Dís sees what could have been.
After the messages from Erebor, clasped in the silver talons of ravens, after the tears shed with the shutters closed and the door locked (for she is a princess of Durin), Dís dreams.
She walks through stone halls shining with torchlight, the floor cold beneath her feet and the sounds of merry-making and feasting in a corridor she does not find, she skims across the tops of trees and flies through fields of dancing, golden wheat, and knows that she is not meant to be there. It is so bright that it is wrong, wrong in the wake of so much death, that she would see so much beauty.
Dís sees a life, one not led and conquered by gold, where dragonfire does not carve into the sky and it is wonderful.
Her grandfather has not succumbed to the goldlust, her father's eyes still wrinkle with joy, and her mother still shines like a second sun upon their people, and Erebor is strong.
Her brothers know happiness; sweet, dear, kind Frerin lives and laughs and Thorin's eyes are not as heavy. What a sight it is, to see Frerin's smile again, when she thought it would be lost to her forever. To watch Thorin fret in much the same way as Fili, as only an older brother of a reckless dwarf can. She wishes to reach out to them and hold them close, to have Frerin's bright eyes and soft words directed to her, to feel the weight of Thorin's hand gentle on her shoulders, but from the way her vision fractures and blurs, she knows it is not to be.
She finds her husband amongst them all, and when she catches the glint of sunlight on his braids, Dís believes she has never felt so much joy nor pain in all of her life. Víli is as she remembers him, warm as the fire's glow and as fierce as a blade, and the beads weaved into his hair clink against each other when he turns his head.
Kíli swings his bow carelessly, and Fíli wisely stays far to his brother's left, away from the swooping weapon. They seem so young, younger than Dís knows they will look when she sees them again. (One last time, before she has to bury them.) Her throat tightens and she aches to brush their cheeks, to twist braids in Fíli's hair and try to catch Kíli in a futile effort to arrange his unruly locks as well. Fíli pushes at his younger brother's arm and sends him stumbling before Kíli rights himself and pouts. Fíli laughs when Kíli shoves him back and Dís wonders if, on their journey, they were ever this happy. She hopes and prays that they were - because they are her children, the most precious of all precious things, and she cannot bear to think that they were not content.
Dís cries, when she sees the girl. The child appears in Víli's arms, and touches Fili's beard and presses her hand to Kíli's cheek in greeting. Dís sees herself wander to her family, wiping her hands on her apron, and the dwarfling calls out, flinging her arms towards the other Dís, the one whose face is not quite so worn, the one whose rings are gold and silver instead of the simpler metal she remembers wearing in Ered Luin.
"Ama!"
Dís watches, and her tears fall, but do not land, (for this life is not hers, she is but a visitor) for the daughter she does not know.
The dream breaks, and sleep shatters into nothing more than an empty escape from her painful reality.
When she awakes, she turns on her side where she lay and weeps for what jewels and treasure had stolen from her.
A/N: oh, jeez, I hope this made some sense! This was typed up on my phone, so I apologize for any mistakes. I also hope you enjoyed the little angst. This was going to be just Dís' canon family, but then, uh, I wanted to put a daughter in there - I felt as if it added to the overall theme of the drabble, but I'm sorry if you didn't like her. She does have a name but that wasn't relevant. If anything was confusing or you need more clarification, please PM me or leave it in a review, and I'll get back to you. Disclaimer : all characters (except Dís' daughter) are J. R. R. Tolkien's.