Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit.

Just a small chapter in which Thorin mentally berates himself. I promise we will get to the mountain and Smaug soon, but in order to be inspired for the dragon scene will need to rewatch the Smaug scenes ... a lot ... :P

Read, review and enjoy xx

Thorin had been an idiot. A careless, selfish, foolish idiot.

It hadn't been long since Thorin had excused himself from the celebrations once his foul disposition became more noticeable when he snapped at Fili. Poor lad had only asked if he wanted another ale. After a long climb up the stairs he exiled himself to the far corner of his room to think. His and Marie's room he corrected himself, even if it still felt utterly wrong to do so.

The only things that stirred were the flames on the candles lighting the room and the sleeping hobbit herself, curled into the giant pillow on her side with her body rising and falling under the weight of her left arm that lay across her waist. A position she often fell into when sleeping.

Thorin sat further back into the large chair and forced himself to look out the tall window that gave him full view of the Lonely Mountain. The clouds had come in low over the town and frost had formed over the poor glass, but the mountain's peek could still be seen.

He was so close. In one days time he would be home again. Home, in great halls of history and mines rich with gems and gold. And his people's treasure would be theirs again.

The bargeman's words came back to him, how it had been his grandfather's fault that the dragon had come, that the dragon had burned his ancestor's home and taken Thorin's for himself.

'The blind ambition of a mountain king.'

Surprisingly, Thorin's anger at the mortal man did not burn as harsh as it had in that tense standoff before the Master of Lake Town. It filled him bitterness to admit some truth to Bard's words, but he wasn't Thror. He was stronger, more aware of the weakness and would not yield to it.

He had meant every word, He would return Erebor to the glory it once was, all will prosper in its wealth and the East would flourish again. This is what he wanted more than anything.

So he wanted to believe

A groggy moan drew his attention, but it was only Marie. Her small frame shifted so she lay on her back before stilling again. This had happened the previous night. Thorin had watched her fidget and tousle about in the sheets in the throes of a dream for the better part of an hour. She looked so small on the bed, gentle ... helpless.

Thorin sighed and ran a hand through his thick black mane.

What had he done?

Taken advantage of a woman in a vulnerable state that's what.

Not just any woman. Marie. Marie, oh Mahal preserve his soul Marie of all people.

And he had hurt her physically as his overbearing guilt reminded him.

His hand came back roughly over his face until his thumb and index pinched the bridge of his nose. It would have been so easy to blame it solely on the wine or the hobbit for her own innocent slip of affection, but there was no denying they were both acting on a much deeper, primal desire.

Thorin always thought himself as a dwarf of integrity, and his decisions fraught with good intentions. Yes that was the only reason he went on with the Master's assumption that Marie's was his ... his companion was to keep her safe. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Mariellena Baggins.

Such an enigma she was to him. Just when Thorin believe had had her figured out, she went and flipped his perception on its head in a most spectacular fashion. She was weak in body and strong in mind, naive yet wise, distant and practical but brought a sense great comfort to everyone. Her presence had rubbed off on all his men that much was plain to see.

A challenging woman, but a challenge Thorin had come to accept.

He accepted it the day she placed herself between Azog and himself, waving about her blade and defending him. Thorin had never seen something so foolhardy and brave.

He would not doubt the fact that something had shifted between them in the past few weeks after that encounter. Thorin would call it a shared fondness for one another, but any wise being would be wary of just how quickly the fondness for someone could spiral into more passionate cravings.

It still made his stomach knot up when he remembered how her head accidentally lent against his shoulder as she chuckled at something, their arms lined together on the bridge rail, her glorious eyes alive with intrigue as he told her of the great triumphs of the dwarves while she in return talked of grand parties when all of her kin would celebrate for no other reason than to simply enjoy themselves.

Then there was before. Desire was still gnawing in his belly at the thought of it. He could still recall holding her in his arms, her gentle touch across his jaw, and her kiss ...

Thorin's jaw locked as the knot within him grew tighter. Her kiss had sent a heat as hot as dragon fire burning through his veins with sheer want.

For a short period of time, he had forgotten his quest, the dragon, the throne, the Arkenstone. All there was ... was her.

His burglar. His comrade. His friend. His Marie.

His.

No.

Not his.

Never his.

There was another groan from the bed, only this one sounded different. It sounded painful.

Thorin pulled himself up from the chair and was around the large bed standing over the hobbit in seconds. Marie had one hand clutching the sheets tightly as her breathing became sharper. Marie's eyes flickered under their lids but remained closed as she continued to dream on. Judging from the constricted look on her face it was a not a very good dream.

Her right hand rested next to her head, fingers curled into a soft fist. Thorin tilted his head and stared at it curiously. It looked like there was something hidden in her hand, something that just peeked out between her fingers.

The dwarf was sorely tempted to see just what.

He went to open her fist, but when his fingers came within a hair's breadth of her hand Marie's whole body gave a sudden twitch. "Nnnooo." She croaked as she rolled onto her side, pulling herself into a tight ball with her hands braced across her chest. "Mmm ... mm.. mine."

Thorin withdrew his hand and sat himself on the edge of the bed. He watched her, study her, noticed the minor things that made her ... well her. The sharp curve of her cheeks that were usually tainted red like apples in the sunlight, the brown ringlets that had pulled free from the braided crown and had fallen across her face, even the glimmer of a small scar along her temple. That scar had defiantly not been the there when she had left her home.

The flowers that made up her crown were wilted and many had fallen from their place. Thorin imagined how she would look with a real crown of gold and bronze.

Marie whimpered again, her brow furrowed and her breathing escalated.

Thorin wasn't a dwarf to panic, but at that moment Thorin could feel his pulse rising as he struggled with the idea of shaking her awake if only to stop her nightmare. Such a thing may earn him a violent smack from the startled woman so he chose a more gentle approach. He brushed a curled knuckle over the pale scar with a feather light touch.

He received no response, so he brushed her skin again and the hobbit began to relax, her eyelids stopped flickering which was a first. He repeated the action over and over, finding himself falling into a rhythm. Dis had done this to the boys when they slept in their cradles, something she had picked up from their own mother. He found it soothing and hoped it would work on Marie.

He expected her to feel warm, flushed from all the merrymaking of the night. But her skin was like ice.

How was she so cold?

He turned his hand over and pressed his palm against her head, his thumb stroking the space between her brow and hairline. The lines around her eyes began to fade and her arms unfurled from her body into a much more comfortable position.

Relief came over Thorin to see her pain easing, but a sharp pang in his chest followed by the thought, 'You should never have let her in so closely,' made him retract his hand. 'Would you risk everything you have achieved for a woman?' The voice in his head hissed again. 'She has no place amongst you.' Thorin tried to banish the voice, but it only grew stronger with bitter reason. 'Would she ever be happy to be bound to a king, to be shut away like a precious gem? No ... you know that her heart lies in the green field of her home. You would only hurt her.'

All of a sudden, the crown Thorin had envisioned for Marie turned to chains.

'She is of the earth, tender and soft. You are of stone. Cold. Enduring. What hope does the flower have to flourish in the shadow of the mountain?'

As of coxed by the voice, Thorin found himself pulling away from the bedside and back to his place at the window, away from Marie. Each step he took left a foul feeling in his chest.

'You would only hurt her.'

Thorin sat himself into the chair and looked back out the window, praying that Marie would think their passion a flitting illusion of a dream. Yes it would be ... better this way. For both their sakes it was ... better.

He had to harden his heart, else they would break eachother's.

Is it the voice of reason Thorin is listening to? Or perhaps some other force that could drive him ... or I don't know ... mad? :P