"Please, just tell me where he is."

"Kíli…" said Thorin with a sigh. This had been a battle all day long. "Let it alone. You need to rest and relax. You have been through too much."

Kíli fixed a hard glare on his uncle. Before he could speak, however, Thorin spoke again.

"No more questions, Kíli. Find something with which to occupy your time."

After throwing Thorin an especially belligerent glare, Kíli spun around and stalked off to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and flopped face-first onto his bed, growling.

"You don't understand," he mumbled into his mattress. "You… you just don't understand."

There was still a dark wall inside Kíli's mind—one that he longed to tear down and fill with light. He needed to understand. What had happened to him? Why was it that he could remember Fíli stalking out the door, livid with him, and then his next memory was of Gimli's rough voice calling him a fool while his heart and mind were overwhelmed with an inexpressible terror? What had happened in those few days that his mind refused to let him remember? Whenever he pushed against the walls, they fought back, sending waves of fear through his body. He was tired and confused, but he would not take no for an answer.

Kíli shivered as a chill wind blew through his room from the open window, raising goosebumps on his exposed arms. It was a wet wind that signified a coming storm, and judging by how dark it was outside at such an early hour, it was going to be a strong one. He could hear nearby trees hissing, and the birds were silent. He shuddered as an image of a cold, dark, wet place sprang into his mind, bringing with it a fresh wave of fear that he could not place. Moaning, he shoved his face into his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. Though the fear still chilled him inside, a frustration also burned in his gut. He wasn't like this. This wasn't him. He was Kíli, sister-son of Thorin Oakenshield, heir of Durin the Deathless, trained warrior and skilled bowman. He was not this cowering, frightened creature that jumped at every little thing.

Boom. A crack of thunder broke into Kíli's thoughts and he shrieked, curling instinctively against the sound as his heart pounded ferociously in his chest. Then the rain started in a deafening rush, wind coursing through the bedroom and whipping Kíli's hair about. Another boom reduced Kíli to a quivering mess on his bed, and he gritted his teeth angrily. This needed to stop.

"Kíli?" said a voice at his door, and he started before recognizing it as his mother's. He didn't move, however, opting to stay curled into his pillow with his face hidden from view. He was ashamed—ashamed to be so weak and afraid.

"Oh, Kíli," said Dís, and her footsteps moved past his bed to the other side of the room. He heard the click of his window being shut, and the hiss of rain softened. His mattress shifted, and his mother's hand was in his hair, pulling out the tangles the wind had caused.

"This isn't me, Mum," he said.

"What was that, love?"

Kíli pulled his face out of his pillow. "This isn't me," he repeated. "This... being afraid of everything. Jumping at any sound. I know it isn't me, but I can't stop it."

Dís was silent for a long time, stroking her son's hair as she thought.

"And you still don't remember what happened to you?"

Kíli shook his head miserably. He rolled onto his back and looked up at Dís.

"The thing is that I feel like I don't want to remember," he said. "I mean, I do—I really do—but every time I try, I feel... worse. More afraid. Like my own memory is trying to keep me out."

Dís twisted her lips and studied Kíli's face, brushing his hair away from his eyes. Kíli looked at her expectantly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she would let him in on whatever the secret was, but she said nothing. A hot rush of anger flooded through him, and he turned away from her suddenly.

"Please leave me alone," he said roughly, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"Now, Kíli—"

"If you're not going to help, I'd rather be alone," he snapped.

Dís sighed heavily, and then the mattress shifted; her footsteps moved towards the door. Suddenly an especially loud crack of thunder hit, and Kíli yelped, covering his head with his arms.

"Kíli—"

"Leave me alone!" he shouted.

A soft click told Kíli that his mother had done as he wished. He lifted his head out of his arms and scanned the room, just to make sure. Satisfied, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rested his elbows on his knees, and dropped his face into his hands, taking in a deep breath. A sharp pounding was starting on the left side of his temple, and he rubbed the spot with his knuckle; the pounding remained, and he growled.

Sitting around moping wasn't going to accomplish anything. He felt restless—he needed to do something. He wasn't going to remember anything by lying on his bed and feeling sorry for himself. Thunder rolled again outside, and Kíli closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He could fight this. He was a warrior, not a coward, and he would prove himself to be so. He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, wincing as a particularly loud crack of thunder shook the house. Then he stood and started towards the door.

