A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind, his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall? It lingered. Words that had festered in his mind, pushed back to the deepest crevices of memory — and had he not, for the longest time, believed he could keep them there? Now there were other voices. Darker, PAWING at the surface, seething below, sometimes quiet, then growing to a BOOMING in his head, that deafened his own voice. Thorin had long lost track of time. Lulled in and out of dreams of GREATNESS, dreams of home, he had spent days pacing. Waiting. Brooding in the emptiness of the throne room, his very own EXILE he had placed upon himself, for sometimes he forgot there were others, sometimes he considered them UNWORTHY of his company— and then, in the few moments of clarity, remembering what he had done, said to them, he was too ASHAMED to face any of them.
It was no such moment Bofur found him in. Calm he was, yet frightening; the massive frame made larger with fur and IRON, Thorin sat slumped upon the throne, blue eyes staring at nothing, while he relentlessly kept on turning the RING displaying his family’s sigil upon his finger with a thumb. A nervous tick, possibly; the sign of a crazed mind for sure. The greeting remained unheard, a KINDNESS that found no response, and it wasn’t until Bofur uttered the word Arkenstone, that Thorin’s gaze but for a moment and unexpectedly DARTED to the toymaker – lingered for no more than a few seconds, and just as abruptly was averted once more.
❝Still looking—❞ the baritone of his voice once had sounded KIND. Countless tales he had told, songs sung, a rare but humming laughter by the campfire. What remained was HOARSE, a voice used too often and too loud, or never at all, and Thorin for a moment knitted his brows as if speaking hurt his throat. Forgetting Bofur standing before him, he briefly began to mutter under his breath; a low RUMBLE emerging from the broad chest. ❝We must bring the treasure to the lower levels. Bring it to SAFETY. They may be here soon, they may demand of me– demand. Of ME. It is not safe where it lies. It–❞
Quite suddenly clouded blue eyes flitted to Bofur’s form once more, a look of SURPRISE settling on Thorin’s features but for a moment, as if the dwarvenking only now had realized the company, but the expression faded as fast as it had come.
❝If someone had TAKEN it– if someone were hiding it from me, you would tell me. Wouldn’t you?❞
