A/N: Welcome back to Lost in the Dark! It's been over a year since I last posted, and I know this. (Actually, the day I started working on it again marked EXACTLY a year since I updated. Total coincidence.) Feel free to reread; there's some good stuff back there. Or, if you wish, just read on. I think there's enough recap to bring you back up to speed.

My lovely madammadhatter is at it again with the beta work here. She is the coolest and also the best.


Fíli played his fiddle quietly, leaning back as the soft legato music filled the firelit room. His eyes were on his brother, who sat in an armchair nearby, his own fiddle in his lap, his bow dangling precariously from loose fingertips; Kíli had been asleep for a good while now, but still Fíli played, even though his shoulder greatly protested so much movement. He did not want to leave Kíli alone, but he did not want to sit in the silence either. He hoped his mother would be back soon… of course, she had said it would be a couple hours, and it had only been one, maybe one and a half. He slowed his playing and eventually stopped altogether, sighing.

At least Kíli was resting.

The silence was unbearable. Usually Fíli did not mind quiet—especially with a chatterer like Kíli for a brother—but now it was a reminder of the foul mood his brother had been in ever since the cave-in at Tumunzahar. He would have preferred endless chatter at this point, even to the point of exasperation, if only it meant that Kíli's spirit had not been so dimmed. But for now, he supposed, the silence was good; Kíli had never been very good at admitting he needed rest or care. Fíli watched the slow rise and fall of his brother's chest for a few minutes, and then his gaze wandered to the bandage wrapped around his head. He frowned. The wound on the surface was healing well, but it was what was inside that needed to heal the most.

Fíli couldn't think on that now. A long and difficult future stretched before all of them if Kíli's sight did not return—and Óin had never said that it would not. Of course, he could not know, but Fíli longed to cling to hope. If only Kíli could do the same, perhaps his mood would improve.

The sound of footsteps pulled Fíli from his thoughts, and he looked up at the doorway, searching for the culprit. A quiet exclamation met Fíli's ears from the kitchen, and he pressed his lips together, fighting a grin; he had not yet bothered to clean up the mess Kíli had made. A few moments later, Dís stepped into the room, her eyes first resting upon Kíli and then Fíli. She smiled gently in greeting, and Fíli nodded in return. Then she stepped over to where Kíli sat slumbering and carefully took the fiddle and bow from his hands, setting them down on the side table.

What on earth happened in the kitchen? she signed to Fíli.

Kíli happened, he signed back simply.

Dís frowned. Her gaze flickered down to her youngest, then back up to Fíli; then she nodded towards the other room. Obediently, Fíli set down his fiddle and bow on the couch and followed his mother into the kitchen. He swallowed as he beheld the disaster before him and looked up at Dís. She said nothing, only leaning against the kitchen counter and watching Fíli with questioning deep blue eyes.

"He was frustrated, I think," Fíli said quietly. "Well, I know. He was trying to get food on his own, and… he kept bumping into things, knocking things over. Accidentally. And then he just started throwing things to the floor."

Dís pursed her lips as many unspoken thoughts passed through her eyes. She sighed heavily.

"I thought as much," she said. "Well, let's clean it up, then."

Fíli nodded and assisted his mother in silence, and together they got the kitchen back into shape. There were a few bowls that were miraculously intact, and Fíli put them away while Dís swept up the broken pottery.

"I hope this doesn't become a regular thing," he muttered.

Dís stopped sweeping and looked up at him. "Which part?" she asked. "The breaking things, or trying to do everything on his own?"

Fíli twisted his lips. Kíli would never stop trying to do things on his own—not if there was even the smallest chance that he could.

"Breaking things," he said. "Acting like a child…"

"He isn't acting like a child," said Dís.

Fíli looked around him and then back at his mother, raising one eyebrow. She smiled.

