[Thinlómien]

The passageway echoed softly when Vigdis strode along it. She held the special chisel she had fetched from the mason's storage room and she was fingering it as she walked. Finally she would get to fix the uneven corner of a stone block that had been troubling her all day.

She arrived at the place where they had been working on the cavern chambers. Forin and Farin, the twin masons that always kept to themselves, were still at work, but Magnar and Vitr, the two others working there, had already finished their day's work. For all she knew about Magnar, Vigdis suspected he would already have started celebrating Durin's Day with his friends and some beer. And Vitr, he would be with his family now.

As she was working on the edges of the block, Vigdis kept thinking about that. She had no family of her own, and that, she knew, was entirely her own decision. Not that she would have craved for children or husband. She liked children well enough, but they made a lot of noise and restricted their parents' lives. As for a husband, well, she wouldn't have minded having a companion to share her joys and sorrows, but she was able to cope alone as well. Besides, she had given her heart to the greatest dwarf of their age, and when he had not returned her love she would not take another man for husband. No one compared to Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Khazad-dûm.

Today was Durin's Day and the day he would look at the mysterious waters of Kheled-zaram. She hoped he would see whatever it was that he wanted to see there, and that when he'd return to celebrate the New Year with his people, he would hold his head up high and there would be a new determination in his eyes. Then she would celebrate not only the New Year and the first and greatest King of Dwarves, but also the high Lord to whom both her loyalty and her heart belonged.

Something warm was moving down her palm. Snorting with annoyance, she wiped the thin trail of blood to her sleeve and licked the few red drops off her fingertip. Vigdis could not be called clumsy at any rate, but whenever she got too carried away, she started maiming herself. She allowed herself a wry smile. Her body seemed to have a protective mechanism of its own that reminded her when she was concentrating on something nonsensical instead of her work.

Her finger was still bleeding. Her handkerchief was grey with stone dust, but she wrapped it around her finger nevertheless. She would see to the small cut later, now she wanted to finish the block. The corner was still more than a little uneven, and she would not call her day's work done before it was finished.