Thorin Oakenshield liked to consider himself an observant man. He knew before anyone else that Frerin was hiding something. His brother had always been an open book—a book that often had questionable decisions scribbled in the margins, sure—but a book nonetheless. When Frerin was happy, he practically skipped. When he was upset, he brooded with the intensity of an approaching storm, not that Thorin was any better. Subtlety was not a trait that ran in the family.

At first, Thorin thought it was the news of Grandfather's declining health weighing on Frerin's mind. But as weeks passed, he knew that wasn't it. There was a shift in his brother's demeanor—an odd mixture of intense focus and suppressed excitement. For several months he often excused himself from family dinners to take mysterious calls and his demeanor right after receiving those calls was like someone trying not to burst into song in a library.

It was infuriating. Frerin had been hiding something. And Thorin hated not knowing things. Secrets, in his experience, tended to explode at the worst possible moments. He had tried to "inquire" about what it was Frerin was up to but, the little brat shut him out and played dumb.

Thorin had expected, perhaps, a secret lover and dalliance, but this? An engagement? To a woman, Frerin had never once mentioned, who was so petite that it looked like a strong breeze might carry her off, with eyes far too green and clever for his liking?

He was not prepared for this, for her.

Bilbo Baggins.

Thorin frowned, the memory of their meeting playing through his mind like a badly edited film reel. The small woman with too-bright, gem-like eyes, and a suspiciously perfect smile. He couldn't decide if she looked like she wanted to curtsy or bolt out the nearest window. Maybe both. Her entire presence felt like a glitch in reality.

And Frerin had hidden his engagement to her?

It made no sense. Frerin's type typically involved boisterous personalities who enjoyed concerts, road trips, and didn't know how to whisper. Bilbo Baggins seemed more like someone who alphabetized her spice rack for fun.

And now Thorin was supposed to sit through dinner with this… this enigma and pretend everything was normal? As if he hadn't spent hours replaying every moment of their first encounter, trying to spot how it was Frerin fell for someone so completely different, or how she fell for him. She seemed too sensible to be with his brother.

Thorin leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed so tightly his muscles ached. The rest of the family was scattered in various stages of dinner prep—cutting vegetables, setting the table, and generally being far too cheerful for his liking.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at his phone. The last message from her was still there.
Thank you I'll keep that in mind should I need it.

"Thorin, you're scowling again," Dis said, rolling her eyes as she set a stack of plates on the counter with a clatter. "What's got your beard in a twist this time?"

"Nothing." His jaw tightened and his scowl deepened.

Dis snorted, an entirely undignified sound. "Right. And I'm the Queen of Erebor."

He ignored her and glanced back at his phone. It was 6:45 and there were no new messages, just the old one.

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind should I need it."

He could practically hear her overly sweet tone in those words. Calm, collected—like she was humoring him. He bristled at the thought. Did she think he was a joke? That he wouldn't figure out whatever nonsense she and Frerin had been up to? "She came out of nowhere, Dis! And Frerin never mentioned her, doesn't that seem odd to you?"

Dis set the plates down with a sigh, giving Thorin a look that was equal parts exasperation and amusement before propping her chin on her hand, pretending to think deeply. "Hmm, yes, very odd. A mysterious, sensible woman suddenly engaged to our disaster-prone brother. Could it be that she gasp genuinely likes him?"

Thorin glared. "That's not funny."

"Oh, it's hilarious," she corrected, lips twitching. "Thorin, you're acting like Frerin is your 16-year-old daughter on her first date! He's had secrets before. Maybe this time, the secret just wears sensible shoes and is sweet and polite."

Thorin's glare deepened, his arms crossing tighter over his chest. "You're not taking this seriously, Dis. Something doesn't add up."

She snorted, straightening up. "What doesn't add up is why you're treating Frerin like he's incapable of making a halfway decent decision. Sure, he's a walking calamity, but even a broken clock is right twice a day."

He scowled. "I just don't like surprises."

"No kidding," Dis deadpanned. "You schedule your brooding sessions like they're dentist appointments."

Thorin ignored that. "She seemed too calm. Too… put together."

Dis's eyes sparkled. "Oh no. Not calm and put together! Clearly, she must be a witch. Maybe she hexed Frerin with her sensible shoes and mature decision-making."

He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying not to rise to the bait. "I'm just saying it's suspicious."

"Thorin, you interrogated her with your eyes alone. I'm surprised she didn't burst into flames under the sheer intensity of your skepticism."

