He does, and he did.

[ Thorin slams his mug back down on the table with enough force to gain a few curious stares from nearby patrons. He stares them down until they look away, and the sounds of the crowd quickly return to their normal levels. Only once they have their relative privacy back does he lean forward to continue to speak, not as much with anger, but with definite fierce intensity. ]

Master Baggins. Bilbo. For as long as I live, I am King under the Mountain. I sat on the throne, and I wore that crown. [ It was not his proudest moment, in the midst of that sickness. Far prouder he was when his company followed him into battle, despite everything that had been said and done. That was the King they had followed to the Lonely Mountain. ] Do not think for one moment that I intend to forsake that.

[ He leans back and tugs at his chain mail, pulling it up so that the huge, still rather unsightly, gash through it is visible. It's clearly far too extensive to be indicative of anything short of a fatal wound. ]

I killed Azog. And I fell. I should among my ancestors now, not in some dingy tavern in the middle of nowhere.