AN: Yay! My longest chapter yet! Hope everyone enjoys it. You'll notice that there's a bit of a time skip mid-way through this segment. From here on out time will be progressing more quickly, so be prepared for the characters to age a little bit in the upcoming parts.

Eventual Pairings: Fili/Kili, Thorin/Bilbo

Sore Must Be the Storm

Chapter 10

Ori scrunched his brow as he tried to make out the overly long and complex word scribbled across a vial. There were letters that didn't seem to go together, and his brother's writing was impossibly hard to read, even if he had known the word to begin with. It was one of many vials clustered together on the shelving unit against the wall of Dori's lab. He knew they were medicines, or vaccines, or something like that. His brother had mumbled about what he did for work on occasion, but the science of it was far too advanced for Ori, and he wasn't all that interested in medicine anyway. There was one thing he knew for sure though, and that was that what his brother did for a living, was very important. He was smart, and he was making things to help people, and Ori respected him and looked up to him because of it.

Dori was hunched over his desk, occasionally peering into a microscope. He tapped away on a keyboard, inputting important results from whatever experiment he was working on. He was focused, and talking to himself, and Ori was very bored of it all. The lab his brother worked in was stuffy, and too white. There weren't any windows, and he couldn't even tell what time of day it was. The few books tucked into the shelving units were uninteresting, with hardly any pictures or adventures inside, and he wasn't allowed to leave, in case someone saw him inside the building.

The scruffy boy moseyed around the outskirts of the room, peering behind cabinets and tables, hoping to find something intriguing, but there wasn't a single scrap of dust to be seen. Even the large knitted patterns in his sweater were more interesting to look at. Ori sighed, and glanced towards his brother. The man was rubbing at his brow as he scribbled some notes down in a book. He looked tired, and there were streaks of grey beginning to show up in his well-kept hair. Ori frowned slightly and wondered why they were there at all. Only old people had grey hair, right?

Ori padded over to his brother's desk, and peeked over the top of it, studying the various bottles filled with clear liquid. He wondered what would happen if he combined them all together like the mad scientists in cartoons always seemed to be doing. Would they turn green and begin to smoke? Maybe explode and coat them both in gooey slime. Ori grinned slightly and reached out to turn one of the bottles around curiously.

"Don't touch that!" Dori hissed at him suddenly, and the boy pulled his hand away in an instant.

"I w-wasn't," he claimed, ducking his head slightly in shame. The last thing he wanted to do was be a bother to his brother. Dori huffed slightly and set down his pen, turning to look towards his little brother reproachfully. Ori's face was downtrodden, and he fiddled with the edge of the desk meekly, looking incredibly small in the oversized shirt encasing his body. It was a hand me down from Nori, their middle brother, and as Dori studied the sweater he wondered if it had perhaps been his at one time too, long ago.

"I know you're bored, but I have to finish this today. Just a few more hours and we can go," Dori sighed, taking a moment to rub at the back of his neck wearily. Ori didn't respond, and the older brother eyed him carefully. He knew it wasn't fair of him to force his littlest brother to sit still for an entire day while he was at work. It had to be frustrating for a child so young. But he didn't have the money for a sitter. His research job for Oakenshield Industries paid well, but he had loans to pay off, lots of them, and there was no one else around to support them. Not since Nori had run off, doing god knows what and abandoning the two of them in favour of the streets.

Dori felt the beginnings of a migraine behind his eyes just thinking about it. He worried about his brothers, both of them, regardless of what kind of trouble Nori was getting himself into. They were all each other had, and Dori couldn't help but think it was best for them to stick together. They definitely should not have been traipsing off with gangs and getting involved in nefarious crime activities like some kind of comic book villain. Dori grimaced and gestured to his little brother hurriedly, trying to refocus his thoughts.

"Come here, I know I've got some markers around here somewhere," Dori muttered as he searched through the drawers beneath his desk. Ori hopped into the seat across from him, and poked at the sheets of paper his brother slid in front of him. They were diagrams, of the brain and various parts of the human anatomy. They weren't anywhere near as interesting as the drawings in his constellation book, but it was at least something to do. He popped the lids off the markers Dori handed to him and started doodling on the paper. Ori knew his brother was trying his best to keep him occupied, and he focused on adding some colour to the drab illustrations while watching Dori out of the corners of his eyes. His brother had already returned to poring over his work, his back bent as he scribbled away.

"We'll get you a new colouring book and some crayons tonight okay? You can keep them here if you want," Dori mumbled, and Ori's eyes lit up. He loved colouring books!

"Okay!" he exclaimed excitedly, already wondering what sort of pictures might await him at the store. Ori busied himself for a few minutes, scribbling little designs around the diagrams and making flowers sprout from the brain. He looked at the drawing of the human skeleton, tracing the lines defining the bones inside, and he paused suddenly as his marker dragged across one of the shins.

