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Fundin gave his king a morose look. “That was most unwise.”
Thror waved a hand in dismissal. “I have decided. The elf will pay, or we keep the jewels. This too will pass.”
His advisor pulled worriedly at his beard. “I fear not. His animosity needed only a spark to ignite. We should negotiate before that keystone crumbles.”
The slap of a hand in the marble table startled everyone into quiet. Thror growled, “Enough, Fundin. This subject is closed. I will hear no more whimpering from you.” As his advisor blinked in surprise and before his heir could interject, he ground out, “You complain, and you weary me. Find someone to better advise since you will not. Leave me.”
“Thror...”
“Out! All of you!”
Balin watched in shock as his father complied, stunned by the defeat in his posture as he followed Thrain and Thorin out from the meeting chamber. He knew with rock certainty that Fundin was right to question this spurning of the Greenwood envoy, and that Thror’s actions towards the Elvenking were the latest in an increasingly erratic trend, but to witness Fundin be cowed and discarded so easily flashed the young dwarf’s anger to boiling.
Soon enough he felt the gaze of his king on him, hot as lava, but under that royal scrutiny his own reaction at his father’s failure to bring reason quickly cooled to an crystalline fury.
Startled at how calm he felt despite the emotional ice dam, he slowly stood up and squared his shoulders.
Thror didn’t bother to hide his frustration at his unwelcome companion.
“Well? Did Fundin leave you behind as a trap for me? To see reason, as he sees it?”
Balin managed to suppress the wince at hearing the disdain behind his father’s name, and kept his demeanor soft as snow.
“I am here of my own accord.”
“Oh? And what youthful wisdom do you offer, that age and experience has obviously overlooked?”
Balin paused, to keep his words from bursting out in reaction to the king’s sarcasm, and carefully breathed deep.
“What you did today was a grievous mistake, and it will return to haunt us. I am certain of it. Thranduil will neither forgive nor forget.”
“Dare you doubt my judgement?”
Balin’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt your foresight. You cannot decide our course simply on a moment’s pique.”
“Feh. Timidity runs in your family. That elf forgets himself, and who he deals with.”
“They are our neighbors.”
Thror jabbed am accusing finger in the general direction of Mirkwood. “They are untrustworthy and disdainful! Time and again, as they laugh up their sleeves at us..”
“So we cut off our nose to spite our face?”
“We have no need of them.”
Balin echoed Thror’s earlier action, slapping both hands on the tabletop. “And what of trade, Thror? A primary gateway to the West has been slammed shut in our face.”
Thror’s comment was cut short as Fundin’s son chiseled, .“Who next, then? Will you alienate Dale as well as the Greenwood?”
The king struggled to keep from snatching up the mace that hung from his belt. Balin knew he had crossed a line at some point, and that if he survived this encounter that his father might finish him, but once started he could not stop himself from speaking.
After an eternity of staring each other down, Thror snorted and turned his back on Balin.
“Run along, son of Fundin, and return to that which you know. Scribing, and such. Leave these matters to those whose judgement I can rely on as bedrock and not sand.”
No longer hiding the fury he felt, Balin spun on his heel and yanked the heavy door shut behind him. He needed to find his father, and quickly.