"Well, not completely," she said. "Imagine losing something so valuable, so essential to everything you do…"

"And blaming yourself," Fíli finished. He looked down and sighed. He could not say that he would not want to destroy everything he could get his hands on if his own life changed so drastically. Suddenly he felt as if he understood Kíli a little more than before. This wasn't just typical moodiness.

This was grieving.

"Give him time, love," Dís said. "There's no one who knows how to handle this. And there's no knowing if his sight will come back, either. It could."

"I'm sure all of us would feel better if we could know that for sure," said Fíli.

Dís nodded sadly, looking off into the parlor.

"Aye," she said. "Aye, we would."

The two of them finished cleaning in silence. After Dís put all the broken pieces of plates and bowls into a basket to deal with later, she turned to look at Fíli, who was sitting in the newly righted chair, rubbing his sore shoulder. When she didn't stop staring, Fíli furrowed his brow.

"What?" he asked.

"I need to talk to you," she said.

Fíli tilted his head. "About what?"

Dís looked to the parlor and then back to Fíli. "Your room, please."

Confused, Fíli rose, feeling quite like he had gotten himself in trouble—though over what, he had no idea. When they reached his bedroom, Dís shut the door after them and then looked at Fíli.

"Sit, please," she said, gesturing to the bed.

Fíli sat down, eyeing his mother quizzically.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked.

She smiled. "No, love," she said, "I just wanted to talk to you where Kíli wouldn't hear."

"Well, you're being awfully strange about it," Fíli replied. "What is it, Mum?"

"Glóin told me what happened," she said, watching his face carefully. "The whole story."

A bolt of anger and betrayal shot through Fíli, and his eyes widened. "It was—I was fine, I just—"

"Just bolted out of the wagon because you couldn't breathe?" Dís interrupted. "Collapsed to your knees in the grass?"

Fíli dropped his gaze and adjusted his sleeves. He could not defend himself against that.

"Fíli," Dís said, "are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine," Fíli insisted, his eyes flitting back up to his mother's face. "It only happened the once. It won't happen again."

"You cannot know that for sure," said Dís, crossing her arms.

"Why are you even worrying about me?" Fíli snapped. "It happened once. Kíli is the one you should worry about right now."

"Only once?" Dís shot back. "You are not lying to me?"

Fíli hesitated, and that was all his mother needed.

"Fíli, just because your brother is in a worse state than you does not mean that you should hide anything that is wrong," she said, her tone severe. "You are every bit as much of a son to me as Kíli, and I will not have you keeping your troubles to yourself because you think that they are not worth my time. I want you to promise me that is you feel anything off—"

"Mum, stop," Fíli said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Anything," Dís said, lifting her chin, "You will tell me."

Fíli dropped his shoulders and sighed. He just wanted to forget about it, but apparently his mother was not going to let it go. He wondered if he could stubbornly refuse to let it happen again—a bit difficult, he supposed, when he did not know what the cause had been.

"If anything is wrong," he said, "I will let you know."

"Good," said Dís. She eyed him for a moment, and then she sat down beside him and ran a hand through his hair while she kissed his temple. He smiled.

"You know I just want to make sure you are all right," she said softly.

"I know," Fíli replied, looking down at his lap. His mother rubbed his back in silence for a few moments.

"How long has your brother been asleep?"

Fíli shrugged and then winced and rested his hand on his shoulder. "I dunno, maybe half an hour…?"

Dís made a small, thoughtful noise. "Maybe I should move him to his room."

"Good luck if you wake him," Fíli replied, raising his eyebrows. Dís huffed and grinned, but then her brow knit together, and suddenly she looked as if she might cry. Fíli rested a hand on her knee.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he said. "I—"

"Don't start that again," she said, giving him a warning look. He looked away and tried not to roll his eyes. "And don't be playing that fiddle again. Your shoulder is still healing."

Fíli could not resist rolling his eyes this time. "Yes, mother," he said.

Dís planted another kiss in his hair and stood. "Remember what I said, Fíli," she said. "Don't hide things from me. You are every bit as deserving of care and concern as Kíli, no matter how badly off he is."

