Thorin, being a frequent patron of the bar, had been drinking for some time now. Truth be told, after that business with the Gentlemen, he's rather nervous about the effect of alcohol on his throat and voice, so he's pacing himself slower than usual. The mug in front of him is half empty, and he swishes the ale inside thoughtfully as he notices Mal's approach.

"Still a bit thrown are you, lad?"

He didn't blame him, Thorin still wasn't used to the fact that people could die so easily here.