Fear had never been so real.

As darkness fell over the Blue Mountains, the oppressive shadow over Kíli's mind grew closer and heavier. Every sudden movement was another monster lurking just out of sight; every sudden sound was like a clanging cymbal, making the terrified dwarf jump and cry out. There was no respite for Kíli—only a growing unsettling feeling and darkness where memories should have been.

Gimli tried to speak to him at first, but his voice was nothing more than a rushing wind in Kíli's ears, causing only further confusion and fear. After a while, he fell silent, leading his pony on gently as Kíli sat pale and shaking upon its back. It had already been dark for over an hour by the time Kíli and Gimli reached their village, and the place was lit by lanterns and yellow windows under the moonlight. Gimli patted Kíli's leg lightly, and Kíli jumped and yelped.

"Kíli—we're home," Gimli said softly. "Do you remember home?"

Kíli shook his head mutely, trembling. There were so many houses… so many people. His breath hitched in his throat.

"Can't," he whimpered.

"What was that, Kíli?" said Gimli.

"C-can't," Kíli repeated, a little louder.

"Can't what?" Gimli said, stopping the pony and looking up at his cousin with a furrowed brow.

"Th-there are too many—too many people," Kíli said. "Can't, I can't, I'm—I'm scared." He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, too afraid to even be ashamed. His teeth clattered in his head; already, he was on the verge of tears. He wished for some comfort, but in his blank memory, such a luxury had been lost. He was alone.

"Kíli—"

"Gimli! Kíli! Is that you?" called a deep, rough voice from the darkness. Kíli froze at the unfamiliar voice, petrified, but Gimli called back:

"Father? Thorin?"

Kíli, with his face hidden in his hands, could not see the strangers approach, but he heard them running closer. His heart pounded and his breath came in panicked gasps; Gimli laid a hand on his knee, and he moaned.

"What on earth were you two thinking?" Thorin shouted. "Running off without a word, disappearing until after dark—We have been searching for you since dusk! I want an explanation, now!"

"Father, Thorin, wait—" Gimli began, but Thorin cut him short.

"I want to hear from Kíli," Thorin said. "You are in trouble with Glóin as it is, but I am sure that this was my nephew's idea. It always is."

"But—"

"Kíli! Look at me!" Thorin barked.

Kíli bowed lower and let out a sob. What was going on? What had he done?

"Kíli!" Thorin said again. A hand grasped Kíli's wrist, and he screamed, yanking his arm away and stumbling off the pony. He fell, landing on his rear, then scrambled to his feet and ran. Footsteps pursued him, and he sprinted, blinded by terror; then arms wrapped around him, locking his own arms to his sides and knocking him to the ground. He screamed again and fought against his attacker, struggling to get free to no avail. Within moments he was pinned.

"No!" he wailed, still blindly struggling. A hand covered his mouth, and he screamed into it.

"For Mahal's sake, Kíli!" said Thorin. "What in Durin's name is wrong with you?"

"He doesn't remember you!" Gimli shouted.

Thorin paused. "What do you mean?" he said.

"We went to the cave," Gimli said. "Where we found Fíli. The thing that got him—Fíli—it was still there. I tried to get Kíli to wait, but he went in without me, and—and I don't know, Thorin. He was screaming so much… I attacked the creature, but I was too late."

Thorin looked down at his nephew, who had fallen limp and hopeless under his grip, silent tears trailing down the sides of his face. Their eyes met briefly, and Kíli hiccupped tearfully. Thorin's deep blue eyes were wide.

"No," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, Thorin—I'm so sorry," said Gimli. "I tried to rescue him, but it seems that the deed has been done."

Thorin bowed his head, but he kept a firm grip on his youngest nephew.

"Has he been violent?" he said thickly.

"Only as you've seen," Gimli said. "I don't think he is as badly affected. He recognized me after a while."

Thorin's eyes snapped back to his nephew's face, glittering with hope. "Kíli, do you know who I am?" he said.

"Please," Kíli whimpered. "Please, don't—please."

"Kíli," Thorin breathed, stricken. He studied Kili's face carefully, searching for any sign of recognition, but Kili merely stared back, breathing quickly and laboriously. When Kili's expression did not change, Thorin bowed his head and remained still and quiet for a long time; when he looked up again, his expression was hard.

"We have to get him home," he said. "Glóin, Gimli—help me get him back on the pony." He stood up, pulling Kíli up by his wrists. Kíli pulled back, a fresh wave of terror coursing through him.

"Where are you taking me?" he cried. "Please, I—I don't have anything you need, I don't know anything—no, please!"

Kíli cried out and fought against the three pairs of hands that tried to pull him back on the pony, twisting this way and that and slipping from their arms expertly. Gimli's pony shied away from the commotion, and after several attempts, the others gave up on their endeavor. Thorin held Kíli in a tight grip, his arms under his nephew's armpits and hands joined behind the dark head. Kíli wept, confused and terrified and breathing hard.