Fíli sighed and looked up at Dís. Who cared about a shoulder or some temporary shortness of breath when Kíli was blind? He nodded anyway; his mother would not let him get away with disagreeing. Well, what she didn't know couldn't hurt her.

She seemed to accept that for now and left the room. Fíli let out another sigh and leaned back, dropping himself onto the mattress. He stared up at the stone ceiling and tried not to think.


"No."

"Come on, Kíli," said Fíli, sitting down on his brother's bed. Kíli lay curled on his side away from Fíli, stroking the fur-covered pillow beside him. "Don't you think it would do you some good?"

"I don't want to talk to anyone," Kíli said adamantly.

"It's not just anyone," said Fíli, inching closer; Kíli scooted away. "It's your best friends. They'll know soon that we've returned, and I am sure they will want to see us."

"I don't want to talk to anyone," Kíli repeated. He shoved his face into the pillow. Fíli sighed and stared down at his brother. There was silence between them.

"Kíli," said Fíli softly, "you're going to have to see people eventually."

"I won't be seeing anyone," Kíli retorted harshly.

Fíli flinched. That had been a bad choice of words.

"Maybe not everyone?" he offered. "I won't invite Tasli and Tamli. And Gimli is loud. Maybe not him. Just Ori and Flán?"

"No."

"Just Flán?"

"M-Mahal's beard, Fíli!" Kíli exclaimed, pulling his face out of his pillow and scowling. "Would you l-lay off it? I don't w-want anyone here!"

"All right," Fíli said quickly, wary of Kíli's sudden stuttering. "Never mind. I just thought maybe they could… cheer you up."

Kíli turned his head partially back into the pillow, his expression forlorn.

"Fíli," he said quietly after a few moments of silence, "I just… don't want anyone to see me like this."

Fíli licked his lips, torn between pity and frustration. He understood Kíli was upset, but…

"You can't stay hidden forever," he said.

"Would you just b-bloody leave me alone?" Kíli said harshly.

"Sorry," Fíli mumbled, rising from the bed. He headed for the door, feeling a deep pang of sadness in his heart. Before he left, he turned and looked back; Kíli's back rose and fell slowly, as if he were fighting back tears. He bit his lip. He had not meant to make his brother cry.

"Please don't invite them here," Kíli called as Fíli crossed the threshold. Fíli stopped and leaned back in.

"I won't, Kíli," he said. "I promise."

A shudder went through Kíli's back, and Fíli left the room, closing the door behind him. He rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly and made his way to the parlor; Dís was inside, sitting on the couch with a book. He ambled in and sat beside her.

"No luck?" she murmured, keeping her eyes on her book.

"None," he said.

Dís sighed and set her book down on her lap. She looked out towards the doorway.

"It was a good attempt," she said. Her fingers traced the edges of her book. "I suppose he needs more time."

"I don't know what to do," Fíli said, dropping his head back and sinking into the couch. "I know that I can't possibly know how he feels… but I've never seen him like this. I mean, he's never been…" He trailed off.

"Hm," was all that Dis said.

Fíli cast her a sidelong glance, annoyed. He had been hoping for some kind of advice.

"Is there anything I can do?" he pressed.

Dís smiled slightly, still staring out at the doorway.

"I don't always have the answer, Fíli," she said. She cast a glance in his direction. "You're an adult now. Use that clever brain of yours. You know him better than anyone."

Fíli slouched even further down with a sigh. He would rather have someone tell him what to do at the moment. Dís closed her book and patted his leg.

"Sometimes, even adults don't know what to do, Fíli," she said. "We just make it up as we go along and hope for the best."

"Uncle always knows what to do," Fíli muttered.

Dís chuckled quietly. "Your uncle pretends he always knows what to do."

Fíli frowned. What was being an adult good for if you still didn't know anything?

"What did he say to you?" asked Dís.

"That I should leave him alone," Fíli said bitterly. Feeling gleefully traitorous, he added, "And he used some rather indecent vocabulary to get his point across."

