It took Kíli the better part of the night and the morning to gather the courage to pose his request to Thorin, but finally, he was ready.

He waited for his uncle to return home from the jail in the living room, poring over one of his old books gifted to him by Balin. He flipped the pages absentmindedly; anything he read seemed to leave his head immediately, and he had reread the same section five times before he had just given up and resorted to looking at the pictures. He was bored, and no one would give him anything to do. Rest. Relax. Recover. That's all anyone would tell him, and he was sick of it. He needed to do something.

Finally the front door opened, and Kíli shut his book with a snap and looked up hopefully. When Thorin did not appear in the entryway quickly enough for his liking, he threw the book down on the couch and dashed out of the living room into the kitchen.

"Uncle!" he shouted as he rounded the corner.

Thorin started and looked up quickly; he set his wide eyes on his nephew and relaxed.

"Durin's beard, Kíli!" he said in an exasperated tone.

"Sorry, Uncle," Kíli said, fighting a mischievous grin. "I have a question for you."

Thorin sighed and rolled his eyes. "Give me half a moment," he grumbled. "I'm still wearing my boots, for Mahal's sake."

Kíli leaned against the wall and fidgeted, waiting impatiently for Thorin to acknowledge that he was ready to speak. Finally Thorin ambled over to Kíli and leaned against the table, crossing his arms.

"What is it?" he said.

A jolt of nervousness went through Kíli, but he was determined. He lowered his eyes and took in a gulp of air.

"I want to take a shift in watching over Fíli," he said all in one breath.

"No," said Thorin immediately.

Kíli looked up at Thorin, a surge of anger heating his face. "Why not?" he said. "I can't just sit here—"

"Every time you talk to him, it ends in hurt, Kíli," said Thorin. He sighed. "I am trying to protect you—don't you understand that?"

"I know he's going to say cruel things, Uncle," Kíli countered. "I remember that. But I'm ready for it now. I know it's not him saying those things." He lowered his voice. "I just want to help him. In any way that I can."

"And how are you going to help him?" Thorin said skeptically.

"I want to talk to him," said Kíli. "I'll tell him stories about growing up. Ask him questions. That's what helped me remember."

"You said yourself that it could take weeks, months, years," said Thorin. "I think it's much more likely that he would threaten and insult you. Kíli, you don't need to go through that again."

"It'll take longer if we don't try something!" Kíli shouted. Mahal, why couldn't he understand? "Why aren't you even trying? You're just sitting around, waiting for something to happen and we don't even know if anything will—I feel like I'm the only one looking for answers around here!" He paused, watching for Thorin's reaction, but his uncle merely stared at him. "You promised me that you would fix this, Thorin, but I haven't seen you do anything except arrange shifts to watch him as you keep him in jail! What have you even done?"

Thorin stared plaintively at his young nephew, seeming to be at a loss for words. He uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on the table behind him, his shoulders sagging. For a few long moments, he said nothing, and the silence hung between them, filled with tension.

"I… I don't know what to do," Thorin admitted finally.

"Then let me talk to him," Kíli said passionately. "Let me be with him—just a couple of hours."

Thorin nodded heavily in concession. "Just for a couple of hours," he said. "Do what you can, Kíli."

Now it was Kíli's turn to be at a loss for words. He had hoped that he would win this argument, but he hadn't imagined that he actually would, and especially not so quickly. After stammering for a few moments, he finally squeaked out: "Thank you, Uncle."

Thorin nodded again, bringing one hand up to his brow and rubbing his temples wearily. "Just be on your guard, Kíli," he said. "He's not himself. He's angry and confused, and he's lashing out like a wild animal that's been backed into a corner. You need to keep that in mind. Don't do anything rash." Then he pushed himself away from the table and trudged down the hallway to his room. Kíli watched him go, finally looking away when Thorin's bedroom door shut with a soft click.

The silence was unbearable.

Kíli had wanted to speak to Fíli the moment he relieved Glóin from his shift, but he had found himself unable to speak when he saw the dark look in his brother's eyes. He had never seen Fíli look at him like that before, and it had thrown him off so much that he just said nothing at all. However, the silence did not suit him, and he fidgeted under Fíli's unrelenting glare, feeling more uncomfortable than he ever had in his entire life.

Finally, Fíli spoke.

"Why do you keep coming here?" he said. His voice was soft and gentle, as always, but Kíli could hear the contempt lying beneath the surface. However, he could also sense that Fíli was genuinely curious, and he hoped that that curiosity would lead to true understanding.

"Because I know you're in there somewhere," Kíli said.

Fíli scoffed and looked down. "I don't know who that's supposed to be, but I think it's time you gave up hope," he said.

"Don't say that," Kíli snapped.

Fíli's gaze flicked back up to Kíli. "Do you see anything changing?" he said, his voice suddenly harsh. "Because I don't. You and your people are just going to keep me here forever, aren't you—nothing is going to change, and I'm going to be stuck here with you being pathetic and whimpering about your 'brother'… why don't you people just let me go?"

"But you are my brother," Kíli said. Why couldn't Fíli understand? "Why would I say you are my brother unless you actually are, Fíli? For Mahal's sake, our names rhyme!"

