"It's true, not many of us marry," Bofur is cheerfully explaining to the hobbit on the other side of the campfire. "Even among the obvious fine catches of this company, only three have managed it."
"Gloin, I know," Bilbo says with a grin, "because he's shown me her picture a dozen times. And Bombur, he's mentioned a wife. But who is the third?"
"Dori," Bofur answers, adding matter-of-factly, "His wife was lost when Smaug came."
Bilbo shudders. "How terrible," he says, and Dori catches his glance across the circle, acknowledges it with a nod. Then the hobbit leans closer to Bofur and adds, in a whisper he must think Dori cannot hear, "But - pardon me, this is rude, but he doesn't wear a ring. I thought dwarves set great store by their wedding jewelry."
"It's solid gold," Dori tells the pawnbroker, and remembers feeling the weight of it in his hand for the first time, the light in Amli's eyes as she slipped it onto his finger. With an effort, he pushes the memories aside, continues, "Made in the Dwarven city, of course, many years ago. The sculpting here, on the edge-"
Then a hand closes over the ring where it lies on the countertop. When he turns and looks, Nori is standing behind him, glaring; he says, "Excuse us a moment," and takes Dori by the elbow, pulling him away.
They come to a stop around the corner, well out of earshot of the pawnbroker's stall. "What are you doing?" Nori demands, holding up the ring. "What are you thinking?"
"What choice do I have?" Dori counters, and snatches his ring back from his brother. Without thinking, he puts it on - the only way his hand feels natural, anymore - and Nori, seeing this, makes a choked-off little sound in his throat and catches hold of his hand, runs a thumb over the ring.
"I will not see you sell this," he says, and his voice is rough. "Dori - you cannot. We'll find some other way. If I take a second job - I know Gurin needs a bartender in the evenings, he would hire me if I asked - and Ori is old enough to look for work..."
Dori shakes his head wearily. "And for what, Nori? A barkeep's pay will not buy food for three, or keep a roof over our heads."
"And this will? A simple ring, cheaply sold? How long will that feed us?" Nori drops his brother's hand, takes him by the shoulders instead. "Better to keep the memory, brother, and forgo the coin."
"I will always have the memory," Dori says softly, "always. She is with me, ring or no ring."
They stand in silence for a long moment, and Dori's mind is far away - he remembers stolen glances across the grand halls of Erebor, long hours spent in his workshop crafting courtship gifts, the pride in his parents' faces (and the fondness in his brother's) as they led him to the altar where Amli waited.
Then Nori steps back, letting him go, and holds out one hand. "Let me handle it, then," he says, "if it must be done. I'll get a better price than you would for it."
And I would spare you seeing it melted down, Dori hears, though his brother doesn't say it. "Thank you," he says, and hands Nori the ring.
"It's all right, Mr. Baggins, I don't mind you asking," Dori speaks up, a wistful smile on his face; the hobbit jumps guiltily, but turns to listen. "I lost my wedding ring many years ago. But it doesn't matter - my Amli is with me always, ring or no ring."