Chapter 1: Frerin's Fears
Zing! The slap echoed through the air and it did not miss its mark.
"I expect more of you," bellowed Thrain.
They were only children, Frerin a wee scrawny lad, and Thorin bigger and brawnier. He was about fifteen years of age. Thorin stood and looked straight at his father, unflinching in the face of powerful, resournding slaps to the face, whilst Frerin stared in horror and burst into tears.
He was frightened, even though Thrain never aimed his anger at him, but Thorin. More of expected of his brother, and Thorin could live up to it. Frerin always felt like Thrain talked past him and ignored him and his flaws, berating Thorin harshly instead for every slight misdemeanor.
Rrrriiip went the slight braid on Thorin's hair as Thrain pulled it out by the roots, tugging on the mithril bead that held it in place.
"You have shamed our line," growled Thrain, "And do not deserve to bear its sigil."
Thorin nodded.
"Yes, adad."
It was always like that, even since they were mere tots. It didn't take much to have Frerin cowering in the corner bawling silent tears, while Thorin faced their father's wrath, which was always and only directed at him.
"One day you will be king," Thorin heard from his father countless, "And that why I expect you to..."
It wasn't that Thrain was cruel or unkind. He was by nature fair and kindly, even gentle, though under enormous amounts of pressure what with having to deal with his father, manage the kingdom in his stead, and the strange tormenting dreams that plagued him at night. In them he always saw his son's fate, though he understood none of it. He saw glimpses of battles with orcs, even Thorin's death. Thrain made no sense of any of it, but he burdened with the responsibility of raising a king who would lead the people through hard times. Thrain worried, worried, and worried. Bad things, he felt, were bound to happen, what with Thror's obsession with gold.
Consequently, Frerin was ignored. He was part of the furniture and hardly deserved a second glance. That was a blessing in disguise, because Frerin could do whatever he liked, and Thorin had to attend long council meetings, stand in court, entertain visiting dignitaries, and so many other dull things. Soon, playing by himself and indulging in amusements lost its charm for Frerin.
Frerin was the spare.
For a long time, he hadn't even been "mother's boy" because amad had a baby, a darling, precious, rare gem with huge eyes and a really persnickety temperant.
"Thorin was a royal baby," their mother would sigh and remember as she awoke to feed the wailing little lassie, "Regal. Frerin was so amicable, so tiny and contented. Slept all the time... so easy to please."
Dis was a shrieking nightmare. Beautiful, more precious than mithril... but still a nightmare.
Frerin hated the sound of the baby screaming, it undid his nerves. Nights when Thorin snored on the bed beside him, Frerin tossed and turned and wished Mahal had granted him another gift, perhaps a little brother in which to share adventures, or even a friend.
"Please, maker," he whispered into his pillow, "Please let me be happy".
It was after Thrain had gone that Thorin frowned and looked at concern at Frerin, who was hiding under the table in their room, shivering. He squatted down.
"Nadadith," he said, "Come out. You know adad is only angry because he loves us, don't you?"
"He h-hurt you," Frerin shivered, eyes wide open.
"No he didn't," Thorin said gently, "I deserved it for failing my responsibilities. There are people who depend on me one day and I cannot let them down. Besides, how else are we to be strong dwarf warriors?"
"I'm not a warrior," Frerin mumbled, "You are."
Thorin shook his head,
"We all are. Even Dis," though the corners of his lips turned upwards at the thought of Dis being a warrior.
"She is?"
"She sure is, haven't you heard her yell?"
Frerin chuckled, the last of the tears squeezing from his eyes.
"Come here," Thorin said, and pulled the tiny lad half his age onto his lap.
Frerin leaned his forehead against his brother's and sighed. Thorin's arms hugged him close and Frerin reached with his hand to caress the beginnings of a thick black beard on it.
"Your beard grows so fast," he mumbled, "When I will be your age, I don't know if I will have a single hair."
"You will," Thorin assured him, a smile forming on his face, "You are a Durin, after all."
"One of the servants said I wasn't, that," Frerin struggled to remember, "That I was born on the wrong side of the blanket. That I am not a true dwarf."
His brow furrowed in worry as he posed the question that made no sense to him.
Thorin looked instantly angry.
"You musn't let them say things about you, Frerin," he hugged his brother close, but his eyes glinted dangerously with fury, "You are only small because that was a harsh winter... I remember... and amad was sick."
Frerin's childish mind left off that train of thought, though it would burden Thorin's mind for days. Instead he kissed Thorin's reddened cheeks and looked worried when Thorin flinched.
"It hurts," Frerin whispered in concern.
"I am fine," Thorin insisted.
Frerin scrambled off Thorin's knees and ran to his shelf and pulled a little corked glass jar from it.
"Grandmother let me made my own salve," Frerin said eagerly, and stuck his fingers in the jar, removing a coin's worth of sweet-smelling cream. He ran back to his brother and began to massage the oil into his cheeks.
"You will make me smell like a female," Thorin growled, slightly uncomfortable.
"Shh," Frerin said insistently in a perfect imitation of their grandmother, a trained healer, "Don't move. Don't talk."
"Quickly, nadadith," Thorin hurried him, "I am wanted for weapons training."
"Will I ever have to learns a weapon, Thorin?" Frerin asked nervously after Thorin who stood and was about to leave,
"Learn a weapon," Thorin corrected, "Yes of course. One day. Don't worry, you'll get your turn soon enough."
Frerin wasn't afraid he wouldn't get a chance. He was terrified. A nervous rumbling of his tummy made him feel queasy at the thought of big, heavy weapons and facing a fierce weapons master. He had watched in horror as Thorin got beat up on his first week of training, and cried for hours afterwards.