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Óin
Óin was listening to the new Lord of Moria with growing discomposure. Even in his old face, he could not hide the surprise at the words he heard - and the fear. When Trór ended, the old scout was frowning so hard that his snow-white eyebrows stood almost vertically above the blue eyes, gleaming like the waters of a still mountain lake.
At last he shook his head.
"My lord, my lord, this is not nice for my ears at all what you say. But of course, you are right in implying what you think. Look at me, I have known for a few hours already what is likely going to happen - and yet I did not have the courage to admit it to myself, or to say it aloud. See, I do not have it even now." He chuckled, but his face remained grave. "I see. The beasts outside are upon us, and it is only the question of time before they breach the gates of Khazad-dûm. We have women, children, and civilians with us. Balin would know that I will be the last one to abandon my place in defending his home, but he would also do his best to protect those who are with him. And if it means retreating - so be it. The Hollin Gate is still open, you said. Very well. If you want to hear my opinion, Lord Trór," he paused for a while, as if still pondering for himself before actually saying it aloud, "I believe we should take our chances. Moria is deep, but the Orcs do not know it. I do. I can reach the Hollin Gate in two days' march, or even less, if need be. Of course, with any company, the journey might prove to be somewhat slower, but still... I say it is worth an attempt. Even if..." He sighed. "Even if the Orcs enter Moria, they will not be able to pursue anybody soon. And they will not dare to go further from the mountains, I know them, dirty monsters. They will be content with Khazad-dûm and what is left of it."
"And there is this other thing you spoke of..." Once again, the old Dwarf fell silent. Then he suddenly burst into rage. "By Durin's beard! How is that even possible? Is all the evil turning upon us? By Durin's beard, this is not a coincidence. Dreams can be tricky, lord Trór, but I know, I feel, something's wrong, and this time..."
Suddenly, he stopped and turned his head. He shook it, so his long white hair wagged, but he was not imagining things: loud voices were coming, and approaching fast.
"They said he is by the Bridge..."
"I need to speak to him, because if this is true..."
"What is it? What did the woman say?"
Óin recognised the voices: one belonged to Ori, another to Frár. Soon, he and Trór saw the dark shapes approaching.
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