Hi, readers. Welcome to my new fanfic! I got inspired to write this because there are simply not enough fanfics about Thorin's upbringing, so...yeh :)

Warning: Coarse language

Enjoy!

When in doubt, throw ink at the apple eater's head.

These were the kind of thoughts running currently through the mind of Thorin, the eldest Heir of Durin as he angrily crossed out the word he had misspelt for the third time in a row.

Partly, it was because was bored.

Mainly, it was because of the brown-haired dwarf smirking at him as he leaned on a nearby bookshelf, casually observed his frustrated brother as he munched loudly on an apple. It was very distracting.

"Frerin, could you please go away?" Thorin complained. "I have to finish this homework for Master Foln by tomorrow," Master Foln was the royal tutor, and though he was a kind-hearted dwarf, he was strict on homework.

Very strict.

"Really?" Frerin tossed his apple up into the air and caught it again. Thorin swore that he only had an apple just to look more like an arsehole. "What is it about?"

"I told you already," Thorin growled. "The Battle of Dagorlad,"

"Interesting," Frerin nodded, unfazed by his brother's growing irritation. "What it is about?"

"Just some stupid 'Last Alliance' trash and a ring,"

"Any chance of going down to the Training Hollow later on?"

"Not if you keep on disturbing me! By Mahal, you're dense!"

"But I want talk, dear brother. I mean, you are my only sibling,"

"Have you forgotten Dis? Your sister born just three years ago?"

"She's too young and boring to play with," Frerin made a face. "Plus, I'd rather spar or something."

"Go spar with Dwalin—I'm sure he'll enjoy your company,"

"Dwalin thinks I'm an arrogant prick and an elf-lover, remember?" Frerin took another bite out of his apple. Wow, Thorin thought. Shouldn't Frerin have finished that apple by now? "He despises me,"

"Well, that's you fault for draping his belongings in honey."

"That was his fault for-for thinking I wanted to train with a b-bow!" Frerin retorted, half stammering.

Thorin shrugged. "You're bound to get more things like said to you if you do take up the bow. Remember, the bow is classified as an Elvish weapon, and Elves are prissy, cowardly tree-shaggers."

"It doesn't make a dwarf an elf-loving tree shagger. Plus, I can also handle a sword!"

Right, he thought. With only a few months training…that's kind of impossible.

"Okay, enough talk. I need to finish this essay," Thorin held his hand up, before setting his quill to parchment to write about the dwarves' involvement in the battle.

"Will you spar with me afterwards?" Frerin widened his blue eyes in a puppy stare.

"If you shut up,"

Frerin dutifully shut up.

The afternoon sun was shining through the trees as Thorin and Frerin made their way down to the Training Hollow. The Training Hollow was well, a hollow, surrounded by leafy foliage and covered with sand. Many dummies and targets were strewn around the place, as the hollow was big enough for multiple groups of dwarves to train at once.

Dwarves began training at the age of 12, trying out their hand in various weapons. Once they knew a bit about each weapon, they could choose to specialise in a certain weapon. Thorin was nearing the age where he was expected to choose to specialise in his chosen weapon. Frerin, however, had only just started training.

"Are you sure you want to spar with me?" Thorin took one of the training swords off the weapons rack and began twirling it around. When it was time to choose a weapon, being a prince, one would be specially made for him in the forges of Erebor. "I mean, I have five more years of experience than you, and you've only just started training a few months ago, so..."

"Fine," Frerin turned to him. "How about I choose what weapons we use? So it'd be fairer."

"Seems right," Thorin agreed, "What do you propose first?"

"Archery,"

"Archery?" Thorin was confused. "But I only learnt that in my second year of weapons training,"

"I asked Master Thiznen to teach me the bow first." Since dwarves were not allowed to train their own children, Thrain had them tutored under Master Thiznen, who was the Captain of the Guard in Erebor. Though he was proficient in most weapons, he preferred to use his double-edged pole-arm.

"Alright," Thorin placed the sword back onto the rack, and grabbed a bow instead. "Though I beat you,"

"Indeed brother," Amusement was twinkling in the brunette's eyes as he notched an arrow in his bow. "Which is why I'll let you go first."

This'll be too easy. Thorin squared himself and marched over to the target range, where a few figures were practising their aim with deadly throwing knifes. He notched an arrow and let it fly. It zipped through the air and landed in the blue ring of the straw target. Twice more he shot an arrow, one landing in the blue and one landing in the red.

