridge; one she places in front of me and the other she puts in front of the empty chair beside me, presumably for my brother. "Well," she says, "If he's not in the bathroom then he must be outside somewhere."

An expression of concern and suspicion settles on Thorin's face. "I have sat by the fire for some hours and did not see him pass by. He cannot have gone out since I returned."

At that, my mother stops in her tracks. "Then what are you saying?"

A look of alarm crosses Thorin's face and he leans forward abruptly, fixing an intense searching stare on me.

"Fíli, lad. Do you have any idea where your brother could have gone?"

I fiddle with my spoon. "Uhh," is all I can manage. I had thought I would only have to pretend to be reluctant in admitting the truth, but the expression of growing apprehension on my guardian's face is making this genuinely difficult.

"Darling, is something going on?" Mother comes around and puts her hand on my shoulder.

"Uhh, well," I try again. I force myself to look up at the two worried faces before me and the guilt multiplies tenfold. Yet, this is what I wanted—this is what I thought would eventually be for the best—so I forge on. "The thing is, I heard Kíli get up sometime during the night. He dropped something, which woke me up, and then I guess he left. I thought he was only going to the loo so I just rolled over and went back to sleep. But…"

"But?" Thorin prods tonelessly.

I swallow. The nervousness is definitely real. "Flán mentioned something to me about Kíli wanting to camp in the hills overnight. Flan told him no, but I guess Kíli was pretty determined to go anyway, despite… despite what you told us."

There is a pause. In a moment, before I can even blink, my uncle has leapt to his feet and snatched my wrist roughly. My mother voices some word of rebuke but I don't hear what she says.

"Are you trying to tell me," Thorin cries, voice shaking, "That Kíli is out somewhere in the hills and has been so for the entire night?"

I gawk at him. This was not the reaction I would have ever expected. "I-I don't know!" I stammer. "It was only a-a guess! But if he's not here and he cannot have gone out since your return that would be the only logical explanation, wouldn't it?"

To my greatest dismay, my uncle actually grows pale. He releases his painful grip on me and then just stands there stiffly, looking for all the world at a loss.

"Th-Thorin?" my mother whispers.

"I… I-I have to find him." My uncle seems to awaken from his stupor and marches out of the room. Mother follows him and I leap to my feet as well.

"Uncle, what's going on?" If my voice is a little higher than it should be, nobody seems to notice.

The dwarf is already lacing his boots. He looks at me, and I am shocked to see fear etched in his features. "What's going on? I'll tell you what's going on, Fíli," he bellows. "I've spent these past days with the border patrol because there were sightings of a small, rogue band of scavenging orcs up in the mountainside. I told everyone to stay close to home and out of the hills until we could be finish off the filth or else be sure they were nowhere near our settlement."

All breath disappears from my lungs. "Orcs?" I choke.

Mother's trembling hands find my shoulders and I look up into her stricken face. "We didn't tell you boys because we didn't want you to worry," she says tremulously. "Thorin passed the word to the most trusted of our people but he didn't tell everyone, not wanting to spread a general alarm too early. We made sure that the children were spared such knowledge."

"Which was obviously a poor choice," Thorin replies angrily as he grabs his cloak, "Since some are far too disobedient to be trusted with anything beyond tying their own shoes!" He fastens the clasp about his neck and then grabs my mother by her arms, looking down at her imploringly. "I will find him," he murmurs. "I promise."

She nods bravely, but I know she is hiding her true feelings because I am at her side. "Please," she whispers. "Bring him back in one piece."

Thorin kisses the top of her head, and with one last reassuring glance he flies out the door.

I cannot find my voice but poor Mum speaks for me. "I am sure Kíli is just fine," she says with all the sense of certainty she can muster… but her voice sounds hoarse even to my ears. When she folds her arms across my chest and holds me close, I can feel her trembling like a leaf and the horror I feel threatens to swallow me from the inside out. This is my fault. I allowed my petty disgruntlement to cloud my judgement, all for the sake of payback.

I could have stopped Kíli. If I had threatened to tell on him he surely would have backed down. But, no… for the first time in my life, I deliberately acted in a way that went against his best interests. I am such a hypocrite: for all the things I berated Kíli about—responsibility and caring in the face of unfairness—I performed no better, and in this sense I have done far worse. Now my brother's life may be on the line, and it is all because I felt the need to nurse my bruised feelings.

My eyes close. I pray.

To be continued…

A/N: Yes. Yes, I know. I am cruel… but I thought this story was long overdue for a good cliffhanger. Let me and my little feathered muse know your thoughts and feels by typing a few little nothings in the review box, pleeeeease?

OH. HEY WAIT DON'T GO AWAY. So you know Flán, my beloved little invented character? Well, not only is he making his presence known in Italian Hobbit's story, "The Shadow of Suspicion", HE ALSO OFFICIALLY HAS A REAL HONEST-TO-GOODNESS FACE thanks to photo-manipulations I created. I'm ridiculously excited about this. If you care to see him (don't hurt his feelings by saying "no"), please take a super-quick visit to my dev!ant art profile and check it out (the direct url is on my bio; I can't post it here). My model for him is Eddie Redmayne. Seriously, you HAVE to see him. Flán is absolutely precious.

Okay, I'm done. Please stay tuned!