"Dori…," Ori whispered, looking towards the man across from him with probing eyes.

"Mmmhmm," the elder brother grunted, his gaze stuck on something as he twisted one of the dials on the microscope slowly.

"You know my friend Kíli," Ori started, nibbling slightly on his lip.

"The one in the wheelchair?" Dori mentioned, and he suddenly groaned miserably and sat up. The older man began pouring liquid into more vials and bottling them up meticulously.

"Do you think you can make him better someday?" Ori asked, his marker pausing over the paper, leaving a large purple dot in the middle of the diagram's leg. Dori froze, looking towards his little brother with saddened eyes as his fingers held fast to a vial.

"I don't think so Ori," he spoke gently, watching the way his brother's face fell in disappointment.

"He's…it's unfortunate but I don't think his legs can be fixed with the medicines I make," Dori explained.

"But you work for important people. Can't you just ask them to help?" Ori probed, his eyes pleading as he finally pulled the marker away from his drawing.

"It doesn't work that way Ori," Dori mentioned with a heavy sigh.

"First he needs an appointment, and those are still hard to get at the public hospital, especially when the illness isn't life threatening. And his problem is more specialized. Even if his legs can be fixed, treatments for that sort of thing still cost money, lots of money," the greying man uttered. Dori set down his supplies and crossed his arms, offering his brother his full attention. He knew how much the younger boy cared for his new friend, even if they had not known each other for long.

Ori blinked at him and looked down sadly. They didn't have a lot of money. Dori always made sure he was taken care of and fed, and they didn't live in the worst part of town, but Ori wasn't completely blind to the struggles they faced. His brother was always buying groceries with the coupon clippings from the paper, and some weeks they ate less than others, when the season was poor and fruit became expensive. When his sweaters got holes in them he kept wearing them instead of buying new ones like a few of his classmates. His shoes were ratty, and his toys were often purchased from the pre-owned store in Brandywine.

"But what about pain medicine. No one would notice if you took some of that for him," Ori pressed, wishing more than anything that he could help his friend. The first time he'd seen Kíli fold over in pain had been a great shock. He hadn't known what to do. Thankfully Gimli had been there as well, and the redhead immediately rushed off to find Mr. Bilbo. Ori had stared in fright as the man injected Kíli with something to help, desperately wishing he could stop his friend from feeling such pain ever again. When Ori looked towards his brother Dori frowned at him chastising, forcing the younger boy to again lower his gaze.

"Ori, that's stealing," the older brother scolded, and Ori's fingers tightened around the marker.

"I can't risk my job like that, you know that," Dori insisted, and the scruffy boy nodded in return.

"I know you want to help, but I need this job, so I can help you first, okay? I'm lucky to have it at all. Without it we'd all be on the street," he continued, slouching over as he returned to his work.

"Nori doesn't seem to mind it so it can't be all that bad," Ori jibed, pouting as he began drawing angry circles on the paper. The table lurched, and Ori jerked his head up in surprise when his marker jerked, leaving a long vivid streak across the paper. Dori wasn't pointing a finger or staring him down like expected, instead he was glaring heatedly towards a spot somewhere on the far wall.

"Nori is a complete nitwit, and if I see his pointed hair ever again he'll be lucky if I don't strangle him," the older brother bristled, his mouth grimacing as his eyebrow twitched. He calmed quickly, realizing he was getting far too worked up in front of his little brother.

"The streets are no place for a child to grow up, trust me Ori. We're lucky to have a roof over our heads," he muttered softly. The two sat across from one another sombrely, both caught up in thought, but soon the faint sound of voices echoed in from the hallway, and Dori panicked as he heard several footsteps approaching.

"Ori, quick, under the table!" Dori gasped, waving his hand at his brother hurriedly, and the younger of the two scurried beneath the metal bench, markers and all. Dori reached across and gathered up the mess of papers, tucking them beneath his work, and he had just sat back when there was a loud knock at the door. Shortly after the metal creaked as the heavy door was pushed inward, and Dori looked up to see Sigrid, one of the lab assistants. His eyes widened as he caught the gaze of one of the men behind her and he held his breath and stiffened in his chair.

"Dori, Mr. Durin is here to check in on the new labs today. If you don't mind he and some of his staff are just going to have a look around," Sigrid mentioned, and she ushered them inside the room.

"O-oh, I see, of course," Dori stuttered, and he struggled to keep his eyes from straying to where his little brother remained hidden beneath the desk. He found himself fiddling with the papers stacked in front of him, and his leg began to bounce nervously as he watched the men move around the room out of the corner of his eye. They were talking amongst themselves, and Sigrid occasionally pointed out a few things on the shelves as she explained what was getting concocted in the lab.