He grunted. "She was hiding something."

Dis rolled her eyes. "She was probably hiding the urge to slap you."

For a moment, he considered how likely that was. Instead, he muttered, "I'm just watching out for him."

Dis softened slightly, though her smirk didn't fade. "I know. But maybe—just maybe—he doesn't need you to swoop in like a paranoid eagle this time."

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "I'm not paranoid."

"Oh, you are," she said, patting his shoulder in mock sympathy. "And I, for one, can't wait to see how this dinner turns out. Don't forget to scowl charmingly. I hear that wins people over."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This is going to be a disaster, isn't it?"

"Probably," Dis said with a grin. "But look on the bright side: at least it'll be an entertaining disaster."

Thorin rubbed his face with a deep groan. "Who's coming again?"

Dis smirked as she started counting off on her fingers. "Let's see… it's our family, Balin and Dwalin are already here. Óin, Glóin, Nimli, and Gimli just texted—they're stuck in traffic, something about Glóin arguing with a GPS."

Thorin let out another groan, his headache intensifying. "Wonderful."

"Oh, it gets better," Dis said cheerfully. "Dori, Nori, and Ori are coming too. Nori promised to behave, which means he's already planning something. And Ori's going to ask Bilbo about every life decision she's ever made."

"Perfect," Thorin muttered, massaging his temples.

"Oh, and Gandalf mentioned he might stop by."

Thorin's fingers tightened in his hair. "Of course he did, we should just cancel dinner."

"And admit defeat? Never." Dis patted his shoulder. "Besides, if it all goes south, we'll just blame you. That usually works."

Thorin took a long, slow breath, mentally preparing for the impending chaos. "This is going to be a nightmare."

Dis winked. "Nah. It'll be an entertaining nightmare."

Before he could respond, their father stuck his head into the kitchen, looking far too amused for Thorin's liking. "Is Thorin going to stand there brooding until we all turn to dust?"

Thorin growled something unintelligible. Dis leaned closer, voice low and teasing. "If you're so worried, why don't you just ask her some normal questions at dinner?"

"Like what?" Dis raised an eyebrow, feigning deep thought. "Oh, I don't know… normal things. 'How did you meet?' 'What do you do for work?' Maybe even a simple 'What's your favorite color?'"

Thorin snorted. "I'm not interested in her favorite color."

"You are interested in whether she's secretly plotting world domination, though," Thráin said dryly.

Thorin gave him a flat look. "I prefer to call it… gathering intelligence."

Before Dis could reply, Balin wandered in to join them, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ah, gathering intelligence, are we? From what I hear, Thorin, you've been gathering a lot of it lately. Just remember—interrogating your brother's fiancée at dinner might not go over well."

Thorin scowled, heat prickling the back of his neck. "I'm not going to interrogate her."

Dwalin's voice drifted in from outside the door, "Well you sure interrogated me about her!" Dwalin strolled into the kitchen, arms crossed and a smirk firmly in place. "Honestly, Thorin, you asked me so many questions I thought you were going to shine a spotlight in my face."

Thorin's glare could have withered an entire forest. "You met her first. I was being thorough."

"Thorough?" Dwalin's grin widened. "You asked me what brand of tea she drinks."

Dis let out a snort, barely restraining her laughter. "Are you planning to cross-examine her or offer her a curated beverage menu?"

Balin chuckled. "If you're not careful, Thorin, she'll think you're trying to poison her."

Thorin's jaw clenched. "I just like to be prepared."

Dwalin shrugged. "Well, here's a free tip: if you want her to survive this dinner, maybe don't glare at her like she owes you gold."

Before Thorin could reply, a knock sounded at the front door. The room fell into a brief silence.

Balin clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, there's your cue. Remember, Thorin: be nice."

Dwalin chuckled darkly. "Or at least try not to look like you're plotting her demise."

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not that bad."

Dwalin shrugged. "Depends on if you start the dinner with a scowl or with actual words."

"Actual words would be a start," Thráin added, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Thorin glared at them all, the familiar burn of irritation flaring in his chest. He could be civil. He would be civil. He just needed to prove to everyone—and himself—that he wasn't overreacting.

Dis clapped him on the back. "Don't worry, Thorin. If you scare her off, we'll send you a postcard from the wedding."

Thorin took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and prepared for what was sure to be the longest dinner of his life.

Dis winked one last time. "Showtime."