"Dís, can I speak to you?" he heard on the other side in the low rumble of Thorin's voice. He paused and pressed his hand gently against the wood, listening intently.

"What about?" came Dís's reply.

"Privately," said Thorin. "Not out here. Come down to my room."

Kíli waited until the footsteps had descended down the hall and the click of a door was heard, and then he opened his own door as quietly as he could. He stepped out into the kitchen and looked down the hall; Thorin's door was shut, and the low murmur of voices drifted towards him, too quiet for him to understand.

Go listen in, said a part of his mind, and he looked down the hall apprehensively. The fear was rising in his gut—they were talking about him. He knew they were, and that feeling that said I don't want to know was pushing at him, making his heart pound. He swallowed and clenched his shaking hands into fists and ignored it, tiptoeing down the hall until he was right outside Thorin's bedroom.

"...going to be hard either way," Thorin was saying. "Keeping him in the dark will only make him more distressed. You saw him, Dís. He made himself sick."

"But what will happen when he does find out?" Dís said. "He's going to be beyond comfort, Thorin. You know how close they are."

Silence. Kíli leaned in closer to the door, his heart pounding even harder than before.

Dís spoke again. "Perhaps if we let him see Fíli—"

"Absolutely not," Thorin said sharply. "I will not let him speak with Kíli. It has ended in disaster every time. They cannot see each other."

So Thorin hadn't been lying—Fíli was alive. But why couldn't he see him? What had happened to Fíli? Where was he? He thought hard, pushing again against that darkness, but it reared up against him once again, sending him further into distress. The thunder rolled, and he stifled a yelp, clapping his hands over his ears. However, curiosity soon got the better of him, and he swallowed his fear as best he could and leaned in again to listen to his mother and his uncle.

"We have to wait," Thorin said—in reply to what, Kíli had missed, but he heard a sniffle that must have come from Dís. "Kíli is coming out of it—perhaps Fíli will, too. We can only hope."

Kíli blinked rapidly and covered his mouth with his hand to hide his frantic breathing. Whatever happened to him had happened to Fíli, too—and he still didn't know what it was. But if Fíli felt anything like he did, he needed to see him. They were brothers—they were always there for each other. And maybe—just maybe—if he saw his brother, he would be able to remember what had happened, and they could work through it together.

"Who's with him now?" Dís said.

"Glóin," Thorin replied. "But I am going to take his place now—I haven't seen him since Kíli and Gimli returned."

Kíli stepped back and ran as quickly and as quietly as he could back to his room, lest he be caught and reprimanded for listening in. He made it into his room and shut the door quietly, and a moment later, he heard Thorin step out of his room. He sat on his bed, hiding his face in his hands and trying to calm his pounding heart and his harsh breathing. But what he had just heard swirled through his head and made him dizzy. He needed to see Fíli—the strength of that need shot through him like lightning and left him tense.

I could follow Thorin, he thought suddenly. But Thorin would never let him come. He had told Dís that they could not see each other. He would have to follow him unseen, then. Given the roar of the rain outside, that would be relatively easy; it was too dark and too loud for Thorin to see or hear him trailing behind.

Thorin's footsteps neared Kíli's door, and Kíli gasped. He threw himself under the covers and faced away from the door; perhaps if he pretended to sleep, Thorin would not suspect him. Thorin knocked, and Kíli said nothing. Another knock came, and still Kíli did not respond. Then the door opened, and steps neared the bed.

"Kíli?" Thorin said.

Kíli lay still and tried to breathe as evenly as possible.

"Kíli, I know you're awake."

Kíli scowled. Of course he knew—he always knew. He could never fool Thorin—or Fíli or Dís, for that matter. He rolled over and looked at his uncle plaintively.

"What?" he said.

"How are you feeling?" Thorin said gently.

"Better," Kíli said. "But it's still hard... Uncle, why can't you just tell me what happened?"

Thorin sighed. "Just be patient, Kíli," he said. "Wait a little while longer."

"When can I see Fíli?" Kíli pressed.

"Be patient," Thorin repeated, and Kíli scowled as a bolt of anger went through him. He wanted to blurt out all that he had heard, but then he would be found out, and he would not be able to follow Thorin to wherever he was going. So he rolled back over and said nothing more. From behind him, he heard a heavy sigh, and then his uncle retreated from the room.