"Tattling on your brother?" said Dís, raising an eyebrow at her son. "Hardly charitable."

Fíli looked away from his mother's amused but critical eye and crossed his arms. "Well, he swore at me," he grumbled.

"I think you and your brother are old enough to know when to watch your own language," Dís said dismissively, re-opening her book and effectively ending the conversation. Fíli watched her for about half a minute, but she made no indication that she would acknowledge his gaze. He sighed and pulled himself off the couch.

He had thought that he could be more of a help to Kíli, but now he was beginning to regret his decision to leave Tumunzahar. Being cooped up at home with a belligerent brother was wearing on his nerves. Kíli did not even want his help or his comfort, it seemed, and Fíli was torn between compassion and agitation. Right now, agitation was winning out, and he needed a change of scene.


"Woolly Bear!"

A blur of red hair and freckles crashed into Fíli unceremoniously before he could even utter a word, arms wrapping around him tightly and crushing him more than a little. He let out a pained grunt even as he laughed.

"Let go, let go, you idiot," he said, maneuvering an elbow into Flán's ribcage. His friend let him go and held him at arm's length, badly feigning a hurt expression.

"Well, gee, I love you too," Flán said, his freckled face breaking into a grin even as he spoke.

Fíli could not help but catch Flán's infectious smile, but he pushed the hand off his now-throbbing shoulder.

"Just watch my shoulder, is all I meant," he said. "I hurt it last week and it's still sore."

Flán's bright grin faded slightly, but did not disappear.

"Oh, well, you'd better come in," he said. "Mum just made some food if you'd like something to eat."

"That's for dinner, young man, and I am not done cooking yet," said Flán's mother, Brynna, rounding the corner and peering into the entryway. She smiled warmly at Fíli. "But you are welcome to join us, my lad. The table is a bit empty without my husband around." Suddenly she frowned. "Aren't you supposed to be with him and the others? Surely no one is back yet… we weren't expecting them for a week…?"

"No, Kíli and I came back early," Fíli said, rubbing his shoulder and avoiding her gaze. "There was an accident in the caves, and…" He trailed off and glanced up at Brynna, unsure how much information to divulge. She gave him the same astute stare his own mother often did, and then she released him and turned back around.

"Make yourself at home," she called as she retreated. "You know you are always welcome here."

"She's definitely going to make you tell her everything," Flán said quietly, sidling up to Fíli and gently pushing him further into his home. They scurried off to Flán's room, and Fíli flopped onto the bed, leaving his feet dangling off the side. Flán flopped onto the other side, his bright red hair flying into Fíli's mouth. Fíli spit it out and shot a fake glare at his friend.

"You should be honored to touch my beautiful hair," Flán said with a silly grin. "It's one of a kind."

"Tell that to your sister and your mother," Fíli retorted, swiping more of it away from his face.

"So what happened?" Flán asked, turning his head to look at Fíli. "My da won't be back for days… it must have been something bad, right? What kind of accident was there? Is everyone all right?"

Fíli stared up at the ceiling and bit his lip. He wondered how furious Kíli would be if he told Flán and his family everything. His mother had warned him before he left to consider his brother's feelings before saying anything, but what was he supposed to do? Lie?

So he told him the bare minimum—just that there had been a tunnel collapse, he had dislocated his shoulder, and Kíli had gotten a concussion. He left the rest for his friend to learn later; he was sure it would eventually come up, but perhaps he could spare the wrath of his brother by giving only a few details now and letting it come out when Kíli was ready.

Even with the little information Fíli had given him, Flán looked horrified. He lifted himself up on one arm, his brow knit with concern.

"How long were you trapped?" he asked in a hushed tone.

Fíli squirmed. "I don't know," he said. "Hours. It felt like a really, really long time." He licked his lips and took a deep breath, trying to set away from his mind the memory of the tiny, dark space, the pain, the sticky, warm wetness of his brother's blood seeping through his clothes. He closed his eyes and shook his head rapidly; his chest felt tight.

