A/N: So, I have a decent amount of extra material I wrote while writing Illusions to help myself out with other perspectives. I figured some of you might want to read it, too. This one you might find familiar; it was formerly chapter 15 of Illusions, but I took it out because I didn't like it there. Now it's here if you'd like to read it again! This is set just after chapter 14, in which Kíli is rescued from being drowned by Fíli and decides he doesn't really care about anything anymore if he can't have his brother.

There will be a few more bits after this one as well. Enjoy!

Thorin

Thorin was lost.

Loss was not new to Thorin – he had lost many that he held dear. His father, Thrain. His grandfather, Thror. His brother, Frerin. Countless friends and kin in the sack of Erebor, wandering in the wilderness, and everything that unfolded thereafter. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could compare to the loss of the lights of his life – his sun and his moon – his Fíli and his Kíli.

Betrayal burned hot, burning, scalding through Thorin's veins. He knew that Fíli didn't know who he was, that he was afraid and angry, but he could not stop the flood of betrayal that throbbed in his head and made his hands shake when he dwelt upon it for too long. The treason, the treachery that Fíli had committed – Thorin could not even wrap his mind around it. The one person who had vowed to protect Kíli with his life had been the one to nearly bring about his demise. Never, in all the ages of Middle-Earth, would Thorin have thought such a thing possible. Fíli was stalwart and steadfast, always loyal and always dependable. He was a rock, never swaying from the path that Thorin laid out for him. But no longer. His sun – his golden-haired boy with eyes the color of the sky – was gone, and a dark-eyed monster had taken his place.

And Kíli knew it. His young nephew, so full of vibrant joy in the darkest of times, had given up. He had said next to nothing, but Thorin could see it in his eyes. The light had died. Kíli knew what Thorin had been trying to ignore – Fíli was gone, and there was little hope of bringing him back. Whatever had happened out there in that cave seemed to be permanent, and Kíli knew it. He had held on to hope for so long, and now his faith had been completely and utterly destroyed, leaving nothing but a broken shell where a bright light once had been. Fíli had taken any and all hope with him into the creek, and nothing had come back out.

Thorin hated what he saw in his nephews' eyes. He hated the anger and hatred that burned in Fíli's unnaturally dark gaze. He hated the dead, lost look that shadowed Kíli's face. Fíli and Kíli were still with him in body, but in spirit he had lost them both – and that was what hurt the most. He could see them, hear them, touch them, smell them, but still they were not there. They were lost, and without them, Thorin had been deprived of the light of his life. He felt more lost himself than he ever had, even in the years following the sack of Erebor or the Battle of Azanulbizar. The sun and the moon were gone, and the stars were veiled from his sight; there was nothing left for Thorin in the dark and weary land.

For the first time his long life, Thorin did not know what to do.

Dís

Never had Dís thought that it would come to this.

Fíli was her golden boy, whose long blond waves reminded her every day of the husband she had lost. In the weeks and months following his death, she had often sneaked into Fíli and Kíli's bedroom in the night hours as they slept and stroked that beautiful hair, weeping. Fíli would never wake, heavy sleeper as he was, but sometimes her quiet sniffles would wake Kíli. He would lift his unruly mop of hair and look up at his mother with impossibly wide brown eyes that seemed identical to her husband's, and Dís would weep all the more; then the toddler would untangle himself from his brother's arms and snuggle up in Dís's lap, wrapping his tiny arms as far as he could around her torso. There he would fall asleep again, his head resting on her bosom, and she would smile through her tears and kiss his dark little head.

Those nights were more precious to her than gold. Through all the hurt and loss she had endured, she had her two boys, her promises of joy in dark times, and she had thought that nothing could have stolen that from her.

But she had been wrong.

When Kíli had brought Fíli back unconscious, fear had ravaged Dís's heart. Her entire run home after her encounter with Gimli had been a terrible storm of what-ifs that shook her to the core. She would not lose her golden boy, her eldest, so strong and proud, yet gentle and humble. Not then. Not ever. And then to learn of his condition when she came home – it had almost been too much. Fíli's screams had pierced her heart and left it open and bleeding. She had cried for a long time in Thorin's strong arms as he held her close and stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head and whispering promises. We will fix this. We will solve this. Do not despair, Sister.

She had held on to that promise, but things had only gotten worse. Fíli had not recovered. He was frightened and alone, and he was lashing out – but there was something darker, more sinister beneath that, and it frightened her. She had seen the fear in Thorin's eyes, and she knew that he understood the same. She hated seeing her firstborn in a jail cell, his shining braids dirty and disheveled, and a snarl upon his fair face. He was hiding his fear, she knew; Fíli couldn't hide the tear tracks on his face and the way he held his pillow while he slept. She longed to gather him in her arms and hold him tight, to tell him it's all right; we will solve this, but he would scorn her embrace. He had pushed everyone away.

She had been so proud of Kíli. He was stubborn, to be sure – foolishly so – but his unwavering love and support for his brother was admirable. Even in the midst of his foolishness, running off to confront whatever deplorable creature had harmed Fíli, she had been proud. He was rash and reckless, but it came out of a love and loyalty that reminded her sharply of Frerin. Thorin, of course, had always been analytical and introspective, but Frerin had been much like Kíli was now. Fiercely loyal and proud, overflowing with love and a foolish optimism.