As Thorin moved to the centre of the room and began investigating the tools at Dori's workstation, he felt his palms begin to sweat. He couldn't screw up. How would the older man react if he found out Dori was bringing his brother to work with him each day. It was unprofessional, and he knew it. The labs were strictly off limits to anyone without the proper credentials. He'd heard stories of people getting fired from the labs for lesser things, at least under the ownership of Thráin Durin. Was the new successor just as much of a tyrant? Dori didn't know, but the businessman looked severe with his hair tied back tight behind his neck, and his thick eyebrows and deep set eyes only added to his intimidating aura. He really didn't want to get fired.

Dori startled when the man asked him a question and he stared at him blankly for a second, his throat making a few strangled sounds. It was then that Thorin looked straight down at his feet, a single eyebrow raised, and Dori panicked and stood up as the other man bent low to pick something up off the ground. One of Ori's markers had rolled out from beneath the desk, and Dori felt all of the air leave his lungs as Thorin paused, his gaze directed beneath the table.

"There seems to be a boy hidden beneath your workstation, not a part of one of your projects I assume," Thorin drawled, and Dori squeaked, fiddling with his hands in front of his chest. As Thorin stood, Ori crawled out, and the other people in the room gasped. The scruffy boy hurried into Dori's arms, tugging on his sweater nervously as he looked up at his brother with apologetic eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't have a sitter today…i-it won't happen again," Dori explained hurriedly, and he was caught off guard when the stoic man smiled.

"It's quite alright, Dori, was it?" Thorin asked, and the young man nodded as he held fast to his brother's shoulders.

"I often bring my nephew along to work with me as well, children come first after all," Thorin mentioned, and his eyes lowered to study the boy.

"Your son?" he asked, and Dori flushed slightly and shook his head. It wasn't the first time someone had made the assumption. He looked older than he was, and was always the one taking care of Ori, dropping him off at school and even making his lunches.

"Oh no, he's my baby brother," Dori murmured, and Thorin frowned just barely before he knelt down and looked into Ori's lowered eyes.

"And what's your name?" Thorin asked, smiling kindly towards the child.

"Ori," was the quiet response, and Thorin reached out towards him, offering a hand to shake. It took a moment, but the boy grasped his hand with a much smaller one, sporting tiny fingers covered in different coloured inks.

"Nice to meet you Ori," the man said, and Dori was surprised at his kind demeanour. He'd never met the owner of Oakenshield Industries before, despite technically working for him, and much of his opinion was formed around what he'd read or heard spoken by those around him, the vast majority of it unkind or incredibly fake. But Thorin seemed far less intimidating in person than he ever imagined.

"He lives with you," Thorin commented, and he stood, grunting slightly as his legs straightened.

"Ah, yes, our parents were killed a few years ago, in a riot," Dori spoke calmly, his fingers grasping his little brother's sweater as Ori leaned against his legs.

"I'm sorry to hear to that," Thorin offered, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as his shoulders stiffened. Dori nodded in response and watched as the other man turned and gestured around the room.

"I'm intrigued by your research. Much of it has great potential. I'm sure we'll see good things from you, and I hope you continue working for us for a long while to come," the business man praised him, and Dori brightened at the compliment. He'd worked hard to get where he was, struggling to maintain a high average so he could get a scholarship for a good school. He' been hired based on his grades alone, and knew he was a risk for a company like Oakenshield Industries, but he wouldn't let them down. Not when his brother's future depended on it.

"Thank you, sir," Dori voiced, and then the group of men moved to exit, leaving him standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He was holding fast to Ori like he was some kind of lifeline, and slowly he allowed his grip to ease and his shoulders to relax. His brother stared up at him worriedly, and Dori sighed, longing for a nice cup of tea to soothe his nerves.

Kíli pressed his nose against the glass, his breath leaving a foggy mark on the window pane in front of his face. It was dark out, but he could still see the faint glow of the snow covering the ground. It looked quiet outside, serene, and his eyes flittered around, watching as stray snowflakes fell towards the ground. The house smelled faintly of cinnamon and other spices, from the meal Bilbo had cooked just a few hours prior. Kíli had eaten more in one sitting than he ever remembered, to the point that he'd felt a strange heavy feeling in his stomach afterwards. It was foreign to him, and slightly unpleasant, but he'd take it over the empty pangs he'd grown used to before he met Bilbo any day.

It was his first Christmas spent away from the orphanage, and Kíli couldn't help but grin broadly as he felt a strange warmth bloom inside his chest. Everything had been so warm, so cozy. A part of him still couldn't believe it was real.

He shifted from his place by the window as Bilbo moved into the room, a plate of Runa's biscuits in one hand and a funny shaped parcel tucked beneath his other arm. Kíli eyed it strangely, and he bit his lip as Bilbo set it down atop the little coffee table situated between the bookshelves of the room. Kíli wheeled himself over, and reached out as Bilbo moved to lift him from the chair to set him down atop the cushy sofa. There were holes in the cushions and the fabric was going shiny in places from age, but it was comfy and big enough to seat them both. Kíli had fallen asleep atop it often, nestled against Bilbo's side while the man read wondrous tales to him.