"Are you all right, Woolly Bear?" Flán asked gently.

"Let's talk about something else," Fíli replied, sitting up and turning to face Flán with his legs crossed. Lying down suddenly felt stifling. "Kíli's really tired and grouchy; I just wanted to get away from him for a while. Tell me about what's been going on in Ered Luin for the past couple of weeks."

Flán chatted on for a while, telling Fíli about the goings-on of the Blue Mountains; apparently, Tasli and Tamli had convinced Ori to help them with a quite delightful prank that Flán had designed, which had involved colored ink, some feathers, and a very decorative and disgruntled Dori. Fíli laughed heartily, thinking of the stuffy old Dwarf with a blue-and-green perfectly braided beard, complete with some rather colorful feathers scattered throughout.

"Perhaps it would cheer Kíli up if he could see it," Flán chortled. "I don't think the ink will come out for a while."

If he could see it. Fíli sobered immediately as those words hit him, and Flán looked up at him quizzically.

"Aye, I bet it would," he said, avoiding Flán's gaze.

"Fíli?" said Flán, worry rising in his tone.

Suddenly there was a voice at the door calling Flán's name that stole their attention. They both looked up to see Flán's older sister, Nála, standing there.

"Hullo, Nála," Fíli said, grateful for the distraction. "You look lovely today."

Nála grinned broadly, her eyes flickering down and then back up at him.

"Thank you, Fíli," she said. "I didn't realize you were here. Aren't you supposed to be in Tumunzahar with everyone else?"

"Long story, you missed it," Flán said, bounding off the bed. "Is dinner ready, then?"

"Aye," Nála replied, still looking at Fíli with a concerned expression. "Come on."

The three of them made their way to the dining room, where the table had been set for four. Fíli took his seat with the others, and they all began to dig in.

"So you said that you and Kíli both came back early," said Brynna, passing the meat to an eagerly waiting Flán. "Due to an accident? Kíli is not with you—is he all right?"

"Knocked his hard head with a rock," Flán said as Fíli opened his mouth to reply. "Fíli said he has a concussion."

"Durin's beard," said Brynna, her eyes widening. "Bad enough to be sent home? How hard did he hit it?"

Fíli repeated the short version of the story that he had told Flán to a captive audience. When he had finished, Brynna was staring at him with a furrowed brow.

"I can see why Kíli came back early, but why did you come?" she asked. "Surely you could still have been helpful, even with a dislocated shoulder. Such things happen often on these expeditions."

Fíli had the sense to shove some food in his mouth while Brynna was speaking to give himself some time to think. She stared at him relentlessly; he wondered if all mothers had the ability to force the truth out of people with just their eyes. He chanced a glance at Nála. Or maybe all women.

He chewed meticulously and swallowed slowly. Finally, he said, "Well, I didn't want to leave Kíli on his own…"

"But he has your mother, who I am sure is a better caretaker than yourself," said Brynna pointedly.

"I mean, I could have stayed—"

"Unless something happened to you that you're not telling us…"

"No, really, I'm fine—"

"Or if Kíli's worse than you're letting on…?"

Fíli looked to Flán, exasperated and at a loss, but Flán simply looked at him expectantly. He shifted his eyes up to the ceiling and ground his teeth together. Kíli was going to kill him.

"He can't see," he said, looking back to Brynna evenly. "He's blind. Óin doesn't know whether or not he will recover his sight."

Nála's hand flew up to her mouth, and Fíli heard a surprised sound from Flán beside him. Brynna's expression melted into horror and shock.

"Fíli, why didn't you tell me that?" said Flán. "Can I go see him?"

"No, no, not right now," said Fíli quickly. "He doesn't want to see anyone at the moment. He's…" He paused. Kíli would not want them to know that he blamed himself. "He's supposed to be resting, anyway. He has a very bad concussion."

