Everlong

71

"We've come to tell you, payment of your debt has been offered and accepted." Thranduil spoke out, his voice ringing clear in the morning air. He didn't seem bothered at all with what he was saying, or the heavy implications of it. No, even from where he sat in the saddle, he could see Thorin's expression turn stony and confused, minutely confused. He didn't understand. Thranduil just raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, it didn't even enter Thorin's mind over what could've happened when his back was turned. So lost in his own bubble and world, he was ignorant to what those around him were doing.

"What payment? I gave you nothing! You have nothing!" Thorin shouted back, his bow was still in his hands, the arrow still aiming forwards and at the Elvenking, who seemed to smugly be enjoying his confusion.

Thranduil was aware to the slight concerned look Bard was sending his way every so often. It seemed much like with wizards, the man had very little experience with dwarves and how to deal with them. Truthfully, this perhaps wasn't the best way, but it seemed like the only way they would understand. Stubborn until the end. Thranduil just looked passively at Thorin, before mild surprise appeared on his face. With slight raised eyebrows, he turned his head to look at Bard.

Unlike Thranduil, who was all elven grace, straight backed within the saddle of Arthion, an animal Bard had never even contemplated ever seeing, he was seated upon a plain horse, sweet in nature and without the intricate armour which Thranduil was suited within. He shimmered in the light, the sun picking up different aspects of the intricate metalwork upon his body, Bard had chainmail at best and a sword. The differences between them were as obvious as night and day, yet despite of their differences, they also had similarities.

To get to the point, and what they wanted, they would need to play the hard game. Thorin had gone past the point of seeing sense, this much was true. It didn't bring Bard much joy to be the bearer of the Arkenstone, but he was. He reached within his jacket that he had over top of his other shirts and mail, and pulled out the jewel from within his pocket. "We have this," he produced the Arkenstone, it glittering with all its brilliant colours within his hand as he lifted it up high. High enough for everyone to see it.

The reaction was almost instant, the expression on Thorin's face slipped; what was tense, hard and unblinking turned into something a lot more cutting, a lot more lost and distant as he stared on at them. Kíli beside him exclaimed in utter shock, disdain that this was happening. The other dwarves looked on in equal shock, the whole emotion was radiating through them. They could not fathom how this had come to be, had someone snuck in when they were all asleep? But that was impossible, there was always a guard. It did not make sense, at all.

Bard tossing the jewel in the air and catching it again did little to lessen the heated looks being sent his way. He sighed heavily and tucked the jewel back within his jacket. It clinked a little against the mail, once tucked away Bard looked back up. A slightly sympathetic look spreading across his face, it never had to come to this. "The King can have it back. But he must honour his word."

"The Arkenstone is in this Mountain! It is a trick!" Thorin had shaken his head, whispered words which did not reach their ears before shouting this. He got odd looks from those beside him, Balin for one looked utterly baffled by this. Balin recalled the Arkenstone well enough, to remember all too well what it looked like.

It seemed one thing after another, whatever heated words were shared between those up on the ramparts, it almost ended with Bilbo being thrown from it. Thorin seemed quite adamant about tossing the hobbit out and from the Mountain, one way or another. While Thorin saw fit to curse Gandalf, Gandalf himself proceeded to march forwards. His voice thunderous in the air as he looked angrily upwards. He for one did not appreciate to see how Bilbo was being so rightly manhandled and threatened, when all the hobbit had done, was the right thing. "If you do not like my burglar, then please don't damage him. Return him, to me." Gandalf's voice slowly ebbed back to his normal volume. Not that his heated look and stare lessened, no he still intently stared upwards at Thorin, staff in hand and waiting to see what happened. Bilbo by this point was being pressed back against the edge, he was staring with both fear and confusion up at Thorin. Though he was ultimately very thankful for Gandalf's intervention right now. "You're not making a very splendid figure as King under the Mountain are you, Thorin, son of Thráin."