The brunet reached for a biscuit as soon as he was settled, and giggled as the cushions bounced slightly at the addition of Bilbo's weight. The man smiled at him and then leaned forwards, lifting the parcel and handing it to Kíli. He stared at it for a moment, his eyes searching as crumbs clung to his face, and it wasn't until Bilbo thrust it further into his hands that Kíli moved to grab it.

"What is it?" he asked, eyeing the strange bulky shape with intent eyes. The paper crinkled as his fingers turned it around, and he was surprised at the weight of it.

"A gift, for you. It's from Bofur too," Bilbo explained, and he chuckled slightly when Kíli's eyes widened at the words. The brunet swallowed visibly and then set the package down atop his legs, sliding his fingers across the stiff paper. He picked at it for a moment as though not quite sure what to do, then slid one finger beneath a loose bit of the wrapping and peeked beneath. He took his time, lifting the first piece of tape carefully and sliding it up with utmost care. Bilbo didn't think he'd ever seen a child open a gift in such a cautious manner. Slowly Kíli lifted the paper away from the gift revealing the leather-bound case and then he looked up towards Bilbo with hesitant eyes.

"Go on, open it, there's something inside," Bilbo urged, and finally the brunet let his fingers unhook the latches and lift the lid of the case. His eyes stared down and his mouth fell open at the first sight of the violin. Kíli blinked several times before he set one of his hands against the smooth surface of the instrument, and his shoulders rose and he breathed in quickly at the smooth touch of wood. He couldn't look away. Even as his gaze blurred with fresh tears he merely blinked them away and stared down at the intricately carved instrument.

"Merry Christmas Kíli," sounded the gentle voice from his side, and Kíli lifted an arm to rub the snot away from his sniffling nose. He pushed the violin away with care, making sure it stayed safely on the seat beside him, before using his arms to crawl into Bilbo's lap. His arms latched around the man as he was hoisted into a better position, and then he rubbed his face against the material of Bilbo's shirt.

"Thank you," Kíli murmured against his collar, and as he felt the arms returning his embrace just as tightly, another word slipped easily over his lips.

"Dad."

Bilbo's eyes flashed open, and he choked slightly on his breath. His grip tightened around Kíli and couldn't hold back the tears threatening to fall, several of them dropping to the dark brown hair scattered beneath his chin. Bilbo entangled his fingers in the messy locks, and pressed a kiss to the top of Kíli's head, and a moment later they were both lightly sobbing. When Kíli finally pulled away it was with a splotchy face and a red nose. He squinted at Bilbo adorably, and the older man wiped his eyes with his sleeve before sliding the brunet off his lap.

"You like it then?" he asked, and Kíli nodded at him eagerly, turning to pick the case back up. He pulled the instrument out of the velvet interior and tried lifting it like he'd seen musicians do in pictures. It was big compared to him, but he still managed to hold it up, even if his arm began to ache slightly from the weight.

"How about giving it a go?" Bilbo suggested, and he reached over and grabbed the bow, tightening the horsehair before handing it to Kíli. He had researched quite a bit just to find out the proper care required for playing, and managed to purchase some rosin from the music store in Buckland. They even tuned the violin for him, so that everything was ready for Kíli to begin playing as soon as he unwrapped the gift. The brunet took the bow and held it over the strings, while Bilbo adjusted his fingers on the board into a better position. When Kíli dragged the bow across the strings a high pitched screech sounded and the two of them gritted their teeth and shared a pained expression.

"It'll come with practise," Bilbo encouraged, and Kíli tried again. The sounds were rough, and could hardly be called notes at all. Both of their ears would be ringing well throughout the night and Bilbo was extremely grateful that Bofur had offered lessons, as they would no doubt be needed. Despite the horrid screeching sounding throughout their home, Kíli still laughed joyfully every time a barely recognizable note came from the violin and Bilbo never wanted him to stop playing, not as long as that smile remained plastered on his face.

3 Years Later

"I can't believe they actually play in this shite weather!" Dwalin groaned, and he hiked the collar of his jacket up to block out some of the sleet slapping against his neck. It was cold, and wet, and he didn't understand how anyone could possibly enjoy running around on a mucky field on such a day, when he felt like crap simply sitting in the stands and watching.

"That's competitive soccer for you, never stops," Thorin grumbled, looking every bit as happy to be there. His brow was lowered, and he was grimacing as he held his arms taught to his sides, his hands shoved inside the pockets of his tweed coat. The game had been fairly uneventful up to that point, neither team scoring a single goal, and much of the activity happening in the centre of the field.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" Thorin asked, glancing to the left and squinting as a few wet snowflakes fell over his face. He sniffled and scrunched up his shoulders, wondering if the next photo of him in the paper would show him skulking and looking akin to a wet dog.

