"And I'll thank you to be quick about it," Thorin grumbles from somewhere down the length of bar where he has been waiting none too patiently. "Some of us haven't got all night."

There are too many people here for his liking, too many who ignore his presence as much as resent it. He is stared at for his trouble by all around him but the barkeep, who fastidiously keeps his eyes lowered to the task at hand as he pours ale from their barrels. Thorin glowers at his back, jaw set into a stubborn line, and turns towards one of the few tables that stand empty, moving to sit at the one nearest a darkened corner.

Let them stare, he thinks, settling into the chair that is only a little too tall for him with as much dignity as he can muster. If they look closely enough perhaps they'll remember who I am.

And what he's done. Perhaps they'll realize that there is royalty amongst them.

But Dwarves, it seems, aren't as welcome in these lands as Thorin would have guessed.