#longtimenosee

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : The inn was warm, the flickering light of the hearth casting a cozy glow across the weathered wood and faces of patrons lost in their own musings. As I maneuvered between tables, I spotted Thorin Oakenshield seated in a corner, his unmistakable blue hood pulled low over his brow. He was a dwarf of regal bearing, a prince among men, though in the dim light he appeared more weary than grand.

I approached with a steaming bowl of goulash, the fragrant spices wafting up like a seasoned embrace. The rich aroma of meat simmering with root vegetables tickled the senses, a dish hearty enough to satisfy any traveler. "A warm meal for a cold night." I offered with a bright smile, setting down the bowl before him alongside a tankard of frothy ale.

Thorin glanced up, his steel-grey eyes meeting mine, and for a brief moment, I saw a glimmer of gratitude beneath the weight of his burdens. "A fine way to end a long journey..." he replied, his voice deep and resonant. He scooped a spoonful of goulash, the savory broth cascading like molten gold as he tasted it. His expression softened slightly, a rare chink in the armor of his stoic demeanor. "You have a knack, lass." he admitted, eyes crinkling in a way that suggested he rarely found such satisfaction in food.

"Just a humble waitress in a humble inn." I said, trying to downplay his compliment. Curiosity flared within me, yet decorum held me back. Dwarves were notoriously private about their journeys, and I would not pry. Instead, I ventured, “So… What do you think of The Prancing Pony, Master Dwarf? It’s a far cry from the grand halls, I wager?”

“Perhaps, but I find that sometimes the heart of a place lies in its strength of spirit.” he replied contemplatively as he raised his mug in a toast to the mingling patrons around us.

As he took a sip of the ale, the inn doors swung open, letting in a gust of cold evening air, ushering in two strangers. Their presence seemed to sap the warmth from the room—their intentions clouded like the stormy skies outside. The chatter of drunken patrons stilled as the inn took notice, eyes flicking from me to the newcomers.

Draped in dark, tattered cloaks, their faces obscured, one was tall and imposing, the other wiry, with lips curled in a sly smirk. They surveyed the room, taking stock of each face, lingering a moment too long on Thorin before they approached the bar.