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Bain had gone to the feast in high spirits. He had already persuaded himself that day was blessed and nothing could go wrong. He could hardly wait to tell Lord Balin he had finished his work. He wanted him to be the first to know. Well, Onli had been the first to know, but no one did beside him and no one should before lord Balin. That was what he was feeling before the message came, before the world seemed to turn upside down.
When he had first caught sight of Tror, Bain had assumed the latter had come to announce his lord’s arrival. He shifted in his chair, eyes glinting. So the moment had come, he thought.
But he had been wrong. The only thing that had come was a dreadful announcement, one he had never expected to hear, one he had never even imagined to be possible. Lord Balin was dead! He was dead and-how strange!-the world seemed unchanged, going on as if nothing had happened, as if such a death was not reason enough for all the lights to fade and darkness to fall over all. Bain barely understood the rest of Tror’s speech. It seemed to be coming from somewhere far away, a different world, perhaps.
Balin’s body was brought in and Bain entered the line of mourners so that he too could have one last look at his lord. He saw that many of those around them had tears in their eyes. Others were too stunned by disbelief to think of weeping. Bain felt the same way too. As he looked at his lord’s white face, Bain’s thoughts went suddenly to his forge and the now finished helmet that lay there. He shook his head, feeling tears in his eyes.
“He’ll never know now.” he mumbled. “And I thought he would be so pleased…”
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