Deep inside the Lonely Mountain, at some unseemly hour long past midnight, Dori lay in his bed and stared at the stone ceiling.

"This simply will not do," he thought to himself – before realizing that he had, in fact, spoken those words out loud. Their sounds reverberated throughout the little chamber that served as his temporary living space, transforming a murmur into a veritable shout.

The noise set Dori further on edge. This was not at all how he had expected to feel after successfully reclaiming his people's ancestral home. Here he was, wealthy beyond all imagination, a newly minted hero of Thorin's Company, with his younger brothers Nori and Ori alive and well despite the perils of their journey.

Dori, however, was a born fretter. He had learned to keep his anxiety in check through endless, exhaustive fussiness – careful cleaning, grooming and scheduling, along with his hawklike supervision of Nori and Ori's every waking moment. But the return to the Lonely Mountain had thrown everything out of balance.

The days immediately following the great battle had lurched by in a fog. The loss of Thorin and his nephews had thrown his Company into disarray. Thorin was their leader and beating heart – the Company's improbable victory felt hollow without their king to share in their joy. Severed from Thorin's guidance and the youthful enthusiasm of Fili and Kili, their alliance felt like a structure without a cornerstone, left teetering in the wind.

After they laid Thorin to rest in his tomb, after they said farewell to Gandalf and their beloved burglar, the Company splintered for a time. They all had injuries to heal and uncertain futures to ponder. Even Dori loosened his steely grip on his brothers, giving them the space they needed to recover.

Balin, their eldest surviving member, had been the one to shake them from their confusion. There was much work to be done, he reminded them. For the time being, Dain Ironfoot had returned to the Iron Hills to prepare for the relocation of his kingdom to Erebor. In the interim, he had left a small corps of soldiers to assist the surviving members of Thorin and Company with beginning the long process of restoring the Lonely Mountain to its former splendor. The new King Under the Mountain named Balin as the realm's temporary leader while he was away.

Dain could not have chosen better. Although Balin had spent most of his life as Thorin's lieutenant and advisor, the white-bearded warrior was a charismatic leader in his own right. Dori had witnessed that quality from his earliest years – Balin, a few decades his senior, had an easy charm and an uncanny knack for building alliances. He was the kind of leader who would join you for a pint. He trulylistenedto people – and understood them even if he disagreed. In truth, Dori had always looked up to him.

So why was it Balin, of all people, that Dori was fretting over this night?

Dori sat up in bed, carefully removing the beard net that he wore to keep his elaborate braids in pristine condition while he slept. No, this simply would not do at all. Wait… had he saidthataloud as well? Dori paused, listening closely, but no – it was eerily silent within the depths of Erebor.

Well, if I'm to be awake, I might as well make the most of it,thought Dori, careful to keep the words contained inside his head this time.

After placing his beard net upon his bedside table in a carefully folded square, Dori hopped out of bed – and immediately regretted it. Balin had placed him in charge of clearing the rubble from Erebor's throne room, and so Dori had spent the past week alongside Dain's soldiers, hauling enormous chunks of stone and metal – shards of the formerly majestic columns and elaborate murals that the Great Worm Smaug had decimated. Dori was no longer a young dwarf (he stubbornly referred to himself as "middle-aged," and likely would until his dying day), and his back and legs were sure to voice their complaints as soon as he stood upright.

With a light groan, Dori placed his hands on his hips and swiveled his upper body from side to side, his thumbs digging into his lower back. Then he stretched his arms above his head, leaning back slightly, testing the wear and tear on his muscles.

No sense in dwelling on it,he one said this business of rebuilding a kingdom was going to be easy! You'll feel better with a fresh cup of tea to warm your bones.

So resolved, he began to carefully navigate the cramped space that he called home. With all of Erebor's most valuable mansions long since ransacked and destroyed by the dragon, the only sturdy structures left in the Lonely Mountain were a few isolated neighborhoods of working-class huts – the kind of chambers that miners or lesser stonesmiths might inhabit. The members of the Company had settled in one of these districts, occupying nine neighboring homes, with Bifur and Bofur the only two members rooming together.

