Thorin should really, really have known better.
He had been secure, absolutely certain of the knowledge that there could only be one Fili and Kili on Middle-earth. Only one pair in all of Arda that were unmatched in sheer mischief.
Elrond could have warned him. After all, he had the Twins.
Thranduil could have really used that warning, much, much later. His precious son and That Dwarf - Elbereth have mercy on the Elvenking’s soul.
Gandalf might have warned him, but the old wizard was too busy bellowing Pippin’s name, in a desperate effort to ensure that the future Thain of the Shire would actually grow up to occupy that position. The old wizard might never admit to it, but Pippin was currently his secret favorite among all the young hobbits of this generation.
Bilbo was no help at all, as he was too busy laughing his admittedly delectable behind off at Thorin’s predicament.
And naturally, Fili and Kili welcomed Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took into the Grand Society of the Epic Mischief-Makers of Middle-earth. A Society of which Thorin was never a member of, nope nope nope, not back in the day when he was still a very young Prince and Cousin Dwalin was the Secret Cookie Bandit Commander of Erebor, plotting epic Cookie Raids of Cookie Jars in the Kingdom.
Thorin’s only consolation was that sweet little Frodo with his inexplicable resemblance to both Bilbo and Thorin himself, was not part of this pack of mischief-making rascals. Especially since he had loyal little Samwise looking after him.
Of course, Bilbo laughed himself silly again when Thorin made this observation.
"Dear heart, I’ve evidently taught Frodo well if you think him entirely innocent of everything."
Taught Frodo well?
Long years of marriage, of course, granted both Bilbo and Thorin the gift of mind-reading. “It must be said, I suppose," Bilbo said thoughtfully. "Frodo is actually their leader now. He’s currently grooming Pippin to take over things eventually."
And of course, Frodo was evidently a very apt pupil, taking much after his Uncle Bilbo when it came to adorableness. All right, so maybe Thorin missed having little ones to cuddle on his lap - being as Fili and Kili were very much past that stage - and thankfully, Frodo had no inclination to tug on his beard. The tiny fauntling usually patted at his bearded cheeks with curious honey-sticky fingers, usually as a prelude to wanting sleepy cuddles. Frodo had long since learned that while his Hobbit-y Uncle was excellent at providing warm milk and cookies to comfort after nighttime terrors, his Dwarf Uncle could be reliably counted on in scaring the monsters under his bed away. Especially armed with Orcrist the Goblin-Cleaver.
"Uncle Thorin?"
"Yes, Frodoling?" Thorin braced himself for another night of storytelling because it was his turn tonight, as Bilbo pointed out. He was, of course, sternly forbidden from teaching Frodo to call Elves "weed-eaters" or "tree-shaggers." Perish the thought - he could teach the little fauntling better things to call the Elves in proper Khuzdul.
The fauntling turned big blue eyes on him. Yes, Thorin knew That Look. He was infinitely familiar with That Look, since Kili had used it to devastating effect on other hapless Dwarves Who Were Not Thorin and Thorin was, as Bilbo lamented, perfectly capable of still doing That Look, using it to the detriment of Certain Respectable Hobbits Unable to Deny Hopelessly Adwarfable Husbands Whatever They Wanted.
Still, Thorin knew he was going to fall for That Look anyway. Mahal have mercy upon his soul.
"Is it true what Kili told me? About the Giant Majestic Rabbit of Erebor?"
Oh. Thorin, as a seasoned warrior and tactician, knew how to pick his battles. There was no help for it then.
It was time for the Giant Rabbit of Erebor to once again hop into the night and keep little bunny-kit Hobbitlings out of trouble.
- end -