"No."

"Yes."

"You're not going."

"Yes, I am."

Dís looked hard at her youngest, her arms crossed and a fierce scowl on her face. Kíli stared back, his form rigid, save for his flexing fingers. Suddenly, the hard look on Dís's face softened, and she stepped forward; Kíli took a step back.

"Kíli..." she said. "You are exhausted. You need to rest, not run off on some wild goose chase."

Kíli spluttered for a few moments, shocked. "Wild goose chase?" he said. "This isn't a wild goose chase, Mum! There could very well be clues to what happened to Fíli in that cave! I have to go!"

"And I'm telling you that you have to stay," said Dís adamantly. "You didn't sleep at all last night. You didn't sleep well the night before—don't deny it—and I'm not going to lose you to foolishness. Please rest, darling."

As Dís spoke, she stepped closer and closer to Kíli until he was backed into the wall. She reached out to take his bow off his back, but he twisted out of her reach.

"No!" he shouted. He stepped away from his mother, but his left foot caught on his right, and he stumbled; Dís caught him by the shoulders and held him upright, her mouth set in a grim line.

"You aren't going anywhere but to bed," she said firmly. "Now, take off those weapons and that gear."

"You don't understand!" Kíli burst out. He ripped himself away from Dís and stumbled back into the wall, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "I can't sleep! I can't! I have to do something, Mum! I can't live like this!"

Dís studied her son's eyes closely, a curious expression upon her face.

"Mahal forbid you two are ever separated for good," she said quietly. "He'll have to take you together, or not at all."

Kíli smiled despite himself. "Not at all, then," he said.

Dís returned the smile. "That's what I like to hear," she said. She reached forward and tucked his hair behind his ear; the movement was soothing, and Kíli closed his eyes. Then, quicker than Kíli could have ever expected, Dís had pulled off his sword, bow, and quiver.

"Hey!" he said angrily. He reached for his weapons, but Dís pulled back.

"See?" she said. "You're so tired, I pulled all of these off before you could react."

"You're just fast," Kíli protested, reaching for his weapons again.

"Go rest," Dís commanded, her voice suddenly hard.

"Mum-"

"Go!"

Kíli glared at his mother for a few moments, heat rising into his face as he clenched his fists. He was angry. Irrationally angry. He knew that, but he could not stop the rage that made his hands tremble and a whirlwind rush through his ears. His insides wound tighter as he fought the want—the need—to shout, to run, to get his own way. Dís watched him warily.

"Kíli?" she said, setting his weapons down on the table and stepping towards him.

"Don't," he said with forced calmness. "Don't... just... leave me alone." He muttered the last few words quickly as he stalked off to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. He threw himself onto the bed and glared up at the ceiling, fuming; suddenly, the overwhelming desire to scream came upon him, and he clenched his teeth, fighting the impulse.

It was too much. Rolling over, Kíli grabbed a pillow and stuffed his face into it. He let out a long, angry scream as tears filled his eyes, and the scream turned into a wail and then he was weeping, his tears staining the pillow and his shoulders shaking. Overtired, said the logical part of his mind, but its cold analysis was overridden by the burning fire that coursed through his veins saying I need Fíli back, no one understands, I need my brother, I miss my Fíli.

"Fee," he whispered into the wet pillow, his fingers curling into the fabric. He took a ragged breath. For a few moments, he was quiet, but then the sobbing started again. He felt so alone. Fíli had always been there for him, through every trouble and trial—but now he was lost to him, and he had scarcely an idea on how to bring him back, if he could at all. Hopelessness settled in his heart then, and he screamed into the pillow, curling his knees up underneath him as he held it tightly. Then he was still, gasping harshly with his forehead pressed into the mattress. He dropped onto his side and hugged the pillow to himself, shaking with now-silent sobs.

A creak told Kíli that he was not alone, but he did not look to see who was intruding on his misery. He did not care. He couldn't speak, anyway; despite his efforts, he could not stop crying. So he ignored whoever it was, hoping they would go away.

"Kíli," said a familiar deep voice. Thorin. Kíli curled up tighter, a harsh gasp leaving his throat. Let Thorin talk. Nothing he could say would change anything.

