It is a fine summer morning in the middle of July; the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain are hard at work underground, and the men of Dale have just opened their shops and businesses for the day. The streets are alive with activity as tradesmen begin to arrive from Laketown and Erebor. Even a few Elves of Mirkwood walk into the city, hoping for a good trade, or perhaps to buy a jewel from the Dwarf-maiden's shop just down the road.
The day, however, has not yet begun for a certain young Dwarf, whose name just happens to be Frerin. If you are not familiar with said dwarf, you are soon to be introduced, although I suppose you should like some introduction now. He is a tall fellow, as Dwarves go, and also a young one - only nineteen years of age, which is in fact very young in the eyes of his race. His hair is a sandy colour, and his beard not yet grown to any great length.
A gentle breeze wafts in through the open window of his bedroom. He stirs slightly, and his eyes flutter open. Shafts of golden light cast sharp patterns on the smooth marble floor beside his bed, and for a moment he lies still and gazes at it, not yet quite fully awake. The sounds of the city float by the window which is cut deep into the mountain, occasionally seeping in and tickling the ears of the listener.
Finally he rouses himself enough to swing his legs out of bed and then sit there yawning and rubbing his eyes. He wonders for a moment why his father has not yet woken him. Prince Thráin son of King Thrór is not a very patient father, and Frerin, to his displeasure and annoyance, usually has some difficulty in waking up on time. Today is no exception.
Suddenly, the door to his room swings open, slams into the wall behind it, and forcefully ricochets back shut with a bang. Frerin starts and jumps to his feet, half expecting it to be his father. Fortunately, for him at least, it is not. Instead, to Frerin's great surprise, it is his elder brother, the young prince Thorin, who stands in the doorway. Angry silver eyes turn on the young Dwarf, and the scowl that accompanies them would melt iron. Thorin looks awful; his hair is disheveled and a bruise is beginning to form across his right cheek. It looks as though he has been in a fight (and lost at that).
"Are you alright?" asks Frerin, concern in his tone, "What happened?"
"Do I look alright?" The dwarf growls back at his brother, not bothering to answer the second question as he storms across the room and sits down in the chair opposite Frerin's unmade bed.
"No." The younger dwarf responds simply, not knowing how else to answer the question. He steps back a pace, forgetting for the moment that his bed is directly behind him, and is promptly seated. If the prince weren't glowering so much, Frerin would probably be smiling; Thorin's normally tame hair sticks out at odd angles and his clothes are an absolute disaster. Blood from a cut on his temple trickles down the side of his face.
"What happened?" asks Frerin again. He leans forward, trying to look into his brother's eyes. The dwarf hesitantly drops his gaze and stares at the black marble floor. Frerin follows his gaze curiously, wondering if the prince is burning holes in the bedside rug. Gently he touches his brother's shoulder, "Thorin?"
"It all started this morning." The prince sighs. "Tradesmen from Dale came this morning... early." He ground out the word darkly. "Very early. Of course, when father isn't around, it's my duty to deal with them."
"That doesn't sound so bad; you cover for him all the time, don't you?"
Thorin glares up at his younger brother, "That's not the problem."
Frerin stares mutely back into Thorin's fiery eyes. Seconds tick by, and neither of them says anything. A thrush lights on the windowsill, chirping a happy good-morning to Dwarves inside. Thorin averts his stare and glances at the little bird. It hops once, then twice, then it cheeps and flutters away.
"So….." Frerin prompts, "What is the problem?"
Thorin turns his gaze back to the floor; an apologetic look crossing his countenance for a brief moment, before he quickly returns to scowling. He breathes in deeply and appears to be thinking very hard about something. He shakes his head slowly before finally continuing:
"I tripped on a crate in the storage room and slammed into one of the beer barrels because the room was nearly pitch black when the men left before me with the torches. It wouldn't have been much of a problem if Rulrya hadn't started laughing." Thorin blushes slightly. "We got into an argument and men left without me. Not only did I lose the fight with Rulrya," he fingers the bleeding cut in temple, "I failed my duty to see the men out, and somehow they'd gotten themselves lost in the halls. It took Mora and I forever to find them, and Father was infuriated. I'm not sure how he found out, but word travels like wildfire through these halls. Of course I had to suffer through his lecture on 'when there are guests I fully expect you to be in charge and you are not to let them roam the Mountain unattended'. As if I had purposefully let them leave! I am surprised that you didn't hear it through the very walls. I believe every dwarf in Erebor knows what happened.' He presses his face into his hands and rests his elbows on his knees, murmuring quietly to himself.
Frerin leans forward again and tries to pry Thorin's hands away, "What did you say?"
With a weary sigh Thorin lifts his head slightly, "I said 'I am not leaving this room; I am staying in here with you. You seem to be having a very nice morning. " He smiles at his brother, and Frerin blushes. "It's alright, Father is very busy today. Sleep well did we?"
Frerin rolls his eyes, but cannot hide the boyish grin that plays at his lips. Before he can speak, however, a loud crash resounds from outside the door and their father's angry voice bellows up the staircase, "THORIN!"
The prince instinctively vaults from his seat and ducks behind Frerin's bed pressing his back to the wall. "Quick bolt the door!"
Jumping from his seat on the bed, Frerin barely gets the door locked before a heavy fist pounds on the wooden entrance to his room. "Frerin!" The deep irritated voice of Thráin calls through to him.
"Y-Yes sir?" The young dwarf responds hesitantly.
"Open the door."
Frerin glances back at Thorin who has crept around the corner and is urgently shaking his head no. Frerin implores his brother silently, raising his hands palm up and shrugging his shoulders. But the prince only continues to respond to the negative.
"Uhm… Father I am afraid I cannot do that... uh... I… I haven't dressed yet."
"You what?"
"I…"
"Never mind!" The older dwarf cuts off his response angrily, "Have you seen your brother this morning?"
"No."
"I see."
It is silent for a few moments and Frerin turns back to glance at his brother who is walking cautiously toward the door. Thorin leans against the wooden entryway and presses his ear to it, listening hard for any proof that his father is indeed gone.
Just when they think they are safe, Thráin's voice sounds in the chamber low and dark, "Fine. Thorin, I know you are in there. You left the hallway door open and some of the young ones found their way in. That mantle that was a gift from the King of Dale is in pieces, among other things. How many times I have warned you..."
Thorin jumps back from the door, grabbing Frerin by the sleeve as he retreats. He drags his younger brother with him to the large closet in the back of the room.
"Thorin what are you doing?" Frerin tries to wriggle out of the prince's grip.
The prince bends over the trap-door in the floor of the storage chamber, not for a moment loosening his grip on his brother's arm.
"Thorin?!"
The dwarf turns and pierces his brother with a desperate gaze, "I am leaving the Mountain and you are coming with me! We need to get as far away from here as possible. Father loved that mantle, and who knows what else those children broke!" Thorin leaps lightly into the dark tunnel, turning back as Frerin shakes his head.
Thorin sighs in exasperation, "There is no telling what else will happen if we stay here, now come on Frerin!"
The lock to the door behind them is thrown; quickly making up his mind, the dwarf jumps into the shaft after his brother who has already climbed to the bottom of the ladder and is impatiently motioning Frerin down. Without another thought he latches the trap-door from the inside and drops to the ground hard as their father storms into the chamber.
The young dwarf chases his brother into the underground tunnel and does not look back.
This day will certainly be interesting indeed…