Dori had gone to great lengths to freshen up his dour little dwelling, scouting out some lightly singed furniture from a wealthier district in the mountain and even assembling a rather rustic floral arrangement of blue flax and mountain dryad to adorn his dining table. But there was no hiding the truth: this mountain, long promised to Dori as a mythical haven filled with pristine fountains and streets lined with gold, felt dank, rotten and unwelcoming.

"All things in time," Dori murmured, the words spilling from his mouth this time as he changed out of his nightgown and into his last clean shirt and trousers. "For now: tea."

He slipped between mismatched pieces of furniture to reach his small pantry closet, whose space was almost wholly dedicated to housing his tea set and various blends of leaves. The kettle, cups and saucers were all rescues from Smaug's horde, as was the intricately carved silver box that contained them all. None of the pieces belonged to the same set, of course, and despite their immense combined value, Dori's orderly mind rankled at their lack of cohesion.

In truth, Dori had never stopped mourning the loss of his heirloom tea set in the Misty Mountains. The Company's brutish goblin captors had immediately confiscated and shattered it one piece at a time – making several vicious remarks at Dori's expense as they did. Those cups and plates had been in the family for generations! Why, if Dori could have another go at those wretches, he'd… he'd…

Dori blinked back to the present, realizing he'd frozen in thought as he stared blankly into the pantry.

"You're getting distracted, Dori."

He chided himself in this way quite frequently – for all the hefty expectations he placed upon his brothers, Dori held even less forgiving standards for himself.

Now determined to brew this tea once and for all, Dori maneuvered his way toward his hearth to get a fire going. But along the way, he noticed a faint glow seeping through the curtains that covered his window. The neighborhood was usually pitch black at this hour – oil was in too short supply to keep lanterns burning all through the night. That must mean… was someone else awake?

Dori left the tea set on the dining table, creeping over to the window and peeping through the drapes. Sure enough, one other dwelling was lit from within: Balin's, on the far northern end of the street.

Balin! That was why Dori was awake in the first place. He couldn't stop thinking about a remark Balin had made while the group shared a quiet and modest dinner earlier that evening. The topic of conversation was, of course, what they all would all do once Erebor was restored and they could at last enjoy the spoils of their victory.

"I suppose that my duties here will keep me occupied for some time," Balin had said, regarding the rest of the Company with a wily smirk. "Someone has to keep you sordid lot in order, after all." The other dwarves laughed – they knew that Balin only insulted the people he truly cared about. Before their mirth could die down, however, Balin spoke quietly: "And yet my heart lies elsewhere."

Not everyone at the table even heard the remark, but it rang like an ominous bell in Dori's ear. It was an open secret that Balin had initially pushed for their expedition to reclaim the ancient dwarvish stronghold of Khazad-dûm – not the Lonely Mountain. But he found few allies in that goal. Most of his kinsmen, most notably Thorin, believed that Erebor was ripe for conquest. The Great Worm had grown fat and careless, they argued, and with the right planning, they could catch him unawares. But Khazad-dûm represented something deeper, darker and more terrifying to them – a collective nightmare that all dwarves shared.

Balin, ever one to seek consensus, swiftly dropped his objections, committing himself to preparations for the Erebor expedition. But there remained a fire within him, unquenched.

Dori stared at Balin's dwelling and pondered those words from dinner. He glanced back to his tea set on the table, then back out the window.

"Let's pay the old bear a visit and see how he's faring," Dori said with a little smile. In a rare impulsive moment, he didn't analyze the decision any further. Instead, he grabbed his boxed tea set and marched straight out the door.

As soon as he stepped out into the dingy boulevard he quieted his approach, mindful of his resting companions. As he approached Balin's hut, Dori noticed that the curtains were slightly parted, and the firelight from within flooded the darkened street. He took a slightly circuitous route to Balin's home, which let him steal a glance inside.

There sat Balin, hunched over his desk with a veritable mountain of scrolls, tomes and other documents. The fire in his hearth was well-stoked and blazing – he wasn't up this late by accident.

Dori soon arrived outside, carefully lowered the tea set to the ground and then knocked on the door – perhaps a bit too loudly and jauntily.

The sound of shuffling papers within fell silent. A muted grumble arose:

"Who dares darken my doorstep at this ridiculous hour of night?"

"Well… I daresay that my presence can onlybrightendoorsteps, but perhaps that's a matter of opinion."

