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‘I think if we’re in danger of being cut off for a while, we should make sure we have plenty to eat,’ Bror said in answer. No one seemed to appreciate his small jest, so he continued after an awkward pause. ‘If you ask my opinion, which I wonder that you do at all, I think we should take quite a few other dwarves and several weapons. I didn’t think...’ He was about to say he didn’t think it was that serious, but no one had, until Skald had rambled off his lessons.
Sauron? He had heard very little of that name, but he had learned enough that it was one to tremble at. He took another drink of his ale as he studied his oldest brother through narrowed and considering eyes. He had always looked up to Riv and seeing him so affected by Skald’s tale caused him more alarm and fear than anything else yet said.
‘I don’t know,’ he finally said softly. He got up, leaving his mug on the table and went to his harp. He picked it up and carried it back to his place and sat silent running his fingers over the strings as though contemplating a song. ‘Well, Skald? Uncle Orin?’ he said, lifting his eyes to the two of them. ‘Something has to be decided on, and I don’t think it’s going to be me who decides it.’
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