"Aye," Dwalin grunted, and then he chuckled lowly and nudged his friend with an elbow.

"But not as good as the little lad from what I hear. A laptop? Was that really necessary at his age?" the larger man wondered, and his eyebrow rose slightly as he directed a scathing look towards his friend. Thorin brightened a bit, and grinned as he looked down at the soccer field, watching his nephew's little blond head run around in an attempt to get to the ball.

"He can't stop talking about it. Should have seen him! Up at dawn, tearing through presents like a bat out of hell. He was jumping up and down when he finally opened it," Thorin gloated.

"You spoil him," Dwalin chastised, and the other man shrugged and snickered, unable to hide the boastful grin on his face.

"I can't help it, I like seeing him happy," Thorin admitted, and his friend sighed and nodded in agreement.

"How's the academy planning going? Everything on schedule?" the bald man inquired, and Thorin stretched out his back, scowling as the bones in his spine cracked.

"There's a lot more involved in creating a school than I thought. The construction will take a few years, but it should be done in more than enough time for Fíli to start high school. It's the rest of it that's complicated," he intoned, sitting back slightly in the bleachers.

"Speaking of which, I need a favour," Thorin continued, drawing a suspicious look from his friend.

"This doesn't sound good," Dwalin muttered, also beginning to grow antsy sitting atop the solid metal stand.

"I need more teachers. I've got most of the subjects covered, all highly qualified, but I was hoping you might be interested in teaching a course or two. Gym, politics, that sort of thing," Thorin hinted, and the bald man's eyes widened as he stared at his friend in shock.

"What? Me?" Dwalin asked, pointing to himself in disbelief.

"You gotta be joking!" he gasped, and Thorin smirked at him and lifted his chin.

"I figured you'd be bored to tears in retirement," the businessman uttered, and Dwalin merely crossed his arms. He was rather enjoying the time he'd had to himself, although it was true he spent an awful lot of his days wandering aimlessly through town. He was also beginning to window shop at the local pet stores, which was fairly problematic. He already caved once, purchasing a kitten that needed a good home. The thing turned out the be a bit of a tyrant, scratching up all of his upholstery, but one look into those beady little eyes had Dwalin bewitched yet again.

"Your brother has already agreed," Thorin mentioned, and Dwalin narrowed his eyes and rubbed at his chin.

"Well if Balin is…," he trailed off, not wanting to be outdone by his brother as he so often was. The two had a bit of a friendly rivalry, and Balin seemed to have the upper hand more often than not, though Dwalin would never admit it. Thorin patted him on the back in thanks before he had the chance to fully finish his sentence, and he knew there was no backing down. What were a few teenagers anyway? Surely he could manage a class or two, he was a grown man after all.

"We've come a long way in just a few years," Dwalin commented, watching the teams on the field scatter to await the whistle.

"New clinics, two hospitals, a school in the works," he listed, leaning back against the cold metal frame behind his body.

"Still lots to be done, just look at the city core. It's worse than ever," Thorin groaned, and he sighed and closed his eyes, feeling his body tense up at the thought of it.

"No one wants to go there, the businesses and people that need our help the most are still continuing to suffer. There are hundreds of homeless sleeping in the streets. Even with Brimstone Enterprises moving in, things are out of control. Gang attacks and robberies, murders even. And I cannot afford to offer all health care for free. Not yet," he ranted, knowing that things would only continue to get worse until such a thing was possible. Despite all of his efforts, the division between rich and poor was widening, and ever since the police had sworn off defending the streets in the core, the crime rate had sky rocketed.

"Be proud of what you've accomplished so far. It's no easy feat, what you're trying to do. You're giving people hope. Once the school opens tuitions will bring in plenty of extra money you can put towards that sort of thing," Dwalin encouraged, and Thorin tried to believe him. It was difficult when the problem stared him in the face each and every day. He saw interviews on TV with people that hated him, calling him vile names and making comparisons to his grandfather. He read letters that the people wrote him, begging for help, wanting cures for diseases and illnesses he was unable to provide. There were those that thanked him, on occasion, but the ones he remembered most were always harsh and criticizing.

Thorin let his attention fall back to his nephew's soccer game, trying to ease the building tension in his shoulders and neck. He watched the boys kick the ball across the field, wondering how many of them would grow up to be successful, and how many would fall to the terrors of life in the street. Would he be able to change things in time, or would he leave Erebor in a mess, with all of the responsibility falling into the hands of Fíli instead. Thorin cringed and tightened his hands into fists. He refused to let things come to that.

He jolted as the whistle blew, and watched the ref on the field raise a red card above his head, gesturing towards Fíli and pointing to the bench. Thorin stood up, frowning as he looked down at the field, towards the other player still strewn across the grass.

"What kind of call is that!?" Thorin howled, drawing the attention of a few nearby spectators. Dwalin stood next to him, squinting at the player rolling on the ground in pain. Fíli shouted something and stormed off the field angrily while a medic rushed out towards the fallen player.