Dori heard a snort and a low chuckle from behind the door, but Balin quickly cleared his throat and resumed his prickly tone. "Ah, it'syou."

"May I enter?" Dori, being who he was, had already cracked the door ajar and stuck his head inside as he spoke these words.

Balin leaned back and rotated in his chair, regarding Dori from behind his reading spectacles. "Well, I am quite busy – as you can clearly see. And while normally I'd tell you to trample off and bother someone else, I imagine that we're the only poor souls left awake in this entire mountain." He removed the spectacles and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. "Besides, if I have to study one more supply manifest or another 200-year-old Ereborian survey, my eyes will surely melt."

"So that's what you're up to, eh?" Dori ducked out to retrieve his tea set before waltzing back in. "I figured you might be working yourself into a daze. So I took the liberty of bringing some tea…"

"Ah ha, so this is an ambush!" Balin sounded annoyed, but kept that familiar, bemused smirk on his face. "You have decided that you must convert all the rest of us into tea drinkers, so you wait until I am at my most vulnerable…"

"I am simply doing my part to keep our most esteemed leader from dropping dead of exhaustion." Dori gave a mock courtly bow, before setting the boxed tea set on Balin's table and easing it open. He had to make room on the table to do it – in contrast to Dori's tidy dwelling, Balin's was positively overflowing with tools and papers and even a half-eaten plate of food.

"Mmm hmm." Balin cocked an eyebrow at him. "And may I ask what you are up to, Dori, so late at night? Plotting a new blend of tea leaves, perhaps? Or rearranging your furniture for the hundredth time? Don't you log enough hours of heavy lifting during the daytime?"

"Ah, well…" Dori stalled – he was not about to bring up the true reason for his restless night. "You know me. Once I'm awake and my thoughts get to racing about my head, there's no hope of sleep."

"That certainly is true of us both." Balin stood from his chair, stretching his arms and rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, if you're still agonizing over those brothers of yours, I'm happy to report that they are doing sterling work. I wouldn't have half of the delightful documents you see here without Ori's deft scouring of the Erebor Archives – I'm rather surprised at all the useful material that survived the Worm's reign under the mountain. And perhaps even more surprisingly – Nori has acquitted himself quite well in surveying the damage of the upper levels. His reports are quite thorough and, ah,colorfullyworded."

Dori grimaced slightly as he pulled out the kettle, teacups and saucers. "I can only imagine. But I'm not surprised that they are thriving, in all honesty. I think they both savor the fact that I'm no longer nattering in their ears about this and that. It's high time I accepted that they are now their own dwarves and let them sink or swim on their own merits. Thankfully, you were very shrewd to assign them the tasks that you did. Their duties play to their strengths."

Balin straightened his long white beard and wiped some dust off his clothes – it appeared as though he was rediscovering his body after several hours of intense study. "You give me too much credit. I believe they are so industrious and clever preciselybecausethey had a busybody older brother nattering in their ears at all times."

Dori paused in his tea preparation rituals and looked up at Balin. The older dwarf was grinning at him with a slightly mischievous twinkle in his eyes. This was Balin's gift as a leader and as a friend, Dori thought – he truly made you feel seen and valued, even when he jested.

"Well… well thank you! I've never heard my hectoring praised before."

"Aye, and you never will again. If you tell Nori or Ori about that remark I will deny it up and down." Balin swung over to hut's entrance, picking up a bucket that lay just inside the door. "I shall fetch water from the well for this magnificent tea of yours. You forgot that, apparently, but I forgive the oversight. It is quite late, after all."

And with that, he was out. Dori stared after him and shook his head slightly in wonder. Why did he ever bother fretting over Balin? Even with all the losses they had suffered to get here, and all the work that yet lay ahead, the old dwarf was unconquerable.

Balin soon returned with the water, and so Dori filled the kettle and hung it above the fire. He and Balin settled onto a small, somewhat shabby couch in front of the hearth – Balin had haphazardly arranged a blanket to cover the spots where the stuffing was leaking out.

After all their earlier banter, they fell silent and stared into the flames until the kettle began to whistle. With all the fluid formality of a true nobleman, Dori placed two matching tea bags in their cups, poured over the boiling water, and served Balin his tea on an ornate porcelain saucer.

