[ Thorin heaves himself back to his feet, staggering as unsteadily as a man that's had too much drink as he turns and takes a few steps to the opposite bed. His hands settle on the baseboard, it's the only thing keeping him on his feet as tries to stop the sickening tilt and spin of his thoughts, old anger threatening to bubble to the surface once more. No. He will not give into that. Never again.

Given space, small as it is, and enough time to take a deep breath, he finds it possible to clear his mind, but he is certainly not prepared to gaze upon it again. Not yet. Of course, neither is he capable of casting it aside, either, but he knows that it is as safe in Bilbo's hands as it would be anywhere else.

Thorin tries not to think too much about whether or not Bilbo would give it to him when he demands it. He will when it is necessary, that is all that matters.

That is the only thought he can allow himself on the matter. ]

I no longer need it to reclaim my homeland and reunite my people. It is an heirloom now, my birthright but also a piece of my past that has brought naught but ruin upon those I would call friends. In the midst of my madness, I could think of nothing else.

[ He is somewhat more in control of himself, though unsteady. Still, he knows he has to make Bilbo understand. ]

You had it, the entire time we were searching for it. You knew that it would stir nothing but more darkness in my heart, should you give it to me. You must have known that I would have gone to terrible lengths to avenge that loss, and yet you still returned. You tried to reason with me when there was none to be had.

At the time, it felt a stinging betrayal the likes of which I had not felt in a very long time. Now I see that it was loyalty, held fast even in the face of madness.