Thorin had wanted to see Fili back to his rooms, but Fili refused his offer. Thorin was sure Frerin's jibes were still fresh in his nephew's mind. Thorin drew out his pipe, settling down in front of the roaring fireplace, the servants having seen to it as though he had never left. Thorin needed a plan, worrying about his nephew's safety, more now than ever. At least Frerin was here to look after Kili. Frerin. Was Frerin falling to the same madness that had taken hold of Thrain? Or have I gone mad? Fili and I against the world? Frustrated, he dumped his pipe out and went to bed.
Thrain retired to his chambers tired and exhausted as always. He tried pushing away the constant fog and stupor that haunted his mind. Now why had he yelled at Thorin? His grandsons had been there, how he longed for them. But this time he had fought back. Hadn't he taken Fili…no Kili…or was it Tili? Thrain shook his head, yearning for clarity. Kili, it had been Kili! Yes, he had reached out to his grandson and…Mahal! He had shown him the ring and Arkenstone. No! Thrain grasped his head, he had been sure he was fighting back, making amends to his family. What had he done? The Maker save us all! Thrain prayed.
Kili woke early, careful not to disturb his brother. When he had come in the night before, he had found Fili fast asleep. His grandfather had taken him and Frerin and had shown them the king's ring and the Arkenstone—the two most powerful relics of Erebor. Upon entering the deserted Throne Room with just the king and Frerin, Kili had wished for his brother. But then Thrain handed him both the ring and stone and Kili had gained a clarity he had never experienced before. He had seen how allowing any weakness could lead to the fall of Erebor.
Kili dressed quickly, donning robes of silks and furs. He was to accompany Frerin on his royal duties in court. Glancing back once at his brother, Kili quietly left the room.
Frerin struggled into his own robes. Although bulkier, armor in some ways was simpler. Nothing tied or clasped unless it had an actual function. Finding two remaining straps that didn't go together, Frerin sighed and he shoved his feet into his boots. He couldn't believe the Axe Wielders were moving out without him. Fortunately, they had been performing a few covert operations along the Mirkwood border when Thorin had dragged their nephews on his little escapade. One of Frerin's spies had reported a company of three or four dwarves travelling south towards Laketown. Frerin had ordered they keep on eye on the company. Good thing, too, Frerin thought braiding his beard. All the terror of the battles he had fought could not compare to the fear that had clenched his heart when his spy reported that not only had the small company of dwarves been imprisoned by the oily Master of Laketown, but the dwarves captured were none other than his brother and nephews. Frerin had wanted to throttle Thorin. Maybe as part of Thorin's "relearning" he should spend sometime outside the safety of Erebor.
Examining himself in the mirror, Frerin smiled. He made a good general, but he was one handsome prince!
Frerin marched towards the states room, first business of the day, unfortunately was meeting with a few of Erebor's influential aristocrats. Sigh! At least Kili would be there. Frerin quickened his pace, not wanting his poor nephew to arrive before he did. The aristocrats would roast Kili for sure.
Fili, after finding himself alone when he woke, went through his mundane routine—made quieter by Kili's absence. He had just settled down on the sofa with Balin's book when a knock came to the door. "Come in," Fili called, curiously.
Balin entered, toting a load of books. "Ah Fili," he greeted, "How did the campout go? Did you have everything you needed? Good. Good." Balin dumped his books on the desk. "I think it time to start studying current events. What do you know of the Goblin Wars?" Balin asked.
Confused Fili answered, "It occurred in the First Age between the Elves of Gondolin…"
"Not that Goblin War," Balin clarified, "The Goblin King War, I should say. Though most dwarrow just assume….well, never mind. What do you know?"
Fili shook his head, "Nothing."
Balin huffed, he couldn't help but wonder if Dis had tried sheltering her son from the truth; he hoped it was just an oversight. "What do you know of the Seven Fathers?"
"Aule created the Seven Fathers of the dwarves and taught them Khuzdul. He was impatient for the rise of elves and men. When Iluvatar confronted Aule, Aule offered his creations to him. The eldest Dwarven Father was, of course, Durin, our ancestor, Father of the Longbeards," Fili recited.
"Good, good. What do you know of the other Fathers?" Balin pressed.
Fili thought for a moment, "They each founded one of the other Seven Kingdoms."
"And what do you know of the Ironfists?" Balin asked. Fili shook his head.
"The youngest of the Fathers was fair of hair and skin. He founded the line of the Ironfists, also known as the Strawheads because of their blonde hair. The Ironfists lived in peace for many years with the Blacklocks—the line founded by the second youngest Father. However, the Blacklocks are a very wise and charismatic people. They made friends easily and traded well with the other two dwarven kingdoms of the Orocarni range. Envious of the longtime allies, the Ironfists began stirring up orcs and goblins to raid the Blacklocks' caravans and villages. When the actions of the Ironfists came to light, the other three kingdoms threw them out of their mountains. The Ironfists petitioned the line of Durin for help. We granted them leave to settle in the Misty Mountains—Khazad-dum having already been abandoned." Balin paused, studying Fili as Fili listened intently.
Balin continued, "About three hundred years ago the Ironfists, ever jealous of the other kingdoms, allied themselves with the Goblin King of the Misty Mountains. They declared war on the other dwarrows. The war was long and bloody with unrivaled atrocities committed by the Ironfists on our kind. The Line of Durin and its allies eventually triumphed, driving the goblins back into their mountains. But the surrender of the Ironfists was not enough for the other dwarves. They sought to wipe them from existence. However, the Broadbeams and Firebeards of the Blue Mountains took pity on the surviving Ironfists and took them in.
