Born from Stone (A Thorin Oakenshield story)

A bunch of gems

A week had passed since the accident at the furnaces took the life of three men and caused the desolation of their families. A week since Thorin had realised that the small wooden dove had awoken in his heart a fiery tornado that could consume everything in it's passage to claiming what he wished for most...and this time his treasure was not gold or gems. A week since Eilin had confessed her love for Thorin with a faint whisper, without ever getting an indication that he had heard it. A week since Thranduil kept the King's envoys on purposeful limbo to make Thorin lose time and prove his point. That he wanted to take revenge against Thror's past dishonourable actions, through his grandchild. That he was not courageous enough to let go of the past in favour of the much needed peace between their realms. That despite being thousands years of age, he was not wise enough to prove himself above it all. Even though he had given Thorin a gift, he was not yet ready to let bygones be bygones.

When that morning Gandalf and Bilbo finally arrived at Erebor, they found the King overlooking an impressive progression of thousands of soldiers. The Firebeards and the Broadbeams had arrived and there were two delegations short of completing the picture, but still the King's gem was missing. Thorin was standing in front of the tall banisters, hearing the heavy flapping of Erebor's flags that were waving on their tall poles. He felt the freezing air thrashing his hair around his face and the coldness spreading in his heart when Gandalf's voice reassured him that Bilbo's words had been correct. King Thranduil accepted his sword, but he denied coming to Erebor to do the trade. He insisted that Thorin should come to his realm, or that they should set a new meeting at a neutral ground, like Dale. Bidding on time again. Time Thorin clearly didn't have anymore. When Gandalf told him that sending them over to try new negotiations would fail and that he was ordered to leave for Ithilien as soon as possible by the lady of light, Thorin felt his throat drying out at the finality of it all. He had hoped that his gift would draw out the Elven King from his egomaniacal trip. He had been so dead certain on it, that he was very calm and derisive when Balin sounded concerned and thoughtful. Apparently he had been very much mistaken and now he had to deal with the consequences.

Servin had stopped spreading doubt on his rule after their honest discussion, but now he was the one doubting his ability to sort things out. Maybe he was becoming as vain as Thranduil or his grandfather in this quest of his. The moment his heart wanted to take a step back and assess the situation calmly, his mind became as unbendable and stern as the elven King's, placing his pride before everything else. Even though there were more than two thousand extremely well equipped soldiers entering Erebor right now, and the heavy footsteps of their metal boots were creating an awe inspiring echo into the valley under him, he was still unwilling to give up any control to the elven realm.

"I have to go", Gandalf said regretfully.

"So you've said", Thorin replied coldly.

"I cannot remain here to advice you, and I cannot partake in a new negotiation", Gandalf leaned on his staff.

"No one is going to keep you here", his eyes thinned on the horizon, far beyond the Broadbeam banners at the end of the progression.

"The throne is not secure under you", Gandalf looked at Bilbo and Balin fleetingly.

The old advisor crossed his arms and looked at his boots. Bilbo pressed his lips.

"I know", Thorin's voice held a barely discernible tone of darkness.

"What will you do about the Arkenstone?" Gandalf asked.

"I cannot answer that which I do not know", he scowled.

Balin sighed deeply, "Son, you must address the new delegations."

"You can take care of that for me Balin", he said.