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The mithril in his pocket seemed to have grown in weight, a burden far greater than he had expected when Durin offered him such a precious gift, although even then he knew it would be of far more importance than any known metal.
His heart was heavy with the dueling loyalties, forcing him to make an impossible decision. A request of his king was not to be denied, and the High-King had done more than requested, although not quite yet demanded. In line was not only his loyalty to his king, but to his people, and even to his own fate. Yet he could not break his word to a friend, and more than his word, an oath. It wasn’t simply about his own honor, although that was a great factor, but also about preserving their friendship.
He’d sooner not have known about the mithril, although he couldn’t resent Durin for sharing this with him. It was a show of confidence, and it remained as a token of their friendship, proof that between an elf and a dwarf there could be genuine affection, without the mistrust and manipulation that often plagued connections between the different peoples.
Knowing what he did, he could not escape from making a decision. If there was a path to keep his word without disobeying his king, he had to find it. It was not always possible to keep two loyalties, but given the chance he had to try.
If pleading with the High-King did nothing but give him more time, then perhaps the solution would lie with Durin. He refused to break his oath, but perhaps Durin’s fondness for him would be enough to compel him to act, or at least release him from his oath, when learning that Elrond’s own life was at stake.