"Glóin—blindfold him," Thorin said.

Kíli started and wailed, but he could not escape Thorin's hard grip. Why were they blindfolding him? What were they going to do to him?

"Why?" said Gimli.

"Works on animals," said Glóin. "Calms them—makes them cooperative. Might work on Kíli, too." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and stepped closer to his cousin; the young dwarf tried to jerk his head away, but Thorin had him tight.

Kíli cried bewildered tears as Glóin tied the handkerchief over his eyes. He was stuck. He was caught. He was at their mercy. With this realization, he gave up completely and slumped, his weight only supported by Thorin's strong arms holding him up. Then he was lifted into the air and set back on the pony, and the small party of dwarves moved on.

Kíli cried the rest of the way home.

"Please—please—"

"Quiet."

Kíli let out a whimper, but otherwise was quiet as Thorin lifted him off the pony and set him on the ground. He stumbled, his balance thrown off by his lack of sight, and Thorin steadied him; he recoiled from his uncle's touch, but Thorin did not let go. Instead, he pushed him forward.

"Walk."

Kíli obeyed, sniffling, as he was led into a building; it smelled familiar inside, but he couldn't quite place it. He searched his mind, but nothing came to light. Disheartened, a sob left him, and he would have collapsed, had Thorin not caught him.

"That's enough of that," Thorin muttered, and with one smooth movement, he had picked up his nephew and was carrying him in his arms. Kíli did not fight. How could he? He was still blindfolded, and this gruff stranger was stronger than he. He felt himself being lowered onto something soft—a couch, it seemed—and then the stranger was speaking.

"Kíli."

Kíli turned his head in the direction of the voice morosely.

"I'm going to take off the blindfold now. Please do not run."

Kíli sobbed in response.

"All right," said Thorin, and then Kíli could see again. The stranger—Thorin… the name was familiar—knelt before him, the hardness he had displayed before completely gone. Behind him stood Gimli and the one Gimli had called Father. Kíli must have a father, too. Where was his father? Maybe—just maybe—

"A-are you my father?" Kíli said to Thorin.

Gimli and Glóin gasped behind Thorin, and the blue-eyed dwarf's mouth dropped open as he blinked rapidly, staring at his nephew in disbelief. Then he turned back to Gimli and Glóin.

"Find Dís," he said. "Bring her home."

"What about Kíli?" said Gimli.

"I've got him," Thorin said. "Find my sister. Quickly."

Gimli and Glóin left, and Thorin turned back to Kíli, eyes shining.

"I'm not your father, Kíli," Thorin said gently. "Don't you know who I am?"

Kíli shook his head, his heart sinking. He was clearly supposed to remember this dwarf, but the memory eluded him. When all he could do was stare blankly at the stranger before him, Thorin reached out to him; but his hands changed to sharp grey claws, and terror gripped Kíli's heart as those claws touched his face.

"No!" Kíli screamed, ripping his face out of Thorin's grip and diving off the couch. He tried to run out the door, but Thorin caught him again, so he threw himself on the floor.

"Please, no, no no no no no…" He continued in this way, crawling to a corner of the room and hiding his face in his knees, his arms folded over his legs.

Then Thorin was kneeling beside him. Kíli curled away from him, continuing his pleas, but Thorin did not heed him, reaching out again.

"Please!" Kíli begged in a hoarse, agonized scream. But still he was not heeded. Two hands came in contact with his face, and he screamed wordlessly, knowing all too well of the terror to come. Hoarse cries erupted from him over and over and he could not stop them, all of his senses overwhelmed by the paralyzing fear that coursed through his veins. Thorin did not let go—he only gripped Kíli's head tighter and pulled him into his chest, shifting one hand to filter into the hair on the back of his nephew's head and the other to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

"It's all right!" he shouted over Kíli's screams. "It's all right! Listen to me, Kíli! It's not happening again! You're safe now! You are safe!"

The longer Thorin held Kíli, the more Kíli realized that he was right—no terrifying images flashed through his mind. The hands that held him were warm and even comforting—not cold and clawed. His screams finally died away, their place taken by distressed, heavy sobs that shook both dwarves. The hand on the back of Kíli's head began to stroke his hair gently.

"That's it," said Thorin. "It's me. You remember me, don't you?"

Kíli shook his head. He knew that he should know Thorin, but he could not place him in his mind. Thorin's hand stopped in his hair.

"You must remember me… Kíli… please."

The front door suddenly slammed open then, and Kíli started. Footsteps approached the living room, and Kíli cowered into Thorin with a moan. He closed his eyes tight and willed away this new terror, wishing he could truly find comfort in this familiar stranger's embrace, but as the steps came closer, a high-pitched whine sounded from his throat.