"Thank you for this, Dori," Balin said once they were both seated, awkwardly balancing their teas on their laps. His tone was suddenly quite muted – the fatigue he'd bluffed around earlier was now apparent. "You know… hmm… perhaps I ought not to tell you this…"

Dori studied his companion carefully. "Go ahead."

"Ah, well… back before the adventure, when the subject of you and your brothers joining the expedition came up, Thorin was… hesitant."

Dori smiled faintly. "I'm not surprised. That is hardly a secret."

"He knew little of your clan, but the few things he did know were not encouraging. Nori had his insubordinate streak, and Ori was hardly a promising warrior."

"And our parents were not terribly well-respected, either."

"No, no they were not." Balin paused. "But I told Thorin… that you, Dori, were more valuable than all of those concerns put together."

Dori's breath caught in his throat. His brow furrowed and his jaw slackened slightly. A thousand words of surprise and gratitude occurred to him at once, but his mind could not wrangle them into a reply.

Balin smiled at that reaction and continued. "I told him that you could always be counted on to put others ahead of yourself, whether it was your brothers or your comrades. I told him that your kindness could be the glue to hold our ragged Company together."

"I…" Dori stopped short and cleared his throat. "I am grateful for such an endorsement." He winced slightly. Why was he being so formal all of a sudden? Dori moved quickly to fill the silence that followed. "What did Lord Thorin say to that, if I may ask?"

"Well…" Balin paused and then gave a sudden chortle. "He was still doubtful! But then I mentioned to him that you were the only dwarf who had ever bested my brother at arm wrestling, andthatseemed to get his attention."

Dori startled and laughed along with Balin, nearly spilling his tea. "I had forgotten all about that!" He set his saucer down and off to the side on the floor, ignoring it for the time being. "Remind me, when did that happen? It was at a festival of some sort, was it not?"

Balin set his tea aside as well. "Oh, believe me – I only remember it because Dwalin willneverforget it. It was the New Year's celebration in the Blue Mountains, and Dwalin was putting on his usual exhibition of strength against the entire Third Infantry roster."

"Ah yes, of course!" Dori's smile grew. "Dwalin the Mighty! Dwalin the Undefeated!"

"Or so he liked to call himself." Balin shook his head. "He bested every soldier in sight that night, one right after the other, with nary a rest in between each match. By the time he finished the last one off, a rather sizable crowd had grown around the table he'd set up for himself on the festival grounds. Do you remember now?"

"Aye…" Dori stroked his beard as he drifted back into the memory. "I was there supervising Nori that night – I believe Ori was still far too young for so much noise and stimulation. And it was Nori who pestered me to challenge the great Dwalin. He simply would not let it go. But I thought I stood no chance against your brother – I was barely full-grown! My beard was but a scruffy little shrub."

"Dwalin was about to pack up and leave, too – right before you spoke up. I remember him bellowing, 'Are there no other challengers among you? Am I surrounded by cowards?'"

"That's right! And Nori finally elbowed me in the ribs so hard that I called out. 'Me! I'll challenge you.'"

Dori and Balin were leaning in toward one another now, talking faster and faster as the story swept them away.

"He thought you'd be an easy victory."

"I showed him, didn't I?"

"You showed us all."

"It was my moment of glory."

"The crowd carried you off on their shoulders."

"Did they?"

"You'd forgotten?"

"Well, I had a lot to drink that night."

"We all did."

"Wealldid."

Suddenly, Dori found that he had placed his hand on top of Balin's and was grasping it tightly. When had that happened? He'd been so wrapped up in the tale that he hadn't noticed.

Balin seemed to realize it at the same time – and he was gripping Dori's hand right back. He looked down at their hands, then up at Dori. The firelight glinted off his eyes, which had widened slightly in surprise. Dori froze, suddenly lost and unsure if he had overstepped.

"You know…" Balin said, gently placing his other hand atop Dori's. "This is the first time since our return that this mountain has truly felt like home."

"I…" Dori smiled a sort of bewildered smile, unable to break his gaze away from Balin's, savoring the reassurance and warmth of his friend's touch. "I feel the same way."

Balin patted the back of Dori's hand and seemed to give him a fleeting wink before releasing his hands and leaning back. "Shall we enjoy our tea, then?"

Dori nodded. "Let's."

There was so much more he wanted to say. But instead, he recovered his teacup and took a sip.