The dim torchlight flickered against the stone walls of Erebor’s corridors as Fili strode ahead, his golden braids swaying slightly with each step. You trailed behind, glaring daggers into his back.

"Keep up," he called over his shoulder, voice laced with that insufferable arrogance. "Or are you too delicate for a little patrol duty?"

You bit back a retort. Mahal, he was the worst—always challenging you, always acting like he was the superior warrior, the better fighter, the golden prince who could do no wrong. And yet, Thorin had paired you two together. Again.