There was silence for a long time, so long that Kíli almost forgot that his uncle was there at all. Then, he spoke again:

"Your mother sent me in. She heard you screaming, she said."

Still Kíli gave no reply.

"Are you all right?"

Kíli shook his head and took a hitched breath. Thorin was silent, but Kíli could hear him step closer.

"Is there anything you need?" said Thorin in a strained voice.

"Fíli," Kíli choked out.

Thorin sighed. "Kíli, I promised you that we will figure this out. We will fix this."

Kíli nodded, and Thorin's hand settled on his shoulder with a reassuring squeeze.

"Now rest. We will form a plan after you have slept. You have my word."

That's not good enough, Kíli thought, but he stayed silent. Thorin's hand lifted, and his heavy steps left the room.

He was so tired. Maybe everyone was right. He did need to rest—but how? He had tried to sleep the previous night to no avail, and nothing had changed. He was still troubled and alone.

Kíli tossed aside his damp pillow and reached across the bed for one of his brother's. He stuffed his face into it; the smell of pipe-weed and soap filled his nostrils. Fíli. He still felt alone, but somehow with this familiar smell, the pressing loneliness seemed to lessen, if only a little bit.

And finally, finally, Kíli fell asleep.

Rest for Kíli did not last for long.

The first thing Kíli noticed when he awoke was that he felt even worse than he had before. His body felt stiff and his head was heavy; his eyes fought to stay closed, but no relief was found beneath his eyelids. He was awake, then—rested or not.

Time to do something.

Kíli lifted his head and immediately dropped it back onto the mattress with a groan. Mahal, what a headache. He pressed his temple into his forearm and grimaced. Get up, he told himself, but his body would not obey. He stayed sprawled on the bed.

He felt sick to his stomach. Was he hungry or nauseous? He couldn't tell. But if this was what sleep did for him, he would rather be up, exhausted or not. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up with a strained groan, bringing one hand up to his forehead. He stayed there for a couple of minutes, hoping the headache would subside, but it stubbornly remained, so he got up and left his room.

No one was in the kitchen, but his weapons were still on the table. He looked around cautiously before tip-toeing over to his gear and strapping it on as quickly and quietly as he could. Then he slipped out the door, looking left and right—no one in sight. He took off in a run for Glóin's house. He had to go, and he had to go now, and he knew that Gimli would go with him.

Within a few minutes, he had reached his destination, and to his delight, Gimli was already outside. He ran over to him and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Gimli!" he said, breathing heavily. "I need your help."

"Blimey, Kíli, you look terrible," said Gimli, eyeing his cousin with wide eyes.

"I'll be fine," said Kíli dismissively. "Are you busy?"

"No," Gimli replied. "What do you need?"

"We're going back up to the cave," Kíli said. "I'm going to see if I can find what did this to Fíli."

"What makes you think it is there?" said Gimli skeptically.

"It's where we found him," said Kíli pointedly. "Moreover, when I was in there, I could feel something... watching me. You couldn't feel it?"

Gimli thought for a moment. "I did, come to think of it," he said. "It made my hair stand up on end."

"Exactly," Kíli said. "Get your pony. It's a long ride."

"What about yours?" Gimli said.

Kíli straightened and blinked. His pony. How had he forgotten to bring his pony?

"Are you sure you're all right?" said his cousin warily.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Kíli said absently. "Stay here. I'll be back soon."

Gimli gave him a funny look, but he nodded, and Kíli ran off. He made it home in record time; to his relief, no one was out by the stable. Where is everyone? Kíli thought briefly, but he dismissed the thought in favor of sneaking off before anyone tried to force him back into bed like a child. They always treated him like a child. Kíli scowled as he saddled up Basil and took off to meet up with Gimli, who was ready when he arrived.

"I got food and water," Gimli said, nodding at his saddlebag.

Kíli looked at his cousin blankly. Food and water—of course. He was forgetting everything!

"Right. Good," he said. "Yes. All right, let's go, then."

"Kíli, are you sure?" said Gimli, looking his cousin over with a furrowed brow.

"I'm fine!" Kíli snapped. "Let's go."

Gimli sighed, but he said no more, and the two young dwarves took off.

"Do you remember where it was?"

"You found it first, Kíli."

