The bonfire crackled and roared, casting a golden glow across the newly restored city of Dale. After months of rebuilding, of healing and hard work, this night had finally come—a feast to celebrate their triumph, unity, and the hope of brighter days ahead. Tables laden with food stretched between rebuilt stone walls and tents. Game and roasted vegetables lined wooden platters, gifts of Erebor's wealth brought to life by Lake-town’s resilience. Dwarves and men alike danced and toasted to their newfound peace, voices echoing into the mountains as ale sloshed from lifted mugs.

Nearby, Fili’s laughter rose above the din, infectious and loud as he shared a rib-cracking tale with the Company. Most of the Elves had returned to their wood, but some lingered still, like Tauriel, who walked along the edges of the gathering with Kili. Bilbo sat by the fire with Gandalf, the hobbit’s eyes bright as he listened to the wizard weave tales of adventures past, pipe smoke curling above them.

Amid the joy and raucous energy, Thorin stood alone, a few paces back from the fire, observing the scene. He held a sturdy iron mug in one hand as he watched the revelry unfold with a silent pride. He looked like a figure carved from stone, stoic and strong, yet in his eyes there was something softer, a peace hard-won. His kingdom restored, his people thriving—this was what he had fought and sacrificed for, and now he could breathe freely, if only for a moment.

The glow of the flames lit his features, casting shadows over the weathered lines of his face, making him look every inch the king he was. But as the fire flickered, you noticed something else in his expression—a hint of relief, almost vulnerability. Here, surrounded by laughter and music, he seemed at ease, content, even… happy, in his own way.

Your gaze lingers, and he notices, his steel-blue eyes catching yours in the firelight. A brief, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips before he raises his mug in a silent toast, a rare gesture just for you.