[Orual]

Óin, his eyes still foggy with sleep, stumbled out of his house. It was far too early in the morning. Glóin had spent the evening with him, into the early hours, wishing him off with a nice supper, since the soon-to-be adventurer had left the celebrations early.

"It's no good going into an expedition with an attitude like yours, Óin," Glóin commented, taking his pipe out of his pack. "The beginning of an adventure...bother, where did I put that pipe...the beginning...ah, there it is...where was I?"

"The beginning of an adventure..." prompted Óin, a little grumpy still but willing to listen to his brother after a good supper.

"Oh, right. The beginning of an adventure is the mold by which the whole adventure is formed. You can be the ill-tempered old coot who everybody wishes had stayed home, or you can enjoy it. Just think of old Bilbo. He didn't want to go, either, but he developed a taste for it by the end. Remember those spiders?"

The brothers laughed nostalgically, and then Óin sighed. "This isn't the same sort of adventure at all," he said. "No there-and-back again, as Bilbo put it. This is there-and-stay-there."

"Then why go?" Glóin asked, leaning over the table. Óin remained silent. "If you really don't want to go, Balin would understand."

A sullen, closed-off look crept onto Óin's face. "Balin would understand, but I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened that maybe I could have prevented," he responded.

Glóin sighed. "Do what you must, Óin, but be truthful to yourself." He stood up, and walked over to his brother's chair. Óin stood up in turn, and Glóin embraced him. "Do what you must," he repeated.

Óin walked out into the waning starlight, and took a deep breath of the crisp pre-sunrise air. Now for it. Now for glory and honor.

He snorted. Now for a lot of walking, at least. Time to go see Moria.