Thorin stood beside his grandfather's throne, his back straight, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his face revealing nothing as he monitored the elven king's approach. Monitored every pitfall and exit, every threat to the life of his king. Thranduil hadn't changed. Since the last time Thorin had seen him, Thranduil hadn't changed one bit. His white-blonde hair was still long and impossibly well-ordered, his face still haughty and stiff with a self-assured arrogance that Thorin supposed he'd earned in his immortal existence.

Frerin stood beside Thorin, bearing the casket that contained the necklace. Thorin hadn't seen the piece, and part of him was curious to know what it looked like. But mostly he wanted nothing to do with it. On the other side of the throne, his father also watched and monitored, assessing every threat just like Thorin. Two heirs, concentrated solely on ensuring their king and his court were not harmed.

Thranduil stalked down the bridge, silver robes flapping behind him on a phantom wind. Four elven guards with armour gleaming on their shoulders flanked him. The elven king wore a spiked crown with autumn leaves woven into it. His piercingly blue eyes watched with cold, vicious calculation. Thorin found it an effort to keep himself from snarling.

Thranduil dipped his head to Thror, no more than a slight incline, and nothing close to what was required. Thorin stiffened, but Thror only echoed the gesture and gave Frerin a nod. His brother moved forward down the steps of the dais and approached the elven king. He halted a few paces away and flipped open the casket.

Though Thorin couldn't see inside, the bright silver light from it flooded the hall. Thranduil stepped toward Frerin, his face revealing nothing. The guards remained where they stood. When the elven king reached the casket and saw within, even his immortal self control couldn't keep his eyes from widening. Whatever the necklace looked like, it must be beautiful.

And utterly unworthy for this king of elves.

Thranduil extended a white, ringed hand towards the casket, reaching for the necklace, eyes wide. And before the king's fingers could even touch the necklace that had been made for him, Frerin snapped the ornate box shut.

Thorin whipped his head to Thror as Thranduil's features flashed with anger. His grandfather had to have lost his mind. Had to have gone mad, because it was the only way to explain his being arrogant and insane enough to have shut that casket. Perhaps to have cost them this alliance. Ire shot through him at the realisation that Thror had shared this with Frerin, but not him. As if he was not to be trusted, regardless of his being firstborn.

Thranduil's eyes met Thror's, undisguised wrath and glazed violence in them. The elven king smirked.

It was one of the most terrifying things Thorin had ever seen.

Without a word, Thranduil turned and marched off, his guard closing ranks around him. Thorin watched with a growing fear and rage. Partly at the immortal, but also at his grandfather. For putting their kingdom in jeopardy, for risking the lives of innocent dwarves that would most likely be caught in the crossfire of this. And just like that, Thror severed the alliance with the elves, one that could very well make the difference between their people living and dying in the future.

***

"Are you insane?" Thorin snarled as soon as Thranduil and his guards had disappeared. "He might very well attack us now."

Thror gazed straight ahead and said coldly "He would not give us our rightful pay."

"Regardless, you have just broken a very valuable alliance and created yet another potential threat," Thorin snarled. "Do we not have enough problems?"

"It is none of your concern, Prince. You have no right to question me."

Thorin almost backed down, almost gave up, but...

'What brings a half-breed like you to our halls?'

Hot, lethal rage began to crawl under his skin. Thror had once called Arien a half-breed, and...

He clamped down hard on that anger and said

"I have every right to question you, grandfather, when my concern is for your welfare and the welfare of our people."

"Last time I looked, it was my people, not ours, Thorin."

Thorin tried to block it out, tried to push it down, but that deadly rage was growing.

Half-breed.

Arien did not deserve to be called such. No one deserved it, and least of all her. Because she was his, and Thror had called her a half-breed, had insulted the people that she loved so fiercely. And his grandfather... his grandfather had endangered not only Arien, but all of the people of Erebor.

"You are a fool," Thorin rasped.

"Thorin." It was Thrain, warning him. Thorin knew perfectly well what a dangerous line he was treading, but he didn't care. Dis and Frerin kept their mouths shut. Good.

"A fool," Thorin repeated. "And your greed and arrogance and pride will be the downfall of our kingdom one day."

With that, he walked out.