"He's faking it!" Thorin accused, his hands on his hips as he watched the scene play out. But as time passed on and a stretcher was brought out, he edged back and shared a glance with his friend.

"Eh…doesn't look like that kid is getting back up," Dwalin muttered, watching as he was lifted and carried away from the game. Thorin made a noncommittal noise and sat back down, his facial expression shuttered.

"I thought soccer was supposed to help with his aggression," he sneered, eyeing the bald man severely. Dwalin raised his arms in the air defensively and shrugged.

"He's got talent, if he'd just learn to focus a bit more he could even go pro!" Dwalin insisted, but they both knew that was nearly impossible. Fíli was still visibly fuming on the bench, his lips pouting as he glared at the ref from the sidelines. It was clear he didn't regret his actions at all, and would have kicked the referee in the shin given the chance. Even the other players were giving him a wide berth on the bench. Thorin felt the judgemental glares of parents directed at him, and he sunk low in his seat and tried to hide behind his jacket to no avail. It was going to be a very long afternoon.

Kíli's eyes were shut tight as he focused on playing the simple lilting melody on his violin. He was still learning, and had only managed to memorize a few short songs under Bofur's tutelage. It had not taken him long to discover just how difficult playing an instrument was, and even after a few years of steady practising, and intense determination, he was far from great. He was mediocre at best, despite the compliments his dad gave him every time he played. Kíli smiled slightly as he recalled Bilbo's beaming face the first time he played him an actual song. It had been a lullaby, similar in style to the one he was halfway through, and it had brought tears to Bilbo's eyes.

He was drawn to sad songs, music that evoked emotion. He loved the stretched straining sound of notes held longer than expected, even if it left him with an empty feeling in his chest. The music he played spoke to him in a way, and his fingers moved across the strings as he searched for the correct melody. Ori had accused him on a few occasions of straying from the original sheet music, telling him he was changing it, not playing it the way it was written, but he couldn't help it. Kíli loved letting the music guide him, wherever it may want to go.

He heard the sound of a coin clatter in his case but ignored it, continuing with the song as he tried to see it through to the end without straying from the tune. People didn't want to hear new things. They wanted to hear songs they recognized, songs that were catchy and they could easily sing along to. Most people didn't like the music he played either, preferring an uplifting tune to one that invoked feelings of sadness or anguish. It made busking difficult, but he had to try, even if it only provided his family a few extra dollars each month for groceries.

His song came to an end and he kept his eyes closed for a moment as he breathed in and out a few times. Ori clapped avidly at his side, and Kíli chuckled at him, finally lowering the violin to his lap. He studied the horsehairs on his bow, wondering how much longer he would be able to play without replacing them, and then loosened them slightly before setting everything back in the case. There were a few dollars sitting in the lid, and he scooped them up into his pockets before sitting back in his chair.

"Here, if you're taking a break, put these on. Your fingers will fall off if you're not careful," Ori spoke from his side, and Kíli laughed softly as his friend grabbed at his hands and slid the knitted mittens over his wrists. The other boy even tugged his scarf up and checked the buttons on his jacket, and Kíli figured it might have been close to what it felt like to have a doting mother.

"Thanks Ori," he murmured through the thick wool covering his nose and mouth, and he let his mittens stretch out over his withered thighs. He felt uneasy in this part of town, like he didn't belong. Dale was probably the nicest and largest district in Erebor, and also one of the few where the people could afford to leave him a tip. He certainly got mixed reactions while he played, many of them unpleasant. Most people looked at him in distaste, stopping only to sneer in his direction, as though he was tarnishing the smooth, well-kept sidewalks in their neighbourhood. The children often pointed, directing questions towards their parents that went ignored as they rushed by without as much as a glance. As per usual, it was the pity filled stares that bothered him most, judging eyes that wrote him off as a lost cause.

Kíli sneezed once and looked up, blinking as a harsh wind blew against his face. Tall buildings lined the streets, housing wealthy businesses and condos for the rich. The windows were stacked above one another, and he couldn't imagine living in such a place, with so much room, and surrounded by so many expensive things. In the distance he could see the cluster of buildings forming Oakenshield Industries, towering over the horizon line, and streets upon streets of mansion sized homes, covered in ornate woodworking and fancy brickwork. There were cranes and construction workers building and expanding even further in the already well-developed part of Erebor. Heels clacked against the pavement as people hurried from one place to another, and not even the flashing images on the television screens in the window across the way were enough to make them stray from their path.

"I hate the cold," Gimli grumbled, shifting against the wall to his left. Kíli raised an eyebrow at him and sighed. He'd told his friends they didn't have to come along, but they always insisted, regardless of the weather. Kíli was pretty sure Bilbo preferred it that way too. His dad didn't much like the idea of Kíli wandering the streets of Erebor alone. He was capable enough, but Bilbo worried about him regardless. There was always the chance he might get stuck somewhere, without any way to contact home. He was a bit young to be left on his own as well, but he was used to it, since Bilbo was often still out on a delivery when he arrived home from school in the evening.

