The halls of Erebor once again echoed with the sounds of life. Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, stood on the grand balcony, gazing at his reclaimed kingdom. The scars of battle were slowly being replaced by signs of rebirth, yet the weight of the crown grew heavier on his shoulders each day.

Months had passed since Smaug’s death and the Battle of the Five Armies. The Lonely Mountain, once desolate, now shone as a beacon to the world. Merchants and rulers flocked to Erebor, seeking alliances or favors. Amid the rebuilding and songs of victory, a new expectation emerged—one Thorin could not ignore.

He was expected to marry.

Word had spread to the great dwarven houses of the Blue Mountains, Iron Hills, and beyond. Nobles arrived with daughters of noble blood, hoping to secure alliances and strengthen bonds with Erebor. Yet Thorin felt no desire for marriage. Years of exile, war, and loss had hardened his heart. His only love had been his homeland, and that had nearly destroyed him.

But duty left little room for personal feelings. His advisors, Balin chief among them, reminded him that a ruler by his side was necessary to secure Erebor’s future. Thorin could not escape this obligation forever.

Preparations for a grand banquet were underway to welcome the guests. The throne room, once a ruin, now gleamed with polished stone and flickering braziers. Nobles arrived with gifts, jewels, and promises of loyalty. Yet Thorin saw their ambition—the hunger for power beneath their formal smiles.

He knew his duty as king was clear. A king must rule, and a king must marry—even if his heart wished otherwise.