|
"Frar, are you alright?" Tror was speaking to him. He had been standing alone for some time now, and his mind had been wandering. Frar started and already had his hand on his axe before he realized it was Tror. He smiled and shook his head.
"Tror, my friend. I am well enough, that is of little concern. How does the colony? How have they taken Balin's death?"
Tror sighed heavily and looked away. He pulled his beard.
"Very ill, I fear," he said at last. "Very ill. His death has cast a shadow upon the hearts of our people."
Frar nodded. "I have felt it," he said. "It is upon my heart also. Some foreboding - I cannot put a chisel on it - some darkness looms close."
"We must give them hope, Frar, you and I and the others. They are not leaderless, after all." Tror paused for a moment, his forehead furrowed.
Frar realized then that Tror it was who would take Balin's place, and already he could see that the helm of authority weighed heavily upon his brow. He considered mentioning this, but let it go as Tror had said nothing yet.
"Forgive me, I was lost in thought for a moment. I had come to find you," said Tror. "I - we are holding a council and your experience is needed. Come."
"Of course," said Frar. "A council of war, I hope?"
Tror grinned wryly. "I imagine that will come up."
"It had better, because anything else will be a waste of my time. War is all I know," grumbled Frar as they turned and began to walk towards the council chamber.
Tror laughed briefly and abruptly. Then Frar laughed as well; long and loud and booming, his roar rang through the upper halls of Khazad-dum, and stirred the gloomy coals of not a few dwarven hearts.
|