“Enough!” a leathery voice boomed. Karolus stepped out from the shadows of the cavern, his face grim. “Listen to Agrim, you fools. Will you blacken your father’s memory by arguing over his body? I would like to see my cousin and friend laid down without this dirge! This is a matter to be resolved later.” 

Karolus turned a disapproving gaze to the youngest among them and said, “Know your place, boy. You shame your uncle with your words. And your grandfather with your impudence! Show your elders proper regard.”


“Dourhorn, you are the eldest.” Karolus raised a finger towards the frail dwarf. “The wishes of your father are uncertain, but for the time being, it is your duty to hold your kin together until this matter is sorted - as if you were to be king. Command your brothers’ obedience.” 


The old dwarf nodded to Buri to continue. The altercations were not entirely what he was expecting, but they did not surprise him either. Hurin’s kin had always been an eclectic mix, and their rivalry only grew with their age. He wouldn’t suffer himself to babysit them, however. By traditional law, succession should fall to Dourhorn. That meant it was his responsibility to hold their reins.