Thráin II
Erebor hums with quiet life, the great halls warmed by the glow of torches and the laughter of Dwarven kin. But in one particular corridor—there is no laughter. Only war. "I am not a stone-headed fool!" Frerin snaps, small fists clenched, eyes ablaze with frustration. "No, just a fool," Thorin retorts, smirking, leaning against the nearest pillar with the confidence only an older brother can wield. "Bah! You don’t even know how to wield a proper axe yet!" Frerin sneers, tossing his insult like a blade. "At least I wasn’t found in Adad’s beard!" Thorin fires back, crossing his arms, smug. A beat. A very long beat. Frerin blinks. Then—betrayal. Sheer, pure betrayal washes over the young Dwarf’s face.