Morning came with a still, disquieting silence, one that had Kíli's nerves on edge. He had given up on sleep sometime in the night; without Fíli there, he had been restless—not to mention that he felt achy and stuffed up after crying for so long.

Pathetic.

Ill words danced in Kíli's head, mocking him and laughing at his misery. Pathetic. Sniveling. Words that never should have left Fíli's lips. Words that Kíli had never thought would leave Fíli's lips. His brother had always said that he was strong, that his ability to let insults roll off his back was something to be envied. Fíli took what people said more to heart and dwelt on their words; he was more introspective that way. Often it took Kíli's cheerful demeanor to bring him around.

When the insults came from Fíli, though, Kíli's defenses were gone.

Did Fíli really think of him that way? Or was it just whatever was affecting his mind talking? Fear and doubt gnawed at his insides, and great turmoil began to churn inside him. His first instinct was to go to Fíli, but he couldn't. Not this time. A lump developed in his throat, and he took a deep breath to stay himself. No, he thought. I am not pathetic.

The sound of the front door opening pulled Kíli from his thoughts. He looked up from his seat on the couch, waiting for Thorin to pass by the doorway. He could hear his uncle sigh and then remove his boots, and then his purposeful footsteps began to move closer. As he appeared in the doorway, Kíli called out:

"Uncle?"

Kíli cringed at the sound of his own voice. It sounded small—childish. If Thorin noticed, however, he made no indication. He merely stepped into the room, looking upon his youngest nephew with sad, tired eyes.

"You haven't slept, have you?" the old dwarf said.

"Neither have you."

A halfhearted grin appeared on Thorin's lips as he bowed his head in concession to this fact. Kíli drew the blanket in which he had wrapped himself tighter around his body.

"He hasn't changed," Thorin said in answer to Kíli's unspoken question. "He says he remembers nothing. All he seems to know about himself is his name."

Kíli blinked wearily. He was too tired to react.

"It's not true, you know."

Kíli furrowed his brow. "What isn't true?" he said.

"What Fíli said to you," said Thorin.

Kíli sucked in a sharp breath and quickly looked down as tears suddenly filled his eyes. He pressed his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut; twin teardrops fell into his lap. How had Thorin known? He tried to withhold further tears, but he was too exhausted to have such fortitude. Pathetic.

Thorin's large, calloused hands came to rest on either side of Kíli's face; his forehead made contact with his nephew's. Kíli sniffled, and two more tears dripped from his face.

"Do you remember what I told you when you had pneumonia?" Thorin said. Kíli nodded. You are strong, he had said. Stronger than I even thought. You are so strong.

"That still holds true today," he continued. "Do not take what your brother says to heart. He is not in his right mind."

Kíli made a soft sound in agreement and sniffed again. Thorin patted his face gently and remained still for another minute in silence, allowing Kíli to draw comfort from the contact in his own time. Finally, Kíli pulled back with a shuddering sigh and met Thorin's eyes.

"All right?" said Thorin.

"Yeah," Kíli said. Thorin smiled sadly and let go, and then he stood up and took a step back.

"I'm going to sleep," he said. "Dwalin is with Fíli; they will be fine. Get some sleep."

"I'll try," Kíli said, even though he knew he wouldn't. His eyes followed his uncle until he rounded the corner to the hall, and then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

You are strong, he told himself. Not pathetic.

He longed for his brother, but Fíli was gone. They had his body in captivity, surely, but his mind was missing—either buried deep or taken from him.

But how? Kíli thought. Poison? A bump on the head? There were no signs of either. Magic?

Kíli's eyes snapped open as the last thought occurred to him. Hadn't he felt like something had been watching him in that cave? There had been no sign of a fight or any kind of struggle at all. Why hadn't this occurred to him before?

But how did one go about reversing fey magic? Kíli racked his brain for any knowledge he might have acquired over the years from his books or his elders, but nothing came to mind. In all the stories he had read and all the tales he had heard, the fey had a mind of their own and listened to no one—not Man, Elf, or Dwarf. His stomach turned. And he had thought a pixie would grant him wishes… Stupid, he scolded himself. All it had done was push him into the creek and almost kill him.

But maybe—just maybe—he had not heard all there was about the fey. Perhaps there were stories he had forgotten, or even stories he had not heard.

Wait, he told himself. He couldn't get carried away. First, he needed more evidence that it was fey mischief and not something more common. That meant talking to Fíli, and he was not sure he was ready for that yet. The image of his brother's face, contorted into a hateful snarl, popped up in his mind; he shook his head violently to erase it from his thoughts, but he only succeeded in making himself dizzy as his stuffed nose and his flooded sinuses sloshed. With a groan, he rested his temple on the arm of the couch and pulled his blanket over his head.

