Work Text:
It was not exactly what Dori had seen himself doing when they finally reclaimed Erebor. He had various visions that ranged from opening a shop that sold fine crystal dining sets to something as presumptuous as being the guild master of the whole of Erebor. Never once did he picture himself running a cozy little establishment that Bilbo told him was called a café, let alone enjoying what he had created.
The idea had first been mentioned in passing by Ori one night. So really, it shouldn’t have been surprising that Dori paid attention to what was said. He had been fussing as usual over Ori and Bilbo while both were in a writing mood when Ori had uttered the fateful words.
“If only everyone had a chance to experience how wonderful you can be, Dori.” Ori had leaned into his eldest brother for a grateful moment before turning back to his writing.
That one sentence had spawned the café that Dori had named The High Quill. It was an establishment built in one of the higher levels of Erebor and had a large balcony with a beautiful view of both the valley around the mountain that had flourished since Smaug’s demise and the rebuilt Dale. The balcony itself had dwarven styled stone vases filled with beautiful plants that Dori would harvest for fresh teas. The interior portion was an almost eclectic mishmash of traditional dwarf designs and the soft comfort Dori recalled from his brief stay in Bag End.
The High Quill was a warm mix of solid wood and sculpted stone. And best of all, according to both Bilbo and Ori upon seeing the final design, it was positively littered with nooks and alcoves just perfect for a writer to squirrel away and do what they did best. And it seemed others that visited agreed, for the cozy tables and softly cushioned nooks that were as soft as beds were frequently filled with both regulars and foreign guests from afar that would travel to the restored kingdom of Erebor. But the best part, in Dori’s eyes, was the calm, quiet, peaceful atmosphere.
For the High Quill was an establishment devoted to people looking for a quiet place to draw inspiration. The mix of styles appealed to the minds of scholars and storytellers alike, but the best part had been Dori’s idea, and everyone agreed that it was a brilliant idea indeed. For Dori placed, at every seat, a thin square of slate and a piece of chalk because what writer’s disliked the most were noisy interruptions…
In the new High Quill tradition, a patron of the café would choose where they wished to spend their time and then wrote their beverage preference and what type of meal they would wish to partake in on the given day and what time they needed to leave if they weren’t staying until closing. Dori would dutifully make his silent way around the café and keep drinks filled and bring food and snacks to the writers, only occasionally fussing to get them to actually eat. When the time they wished to leave arrived, Dori raised his fussing level to high and nagged the poor writer into going about their business or extending their time to closing.
The amount a person paid for their visit was based upon the time they would be there under Dori’s mother-henning wing and not based upon what they ordered. All in all, those who visited the High Quill always left feeling satisfied and cared for. And that was something Dori truly loved about his life in Erebor.
So this was not how Dori saw his life going once Erebor was reclaimed. But, as he took a plate of cookies and a jug of fresh milk to a corner of the balcony that was thick with plants and suspiciously set up to look like a camp on a long journey in the wild where Bilbo and Ori were huddled over a stack of parchment, he couldn’t see himself finding anything else he would rather do.