[ It doesn't hold a candle to proper dwarven ale, either, but it will do. It's not the worst he's ever had to endure, and at a time like this, Thorin would take almost anything. Almost. He would have to seriously consider whether or not elvish wine would be acceptable in any situation, but he might have to admit that Thranduil's son deserves some credit for not being a consummate coward like his father.

The general noise of the crowd is a known thing to Thorin. He's been surrounded by such chaos for his entire life, some of it even among mixed human and dwarven company. As much as he appreciates peaceful silence, and prefers the clink of picks in a mine and the voices of his kin, in conversation or song, there is a settling familiarity in the sound of wood scraping across a stone floor. The dull clank of metal utensils on metal cups and plate. A burst of the laughter of men, as they react to some joke.

It's a very different place for a hobbit.

Normally he would let the conversation flow around him for the most part, but it's just Bilbo and himself here. He's already finished off more than half of his drink before he speaks again, however. ]

Elves tend to keep to themselves. [ It's clear from his tone that he considers this to be mostly because they feel themselves superior to other folk. ] As far as the men, this is the sort of crowd you often find outside of the Shire, Master Baggins. There are far more of them now than hobbits and dwarves put together.

[ He hasn't given up hope on finding dwarves, however, and perhaps there are hobbits as well. Elves he can do without. ]