Dis Durin - Blog Posts
Can we make a chain of dwarrowdams for art and story references?
Please reblog with your illustrations of Dwarven women! I’ll start ;)
Also if you have information about your characters or would be happy to have them used as characters in other peoples works please share that!
A drawing of Thorin that baby Dis got ahold of and added some important details that the artist left out (sorry Dis)
Can i reblog this 7 trillion times? This is the cutestestest thing ever. (No composure. I just woke up)
More family shenanigans...
Wow I’m literally so sorry
Scary queen 😭
Dis you are the queen of my heart🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
She’s just such a perfect woman
Hey, come here.. let me tell you something..
Dwobbit Frodo loves his Aunt Dis.
Frodo might be a tornado with a sword but he’s also rather sensitive by dwarven standards and while Dis is as tough as a steel capped boot she’s also a dame and a mother and loves her sulky, sensitive little nephew.
Frodo: *storming into Dis’s Chambers* I’ve had enough! I just can’t!
Dis: *looking up from a length of chain she was closing* Oh?
Frodo: *Standing there with his hands balled in his shirt lip quivering* they make fun of me! Even- even when I beat them! Even when I train harder and fight better
Dis: *standing and bonking her head against her nephew with a chuckle* that’s called jealousy dear one.
Frodo: they aren’t jealous of me! They said I’m a cry baby
Dis: a cry baby hmm? Sounds like a peddle a used to know
Frodo: Dwarves don’t cry..
Dis: ah but this one did, all the time, even now I think he weeps when no one is looking for he has a lot to cry about
Frodo: who?
Dis: Thorin
Frodo: WHAT!? âdâ doesn’t…what?
Dis: yup! Your father was a the biggest cry baby of them all even at your age!
Frodo: *stunned*
Dis: I’m pretty sure that’s why he sulks when he’s upset because if he spoke loudly his voice would crack…
Frodo: *wipes his eyes and laughs* that’s horrible!
Dis: just.. don’t tell him I told you or there will be a royal funeral
Frodo: for who?
Dis: who ever loses the death match your âdâ would challenge me to for telling his son he has emotions other then angry and hungry
Frodo: *well and truly cheered up* Thanks zâmar *bumps heads with her lightly and runs off to go back to his training*
Dis: *watching that that little mop of black hair disappear out her door* Mahal.. Frerin would have loved that boy
3rd of October: Durin's Day / An Treasamh Latha dhen Dàmhair: Là Dhurin
English Translation:
In the early years after the dragon came, the Dwarves of Erebor set their eyes on survival. Much was lost to them during this time, cultural and religious customs they failed to sustain in their wanderings.
As soon as they had homes once again, mines to work in and forges to fire, Thorin looked to these things for the final missing piece in their lives. His nephews, growing fast, had never experienced Durin's Day in any way other than that of the Blue Mountains.
He heard Erebor in their speech, saw it in the style of their clothes, and even in the weapons they favoured, but so much of his nephews' cultural references lay elsewhere. He wished for them to understand Durin's Day through the eyes of their own culture.
Thus, ten years since Erebor had seen its last Durin's Day, her people put on a feast in Thorin's Halls the like of which was rarely seen. They worked tirelessly to have everything right: musicians woke up old ballads, bakers brought back old delicacies, and the elders gathered to pass their folktales onto the new generations. The exiles.
Another wound was healed that night, another wrong put right. Thorin watched over the festivities as Fili and Kili learnt how to sing a traditional Erebor hymn and thought of his own childhood.
Finally, everyone came together on the stone slopes before the gates of their halls to watch the last vestiges of the sunset fade from the sky behind them and the autumn moon rise in the eastern horizon. For a precious few minutes, both lights lingered together, before the sun was overcome at last.
Thorin stood with his arm around Dis and the boys by their legs, wide-eyed with their first Durin's Day beads braided carefully in their hair. They were't likely to sleep tonight.
The towering stature of the Misty Mountains blocked it from view, but Thorin knew - could see - beyond their white peaks lay Erebor, bathed in the silver light of Durin's moon.
Maybe he started it, or perhaps they all did so at the same time, but slowly and quietly, their low Dwarven voices rose into the sky with a song of home-sickness on their lips. A mourning song.
Oh, far over the Misty Mountains cold...
Scottish Gaelic Translation:
Anns na bliadhnaichean a chaidh seachad as dèidh don nathair-sgiathach tighinn, thoirt na Troichean Erebor an sùilean air mairsinneach. Chaill iad tòrr tron àm seo, nòsan cultarach is creideamh nach do chùm iad beò anns am fuadan aca.
Cho luath ‘s a bha dachaighean aca a-rithist, mèinnean a bhith ag obair anns agus ceàrdaichean a chuir teinne anns, chaidh Thòrin don rudan seo a’ sireach am pìos mu dheireadh air fhàgail bho am beathannan sa Bheinn Ònaranach. A’ fàs cho àrd a-nist, cha robh na mic a pheathar eòlach idir air an dòigh dhen Là Dhurin ach an dòigh na Beanntan Ghorm.
Chuala e Erebor san dòigh-bhruidhinn aca, san stoidhle aodach, eadhon san arm a bha an dithis measail air. Ach leis na rudan beaga, chunnaic e gun robh sin a’ tighinn bho àitichean eile. Bha e airson ‘s gum biodh iad a’ tuigsinn Là Dhurin tron shùilean an cultar aca fhèin.
Air an adhbhar sin, deich bliadhna seach gun do chunnaic Erebor an Là Dhurin mu dheireadh, chuir an t-sluaigh aice seòin air dòigh nach fhaca iad gu tric anns na Tallachan Thòrin. Dh’obraich iad gu cruaidh airson a h-uile rud a bhith ceart: dh’èirich ceòladairean seann balantan, rinn bèicearan seann biadh fìnealta, agus chruinneach na daoine aosmhor ri chèile airson am beul-aithris aca a thoirt don ghinealaichean ùra. Na fògraich.
Shlànaich gort eile an oidhche sin, rud eile a chuir ceart. Choimhead Thòrin air an subhachas mar a dh’ionnsaich Fìli is Kìli laoidh traidiseanta Erebor a sheinn agus smaointeach e air na làithean anns an robh e fhèin beag.
Mu dheireadh thall, thàinig a h-uile duine ri chèile a-mach air na slèibhtean mu bheul an geata nan tallachan. Choimhead iad air dol fodha na grèine san speur air an cùlaibh, an solas a’ dol às beag air bheag. Agus gealach an foghair a’ tighinn suas san fàire Ear. Airson beagan mionaidean prìseil, dh’fhuirich an dà sholas anns an speur ri chèile mus do dh’fhalbh a’ ghrian.
Sheas Thòrin le a gàirdean timcheall a phiuthar, Dìs, agus na bhalaich ri taobh nan casan. Bha na sùilean drileach aca a’ coimhead mòr, agus bha a’ chiad grìogagan Là Dhurin a bh’ aca air pleatach anns am falt. Cha bhiodh e comasach gun cadail iad a-nochd.
Cha b’ urrainn dha a’ faicinn tro na Beanntan Àird a’ Cheò, ach bha fios aige gun robh Erebor air a seasamh dìreach thar air na mullaichean gheala, lannrach anns an t-solas ghealach Dhurin.
Is docha gun do thoiseach esan e, no ‘s docha gun do rinn iad uile e aig an aon am, ach gu slaodach agus gu samhach, chaidh na guthan ìosal troiche dhan speur le òran chianalais air an bilean.
Ò thar na Beanntan Àird fhuar a’ Cheò...