"I look nothing like you or your kin," Fíli said. "I don't know what you're up to, but I'm not falling for it."

"You have our father's hair, but you have our mother's eyes," Kíli said. Fíli merely stared, and he continued, pulling anything he could think of out of his mind. "You were born five years before me. You're the heir to the throne of Erebor, far over the Misty Mountains—after Thorin, of course, who I know is planning to retake it soon. He'll want you at his side."

"I wouldn't go anywhere with you and your ridiculous kin," Fíli growled. "I'm no heir. I'm—" Suddenly he stopped and looked confused, and Kíli seized that moment.

"You see? You can't remember," he said. "I know how that feels, Fíli. It happened to me, just like it happened to you. I know—I know what you must be thinking, but you have to believe me when I say that everything I am telling you is true."

Fíli suddenly turned around and faced away from Kíli.

"Leave me alone," he muttered, barely loud enough for Kíli to hear.

"Fíli, please, you have to try to remember," Kíli pleaded.

"Don't you think I've tried?" Fíli shouted, whirling back around with a malicious scowl upon his face. "I have tried and tried, and I remember nothing! Don't you think that if I knew you, I'd at least remember you—just a little bit? Maybe you'd be familiar, or I'd have some vague inclination that this was right? But there is nothing! And what kind of family locks up their kin for days in a jail cell? I don't know what games you're trying to play with me, but I will not fall prey to your lies! So shut up and leave me alone!"

Kíli snapped his jaw shut and stood suddenly, almost knocking over the chair in his haste to move away from the cell. He faced the opposite wall and crossed his arms, biting his lip and taking a deep breath. Don't let it get to you, he told himself. He's not himself. He doesn't know what he's saying.

But he doesn't remember me at all, said another part of his mind. At least I knew that I should know who people are… he looked up at the ceiling and fought the tears that threatened to spill. He felt hopeless all over again, but he couldn't show weakness in front of Fíli. He would only laugh and call him pathetic again.

Slowly Kíli turned around and trudged back over to the chair. He sat down silently and bowed his head, avoiding his brother's eye, but he could feel Fíli looking at him. He said nothing for a long time, allowing silence to fall between them once again.

Eventually Kíli drew up the courage to speak again, and he looked up to his brother. Fíli was still staring at him; Kíli wondered if he had ever stopped.

"You don't remember anything at all?" he said.

Fíli rolled his eyes and groaned. "Will you just give it up?" he said.

"Nothing?" Kíli prompted. "Absolutely nothing?"

"I think I would have remembered you by now if there was anything to remember," Fíli snapped. "Are you always this irritating?"

Kíli searched his mind for something, some memory—something strong. Something he could prove. Then an idea occurred to him.

"When you were thirty, I tried to teach you how to use a bow," he started. "Do you remember that?"

Fíli lay back on his pallet and covered his eyes with his hands, groaning. "No," he said, his voice resigned.

"I was stupid," Kíli said. "I—I stood in your way and I told you to shoot, and you missed, and you got me with the arrow instead."

Fíli sat up then and looked at Kíli with a curious glint in his eyes, but he remained silent. Kíli's heart swelled, and he continued.

"You wouldn't leave my side," he said. "I mean, you had to, at first, to get Uncle and Óin, but after that—not for a moment. You stayed with me through everything that you could. When the wound got infected… when I was in a coma… when I forgot how to talk, you encouraged me. And when I caught pneumonia, you stayed by my side until Uncle made you leave—but you were so worried." He looked down and took a deep breath. Fíli's expression was unreadable as he stared.

"I felt bad about that," he said. "How worried you were for me. I felt like it was all my fault, but you would only blame yourself. And I gave up." Kíli's hands curled into fists. "I gave up, because I forgot. I forgot how much we need each other, Fíli. But you didn't let me die. You wouldn't."

Fíli interrupted then, his face twisted into the strangest expression, but he kept his eyes downcast.

"I—I think I remember," he said simply.

Kíli's heart leapt, and he stared at Fíli with wide eyes.

"Fíli, it's me," he said excitedly. "You know it's me, don't you?"

"Kíli…" Fíli said, his voice cracking. He looked up at his brother, his dark eyes shining. "Kíli, I don't know—I'm so confused—"

"It's all right, Fíli—it's all right," Kíli said, his heart pounding. An enormous grin began to grow on his face, and he stood and leaned against the bars. "What can you remember?"

"I—I remember… I don't know." He shook his head. "I—the arrow…"

"That's right," Kíli said. "You can remember it now, can't you?"

"Help," Fíli whispered, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. Kíli fumbled for the key ring on his belt and unlocked the cell door. He dove to his knees next to Fíli and rested his hands on his shoulders.

"Hey, look at me," Kíli said. "Look at me. You can do this."

Fíli met his gaze, a strange look in his eyes. He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on his brother.

"Kíli," he said again, and Kíli smiled as tears formed in his eyes. Finally—finally—he was getting his brother back. If he remembered nothing else, at least he remembered his brother, and at the moment, that was enough. They could work on the rest later. He stood and held out his hand.