Kíli shivered slightly, gritting his teeth at the small twinges in his spine. They somehow always seemed to occur more frequently in the winter months. It was cold, but they'd all dealt with worse, and Ori's knitted scarves and mitts helped immensely. Gimli just liked to complain, but Kíli couldn't blame him. He was sure it helped his friend relax to some extent.

Ori leaned forwards on his other side and peered over at the redhead, likely checking to see if he was properly bundled as well. He was frowning worriedly, and his mitten covered hands reached up to grasp onto his scarf.

"How's your Mum doing?" Ori asked, his voice soft and unsure. He looked genuinely concerned, and winced slightly at the frustrated expression that washed over Gimli's face.

"She's real sick," the redhead muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. Kíli's eyes zeroed in on the television again, watching as a news program flashed on the screen.

"She's…hiding it, you know? But…I can tell," he whispered, leaving the three of them to dwell on his words. Runa had only worsened the past few years, and common colds certainly did not last so long. It was something more than that, whatever it was, and she would never get better without the proper medicines and care.

"They won't even look at her in that Redwater Hospital, too crowded and they said it's not serious enough," Gimli hissed.

"But it is serious!" Ori shouted, his voice surprisingly loud, and he jolted back against the brick and flushed when the sound echoed down the street. Kíli's vision blurred as he stared straight ahead, unwilling to look at Gimli and see the pain in his eyes yet again. Runa's case was one of many in the inner core. The new hospitals were great, for people that looked like they needed help, people that were easy to fix. But if the illness wasn't visible, or the person was not in immediate danger, they just weren't worth the time. Not with so many people waiting and lining up for free care. He knew that better than anyone.

Kíli blinked and focused his eyes, watching the newscaster with sorrowful eyes. She was interviewing an older woman, talking about a rare book she found on happenstance at a garage sale. Kíli found it hard to believe that the story was the best material they could find, when people were suffering and dying, when the homeless shelters were still overrun with those fighting to survive. According to the news, Erebor was thriving, but Kíli saw another side of the city each and every day, a side that often went ignored.

A cluster of well-dressed children walked in front of him, breaking his line of sight, and Kíli narrowed his eyes when a few of them snickered at his chair. He saw Gimli's fists tighten as the redhead cracked his knuckles beside him.

"It's not fair," Gimli sneered, his eyes watching the kids skip along the sidewalk. They were probably around the same age, but looked so much younger, so much more carefree.

"Those kids, they've got it so easy," Gimli commented, and he bared his teeth slightly as he watched their backs move further away.

"Don't know what it's like to live a day without food," he growled, and Kíli reached out and touched his friend's arm, waiting for the tension in his shoulders to ease. It was short-lived, as Gimli caught sight of the newscast and a familiar face broadcast on screen. Thorin Oakenshield was smiling at the screen, his blond nephew at his side, clearly having just finished a soccer game. The boy was sporting a fancy uniform blatantly sponsored by Oakenshield Industries. His hair was tied back and he held up a medal smugly, while Thorin beamed and spoke to the audience about how proud he was. Gimli reacted quickly, pushing away from the wall as he bent low to pick up a stray brick, and Kíli's gaze whipped towards him and he gripped the armrests of his wheelchair fiercely.

"Gimli what are you doing!?" Kíli cried, and he reached out but couldn't reach his friend in time to grab hold.

"Ori stop him!" he hurriedly shouted, and the smaller boy rushed forwards, holding his arms around the redhead's body. His feet dragged across the cement beneath them as the older boy dragged him along by force.

"It's his fault!" Gimli yelled.

"If it weren't for his stupid family, and his stupid hospital turnin' Ma away…," he ranted, his fingers clenched tightly around the brick. Ori held his arm back fiercely and pulled at his fingers, trying to loosen his grip.

"Don't be an idiot!" Ori chastised, though his voice was as soft as ever.

"Attacking a screen won't do any good. Would your Mum want you to break down a window?" he urged, trying to make his friend settle, but it wasn't until a loud groan sounded from behind them both that Gimli actually turned and let the brick fall from his hand.

"Kíli?" Gimli whispered, and his eyes widened as he saw the brunet hunch forwards and grab at his back in anguish.

"Kíli are you okay?" he asked, hurrying to his friend's side. Ori was there right along with him, and the two boys studied the brunet avidly, ignoring the strange looks they attracted from passers-by.

"I-I'm fine," Kíli stuttered, but it was obvious he was lying. His face was sweating, and his eyes wouldn't stay open, while his fingers struggled to grip his pants from inside the woollen mittens.