"I could have sworn it was around here..."

Kíli turned his pony around and scanned his surroundings. Surely he could not have lost an entire cave. He was tired, but he wasn't that tired. It had to be somewhere.

"How long did it take us to get home?" Kíli said.

"I don't know," said Gimli. "A couple of hours, I think."

"I thought this was the spot," Kíli mused. He turned back towards the north. "Maybe it's further up."

"There was a stream flowing out of it," Gimli said.

"Have you seen a stream yet?"

"No."

"Let's keep riding then."

The two moved on silently, each caught up in his own thoughts. Several more minutes brought no results, and Kíli's gut began to burn with frustration.

"It has to be around here somewhere!" Kíli said. His head was pounding steadily, further fouling his mood. He pulled out his waterskin and drank, hoping for a respite from the ache, but none came. He cursed.

"We could split up," Gimli suggested. "We might find it faster."

"Good idea," Kíli said. "I'll go further up. You keep checking around here."

Without waiting for a reply, Kíli kicked Basil into a gallop and was soon far away, a faint Wait! trailing behind him.

He was definitely feeling the exhaustion now, but a dogged determination kept him going. Everyone else seemed slow and unconcerned about his brother's condition. Go rest. We'll make a plan. Kíli scowled. There wasn't time for such things. Action was required—and if he was the only one willing to do so, then so be it.

Kíli stopped and looked behind; Gimli was just visible, a small dot far away. Then he looked ahead. Surely the cave had to be close. He squinted and scanned the surrounding area. The sun was setting in the west, casting long shadows from the mountains, and already it seemed quite dark. His mother and his uncle would kill him, but he had yet to care about that.

Then he saw it.

Further on ahead, a small stream was flowing out of a cave that looked horribly familiar. Ah, yes. Now that he saw it, the memory came flooding back, bringing with it a shiver as he thought of his brother inside, cold and unconscious on the stone floor. He turned and waved at Gimli, who had moved a little bit closer.

"Gimli!" he shouted. "I've found it! Hurry!"

When his cousin started heading his direction, he turned back and pushed Basil onwards, reaching the cave in less than a minute. He hopped off his pony and patted her neck reassuringly, for she was shying away from the entrance nervously.

"Steady, girl," he said. "It's all right."

Basil tossed her head in response. Kíli could feel how tense she was. If he were honest with himself, he was tense, too; the sick feeling he had felt last time he was here had returned, and he recognized it as a deep sense of foreboding. There were many dark and foul things in the world, and he imagined that many would make Dwarf, Man, or Elf feel such a thing.

He looked back to Gimli impatiently. The younger dwarf was on his way, but he was moving too slowly for Kíli's taste. He would catch up soon enough. Kíli patted Basil again and then unsheathed his sword, holding it at the ready. He was going in now, accompanied or not.

The moment he stepped into the cave, it was immediately as if the unease he had felt last time had been multiplied many times. His hair stood on end and his heart inexplicably began to pound; he swallowed and tightened his grip on his sword. He could feel those eyes on him.

"Hello?" he called out, wincing at the small sound of his own voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Is anyone there?"

A sound surrounded him then—a raspy, hissing noise that seemed to come from every direction at once. He gasped and whirled around, but he saw nothing; it was too dark. A torch. Kíli cursed his absent-mindedness. Why hadn't he thought to bring a torch?

"Who are you?" he called out, failing miserably at keeping the quiver out of his voice.

"First a yellow one, and now a dark one," said a thin, raspy voice from nowhere. "Have you come to light a little fire, too?"

"I've come looking for you, actually," he said. A warm fire was beginning to flow through him—courage, but also anger. The thing was laughing—laughing!—at him, a hissing, gurgling sound, unpleasant to the ears.

"Do you think this is funny?" he shouted, swinging his sword as he whirled again. "My brother doesn't even remember who he is! What did you do to him?"

The voice was silent for a few moments. Then, it said: "Tell me, dark dwarf. What is a... brother?"

To his left, a movement caught Kíli's eye, and he turned to face it, sheathing his sword and pulling out his bow quick as lightning. He pointed his arrow at the movement, but he saw nothing.

"Show yourself!" Kíli said, his breath coming out in a gasp. I should have waited for Gimli.