"Come on," he said. "I'll stay with you. I'll help you, Fíli."

Fíli took his hand, and Kíli pulled him to his feet and immediately into a hug. He clung tightly to his older brother, and Fíli hugged him back—but something was off. Fíli seemed unsure, holding his little brother cautiously, and Kíli frowned.

"It's all right, Fee," he said, pulling away. "We'll work out the—"

Then a fist collided with the side of his head.

Kíli stumbled back with a shout, his vision swimming and lights flashing from somewhere. He shook his head and looked at Fíli, confusion coursing through his mind.

"Fíli, what on earth—"

Fíli punched him again, and the force sent Kíli to the floor, clutching his head with a groan. He felt nauseous, and he gagged. When nothing came up, he looked up at the hazy form of his brother just in time to see his foot coming at him in a kick. He rolled and caught it between his shoulder blades, and he shouted out in pain.

"Gullible," Fíli snarled, kicking him again. "So gullible. Absolutely pathetic."

"F-Fíli…" Kíli moaned hoarsely. "Fíli, stop. Don't do this."

"Don't follow me," Fíli said, and then he ran out the open door of the cell and out of the jail.

Kíli dropped his forehead into the dirt and screamed. He was so frustrated—so filled with abject betrayal. But he forced back the tears that came and pushed himself to his feet. Fíli couldn't get away. He was not going to lose his brother again—especially not like this. He stumbled and slammed into the bars, and a sob escaped him, but he pushed onward, dashing out of the jail and looking around for Fíli.

He spotted him up ahead, running towards the open field to the north of town, and he ran after him. Stupid, stupid, gullible, he scolded himself over and over as he ran, his balance slowly returning to him. Fíli was far ahead, but Kíli was the faster runner, and he slowly gained on him. Then Fíli rounded a copse of trees, and Kíli couldn't see him anymore. He took a deep breath, ignoring the growing pain in his side, and ran hard.

When he rounded the copse, he stopped for a moment and looked around. Fíli was nowhere to be seen. He leaned over and panted, clutching his left side, and thought about where Fíli would possibly go.

If he's anything like I was, he'll have no clue where he is, he thought. What would I do? Then the bubbling of the creek caught up to his ears, and the thought struck him—maybe Fíli would try to follow the creek north, away from town. He swallowed and started off, searching for the telltale sign of his brother's blond hair.

Nothing. Fíli was just gone. He stopped again by the side of the creek to catch his breath. His side was killing him now, like it hadn't in years. Apparently, his near-drowning the week before was still affecting him; he looked at the running waters beside him warily and sidestepped away.

Suddenly he was on the ground and seeing stars, and his head was pounding; he looked up, and the blurry form of his brother stood over him.

"I told you not to follow me," Fíli growled. "You never listen, do you? Stubborn idiot! I can't stand you!"

"Fíli, please," Kíli begged. He couldn't fight back. Not against Fíli. He wouldn't.

"Well, you're not going to follow me anymore," Fíli said, and he kicked Kíli in the side of the head. Kíli's vision went black for a few moments and groaned, fighting for consciousness; he felt Fíli grabbing his wrists, but he was too dizzy to fight. Fíli dragged him towards the water's edge, and then they were in the water. Panic filled Kíli as he realized what was happening, and he began to struggle, but Fíli was stronger—and at the moment, far more physically stable. He flipped Kíli over and grabbed the back of his neck, plunging his face into the water.

Kíli struggled against Fíli's grip with manic frenzy, but he could not escape. Fíli was straddling him now, keeping his body in the water, and Kíli could not lift his head. He gulped in water, and it burned down his windpipe. He gagged and his body jerked, but Fíli did not relent, holding him down with strong hands.

Fíli's gone, Kíli thought then. He's completely gone. He's going to kill me.

So this was the end of his life. He was going to die at the hands of his brother—his brother who couldn't even remember him, who hated him now, who wanted him to die. If this was all that he had left… I don't want to do this anymore. This was all his fault, and he was reaping the consequences. Well, this was what he would get. He deserved this.

Kíli stopped struggling.

Fíli's hands still held him under the water, and he felt a strange sort of peace come over him as he accepted his lot. He thought of when he was younger—when he was a child and Fíli would let him ride on his shoulders, and they would both fall and get in trouble for almost killing each other. When Fíli would read him stories before bed, and let him snuggle into his side like a puppy before he fell asleep. When he he was being bullied and Fíli stood up for him and encouraged him to stand tall, reminding him that he was a prince, not a commoner. When Fíli had saved his life, shooting a charging wolf, even though he never wanted to use a bow again. That was his Fíli. He would remember his brother like that—when he went to the halls of his fathers, he would tell them how good, how noble Fíli was, how they would be so excited to meet him one day. He would not remember this Fíli that tried to kill him now.

He gulped in more water and felt the oily tendrils of darkness filter into his mind—he had experienced this before, years ago, and he had forced it away for Fíli. But if this was what Fíli wanted now, then he wouldn't fight it this time.

Then the darkness overtook him, and he remembered no more.