Days might have passed – weeks, even. Thorin did not know. He sat alone in his cell, head sunken in his hands, crushed under the heavy shadow of darkness. His heart throbbed in his chest: pulsing, stabbing pounds of agony as he cried out for a fragile thread of hope.
Kili was dead. Torn from Thorin's grasp and slain in spite of all of everything they had done to save him. Thorin had given all he had to shear the decades of pain and anguish away from his youngest sister-son, and in the end he had failed to keep the simplest promise: to protect him. And in the end it had not been goblins or orcs that had slain Kili, but the kin of the same Elf whom Kili had tried to rescue hours before. It was cruel injustice, meted out by the same traitors Thorin had sworn he never would trust again.
Broken vows and shattered promises mattered so little now. Kili was dead. Nothing Thorin could do would ever bring back that tentative smile and the sparkle of joy in those dark, trusting eyes. Nothing could restore the hollow deadness in Fili's gaze, as he was dragged away from Thorin and thrown into a cell with no more fight than a newborn kitten. Nothing could heal the gaping wound in Thorin's heart, torn open and left raw and bleeding as he yearned for the darkness to swallow him.
Dis was gone. There would be no report to her that her son was dead. She was abandoned in the forest, dead or worse, without even a proper burial to grace her passing. Thorin sobbed and grasped a double handful of his hair, yanking at the roots as he thought his chest would crack under the pain. Sweet little Dis, with her dancing eyes and impish smile, her fiery spirit and her wicked cackle as she and Frerin concocted another wily prank against their elder brother. Later a girl barely old enough to consider marriage, with her strong will and courage and her infinite trust as she relied on Thorin to guide them all from the ruins of Erebor to a new home. A young woman weary and heartsick, her family dead leaving no one but her oldest brother and a dashing young soldier to cling to for comfort. A wiser and quieter widow, with a nine year old and a four year old expecting her to make all the sadness in the house go away. Kili had brought back Dis' smile. Fili had made her eyes shine.
Then Kili had disappeared, and Thorin had watched his sister slowly envelope herself in a shield that no battle axe or orc blade could rend. The innocent, dear little prankster vanished altogether and a hardened warrior took her place. Fiesty and strong – stronger in character than any soldier Thorin had known – his sister had risen to stand alongside him: fearless, reckless and prepared to take on the world. She had journeyed to Erebor for him: confronted Azog and nearly lost her own life. Doubtlessly she would have faced down Smaug himself if she had had the chance. She was headstrong and defiant and Thorin had feared that he would lose her from sheer impulse before they reached the end of their journey.
Until one day Kili was returned to them. The fierce, overpowering need to love, cherish and hold had awakened and Dis no longer could throw away her life to protect her remaining brother and son. Kili had brought light to her eyes, healing to her heart and joy to her tired smile. Kili had given her reason to live instead of fight, to laugh and love and smile with that sparkling delight that Thorin had not seen for so long. Kili had returned to her, and Dis had been complete.
Yet in one fell blow, both of them had been ripped from Thorin's grasp. His shoulders trembled and he ground his palms into his eyes as a jagged blade ripped his chest apart. First his sister, now Kili once more, and soon Fili would doubtlessly follow if Thranduil's wrath did not abate. Thorin was about to lose them all and he could not bear the crushing weight. He felt ready to snap: to break down and tell Thranduil everything: to spill out every secret of the Lonely Mountain in exchange for their lives. Fili was all he had left. He would give anything to ensure his nephew was safe.
But there was nothing Thorin could do, and that was the most jarring realization of all. He was helpless to sit idly and wait for the death of the last family he had. One by one they had been singled out and murdered, and Thorin had no hope to save them. He could only bow his head and weep, for there would be no better tomorrow.
His sister and her littlest one were dead.