This is so wrong.

He was so tired. He yawned into the couch, and his eyes watered. He needed sleep so badly, but without the familiar comfort of his brother's presence, it was hard. He resigned himself to simply lying still with his eyes closed. It was the closest he was going to get.

Minutes passed in silence, and Kíli's frustration was building by the moment. He moaned and slid down off the arm of the couch, curling onto his side with his forehead pressed into the back and the blanket covering his entire person. He could hear his mother in the kitchen, but he tried to tune out the sound.

Several more minutes passed, and still Kíli could not sleep. He was just thinking of getting up and continuing through the day exhausted when he heard Dís's footsteps coming closer, so he lay still and pretended he had finally dozed off.

Her footsteps stopped next to the couch.

"Kíli?"

He didn't want to talk. He stayed still and quiet. Dís sighed, and Kíli heard the thunk of something on the side table.

"I know you're awake, love," she said softly. Kíli did not answer. After a few moments, she sighed again, and her footsteps faded from the room.

When he was sure that she was gone, Kíli lifted his head and sat up, curious to see what she had left him. As he peered over the arm, a sheepish smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. A cup of tea sat invitingly, waiting for him.

Kíli reached out and took the cup, and then retreated back into his blanket cocoon. She had always made her boys tea when they were upset, and both Fíli and Kíli had learned to associate the taste with motherly comfort. He took a sip and relaxed, allowing the nostalgic feeling to wash over him and wipe away the fears and doubts that plagued him.

Had he been listening, he might have heard his mother's giggle from the doorway.

Though he tried, Kíli still could not fall asleep. Thoughts swirled through his mind like a whirlwind, and he could not stay them. The frustration was enough to drive him nearly mad. Even without the stress of the past few days, he felt like he would have been close to tears. Finally, he gave up and sauntered into the kitchen with his blanket still wrapped around him. His mother was nowhere in sight. He sat at the table and dropped his face into his arms.

Please, sleep… come.

A soft click drew Kíli's attention to his bedroom door. He looked up to see Dís emerging with a bundle in her arms.

"What's that?" he said, his voice scratchy with exhaustion.

"Things for your brother," said Dís without looking up. "Just because he is in prison doesn't mean we have to treat him like a prisoner." She sniffed indignantly and folded a falling blanket corner back into her arms.

Kíli sat up straight. "Are you going to see him now?" he said.

"Yes," said Dís. "I imagine you'll want to—oh, darling, what's the matter?"

Dís had finally looked up, and judging from her reaction, Kíli looked at least as terrible as he felt. He ducked his head sheepishly; he could try to downplay how tired he was, but his mother would see right through it. He might as well be honest.

"I didn't get any sleep last night," he said.

"Is that why you were wrapped up on the couch?"

"I couldn't stay in bed," he said. "I couldn't sleep. I tried, but…" He shrugged. "I just couldn't."

"Without Fíli there?" said Dís softly.

Kíli turned and looked down at his hands, and his hair fell in a curtain over his face. He nodded ever so slightly, his cheeks burning. Sixty-two years old, and he still couldn't sleep without his big brother beside him. He never had been able to—there was something solid and steadfast in Fíli that calmed and reassured him, and without that presence, he felt uneasy and alone. Even sleeping beside him when he had been caught in the throes of nightmares had been easier than this.

Dís's hand suddenly touched his cheek, and he started; she turned his face to hers and pushed his hair behind his ears. Her deep blue eyes studied him intently.

"You and Fíli have a special bond, Kíli," she said. "Do not be ashamed of it."

"But he doesn't remember me," Kíli said. He swallowed, trying to force down the lump building in his throat. "He tried to kill me, Mum. He said he wanted to—to—"

His voice broke as he burst into tears and dropped his head onto her shoulder; she wrapped her arms around him gently.

"Shhh, my love," she said. "It will be all right."

Kíli tried to answer You don't know that, but all that came out was a hoarse sob. His mother's arms tightened around him.

"If you were smaller, I'd pull you right into my lap and hold you until the world's ending," Dís whispered.

"I'm not a child," Kíli choked out.

"You will always be my child," she said firmly. "For ever and ever."

Kíli huffed as a smile formed on his lips, and he pulled back and looked into his mother's eyes. She smiled wistfully and wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"You have your father's eyes," she said. Her voice sounded far away and sad; Kíli could see the painful memories playing in the cerulean depths. After a few moments, her gaze returned to the present, and she kissed her son's forehead.

"Come," she said. "I am sure you want to see your brother. We can go together."