"Kíli!" said a feminine voice. Kíli froze; he knew that voice. He pulled away from Thorin and looked up, seeking more information to fill in the blanks, and as soon as he saw her face, he knew.

"Mum," he choked out.

"Oh, Kíli," said Dís, rushing forward and kneeling beside her brother and her son. "Gimli said you wouldn't recognize me. Are you all right? You're pale as death!"

"Mum, what's going on?" Kíli said with wide eyes.

"Here, Thorin, let me have him," said Dís, reaching out for her youngest. Thorin, who had suddenly gone stiff, relinquished his hold on Kíli, and the brunet dove into his mother's waiting arms and nestled into her like a child. Instantly, Thorin stood and left the room, startling Kíli again.

"Thorin!" Dís called, but he had already rounded the corner and was out of sight. Dís turned her attention back to Kíli.

"There, love, calm down," Dís said gently. "You're safe now. Relax."

Try as he might, Kíli could not stop the trembling that plagued him, nor could he keep the tears from rolling down his face. The fear he felt seemed etched into his heart, clinging tenaciously to every fiber of his being. He clung to Dís and closed his eyes, soaking up every ounce of comfort his mother could offer—but it wasn't enough. A flash of a terrifying memory went through his mind, and he cried out.

"What's wrong, Kíli?" said Dís.

"I—I don't know," Kíli said. "I don't—I can't remember—"

"Hush, then," said Dís. "Come into the kitchen. Let me make you some tea."

"I-is this home?" Kíli asked timidly.

Dís was silent for a long moment.

"Yes, Kíli," she said finally. "This is home."

"Where is my Da, then? Is he home?" Kíli said. He felt like he should know the answer, but it evaded him once again.

Dís stiffened and pulled Kíli close, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.

"Never mind that, love," she said in a broken voice. "Come with me."

Kíli obediently followed his mother into the kitchen on trembling legs, refusing to let go of her hand. She set him down at the table, and he sat quietly, save for the occasional sniffle, as Dís prepared him a cup of tea.

"Where is Gimli?" Kíli asked after several minutes.

"He went home with his father," said Dís.

"Oh," Kíli said. His father. What about his own father? Try as he might, he could not bring up any memories, and he grunted, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyelids. This was so wrong. There were so many things that he knew he should remember, but all was dark in his mind. As he sniffled again, Dís's hands landed on his shoulders, and he yelped.

"It's all right—it's just me," she said. "Sorry. What's the matter, Kíli?"

"I don't know what's happened to me," Kíli said tearfully. "Everything is just dark… I'm so confused, I'm so—I'm so scared, and I don't even know why!"

Dís crouched down and pulled her son into a tight hug, and Kíli returned the embrace, pressing his chin into her shoulder. The kettle began to whistle, and she pulled back and wiped the tears off Kíli's face with a sad smile.

"Let me get you some tea now," she said, untangling herself from his arms. "It'll make you feel better."

Kíli watched her prepare the tea, his breath hitching as he tried and failed to calm down. What was wrong with him? He buried his face in his hands.

The soft clink of the mug hitting wood made him start. He looked up to see a steaming cup of tea before him, and he reached out for it with a shaking hand.

"It will help you sleep," she said. "Don't worry, it's not one of Óin's concoctions. The tea tastes fine."

Kíli did not know who Óin was, but the tea looked good. He looped his fingers into the handle and took a sip; the tea was good, albeit a bit too hot. Shivers continued to run through Kíli's body as he drank, but Dís was there, rubbing his back in small circles and waiting in silence. When he had finished, she took the mug from him and set it in the sink.

"It's getting late," she said. "Come, let's get you in bed."

Kíli nodded, and Dís assisted him in standing to his feet and led him to his bedroom. She helped him out of his outer clothes wordlessly; then, Kíli sat on the bed, taking slow, deep breaths. A sudden twinge on his left side surprised him, and he grunted and slapped a hand over his ribs.

"What is it?" Dís said, glancing at Kíli's hand warily. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't know," Kíli said. "It—it hurt for a moment. Like a sharp pain."

"Let me see," said Dís, kneeling before him. He lifted up his tunic and looked down at his torso; a scar ran across his left side. He stared at it, confused. What had happened there? He ran two fingers across the raised white flesh and then looked up at his mother. She was staring at the scar with wide eyes.

"Mum?" Kíli said.

"Is that where it hurts?" Dís said, her voice suddenly tight.

"Well, underneath, and not anymore, but yes," Kíli answered in a small voice, alarmed by his mother's reaction. "…Am I going to be all right?"

Dís closed her eyes and pursed her lips with a deep sigh. Then she opened her eyes again and tugged down Kíli's tunic.

