Well, it’s not all the couples, sorry – but this inspired a little something!

…

“I absolutely hate this,” Thira whispered, pulling at theornate ceremonial gown. Dáin gave her an apologetic smile, and straightened hercrown.

“I know, love, an’ I’m sorry. But it’s just for the Durin’s
Day ceremony, and then you can leave.”

She sighed gustily, and gave him a resigned smile and a peck
on his whiskery cheek. “I know, sweetheart. But I’ll never like it, never. I feel
like I’m drowning in this monstrosity. And I’ve always hated being on display
like this…”

Behind them, also dressed in unfamiliar and uncomfortable
finery, their son chewed absently on his lip. Thorin was broadening into his
adult frame now, thickset and heavy-shouldered like his father rather than tall
and wiry like his mother. He appeared every inch the proud young heir. 

Still, the pressures of this new crown were weighing
on him also: the Stonehelm had never been prepared to take on the role of Crown
Prince, and had become rather self-conscious and diffident. He was acutely
aware that the three kings preceding him were titans, heroes, legends. He knew that many of the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains did not truly see Thorin son of Dáin at all – they saw instead the shadows of two young Princes who lay in stone far beneath their feet. He had
begun to question his own worth, and it broke Dáin’s heart to see it.

His lad was more precious than all the mithril in Khazad-dûm.

“All right, game faces on,” he told them both, and pushed
open the throne-room doors. Moving at a stately pace in time with the giant
drums, the new Royal family made their procession to the thrones. The hollow
where the Arkenstone had once sat yawned like a mouth, but Dáin was determined
never to fill that place with any gem, no matter how wondrous. Some things were
meant to be remembered.

The drums rolled to a crescendo, and stopped. Before the
throne, Dáin turned to the assembled court and raised his hands – and choked,
eyes boggling.

It sounded very loud
after all that drumming.

Sending an incredulous glance to his wife, he could see that
her face was slightly less tight and pinched, and there was a little twinkle in
her eye. Their son was slowly turning pink. It was all Dáin could do to continue
with the new year’s blessing upon the Kingdom without bursting into guffaws.

Finally the damned thing was done, and he nearly flopped
onto the throne as the room erupted into song. “You wicked woman,” he growled.

She arched a dark eyebrow, a small smile hovering around her
mouth. “Have to amuse myself somehow. Can I go back to the forge now?”

Dáin picked up her hand and kissed it firmly, grinning at her over the top. “Aye. And
watch out, Thira m’love. One o’ these days, I’ll be paying you back in kind!”

Now very red indeed, the Stonehelm let out a tiny and intensely embarrassed groan.