Fili stared unmoving, unblinking, curled onto his side in the same place where they had left him. Torches flickered in the corridor and Bofur called for him anxiously, but Fili neither heard nor saw anything but the sickening devastation in Kili's eyes as he realized he would be dragged away and killed like an animal, and the hollow screams coming from his own throat. Kili had never once pleaded for his life, and that struck Fili the hardest of all. His brother had known there was no chance for mercy, as he had asked of Fili and Bilbo on that first night when the wargs drew near. There had only been terror in his eyes this time, and horrible acceptance. Kili knew he was going to die, and he had spared Fili the heart wrenching agony of hearing his brother's pleas. Fili had not needed to hear a single word, though: he saw everything written in Kili's stricken eyes. His baby brother needed them – desperately needed someone to save him. Amidst everyone he had trusted and given his frail confidence, he had been sentenced to death. Bound and hurting, with a cloth wound over his face as though he were a lethal monster, he had been dragged away with no one to come to his aid.
It was too much. Fili had watched his brother slip away too many times already, and now Kili was really gone. There were no goblins to hold him until Fili could rescue him, or wayward dreams to enchant him until daylight drew him back. Kili was dead.
And Fili broke apart.
Dis paced in agitation, wet cobbles slippery under her bare feet. The stone floors of the wine cellar were too noisy for her boots: she had thrown them into an empty cask after a skuff of leather nearly revealed her hiding place. Only the urgency of time had caused the cook's aid to return to the hallways above. Growling in frustration, Dis turned around once more, tangled braids whipping around her as she awaited news. It was dangerous enough, Bilbo had claimed when he finally led her into the palace several hours after he entered himself. (Truly, Dis would have followed with or without the burglar's help.) Her assistance was denied in searching for her brother and sons, however, for the Hobbit did indeed have a knack for flitting about unseen in a manner which Dis could never hope to master. Even if she had possessed an enchanted ring of her own, her footsteps were not light enough to mask from the Elves' keen ears. She would only reveal both herself and Bilbo and leave the others with no chance of escape.
It did not stop her from pacing in a frenzy as she waited. Fears, both irrational and realistic, plagued her until she was ready to scream. Where was Fili? Her thoughts dwelt on her golden haired princeling. Was he blaming himself for their captivity? He put so much responsibility on himself to see the quest through... What blame did he place on himself tor this disaster? Was he separated from the others, worrying himself to death in a cell all alone? He was strong, her golden prince, but there were cracks in his armor that Dis feared. Sometimes she felt as though the slightest pressure in the right way could crush Fili like fragile grass. He had a will of his own and a spirit that could not be broken down, but he treasured the bonds of family closely. He needed her there, to strengthen him and encourage him and prove that not all hope was lost. Mahal grant her mercy: she needed to be with her boy.
And Thorin… He would take this blow harshly. He had led them through the goblins' snare, the fires of Azog, the darkness of Mirkwood and the spiders' lair, and now at the last he was incapable of leading them to safety. Her brother's thoughts were dark and distant, plagued by remorse over death and blood and fire: too much for one Dwarf to have witnessed in a lifetime. He would hold himself accountable for all their lives. He would be torn apart thinking about Fili, and he would wear himself ragged thinking of a way to help all of the Company to escape unscathed.
Dis stiffened midstride as another thought stuck her. Was Thorin worrying over her as well? She knew nothing of what had taken place after she had tumbled into the water. Bilbo had told her she had been unconscious for days, that Thorin had nearly crumbled and her sons - son, as she had insisted - were frazzled with worry, but Dis still had not taken herself into her brother's calculations. Mahal, was he unravelling his mind searching for a way to save his fellow Dwarves and go back to find her as well? She could see the Company bravely charging from the dungeons, facing down Elves and spiders and who knew what else in the mad dash to find her once more.
With a groan Dis buried her face in her hands. Senseless fools. She doubted the image in her head would be far off from the reality.
It was time she took her own hand in the rescue party. Thorin was doubtlessly a reckless force already, ready to shake Bilbo to death and demand where his sister had gone. He had thoroughly trounced Dis' husband once, when the younger, inept soldier had nearly lost Frerin in a ring of wolves' dens. Aule protect their poor Hobbit from Thorin's fury when his sister was unaccounted for. Sighing heavily, Dis abandoned her pacing and crept to the door, listening intently before creaking the bolt aside and slipping into the hall. She had endured enough of her Dwarves rescuing her time and time again. It was time to return the favor.