On Caradhras

Don't Leave

Sunlight

Autumn

Horn

Touch

The awful thing about flashbacks is that no matter where you are, no matter who you are with and how warmly you are clad, you find yourself suddenly naked and alone in the cold.

Hair

Dis spent her girlhood fascinated with her brother's hair.  Her own took after her mother's; Father, tousling their blonde heads, laughed and called them the truest gold in Erebor.  Thorin, on the other hand, came crossly into the world with a thatch of jet black curls that made his lumpy infant self look like the monkey a merchant from Dol Amroth had brought their grandfather.  

Dis found him almost mesmerisingly ugly, and, even as newborn hideousness grew into chubby childhood, she decided he made a far better playmate than any doll.  Dwarves breed more prolifically than elves, but that doesn't take much, and rank always comes with distance, so Dis often had been lonely, and found in this strange little creature that squawked and grumbled delightedly when she dressed him up and inexpertly dressed up his hair - first by sticking in it baubles and bits of jewelry, and then, as it lengthened, braiding in little lengths of silver chain, often distracting herself halfway through by comparing its curlier texture and shining darkness to her own blonde waves - a great satisfaction.