So Comes Snow After Fire

14.iv

Council discussion had been under way for the last sennight, and Thorin was pleased with how things had gone thus far. Not all of the talks had been primarily to do with Erebor; the Council of Seven Kingdoms was an opportunity for all the clans to do business with one another. But Thorin had already sealed trade connections with the Firebeards and Broadbeams in the west and with the Blacklocks in the east. Erebor, he could confidently hope, would soon be prosperous once more.

During the last few general meetings of the clans, talk had turned to more military subjects: each kingdom's defensive needs, the size of their respective armies, and who could be counted on to aid whom. By right of the oath sworn by other six kingdoms upon the Arkenstone to his grandfather Thrór, Thorin properly had the right to command them in matters of war, as well as peace. Yet he knew this authority hardly amounted to the prerogative to arrange alliances solely according to his own whim. Not only would such an imperious attitude sow hard feelings among the clans, but Thorin knew he hardly had the knowledge to decide everything on his own. And so for the most part, he meant to engage in the building of treaties by the same process of slow negotiation as the other clans did amongst themselves.

Today's talks had finally edged past the preliminary account of the current status and holdings of the various kingdoms, and Thorin felt they were nearly ready to begin on the details of individual treaties at last. Indeed, he was nearly ready to propose they do so when Jari of the Stiffbeards took advantage of a lull in the discussion to address Thorin himself.

Jari cleared his throat somewhat apologetically and then said, "Before we proceed with negotiations, I should like to establish who is to be your successor to the throne of Erebor."

"My nephew Fíli is my heir, as he has always been." Thorin did not understand the question; Fíli's claim was legitimate, as all present knew.

"I understand," Jari conceded, his tone respectful but firm. "But some of us have been considering: would it not be best to revert to the ancient law of succession, in light of the decline of your line?"

"The decline—?" Thorin repeated, momentarily astonished. But of course, he'd felt before that he had not heard the last of this topic. Still, he was not able to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he said, "If you refer to the gold sickness, neither of my heirs have shown any inclination to that malady. Indeed, they were among those who opposed me in my madness."

"Yes, we grant that. But does not one of your heirs wish to marry an elf? Tell me that is not equally mad."

Thorin could see Kíli's face without turning his head; his young nephew's jaw was tight and his brows drawn. The dwarven king looked back to Jari.

"If you are afraid to see an elf on the throne, that will not happen," Thorin said steadily. "Kíli renounces all claim."

"Then even you yourself acknowledge him unfit," Jari replied.

Just as readily, Thorin shot back, "I acknowledge that the son of an elf has no right to be king."

This time, Frár of the Ironfists spoke. "And what right does a son of Durin have to join himself to an elf? If the house of Thrór is to become a tribe of madmen and half-breeds, perhaps it is best that you are the last of his line to rule."

This statement elicited a rumble of astonishment from the table, but before anyone else could contribute, Thorin pressed on.

"Thrór's is still the elder claim. Or does blood mean nothing now?" he demanded. "Are we to elect our kings, as if we were some village merchants' guild, and Durin's royal line were spent?" The idea was frankly ridiculous, unworthy as it was of a clan which could claim such a high lineage.