"I will be back later, Dís," said Thorin on the other side of the door.

"Bring him this," said Dís. "He'll be hungry."

In the silence that followed, Kíli pulled himself out of bed and looked at the door, thinking. Dís was in the kitchen, and there was no way that she would let him leave the house right after Thorin. She was sharp—she would know what he was doing. He looked quickly towards the window, considering. He hadn't sneaked out that window in years, but he hadn't grown much since then. He could surely still fit. The only problem was that he wouldn't have his cloak or his shoes.

The front door slammed, and Kíli knew he had no more time to lose. He would just have to get wet. He leapt over the bed towards the window and pulled it open, and a cold, wet gust of wind caught him by surprise. He braced himself and pulled his body through the window, making it through relatively easily. Instantly he was soaked through by the torrential downpour; the thunder roared again, and Kíli found himself on his knees with his hands over his ears, shaking. No, he told himself. I can do this. He pushed himself back up onto his feet and ran up to the corner of the house, watching for Thorin through the rain. He spotted him up ahead, hunched over against the rain, and waited. As he rounded a corner, Kíli dashed after him, looking left and right to make sure no one was watching. He held a hand over his brow to keep the rain out of his eyes, searching. Again he spotted him, just about to round another corner, and ran after him. Thorin had not looked back once, and for that Kíli was grateful.

Where was he going? Suddenly it hit Kíli that he couldn't remember how to get through the town, and he swallowed. He had no idea how to get home if he lost Thorin—he was going to have to be really sneaky to get back home without getting caught, or he was going to have to reveal himself to his uncle and bear the consequences. But he pushed that out of his mind for now. Fíli was more important. Thorin turned again, and Kíli followed.

The rain was pouring even harder now, and the droplets were large and pounded against Kíli's bare arms. It was not cold, but the wet and the wind made him shiver, and though Kíli was growing accustomed to the thunder, he could not stop himself from jumping at every loud boom. Wherever Thorin was going, Kíli hoped that he got there soon.

Eventually Thorin stopped in front of a dreary stone building; he opened the door and walked inside, and Kíli stared after him, thinking hard. He recognized this building—he knew he did—but he could not place it in his mind, save for the feeling of dread that accompanied it. He circled the building, looking for windows, and found one on the far side. He peered in and saw a dark room lit by torches with a dirt floor and—cells? Kíli started as he realized that this was a jail. Why had Thorin come here? Surely Fíli couldn't be in prison.

Thorin and Glóin were talking. Kíli could see their lips moving, but he could not hear what they were saying through the glass window, and he was not adept at lip reading. He ducked away from the window and sat down on the wet ground with his back against the wall. What was he to do now?

Thorin had said that Glóin was with Fíli—but why was Fíli at the jail? Fíli would never do anything that would warrant being locked up. Not his Fíli. There must have been something else going on. He stood up again and looked in the window; Glóin was leaving, and Thorin was sitting down in a chair in front of one of the cells. Kíli squinted, trying to see more in the dim light. Suddenly the door to the jail opened, and Kíli gasped and turned the corner to avoid being seen. He could not hear Glóin's footsteps over the rain, but he did not see him, either, and after a minute with no sign of his cousin, he relaxed. He slowly made his way back around the corner, looking from side to side, and peered back in the window—but what he saw made his heart drop into his stomach.

Fíli was in the jail cell.

Without any further regard for decorum or consequence, Kíli ran to the door and burst in. He stood in the entrance, dripping wet and breathing hard; Thorin stared at him in shock, and Fíli's face was twisted into a strange expression that Kíli did not recognize, a piece of bread halfway in his mouth.

"Kíli, what are you doing here?" Thorin demanded, standing up and blocking Kíli's view of his brother.

"Why is he in there?" Kíli shouted hoarsely. He pointed at Fíli with a dripping finger.

"You need to leave," Thorin said, his eyes wide with alarm. "You should not be here."

"Answer the question!" Kíli shrieked.

Thorin opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but said nothing. Kíli had never seen him so caught off-guard. They stood in silence for a long moment; the dirt beneath Kíli's bare feet began to turn to mud.

"Uncle. Tell me the truth," said Kíli roughly.