"I asked a question," said the voice, crackling dangerously.

"We... we come from the same mother and father," Kíli said, his voice thick with fear. "Like birds that come from the same nest."

"I see," said the voice. That hissing, gurgling sound again. "And what have you come to me for, dark dwarf?"

"Whatever you did to my brother—I want you to reverse it," he said. "Please. Just—change him back."

The laughter that followed was raucous and grating, and Kíli almost dropped his bow at the sound, grimacing.

"Change him back?" said the voice, "But, why, I did not change him at all!"

"What did you do to him, then?" Kíli cried.

Something cold touched his back then, and he turned to face it; when he did, his breath stopped in his throat and his bow dropped from his hands. Before him stood a tall, writhing creature with black, hollow spaces in place of eyes; its teeth were grey and sharp, and of its skin Kíli could not guess the texture, whether it be rotting flesh or the substance of ashes. It shimmered in a dark way, its claws extended out towards its next victim.

"This," it said.

Cold, clawed fingers rested on either side of Kíli's face, and a terror greater than any he had ever known flooded through him like an icy river. The walls seemed to close in around him, shining with sickly colors and oozing with something—Kíli did not know what. A scream was ripped from his throat as his entire body began to shake violently and his knees gave out; he crashed to the ground, still screaming—he couldn't stop screaming. Horrible images flew through his head, each forgotten as the next took shape, but the terror remained. Whatever he had known or thought before disappeared in a veil before his eyes as all his senses were overwhelmed with a single sensation of fear, everything was horror and he could not escape, he was going to die like this—

Somewhere far away, Kíli could hear a deep, guttural roar, and he screamed again, covering his ears and curling into a ball. The cold fingers left his face, but the cold inside him remained, and he cried out. A high, shrill shriek filtered into his senses, and he shrieked back. Then big, calloused hands were on him, pulled at him. He fought against them violently, but they had him tightly, and then he was moving, kicking and screaming though he was, until he lay against something warm and soft, though he could not see it. He was blind—blind! He curled himself up as tightly as he could and hid his face in his arms, shuddering and weeping. A hand reached through his arms and touched his face.

"No!" he screamed, batting the hand away and rolling onto his other side. The hand came at him again, and he recoiled.

He suddenly became aware of a deep voice trying to speak to him—a familiar voice. He stopped, gasping wildly, and listened.

"...not going to hurt you! Kíli, stop screaming! It's me! It's Gimli!"

Gimli. He knew that name, but he couldn't place it. A fresh wave of terror went through him, and he shuddered and wailed.

"You fool, you fool, you damned fool!" said the familiar voice. "You should have waited for me! You should have waited!"

Kíli hid beneath his arms and said nothing as panicked sobs he could not stop left him. What had he done? He could not remember.

"And now your pony has bolted," continued the voice. "You won't be able to walk, will you?"

Kíli's eyes opened wide, and he took in a sharp gasp. Walk to where? From where? The realization struck him that he had no idea where he was or why he was there. He grabbed his hair and pulled, his mind racing as he struggled to latch onto any memory, anything, in the inky blackness of his mind.

Gimli. The voice was Gimli. He thought hard, searching for Gimli in the abyss. Suddenly he caught it. HIs cousin—his friend. Yes. He blinked and swallowed, and the world cleared a bit around him. A young, red-haired dwarf knelt before him, his expression taut.

"G-Gimli?" he said.

"Yes," Gimli said. "It's me. Are you all right?"

Kíli shook his head. "Where are we?" he said.

An anxious look crossed Gimli's face. "You don't remember?"

Again, Kíli shook his head. A single bird chirped, and he jumped and covered his ears, gasping.

"We need to get you home," Gimli said. "You can ride my pony. I'll just have to walk." The young dwarf pulled up his older cousin and swung Kíli's arm over his shoulders. Kíli leaned into him with shaky legs and followed where he was led. Gimli helped him onto the pony clumsily, and then began to lead them south.

"W-where are we going?" asked Kíli behind chattering teeth.

"Home," Gimli said.

Kíli could not picture home, but he knew the word, and it was a comforting one. So he sat silent and trembling, darkness swirling through his mind as the sun set over the mountains.