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Some said that an eclipse on Durin's Day was herald of calamity. (What calamity they did not say: the Balrog in Khazad-Dum, Smaug descending on Erebor, the fall of Beleriand were none of them so marked.) Others held that such wonder in the heavens could only presage an equal wonder: the return of Durin himself. The astronomers and those who made study of the stately dance of fixed and unfixed stars shook their heads at such foolishness, but track the patterns they observed and record the movements of sun and moon and stars they would, with both exactitude and delight.
Of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Oin was the most learned and adept at reading portents and like signs, but Gloin was the most visibly fervent believer in them, positive and negative, though he would disclaim any such thing. Privy to certain Interesting Conditions, Oin was inclined not just to see signs in the usual places — birds, geodes, rune-casting and dream-seeking, — but the unusual as well. The greater patterns found in the sky had not been his study, but he was minded to rectify that with such an obvious portent as an eclipse. Gloin insisted on reading over his shoulder.
Bofur knew a wide variety of songs, riddles and verses (scurrilous and otherwise) relating to prophesies ancient, modern, entirely fictional, groundless, and rooted in myth, history and fact. Bombur liked listening to Bofur find new ways to tell the old stories, but had never spent much thought on the truth of any of them. No signs in sky, water, earth, or stone had persuaded them on the quest, nor dice influenced any decision more weighty than choosing between braggot, ale, or porter. But if others chose to believe, who were they to argue? Especially if it made for greater hope.
Dori held fast to the positive portents, being of the school of behaving as if a good outcome was assured so as to help make it come about as one wished. Ori knew too much of history and the vagaries of interpretation, especially as Balin's apprentice, to believe even the ones he would like to have held, but never said anything to disturb Dori. Nori would never give a straight answer if asked about his thoughts on portents, but was careful to observe (faithfully, privately, subtly) certain rituals and practices that had obscure practical effect at best, to skeptical sensibilities.
Balin taught Ori much of history and the kind of analysis necessary for the duties of a seneschal-advisor-councillor such as was his honor to be, or Ori's to become. But despite his depth of knowledge, understanding, and skill, in his heart of hearts Balin believed in the impulse to seek signs and trust in what they might say, even if individual instances were rarely credible or sensible. Not to mention that he was discreet both by inclination and profession. None would know from him that there might be an impending event of which portents might be said to be relevant.
Dwalin simply had no time for portentous nonsense, especially when it made importunate persons badger Thorin for reassurance or confirmation of pet theories. (Dwarflings were different. They could make Thorin smile, even — or especially — the ones with the most high-flown and unlikely notions. Soothing their fears and encouraging them to think through their ideas was good for everyone.) The pestiferous youths who should know better got short shrift indeed; as for the hand-wringing grey-beards — of every age and hair color — ! Dwalin's hands positively itched to knock certain heads together. There was no call for alarmist carryings-on in council-hall or corridor.
Prophesies and portents were something Thorin had never had time or luxury on which to have a personal opinion. He knew the histories of course, the fact-true-stories and the myth-true. Durin was both. Dragons were both. When required to respond, he would, as King Under the Mountain, point to facts of Dwarven history, invoking the resonance of poetry and myth. Keeping focus on the past, on grand endeavor. He made no acknowledgement of what might apply to events of smaller scope, more immediate effect. Not even to the most curious and clever of the Dwarflings who came to him worried by the excesses of their parents and instructors. (Sometimes he wished he could let Dwalin thump the fear-mongers, but while personally satisfying, it really would not help.) The number of people who knew — or even suspected — that Taelin was carrying a child was as small as Thorin could make it. His hope was for an uneventful pregnancy, safe delivery, and health for both mother and child. Where moon and sun were in the sky had no bearing on the matter, whatever people might think. And if he did not inquire of seers, he need not hear or heed their auguries.
Bifur kept his own counsel on the subject, and did not greatly care that others thought him strange in what they assumed were his beliefs. He did not need to hope that the moon standing before the sun on Durin's Day was a sign of wonder to come: he knew. The Mountain would prosper over the winter (easily seen in the smiling, round faces of Dalemen and Dwarflings alike, full storerooms, and sleek, only moderately be-furred rock-squirrels), and come the new year again, he would be an Uncle to Thorin and Taelin's child, and the Mountain would have an heir.