Suddenly, a mirthless chuckle emerged from behind Thorin's frame, and both Kíli and Thorin looked to Fíli. He was staring at his brother with dark eyes, a cruel grin playing on his lips. He set down the bag of food Thorin had brought and started to speak.

"Still pathetic, I see," he said. His voice was the same: soft and confident, but the words were not his. Fíli would never talk like that. "More pathetic than ever, it seems."

Kíli looked from Fíli to Thorin, his eyes wide and his throat stopped up. He could barely think anymore; his hands were shaking, whether from the chill or from the shock of finding Fíli in jail, he did not know.

"Quiet, Fíli," Thorin shot out, and Fíli let out a light snort, but was silent. Thorin turned his gaze to his younger nephew and took a step forward.

"You shouldn't have followed me," he said gravely. "We didn't want you to—"

"You didn't want me to what?" Kíli exclaimed. "Find out that you've locked Fíli up in jail? What could he have possibly done to deserve such a thing? He is my brother, Thorin! He would never—"

"He attacked you," Thorin interrupted loudly.

Kíli took a step back as if he had been delivered a physical blow.

"He what?" he croaked.

"He attacked you, Kíli," Thorin repeated, his voice rife with grief. "He—he is suffering from the same thing you are. Except he's worse. He has not remembered any of us—and he's been violent."

"N-no he didn't. He wouldn't," Kíli said, shaking his head slowly. A shadow of a memory was stirring, but he pushed it back into the darkness. No. Fíli wouldn't. Not my Fíli.

"You don't remember," said Fíli, his dark eyes set on his little brother.

"Fíli," Kíli said brokenly. He tried to say more, but his voice wouldn't work. Tell me it's not true. Tell me you know who I am.

"How does it feel?" Fíli snarled. His voice was harsh, but it cracked, and his lower lip trembled; for a moment, a flash of desperation shone in his eyes, but they quickly hardened again, and the two brothers simply stared at one another.

This was familiar, somehow. Kíli knew it was, but he didn't want to remember this time. He didn't want to know anymore, but he couldn't stop—the memory came anyway. Fíli screaming in bed, waking up and attacking him, and the coldness with which he had treated his kin. Fíli didn't remember him. Fíli didn't remember anyone. The memory was a cold shock, and Kíli stumbled under the weight of it, his eyes still locked on his brother. More memories assaulted him and he could not push them back.

Kíli opened the bedroom door and was instantly snatched inside, Fíli's arm wrapped around him tightly. Kíli felt the sharp tip of one of Fíli's many knives against his throat, and an icy chill of panic drained him of all ability to move or think. He stood rigid, moving only as his brother dragged him out of the bedroom and six pairs of eyes looked on in horror.

Kíli's entire body was shaking. This was hard enough the first time—but now, coupled with the fey magic still affecting him, the revelation was almost too much to bear. Blood was rushing in his ears, and his vision was getting hazy. Words were coming back to him now. You sniveling little worm—you pathetic creature... I'd wring your skinny little neck... You'll beg for death before I'm through with you! A choked cry left his throat, and suddenly Thorin's hands were on his face. He screamed and tried to pull away, but Thorin held him tight.

"Kíli, stop this," Thorin said. "Calm down."

Kíli turned his gaze to his uncle and stood still, trembling violently. Thorin looked him over worriedly, then pulled him into a hug. The embrace did nothing for Kíli's state of mind; he stood rigid in Thorin's arms, struggling to process what was happening. This was too much, too much at once. The world was crashing down around him and he had nothing to hold it up.

"You need to go home," Thorin said. He looked around him, as if someone would appear that could whisk Kíli away, but they were alone. He sighed and held his nephew at arm's length.

"Look at me, Kíli," he said. "You need to... Mahal, Kíli, why did you follow me? I can't send you home like this..."

Kíli couldn't speak. He didn't want to speak—he didn't want to do anything anymore. Fíli was laughing at him. He could hear him laughing through the rush of blood in his ears.

"Quiet, Fíli!" Thorin shouted, and Kíli jumped. A bolt of anger shot through him—why was Thorin shouting at Fíli? He was a victim, not a criminal.

"Don't talk to my brother like that," he said.

"Kíli—"

"He doesn't deserve it," Kíli said coldly. "It's not his fault."

