Tag: dis

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youpromisedmejetpacks:

This is…parts? Bits and pieces? FRAGMENTS of the lullaby. I still have quite a lot to do, but here’s at least the melody. (So determamfidd can practice, who knows.)

1. 
When day’s shadows grow long
And you’re far from your keep
Where the vein hums its song
Will you sleep.
When the lanterns go dark
And you’re safe here with me
In my arms, in my arms 
Will you sleep.

2.
When the sun bows his head
And the moon is a-gleam
When you’re tucked into bed
Will you dream.
As our rubies glow red
And our emeralds shine green
In my arms, in my arms
Will you dream.

*begins singing along immediately* ahhhhhh! IT IS LOVELY, IT IS ABSOLUTELY LOVELY, what a sweet tune!!!

Did Thorin accidentally make other living friends/family (coughcoughDiscoughDaincough Gimlicoughcough) birthday gifts?

There… might be a tankard, a lovely brass-bound affair, with a carven tusk that serves for a handle, sitting on a forgotten shelf somewhere under Thorin’s workbench. He made it some time ago, and it has been entirely driven from his mind. It’s a comfortable sort of thing, easy and reassuring to grasp. It’s not a tool of war, or even a symbol of leadership. It’s a tankard, after all, meant to be used for merriment and peace amongst friends.

There might also be an axe, rather bare of decoration, but so perfectly sharp it could split a fiery hair clean in two, sitting neglected in his weapons-rack. It’s a weighty axe, the balance tipped towards the blade. Only a hearty and strong warrior who had worked with his axe for days on end – even years – could use it. As mentioned, it’s rather bare of all ornamentation… but there’s a small star etched into the base of the handle with unusual care.

Tucked in a drawer underneath a stack of half-finished designs, you might also find a long-toothed comb, wrapped in soft felt. Unlike everything else in the workroom, it’s not plain and serviceable. The comb is obviously meant to be worn, with a high embellished fan at the end that would perfectly adorn a mass of dark hair. It is twisted of the finest, most ornate silver filigree you can imagine: tiny jewels wink inside the elaborate coils, and the teeth are made of steel that has been polished nearly to the sheen of mithril. It is easily the most delicate thing in the place.

(You see, namad? I can be decorative, when I so choose.)

So. How bad is it that I am REALLY looking forward to Dis dying and being reunited with all of her loved ones and seeing her parents and her brothers and her sons and VILI (oh god, Vili, you heartbreaking sod, you, visiting her EVERY DAY) and just being able to let go of all of the emotions she’s held in for so long and – oh god. I just want her to be able to be happy. But also dead. And maybe making fun of Thorin because what else are younger sisters for?

Oooh, Nonnie.

Whatever you do, don’t imagine her reunion with her parents. Thrain running his thumb gently across her face, across her cheekbone and stroking the side of her beard. Don’t imagine him smiling at her with trembling lips, telling her that he is so proud, nathith, so proud. Don’t imagine Fris wrapping her arms around her last child and holding her to her heart; don’t imagine Thrain tugging them both close and tight, cocooning them with his body, pressing whiskery kisses to his daughter’s temple. Don’t imagine the words they would say. Don’t imagine the tearing sound of Dis’ sobs.

Don’t imagine her grandfather kissing both her cheeks and her forehead, and then gathering her close. “Sparrow, our little sparrow,” he would murmur, and she would remember what it cost to lose him, what it cost all of them. Her grandmother’s clever hands stroking Dis’ hair, her soothing, no-nonsense voice, calling her “Dis, darling,” as she did, so so long ago. They have the same hands.

Whatever you do, don’t imagine her reunion with her (little) big brother. It has been centuries, she can’t even remember him clearly, but at the smell of his hair and the sound of his voice, it comes rushing back, so fast and powerful it is nearly a physical blow. His weight against her is so small, so slight. 

Whatever you do, don’t imagine her reunion with her sons, her madcap bright-eyed darlings. Don’t imagine her crying into their hair. Don’t even entertain the idea that she cannot stop kissing them even for a moment, her grasping hands frantic, her eyes half-blinded by her tears, gripping their clothes so tightly that her arms shake. I’d advise against dwelling on the whiteness of her knuckles, the tenderness in her kisses, how her head bows and her shoulders shudder at the sound of those voices calling her ‘Amad’ again, at long last: Amad, Amad, we missed you Amad.

Whatever you do, don’t think of her pressing her forehead against Dain’s, her cousin, her borrowed-brother, and cursing him for leaving her as well as he throws his arms around her and rocks her back and forth. The last one, she was the last one. Don’t think of Dain gently prying free and wiping her eyes (hopeless, a hopeless task) before turning her around to face the one standing behind her. Don’t picture him giving Dis a little push towards her eldest brother. 

You definitely shouldn’t visualise the look in her eye as she stares at Thorin, stricken. It’s not a good idea to imagine the harsh rasp of her breathing as she curses him and curses him, twice as hard as she ever did Dain, all the while stumbling over to him and throwing herself at him with outstretched arms. Don’t imagine how she clings to him as though he is a tree against a storm, how she buries her head against his shoulder and cries and cries, her whole body wracked with it, and he too smells just the same.

And the last thing you should ever do is imagine her greeting her husband. 

No, you shouldn’t do that at all.

Okay but when Dwalin, Dís and such enter the halls won’t they think like ‘wHO IS JE AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THORIN’ and also be super proud but very ‘this is a little late’

Thorin would have a great deal of quiet fun, I think, as he completely confounds them with his remarkable about-face towards Elves and vengeance and the like! It’s not often that one gets to astonish Dis, after all. And Dwalin’s gobsmacked face is hilarious.