"Do you need a shot?" Ori pressed, and when he received no response, he hurried to open the small box that held Kíli's syringes before going through the process of injecting it. His hands were steady as Gimli watched over him, and within moments he was finished and packing everything away. What was once scary to him now came with ease. Ori had administered morphine to Kíli more times than he could count, and he was glad he was able to help when his friend needed it.

"He's going to need more soon," Ori commented, latching the box back onto the wheelchair. He knew it wasn't easy to come by, but it seemed like his friend was going through more and more morphine as time passed. Gimli wiped at Kíli's brow and supported his head as the brunet began to slump in his seat. Morphine always made him weary, and his eyes were glazing over slightly under the influence of the pain medication.

"Let's get him home," Gimli suggested, and he moved to push the wheelchair towards the nearest bus stop, while Ori carried the violin case and followed along at his side.

The vials clinked slightly as Ori rifled through them hurriedly. His feet were balancing on one of the lower shelves as he held himself up to peer over the highest. He often explored the hallways at the lab while Dori was busy with his work. No one seemed to mind, and his presence in the building had become expected by the other employees, to the point where he was able to get away with things he probably shouldn't. Like sneaking into the storage cabinets to pick through the medicines on the shelves.

Kíli was in desperate need of some morphine, and it was the only thing Ori could think of. There was plenty in storage, he'd seen it before, and surely no one would notice if he swiped a bottle or two of the liquid. He nibbled at his lip and swallowed nervously, his fingers sliding over the glass bottles as his palms began to sweat. Normally he would never think of stealing, not in a million years. He knew it was wrong, and Dori would have certainly killed him if he ever found out.

But it was for Kíli, and Ori would do anything for Kíli.

Ori held his breath as he pushed aside some bottles and finally spotted the one he was looking for. He reached out, grabbing the glass, and as his fingers grasped it he staggered, shaking the shelves slightly as he fell back to the floor. Several of the vials jiggled, and Ori thought for sure they might fall and smash across the floor, but soon enough they settled back in place. He heaved a deep sigh of relief, and turned around pushing the door to the storage room out. He was too busy reading the label to notice the figure standing just outside, and he walked straight into someone's legs. Ori gasped as he looked up into the brooding eyes of Thorin Oakenshield, the morphine still clasped between his tiny fingers. The man startled and looked towards him in surprise, reaching out to halt Ori's path.

"You're Dori's little brother aren't you? You've grown quite a bit since I last saw you. What are you doing in the storage room?" the man commented, his gaze quickly flicking towards the glass bottle in Ori's hands. Thorin's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the medicinal label, and he bent low to look directly into the scruffy boy's eyes probingly. Ori felt dread fill his entire form and he started blurting out apologies before the man had time to question him.

"I…I'll put it back, I-I'm sorry!" Ori stuttered anxiously, having realised he was caught red handed in the middle of thieving.

"You shouldn't be stealing. Is this for your brother?" Thorin asked, his voice much more threatening than when they'd first met. Ori felt his throat tighten, and he trembled in place, his head quickly shaking back and forth.

"No!" Ori shouted in a rush. His voice must have startled the other man, for he flinched away, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"He doesn't know about it at all! I swear it!" Ori insisted, desperately hoping his brother would not suffer for his mistake.

"I-it's…for my friend. He's not well, and he can't afford to get more," Ori explained, his eyes lowering towards his hands. Thorin seemed confused, and the man reached out, gently grabbing the bottle so he could read the label more thoroughly.

"Where do you live Ori?" Thorin asked, his voice softer again, and the boy shifted back and forth on his feet, still dreading just how much trouble he was going to be in.

"The centre core, in Buckland," he whispered, his fingers toying with the fraying edges of his sleeves. The other man stared at him for a while in silence, and Ori glanced to the right as someone pushed a cart down a nearby hallway, the wheels screeching as they rolled across the linoleum tiles. The dark haired man looked closely at Ori's clothing and shoes, studying his ragged appearance, and then he held his hand out towards the boy, reoffering the bottle of morphine.

"Our little secret okay?" Thorin droned, and Ori's fingers clasped the bottle tightly as he studied the man with owlish eyes.

"If you need more for him…ask me next time. I don't want you getting into trouble," Thorin mentioned, and he moved to stand. Ori nodded and said a quick goodbye before he carefully tucked the bottle away in his pocket. He watched the man's back disappear down the hallway, unsure what to think of the business man. The television said one thing, the people around him another, but Ori could not help but think that Thorin Oakenshield actually did care, perhaps really did want to help the people of Erebor to some extent. Otherwise, he never would have given him something for free.

Ori gulped as he thanked whatever stars were watching over him, and he hurried back to Dori's lab with a skip in his step, hyperaware of the added weight in his pocket. The following day Ori would add the bottle to Kíli's stores without anyone noticing, and hopefully it would help get him through the last stretch of winter. Kíli's legs may not have been fixable, but it lightened Ori's heart knowing that he could do even one small thing to help his friend.