Báin son of Bild

The King Under the Mountain was a wise and learned Dwarf. He wore his long, gray beard forked and braided and tucked into his wide leather belt. He liked to smile, and happiness seemed to be his constant companion. This belied the deep wrinkles that creasd his face and brow, furrows etched by long days and nights of concern for his people. Still, this was a side that the King rarely showed. To most, he was simply a gracious sovereign. Considering the warlike nature of his people and bloodline, he was remarkably kind, always tempering his justice with mercy. He was firm in his belief that only in peace may his people truly prosper. Bain hele that the life of each of his subjects was a sacred trust, and he had been charged with it's care. In his kingdom, none went hungry or unclothed. All hands were busy, and in the respite from the constant wars that seem to plague the stubborn Khazad, the arts had truly flourished. While the halls of Khazad-dum grew more beautiful under Bain's guiding hand, the stature of the military dwindled in the eyes of some. This was true only insofar as it had not been excessively prized by the Dwarf- king, who was lavish with his praises when presented with the beautiful works of his people. Bain had seen enough of war in his youth, and the thought of thousands of Khazad marching off to their doom sickens him. Were the need to present itself, he would have taken up Dúrin's Axe and led his people in defense of their hearth and home, but he had worked long and hard to ensure that such a thing shall not come to pass. Some took this as a sign of the King's weakness, but it made him an excellent ruler, one who always put the welfare of his people before all else. He was well loved by the general populace. Unfortunately, some of the noble families failed to share this love. They questioned Bain's status as the rightful heir of Durin's spirit. Among the younger sons, there was a feeling that, by refusing to lead them to war, Bain had robbed them of the opportunity to win honor for themselves and their lines. What bards would sing of their deeds if their lives are spent at home, sharpening their axes on whetstones rather than on the skulls of Yrch? Bain generally ignored the whining of such fools. Under his hand, the Khazad had flourished. The halls of Moria rang with the sound of Dwarven hammers, and with Dwarven voices raised in hearty song. He was happy with his wife, whom he loved very much, and he was pleased with his children and their progress.