"You're a good brother, staying with him through such a thing," said Nála.

"Well, he doesn't seem to be glad of my company at the moment," Fíli grumbled, stabbing at his food.

"Well, we all know he has a temper even on a good day," said Flán. "I can't imagine how he's feeling now."

Fíli simply nodded, pushing his food from one side of the plate to the other. They didn't even know the half of it.

"I think it shows some fine leadership ability, as well, choosing to stay with your brother," said Brynna, and Fíli looked up at her, perplexed.

"Thorin wanted me to stay," he said. "I mean, I wanted to be there for Kíli, but—he said there were still things I could learn, that I didn't have to leave." He sighed. "I think he was right. Kíli keeps telling me to leave him alone, anyway. I should have listened to my uncle."

"But Kíli doesn't actually want to be alone," said Nála. "I can't imagine that he would. He's just upset, is all. And understandably so."

Kíli's words came back to Fíli's mind then. And you're coming with me? He had been so afraid that Fíli would leave him by himself. Fíli frowned. How could he win against Kíli's fickle temper?

"And a good leader does what he feels is right in his heart," said Brynna. "Do you feel that what you did is wrong?"

Fíli wavered. "But Thorin wanted me to stay," he said again.

"But he gave you the choice of whether or not to do so," Brynna replied. "Thorin is a good Dwarf; he has done well by all our people, and I trust him. Perhaps he did wish for you to stay; perhaps he just wanted to see what your choice would be. But he let you choose. That means that even if you disagreed with him, he trusted your judgment." She smiled warmly. "And I think you judged rightly."

"But I didn't—"

"There's more than one way to be a leader, Fíli," said Brynna. "Thorin focuses on the big picture, on the group, and that is good. But you see the individual, and that is also good. There are more chances for you to learn to lead as Thorin does, but your brother needs you now. Do not feel guilty for doing what you felt was right."

Fíli smiled slightly, feeling a burden lift from his shoulders. "Thanks."

"Now, eat up," said Brynna. "I'll not be sending you back to your mother with an empty stomach."

"Yes, ma'am," Fíli said, digging in once again.

"And Fíli," said Brynna, "if there is anything we can do for you or your family, please let us know."

Fíli chewed and swallowed and then smiled sadly.

"Thank you," he said.

They finished their meal in relative silence; the feeling around the table was more subdued than before, and Fíli could feel Flán's eyes burning into him more than once. He knew that Flán had more questions, that he would want to see Kíli eventually, but that would have to wait. Kíli would already be upset with him, and he knew he should wait before he shared anything else.

His mind turned back to Brynna's words. There's more than one way to be a leader. Such a thought had never occurred to Fíli before; in his eyes, Thorin was a great leader, with all the answers, experienced in all matters and how to deal with them. But then again, why would Thorin give him the opportunity to disagree if there was only one way that was best? He furrowed his brow as he chewed. The world as he saw it in his head wavered at the edges, its solid state seemingly compromised. A world with more than one right answer was at once both exciting and daunting. He wondered how he would know how to choose when he became king one day.

That was a long way off. Fíli drew his mind's eye back to the present and to the food on his plate.


And once again, I've thrown Flán into a fic... and I must remind you all that this precious ginger ball of fun and delight was created by Nalbal, whose fics are wonderful and you should read them. I hope I did him justice; I just can't get enough of him. If you reread this and it looks different, Nalbal corrected my Flán...ness. Also, we came up with Flán and Nála's parents' names together (their father's name is Vagn), though their background stories also belong to Nalbal. I don't think she's ever written Brynna, so hopefully I didn't stray too far from the mark. *waves to Nalbal nervously*

Explanation for "Woolly Bear": Also Nalbal's invention. Google "yellow woolly bear" and you'll see what it's all about. :P

Nála, of course, is mine. If you read The Shadow of Suspicion, you know who she is. ;)

I will be working on this steadily from now on. I promise I won't put it on hiatus for a year again.

As always, please review!