"You will be just fine," she said warmly, offering Kíli a comforting smile that almost reached her eyes. "Lie down and rest."

Kíli obediently settled down onto the mattress, watching his mother with growing anxiety. She kissed his forehead and stroked his hair; then she turned off the lantern burning at the bedside and left the room.

In the sudden darkness, everything changed. All the terror that had started to wane with his mother's arrival flooded back at once, manifesting itself in imagined cold, grating laughter and a spinning sensation that had Kíli gripping the sheets tightly. He screamed as cold, clawed hands reached out and tore at his arms, his legs, his hair, his chest, and he lashed out against the monsters that haunted him. I'm alone I'm alone oh help me I'm going to die someone help me please oh please—

Real hands—warm hands—latched onto him then, but in his state, they were just another monster pulling him down into the earth to his death. He beat against them blindly, crying out. A second pair of hands joined the first, stopping his legs and the first pair of hands grabbed his wrists. An agonized scream left him as he tried to turn over and curl up, but he was stuck in place. His head was lifted up, and he crashed into a body that smelled of woodsmoke and soap and berries. Mum. Instantly he stopped struggling and pressed his face into the space between her chin and her collarbone, his hands stuck between their bodies as she wrapped her strong arms tightly around his trembling shoulders.

"Please… please don't go," Kíli said. He was crying again. He felt as if he had been crying his entire life.

"I'll stay here all night if you need me to," she said into the top of his head. Kíli let out a soft, throaty hum and nestled into his mother's arms, pulling his knees up and leaning his full weight into her. He felt the mattress move as another dwarf's weight lifted from it, and he cowered, unsure of who the intruder was, but too comfortable to look. No footsteps followed, and Kíli listened curiously.

"Tomorrow, brother," Dís said. "Try again tomorrow. Not tonight."

Kíli heard a heavy sigh, and then purposeful footsteps left the room. Then there was a click, and Kíli and Dís were alone.

Dís began to hum, a soft, lilting tune that seemed comforting and familiar, but Kíli could not place it. Still, it relaxed him, and he let his racing mind rest as he focused on the simple melody. Soon he was yawning into his mother's neck, and he felt a small chuckle hop in her chest. Then fatigue overtook him; he gave into it quickly and drifted off into a deep but troubled sleep.

BONUS CONTENT: When Thorin abruptly leaves the room, this is what happens. A tiny tidbit for you.

Thorin sat down hard on the edge of his bed and dropped his head into his hands. Kíli's words rang through his head, crashing into his skull and making him wince with each repetition. Please. Don't. No. He cowered before his uncle. He was afraid of him.

If there was one thing in all the world that Thorin never, ever wanted to happen, this was it.

A choked sob left Thorin's lips as he buried his face further into his hands. He knew he had seemed cold and impassive to his family about what had happened to Fíli, but the truth was that he had barely been able to keep his composure since Kíli had brought his older brother home unconscious. The only strength he had in him was found in being weathered by over a century of grief and pain, and the comfort that though Fíli was compromised, at least he was alive. There had to be some way to fix this.

But now Kíli, too. Foolish boy, Thorin thought, grinding his palms into his eyelids. You should have stayed. You should have waited. He held his breath, trying to keep in the sob that was trying so hard to escape him, but he lost against the weight of his grief, and a deep, heavy groan escaped from his core into the air. Not Kíli. Not his cheerful, hardheaded, dark-haired little nephew who tried so hard to be an adult but hadn't quite figured it out yet. Thorin had never before heard such fear in his voice or such terror in his eyes, and it had ripped him apart inside.

He doesn't even know who I am. That alone was enough to break the strong, stoic dwarf who had already been through so much. He knew Dís, and he knew Gimli... but he didn't know me. How was such a thing possible? He could remember his cousin, but not the uncle who had raised him in the place of a father? Jealousy burned through him. Of course he would recognize his mother, but Gimli. What about his uncle?

Thorin could still feel the weight of Kíli's head against his chest. When he had let go of his nephew, the pressure had remained, and now it threatened to crush his heart. He had been so close—so close to being a comfort to Kíli, but in the end, he could not give what Kíli needed, and he turned to another. He could not receive what he needed from Thorin's embrace, and though the old dwarf knew that he was not Kíli's father and he could not take the place of his mother, the rejection hurt all the same. He had been forgotten—cast aside. He put one hand over his heart—where Kíli had been moments before—and pushed his forehead into the palm of his other hand, gritting his teeth.

Thorin had lost both of his nephews, and the weight was too much to bear.

Silent sobs shook the broad shoulders of the old, burdened dwarf and tears rolled down his cheeks as he gave in to the anguish in his heart. He was not a king. He was no longer an uncle. He would never be a father.

He was nothing.