[Orual]

Óin grumbled as Balin delivered his speech. What idealism, what boneheaded irrational wishful thinking. Such absurdity was one thing when they were younger, but now...he was far too old for this.

The other dwarves congregated in the hall were cheering and laughing and singing their fool heads off, as though this was a fine adventure, a fine sport. Some young dwarf who he didn't recognize shouted some some nonsense about how the True-Silver awaited their return, and Nali started singing what sounded like a pub-song. He sighed in irritation. Did they not realize that this wouldn't be a game? That this wouldn't be a joke? To be sure, if he didn't feel obliged to stay with Balin, he wouldn't be going.

While the newly created company sang and danced and generally celebrated being the best and brightest (for that was surely what Óin had thought when Thorin had asked him to be a part of that adventure), Óin hung at the fringes of the assembly, watching and listening. A couple of the dwarves looked minimally promising, but not up to the calibre of his old company. He still missed Thorin now and then, and he and Glóin still sat and talked about everything--about Thorin, and Fili and Kili, and good old Bilbo Baggins. Hard as it had been, it was an experience he'd never forget.

He took out his pipe as Nali finished his song. There was no lack of enthusiasm in this group, that was certain. He saw a thrill in the eyes of his soon-to-be companions that he remembered feeling, a certain air of arrogance and immortality, a swagger distinctive to those who were sure of the moral rightness of their mission. He remembered that.

He shrugged irritably. Well, excitement or no, leaving at dawn did not appeal to him in the least. He went and got a mug of ale and found himself a seat to watch the rest of the celebrations, and maybe rest himself a little before it all started.