"Thorin," Marryn pleaded weakly, "it's too dangerous."
The dwarf turned to his wife and gazed upon her. He was untouched by time, though the few gray hairs he had gained since leaving Erebor still glinted in the light.
His face was stony and determined.
"Azog the Defiler has murdered my grandfather, infested a dwarven stronghold, and insulted my kind in every way possible," Thorin grunted, "He has vowed to wipe out the line of Durin. This is a dishonor that cannot be ignored."
"Is there no other way?" Marryn asked, her gray eyes welling up with tears, "I fear he means to provoke you… to lure you to him."
"I will make him rue the day he threatened the lives of my family if it's the last thing I do," Thorin growled.
He turned away from her and continued gathering the weapons he had stashed around their tiny home.
Marryn said nothing more until Thorin stood in the doorway, poised to leave. She wrapped her pale arms around him, resting her chin delicately on his shoulder.
"If there is one thing I've learned about you in all our years together," she said with a grin, "is that it's easier to train a warg to dance for treats than to sway you from your path."
Thorin pulled away and smirked at her, brushing her cheek with his rough hand. Her eyes seemed to glitter like a reflection of the moon. Somehow, through every hardship, she was much the same girl he'd danced with at Girion's feast so many years ago.
"I will not beg you to stay," she said, her voice quavering, "Only promise you'll return to me."
Thorin took her hand in both of his and kissed it, glancing at the moon pebble in her ring. He brushed it with his thumb.
"Remember, always, that you hold my heart in your hands," he whispered.
He entangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her into a deep kiss. For a moment, it seemed that he had changed his mind about leaving altogether.
Then he took a deep breath, gathered his supplies and trudged out the door. He didn't dare look back for fear her gaze might call him to stay.