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The morning arrived veiled in fog. Ori and Oin waited just outside the Great Gates with the rest of their expedition, fidgeting, gazing at the mountain, the scenery, everywhere except where their leader stood with his brother.
“Balin, please reconsider. You have nothing to prove to anyone. What you propose is beyond daunting, and I mean no insult.”
“True, brother, but this is a thing I need to do. The dream will not leave me be.”
Dwalin cast a critical eye over the group just beyond them, nodding briefly to Oin before turning back to Balin. “This unsettles me as few things have. I can only hope that Mahal is the one sending you that dream. And I am the one who should be leading this charge, with you at my side.”
“Come with us, then. It is not too late, I know you keep a traveler’s pack readied by your bed at all times.”
“True, but no. Someone with a clear head needs to remain and help Dain keep the rest of this lot in line. Seems the sons of Fundin are the only capable ones for that job.”
Balin could see beyond Dwalin’s flippancy, to the effort this parting was costing his brother, and though his heart went out to him, he knew he had a mission to do. He sighed and leaned forward, to rest his forehead against Dwalin’s.
The warrior murmured, “I am worried, brother. More so than the night before Azanulbizar. Please, do not do this. I cannot lose you as we lost our father.”
Balin smiled bravely for the both of them. “We travel with some of the best of Erebor and the Iron Hills. We have strength at our backs.” He gestured to one of the ravens that had settled among the nooks of the mountain face. “I will send word once we have established a safe foothold. Then, please, join us.”
Despite himself, the warrior shuddered and paused before replying. “I had not thought I would ever travel through Dimril Dale again in this life. But I will look for your message, and if Dain has calmed down and forgiven you by then, I will make the trip.”
Balin’s hand gently tightened around the nape of his brother’s neck, as Dwalin mirrored the movement. They rested in mutual comfort for a moment longer.
Finally Balin straightened up, a ghost of a twinkle in his eye as the sons of Fundin clasped forearms.
“Give me your blessing, brother.”
Dwalin closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath as he drew his shoulders back. “Mahal keep you safe. May the sons of Durin reclaim Khazad-dum.”