Clapping sounded behind him. He lowered his bow and turned around to see a black-headed dwarf wearing crimson and a tough looking dwarf with a Mohawk.

"Balin," Thorin greeted his cousin by clapping him on the back. "Dwalin," He pulled the other dwarf into a hearty hug.

"Nice shooting, Thorin," Balin nodded. He was gripping his chosen weapon— a mace skilfully forged by his father, Fundin.

"Too nice," Dwalin narrowed his eyes. He had always been suspicious of using a bow, even though he was too proud to admit that he could use one quite well. "Since when did you practise with a bow?"

Thorin laughed. "Don't worry—I won't take up the bow as my chosen weapon. I'm only versing this dwarf here in an archery contest," He waved his brother forward.

"Ah, Frerin," Balin nodded. Dwalin simply frowned.

"An archery contest?" His voice was sharp with distrust. "Who initiated this?"

"I did," Frerin glared back at Dwalin. "And since it's now my turn, I'd suggest you move out of my way."

The burly dwarf grunted, but stepped aside. Frerin pulled back the bowstring and the arrow, and let it fly loose. Three times it was shot.

And three times, it hit the bulls-eye.

Thorin stared at his brother with incredulity. He can shoot.

"I win then," Frerin said calmly, his hair flowing around him in the wind, making him look more mysterious.

Even Balin and Dwalin were silent. Then Dwalin started laughing.

"Oh hoh," he said, leaning on a nearby post to support himself. "Imagine that! A dwarf, handling a bow! That's going to confirm the rumours all right—that a Prince of Durin is actually an elf bastard—"

THWACK

Dwalin jumped back in shock, his face white. An arrow had imbedded itself in the wood just centimetres from his hand.

"What rumours?" Frerin's voice was low and quiet as he lowered the bow. Thorin knew this was someone different from his goofy baby brother.

This dwarf was dangerous.

Dwalin eyed the bow nervously as he spoke. "There have been rumours circulating around the other children that you were a dwarf-elf taken in out of pity by Lady Freya."

"Aye, the parents say this too," Balin added, looking acutely embarrassed. "They think that Frerin is a bad influence on their children."

"Why did you not tell me this before?" Thorin demanded. He had never heard anything like this before.

"We didn't want to worry you."

"Next time, tell us anything that any of the others say about Frerin," Thorin eyes blazed. "Frerin, let's go."

With a last glare at Dwalin, Frerin shoved the bow back onto the rack, and stomped after Thorin.

"So," His voice was sour. "What's your opinion on my archery skills?"

"Frerin," he said grimly, taking his brother by the shoulders. The brunette winced as he opened his mouth.

"I think they are wonderful."

"Really?" Frerin brightened up. "You think so?"

"Yeah! You're dangerous, Frerin. How did you get so good?"

"I sneaked out at night and practised," he shrugged. "Archery's very easy to pick up—it can take an hour to learn, but a lifetime to master. The bow relies on pure instinct."

"And will this be your chosen weapon?"

"Without a doubt. That said, what are going to choose for your weapon?"

"I don't know." Thorin's mind was completely on something else. Despite all the happiness for his brother, doubt gnawed at his mind. "I'm really happy for you, brother. But what would Father and Grandfather think?"

The change in Frerin's face and mood was instant. "I don't know. And then there's also those rumours—"

"Exactly," Thorin sighed. "But whatever they may say, we know you're a dwarf. I was there when you were born, for Mahal's sake!"

"Yes, but they weren't," Frerin retorted. "They can believe all they want, and no one will stop them,"

Thorin stopped. Whatever he telling himself, that last fact Frerin had stated was true—there was nothing anything could do about it.

"We can try sort something out," he reassured.

"Yeah," Frerin replied sulkily.

Seeing that the brunette was feeling quite down, he tried to cheer him up.

"Excited about seeing Dale tomorrow?"

It did the trick. "Of course! Who wouldn't be?"

They laughed, and made their way back up to the mountain.

Comments? Criticism? Both are welcome!

I chose not to start with something like Frerin's birth or Dis's birth because I just can't write that stuff from a child's POV (since this story will all be told from Thorin's POV) so I hope that answers any queries :)