Thorin studied his youngest nephew's face for a few moments, seemingly torn. But though Kíli felt sick and confused and overwhelmingly upset, he was unmoving in this one thing—Fíli did not deserve to be treated thus. He met his uncle's eyes with burning coals in his own, adamant. Finally Thorin nodded, and he stepped away from Kíli and grabbed the chair near Fíli's cell.

"I'm putting this far from your brother's cell," he said, dragging the seat to the corner by the door. "You sit here until I can get someone to come for you." He looked over Kíli's shuddering frame with a sigh and pulled off his cloak. "And wear this. By Durin, Kíli, I don't know what possesses you to do half the things you do."

Kíli was silent as Thorin draped the cloak over his shoulders and pushed him into the chair. The cloak was warm and dry inside, and he wrapped it tightly around himself and pulled the hood over his head. Water still trickled down his face and his back from his hair, but at least inside the hood, it was warm. Then Thorin walked across the room to Fíli's cell and leaned against the wall, shooting a warning look at the blond dwarf.

Fíli stared at Kíli.

Kíli pulled the hood further over his face until he couldn't see anything. He shook inside the cloak and cursed himself for this rash, stupid idea. Now he knew where Fíli was, but that knowledge had not brought him the peace he had thought that it would. Instead, he felt worse, much worse, and nothing he could do could stop his heart from sinking deeper and deeper in despair.

The door to the jail suddenly flew open, and Kíli jumped and looked up. In the doorway stood Dís, water dripping from her cloak. She looked around the room wildly, missing her youngest in the corner.

"Is he here?" she said frantically. "I went in his room and the window was open and he was gone. Please tell me he's here."

"He is," Thorin replied, gesturing into the corner. Dís whirled around and dove at her son, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

"You foolish boy!" she said, nearly crushing him in her embrace. "Don't you do that to me! Are you all right?"

Kíli pressed his nose into the juncture of Dís's neck and shook his head.

Dís sighed heavily. "I didn't want you to come here," she said quietly. "Now you know why."

A lump formed in Kíli's throat instantly, and a moment later, tears followed. His face crumpled, and he shrank in his mother's arms and began to cry. From behind Dís, he could hear Fíli laughing again, and he moaned despondently. Thorin whispered something harshly, and the laughter stopped; Kíli lifted his head until he could see over Dís's shoulder. Fíli was leaning against the bars of the cell and had resumed eating the food that Dís had sent with Thorin.

"Let's get you out of here," Dís said gently. She pulled away from Kíli and stood up straight, holding out her hands. Kíli took them and rose, peering over her shoulder at his brother. Fíli did not look back; his shoulders were hunched over and his head was bowed.

"B-but Fíli," he said. Fíli's head rose slightly at the sound of his name, but otherwise he remained still.

"He has to stay," said Dís. "To keep him safe. To keep you—us—safe."

"He can't stay here," Kíli choked. "If he's going through what I am—"

"We don't have much of a choice at the moment," Dís said.

"Mum—no—you don't understand—"

"We're going," Dís said firmly, pulling Kíli towards the door.

Kíli ripped himself away from Dís's grip, feeling fresh tears slide down his cheeks. "I can't leave him here!" he said. "Not like this! He—he's got to feel so alone, that's how I felt—it's not his fault!" From the corner of his eye, he saw Fíli go rigid for a moment, but he said nothing, and then he looked back down.

"We know, Kíli, but we don't know what else to do," said Dís. She reached for her youngest again. "Let's go."

Kíli looked towards Fíli again. He wanted to scream, to fight, to beat his fists against the wall and curse out loud. But then a thought occurred to him. Whatever had happened to him had happened to Fíli, which meant that if he could figure out how to fix himself—he needed to do that before he could help his brother. He could solve this, but he needed time and maybe even some help. He would be back for Fíli, and he would get his brother back—completely. He sniffed and allowed Dís to pull him away.

"I'll be back, Fíli," he called. "I'm going to help you. I promise. I won't leave you here alone."

"I'd rather you stayed away," Fíli said quietly.

Kíli blinked and swallowed as Fíli's words cut through him like a knife. He stepped out into the pouring rain with Dís without another word and did not speak the entire way home, his heart aching.

At least in the rain, no one could see him cry.