Perhaps that was what killed him in the end. Dís knew that she should not encourage such behavior, but she missed Frerin, and she would not relinquish what brought him to mind. Kíli was Kíli, and she would have nothing less. That was why the dying light in her youngest's eyes pierced her so deeply.

When Óin had finally let her in to speak to her baby boy, she had not expected the dull, hopeless look that clouded Kíli's gaze. Without his brother, Kíli was lost and alone and without purpose. It terrified her and it rent her heart. No longer did her cheerful, beautiful, reckless boy peer out from behind those eyes. All that remained was a shell whose soul had been ripped out and left in the water. Though he had not said it, Dís could see it in his eyes: I would rather be dead.

So both Fíli and Kíli were gone. She had her boys in body, but not in spirit, and she longed for them. For each other's sake, but also for her brother's sake. They were the lights of his life, and without them, Dís feared for his mind. They had both lost so much – perhaps she even more, with her husband dead – but it weighed heavier on Thorin's shoulders. He felt a greater part of the weight of responsibility for all that had happened, and he held grief close to the heart and did not let go.

But most of all, perhaps selfishly, Dís needed her sons back for herself. No mother was meant to lose her children, in body or in spirit. She needed her boys for so many reasons. She needed the joy they brought to her life; she needed the love and affection they gave; she needed the living memories of those she had lost. She needed Fíli and Kíli simply because they were Fíli and Kíli, and they were irreplaceable.

She needed a solution, but she had none. All she knew to do was to be there for the family she had left, broken or not. She would bring food and kindness to Fíli, regardless of how he treated her. She would love and care for Kíli, though he no longer cared for himself. She would be a support for Thorin, though she was crumbling inside. She was a Dwarf, after all, and a woman besides. She would carry the weight with love and longsuffering – to whatever end.

Fíli

Darkness pressed in on every side, and Fíli was terrified.

There were no memories in Fíli's mind. Nothing that stretched beyond the past few days, anyhow. All he could remember was waking up, being restrained and confined, and then when he tried to escape, he was drugged and he woke up in jail. There he had been ever since, and things had only gotten worse since then. Someone - probably their leader, Thorin - had clearly arranged shifts so that someone was at the jail, staring at him and making sure that he didn't try to escape. It was infuriating. He hated their stares. They were not his company. They were his guards.

He was alone.

Anything beyond waking up screaming three days before was locked behind a thick, dark wall in Fíli's mind. He had no idea who he was or where he was from. He didn't know if he had any family or where they might be. Why was he here? How had he lost his memories? Where was he before? He had a suspicion that his jailers had something to do with it, and he didn't trust them in the slightest. Whatever they had done to him had worked, and that was what terrified him the most.

He had a vague memory of some horror happening in Kíli's presence - he could remember screaming and cowering in the corner of the jail cell, but not much more. If it were possible to trust him any less than he did the others, he would. Thorin may have been the leader, but it was clearly Kíli who had started it all. The young dwarf had some kind of power that Fíli could not comprehend, and though he refused to show it, he was afraid of him. At the same time, however, he felt such a strong animosity towards the brunet that the mere sight of him was enough to make Fíli want to snuff the light out of his wide brown eyes. He tried to keep him away with insults and threats of violence - which seemed to work for a little while, at least - but Kíli was determined. Whatever he had started, he wanted to finish it.

That was the reason he had tried to kill the stupid young dwarf. He had seemed so cunning at first, but Fíli had quickly realized that Kíli thought his tricks had worked, and Fíli would 'remember' him as his brother. He doubted Kíli was even the dwarf's real name - just another trick to try to fool him. But he wasn't fooled. The idea had come to him suddenly. If he pretended the trick had worked, Kíli would probably let him out; it hadn't taken him long to figure out that he was a rash and reckless dwarf, and Kíli had played perfectly into his trap. Of course, he knew that Kíli would try to follow him, which was why he beat him before running away - but clearly he hadn't beaten him enough, and Fíli had had to resort to more drastic measures. He hadn't expected anyone to find them, though, and that one factor had foiled his entire plan. Kíli was still alive and he was back in jail under an even more severe watch than before.

So now he was trapped. These people who claimed to be his kin kept him locked up and under watch. They could try to lie to him and 'bring him around', but he refused to fall for their lies. Family didn't do this to family. They were cunning and crafty, these people, and he meant to keep them out of his head as much as he could. They pretended to be worried and sad, but he knew they weren't. They hated him, and they wanted him to suffer.

If Fíli could have his own way, he would be far from these people. He didn't know where he would go or what he would do, but he wanted as much distance between him and them - especially Kíli - as possible. He just wished he could remember where he had come from. Surely someone missed him. Somebody out there somewhere was wondering where he was and when he would return. He longed to find somewhere safe, with people he loved and trusted, but he had no idea where to start or if he would ever find them at all. For all he knew, he was far from home, but in the inky darkness of his mind, he could not recall where any other dwarves would be. He was stuck here, with darkness and angry glares and indescribable fear for company.

Fíli felt so alone.