'For more than a century, no blonde dwarves were seen beyond the Blue Mountains. But about a hundred years ago, when drought and pillaging orcs ravaged the Ered Luin, Erebor and the Iron Hills took in the refugees. Some of the dwarves were blonde or had blonde children—reminders of the Goblin King War atrocities. The Iron Hills and Orocarni dwarves invoked slavery for the descendents of the Ironfists. Erebor's populace was far more tolerant, but its aristocracy was not. We allowed prejudice to dictate policy, until we too have enacted slavery," Balin finished sadly.
"That's why I was never declared an heir," Fili said. Balin nodded at him sadly. "Um…" Fili hesitated. "Hypothetically, what if Thorin declared me his heir?" Balin tilted his head studying his pupil. "I mean, there's no way I would be accepted as king is there?"
"Come with me," Balin said, rising. If Balin knew his cousin, Thorin had indeed declared Fili as his heir. Maybe just maybe, there was a way to reverse this great evil that had come upon them.
Thorin sat bored next to the scribe, as the poor scribe explained what he did. The scribe was a young dwarrow named Ori, probably not much older than his nephews. The King's assignment for Thorin that day was "relearning" the duties of scribes and other officers of the court. When Thrain, trailed by Thorin, had approached Ori and told him he was to teach the Crown Prince the duties of scribes, the poor scribe had squeaked.
"…I mean I know you probably know what I know…I mean I know you know more than I know, but…" the small scribe prattled on as he tried to balance informing the Crown Prince of a scribe's duties, all the while apologizing about doing it. Ori's trembling hands dropped the quill he was holding. As Ori bent over to retrieve the quill, his papers slipped. Thorin caught sight of a drawing. "S-sorry, about that," Ori grimaced.
"May I see that?" Thorin whispered, pointing to the picture.
"Oh…um…scribes don't draw…I mean I do…but," Ori stuttered. "I mean, I guess so." Ori handed the drawing to Thorin.
The picture was a drawing of Kili and Frerin, probably from sometime that morning. It appeared they were attending a reception of some kind. Drawn in gray, the two dwarves looked incredibly alike. The most notable difference was Frerin's braided beard. "You draw very well," Thorin replied quietly, handing the picture back.
"Thanks," Ori replied shyly.
Thorin looked up at approaching footsteps. Dwalin was storming towards them. Stopped just short of the stairs, Dwalin crossed his arms. "I knew I shouldn't 'ave left ya," he growled.
Thorin stood, Dwalin had always been an imposing figure, but sitting while he stood was down right daunting. Thorin stood, glancing around. "Not here," he hissed.
Dwalin studied his cousin. "Fine. I'll see ya for supper." Dwalin stormed off shaking his head. As he made his way out of the throne room and back down the stairs towards the public domain, he caught a glimpse of his brother walking with Fili. He quickened his steps, quickly catching up. "Now where are ya headed?" he asked Balin, tossing a smile to Fili.
"I don't see how that's any concern of yours, brother," Balin teased. "However, we are headed down to Miners Piazza."
"Really," Dwalin replied, "Mind if I come along?"
Fili smiled, but looked to his teacher. "Very well," Balin answered gruffly, "Just keep out of trouble and don't bash in any heads."
Dwalin leaned over Balin whispering so Fili couldn't hear, "Ya do have his pass don't ya?"
Balin rolled his eyes, "Of course. Not that we'll need it, especially with you along." Balin led the way, Fili falling into step next to him.
Dwalin walked on Fili's other side, clapping Fili's shoulder he asked, "When should we set up your weapons training?"
Fili looked away, "I lost my swords when we….when we were in Laketown."
"It's time you crafted your own swords, anyway," Dwalin replied. "Yer uncle invited me to supper, we'll discuss it then."
As the trio wound their way deeper into Erebor towards the mines, Fili was surprised. The dwarrow shops and homes were simpler, as were the dwarves' apparel. But what struck him the most were the smiles and greetings he received; no one glared or stared. Fili relaxed as he gazed around. Shopkeepers greeted customers, offering advice, as opposed to their counterparts in the Main Square who yelled in competition of each other, pushing their wares onto any who passed. Fili stopped in front of an inn or tavern of some kind. The smells wafting from it were unbelievably delectable. "I do believe its time for lunch," Balin hinted, leading the way into the inn. Dwalin and Fili followed.
The common room was cozy with a roaring fire in the fireplace. Dwarves sat at wooden tables laughing and eating. The dwarf behind the bar was the largest dwarf Fili had ever seen. He may have been as big around as he was tall with fiery red hair (even redder than Frerin's). The redheaded dwarf was talking to a dwarf with a floppy hat. The one with the hat must have said something hilarious, because the fat dwarf threw his head back and laughed. The dwarf with the hat smiled and turned on his stool. His eyes scanned the room, but stopped when they landed on Fili. The dwarf stopped smiling and stared at the blond dwarf. Fili dropped his eyes, as he followed Balin and Dwalin to an open table. Fili sat at the table, trying his best to ignore the gaping dwarf with the floppy hat. A waiter came and took their orders, as soon as the waiter moved off, the floppy-hatted dwarf made his way over, still staring at Fili. Smiling, he took off his hat. "I don't mean to be impertinent," the dwarf apologized, "but you are the spitting image of my cousin Fimur."