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Bror bounded to his feet, his eyes flashing, wishing he could get close to one of the Glitterfist brothers. Skald reached up and pulled him back down.
‘But you can’t just let them talk like that!’ Bror exclaimed, turning towards his brother.
‘It’s not for you to contradict them. Let the others.’ Bror just gave him a furious look, jerked his arm out of Skald’s grip, and stood up again. But his father was already on his feet and addressing the Dwarves. His voice was calm - calmer than Bror thought possible in such circumstances - and it was strong and steady, loud enough to be heard, but not angry.
‘Of course Dwarves have died,’ he said, looking towards the Glitterfists. ‘This is the beginning of a war. More will die as time goes on. Closing our doors won’t solve our problem. Hoarding weapons, and sharping blades can’t guarantee that we will come out victors in the end of this.
‘It was not the elves that killed your brother. It wasn’t elves that killed the Deepdigger’s sons. Orcs did it. They are the ones that are guilty of these acts of war. Why punish the elves? In not answering their cry for help, will you leave your brother’s death unavenged? Will you stay here in search of safety, while your brother’s blood lies on the ground, crying out for vengeance? “Dwarves have been killed!” you say. Are you afraid to go out and run the risk of losing more?
‘Now is not the time to stay at home and hope for the best!’ he cried, looking over the assembly. ‘Whatever choice we make, it will end with blood shed, that much is certain. But if we can keep that away from our families and our homes, than that would be better. You may think that this is the elves’ war. They brought it upon themselves, let them finish it. I tell you, no. The Lord Celebrimbor and his elves are our allies, and this threat of invasion therefore doesn’t threaten only them, but also us. Is it to be said of the Dwarves in time to come, that we hid in our holes while our sworn friends were destroyed? They called for help - will we not answer them? Are you saying that we are willing to be friends when everything is good, the sun is shining and the gold is flowing, but as soon as the clouds come, and danger springs up out of the shadows, we shall flee? Seal our doors and hide our faces from the enemy? Deafen our ears to the pleas of aid? Cowards! We shall be called cowards and oath breakers - and rightly so! Their blood shall be on our heads if we do not do what is in our power to help them in their time of need.’
Bror, still standing and staring at his father, drew a shuddering breath in the silence that followed. His eyes never left Viss as he took a step back and reseated himself. There was nothing he could possibly say now that would do any more help than what was just voiced. Inside, he felt proud that his father could forge such words on a moment’s notice, but closer to the surface of his mind grew a black fear that those words might not convince the Dwarves that they must go out and that the title of coward might be branded to their names forever.
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