Dis was dressed up like the princess from her book. She held it in her small hand, the cover visible. She wore a sparkly dress and held up a fake sword in her other hand. She looked ready to kill an Orc.
"Play with me!" she said to Thorin and Dwalin.
"Not now, Dis," Thorin said. "Dwalin and I are busy."
"But I want you to play with me!"
"We can't!"
Dis hit him with her sword on the leg. Dwalin had to keep himself from laughing, but he failed.
Dis stamped her foot. "Don't laugh at me!" She hit him with her book, hard.
He let out a yelp. "Fine, I'll play with you!"
She grinned.
Thorin frowned.
He thought of something quick. "You know, that princess there has her hair in a braid. Why don't I braid your hair like that? It'll make sure your hair doesn't get in your eyes while you're fighting."
"You will?" Dis's blue eyes widened.
"Aye," he said. The braid was quick and messy, but Dis didn't seem to mind. Once Dwalin finished, she ran off in search of someone else to bother.
Dis was dressed in the finest material that Dwalin had ever seen since leaving Erebor. Thror really was marrying her off to a rich man.
"Stop gawking," she said. "I need this braid in."
He straightened himself up and then went over anddid so. He was careful and precise. "What if your husband cuts off my hand for this?"
"What does it matter?" Dis replied. "I don't like him. I'll probably cut off his balls in a week or so, maybe a month if he's lucky."
Knowing Dis, Dwalin didn't doubt her.
He wanted to call her pretty, to say that she should be proud and happy. But how could he? This was a serious matter. She was the last of the line of Durin, the only one left who had any proper claim on the throne of Erebor.
He made it look its best. Even for a mourning braid it was expected to look nice. She was the queen.
"I am sorry," he said when he finished. His hands were shaking and he couldn't control them. Quickly, he pulled himself away from her.