The first time he'd seen the youngest of Thror's grandchildren, he'd been called to his ally's throne room for some unknown purpose. He'd passed the noble's children on his way toward the heart of Erebor and couldn't help but watch them play. Stunted, ugly little things in his opinion, none of them all too bright. They fought with wooden swords, shouting raucous things at each other in Khuzdul, not a drop of intelligence between them. He'd been gathering his robes to move on when the sound of an elven harp being strummed caught his attention. It seemed as if it were coming from among the children, but search as he might, he couldn't find an elfling amongst the dwarrow-seed. A child's voice soon chimed in with the melody, singing an old elven ballad about the death of one's love in the summer. It wasn't perfect by any stretch of his imagination, but it was adept and more than should have been expected among the halls of dwarves. He scanned the area once more, searching in vain for one of his kinsman, only to have his eyes rest on a smaller dwarf-child toward the back of the area, the instrument cradled in it's arms. This one was different from the others, he could tell. Its clothing was finer than those of it's peers and its hair was braided with diamonds, shimmering whenever it turned its head. This one was of Thror's line. He watched for a minute more as the child finished the song before approaching. He towered at least six feet above it, but when the child looked up, there was no fear in its eyes. "Where did you learn to play that, lad?" His Khuzdul was out of practice and strongly accented, but her was sure the young dwarf understood, because it rose, not even up to his knee and had the audacity to glare at him.
"I'm. A. Girl." It spat back in Sindarin. Thranduil raised an eyebrow. Well, this certainly was an interesting turn of events. The tiny dwarrowdam had her hands balled into fists on her hips. He knew, unlike the foolish men, that there were indeed female dwarves. However, there were so few of them and they were rarely seen. He was surprised this one had been let out of her room. He was even more surprised, however, to hear her speak to him in the language of his people without a moment's hesitation. "And I read about it in a book my brother gave me. I have to be educated if I'm going to be king one day." The Elven-king felt a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth, but he kept t under control.
"Thorin son of Thrain is going to be King. I'd say you have a lot of nobles in front of you in line for the throne."
"Just Thorin and Frerin. Besides, Thorin only wants to be a warrior and be king. Frerin only wants to study his books and practice with his sword. If I can do everything they can and be better at it, maybe Father will let me be King Under the Mountain." She turned back to her harp and continued to play and sing, ignoring the strange elf for the moment and ending their conversation. He was amused, he had to admit. In all of dwarven history, not once had there been a Queen Under the Mountain. Of course, he wasn't going to tell the dwarfling that. He turned and walked back toward the main path and his guards.
"Maybe."