i was reading GoT when i thought of this bye
EDIT FOR THE GUEST REVIEW;; laughs because i was actually thinking of sansa (she's actually what i base a lot of my headcanons for dis off of i rly love sansa)
Dis mourned.
She mourned for her Kili and his easy laughter, for her Fili and his quiet wisdom, for her Thorin and his rare smiles. She mourned for the fact that her sons had left the only home they ever knew and died on some far-flung battlefield on the slopes of a half-mythical kingdom. She mourned for the fact that her brother had succumbed to the same illness that their grandfather did, the same illness that had cast a shadow over their childhood.
She haunted Erebor's ruined halls, a shell of the vibrant woman she had been in Ered Luin. This was not home. Her brother had been barely into his fortieth year when the dragon came, and she and Frerin both much younger. This was not home. Erebor was the place of stories, spoken of with the desperate longing of old men wishing for old glory. This was not home. Thorin and Frerin and Dis had grown up in the wilds, open plains their playpen and long roads their domain. This was not home.
Ered Luin was home. Ered Luin was safe and warm and happy. She was content, their people were content. They had built a good life there. Ered Luin was where family was. Ered Luin was home. Ered Luin was where she had been married, where her sons had been born and raised, where her husband was buried. Ered Luin was home.
Erebor was not. Erebor, with it's empty rooms haunted by ghosts and dragon smoke. Erebor, with it's glittering throne and false king. This was not home.
Dis mourned the fact that Thorin couldn't, wouldn't ever see that.
