You Had One Job, Fíli
So this is how fucked up my family is: Dori thinks I'm the worst older brother in the world. He's threatened to not let me see Ori anymore. Says I'm a bad influence, I smoke too much, drink too much, I'm a thief, a liar, blah, blah, blah pass the chamomile tea, please.
Me? I say he's smothering the poor kid. And look, I know I've made some mistakes. I've even said sorry to Elrond about the whole candlestick thing. I'm moving on. Making amends. It's a seven step program, yeah?
Don't go thinking I hate Dori. He's a good guy. Great cook. Decent Dwarf. Got his heart in the right place…but also his head up his ass. He's not perfect himself, you know. Can't tell you how many times he lost track of that damned hobbit out in the wild. And I don't like how much time he's letting my kid brother spend with Balín. Sure, good influence and all that, but we've got a good thing going here, and I don't hold with all this Moria talk. Funny—now Dori says I'm the one being overprotective.
Either way, I've got to go make my defense. You'd think a kid who'd completed the Quest for Erebor would be able to say who he wants to spend his weekends with…
An attorney? Please. I got this covered.
…Let's just hope this Dáin guy has a sense of humor.