Kíli was not sure he wanted to see Fíli—not in the state he was in. But he knew that he needed to. He needed answers; he would get his brother back, no matter what the cost.

"He's asleep," Dwalin said quietly to Dís.

Dís glanced at her eldest son, who lay face down on the pallet in his cell, blond hair splayed in every direction. He was breathing slowly and steadily, but Dís narrowed her eyes.

"Are you sure?" she said.

"I think so," Dwalin replied. "Thorin says he was up all night."

Kíli wondered if Fíli had stayed awake for the same reason he had, even though he could not remember. He wanted to ask, but he stopped himself. Dwalin would not know the answer anyway.

"What has he been doing?" Kíli asked. "Has he been asleep since you arrived?"

Dwalin shook his head. As he turned to look at Fíli, his normally hard expression softened.

"He sat and glared at me for a while, but then he got tired of it and lay down." Dwalin turned sad eyes to Dís and Kíli. "He was crying for a bit, poor lad. I don't think that he thought I could hear him."

Kíli stared at his brother, his heart aching. Fíli was scared. He had seen it when he had pushed him too far trying to remember, and now this. He wished that he could somehow fix everything, but he did not know how. Fíli was lost, so lost, and Kíli wanted him back.

"I've brought him some things," Dís said, holding up the bundle in her arms. "May I go in?"

"I would advise against it, milady," said Dwalin. "He's dangerous."

"He is my son, and he is not a criminal," Dís snapped. "He deserves to have some comfort if he is to be kept in this horrid place."

Dwalin nodded, his visage apologetic. "Of course," he said, and with that, he pulled out the keys and unlocked the cell door. Dís took a deep breath and stepped in with her bundle.

"Go in with her, laddie," said Dwalin. "Just in case."

Kíli cringed at those words, but he followed her in, watching Fíli carefully. As far as he could tell, Fíli was actually asleep; as he got closer, he could hear how congested his breathing was, and his heart sank. He had been crying. Fíli rarely cried.

He knelt beside Dís on the dirt floor by Fíli's head and watched his brother's sleeping frame. His heart was aching again. It was almost a constant feeling now. He had never been without his brother like this, and he did not know how to live without him. It was uncomfortable and even painful.

"Lift his head," said Dís, her voice low. Kíli looked up at her; she held a pillow in her hands, and she was gazing down at her eldest sadly. Kíli did as he was told gingerly, though he knew Fíli would not wake up. When he slept, he was dead to the world. Dís slipped the pillow under his head, and Kíli let his head down gently. He brushed the hair off Fíli's face, pulling at the bits that stuck to his tear-stained cheeks as Dís laid a blanket over him.

Kíli opened his mouth to speak, but then he bit the words back. A lump was already developing in his throat again. I want him back. He looked up at his mother, who looked back at him with shining eyes, then down at Fíli. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"I love you," she whispered. Kíli looked away and swallowed. He wished Fíli would wake up and be his old self again—self-possessed and confident, not this angry, frightened dwarf with no memory. He hated that they had to tiptoe around him and keep him locked up. This wasn't Fíli.

"Come, Kíli," Dís said softly. Kíli stood up and held out his hand for his mother. She took it and he pulled her back to her feet, and she dusted the dirt off her knees. They left the cell together, and Dwalin locked up after them.

"Are you going to stay?" Dís said to Kíli.

"Aren't you?" Kíli replied.

Dís shook her head. "It's… it's too hard." She swallowed. "I'll come back later and make sure he is comfortable. Bring him some food."

Kíli nodded. "I need to ask him some questions when he wakes," he said. "I'm going to try to get to the bottom of this."

Dís pursed her lips and studied Kíli for a moment before she spoke.

"Very well," she said. "Just… don't push him. Remember that he is afraid. He doesn't know who we are." She paused and took a in a breath. "He doesn't know who he is. Promise me you'll remember."

"I'll do my best, Mum," he said.

Dís smiled sadly and left the building; Kíli leaned up against the wall, his shoulders sagging.

"Are ye all right, Kíli?" Dwalin said.

"Just tired," Kíli replied. "I didn't sleep well. Or, I didn't sleep at all."

"Why don't ye just go home?" said Dwalin. "Fíli will be fine here."

"No," said Kíli adamantly. "I need to talk to him."

Dwalin looked him over sharply, and then he gestured at the chair by the cell.

"Sit, then," he said. "I'll stand."

Kíli could not hide his relief as he strode over to the chair and sat down, groaning.

"Thank you, Mister Dwalin," he said.

The old warrior merely grunted, and the two fell into silence, waiting. When Fíli awoke, Kíli would get whatever answers he could. He would fix this. He had to.