Author's Note: This is my first time writing in second-person and first time using present tense. Hopefully I don't sound like a moron :) This is an answer to a reader's request from the Thorin Oakenshield Confessions page on tumblr.

Disclaimer:I do not own The Hobbit.

Never in a million years did you ever think you would see this expression on Thorin's face as he gazes at you. There was only two other times you saw the fear of Mahal in him: when you were outnumbered by Warg-scouts and when Azog the Defiler almost killed him a second time. He sits on his throne, nearly gaping, leaning forward. He's in disbelief over the words you have just said. You can't even believe it yourself. You said five simple words to anyone else's ears, but to Thorin's ears, they are the death of him: "Thorin, I want to leave."

He is wearing his red tunic beneath his glorious armor, never looking so right, never looking so wrong. What is missing? Even when the world is against Thorin, even after all the times he got beat up by life, he still made it here. He has his mountain back, his home―his gold. Oh, gosh, his gold. You swallow hard, sick to your stomach when you remember Thorin banishing Bilbo yesterday. But he was not the only one to be banished: Kili, Fili, Dwalin, and Balin are gone, their absence leaving Erebor cold, skeletal. These people mean the most to Thorin in the world, but they are gone.

Thorin finally opens his mouth to say something, but you speak before he gets the chance to banish you, too.

"I―I don't like what the gold is doing to you. I swear I will be back by the morning, before the battle starts. Thorin―" You run a hand through your hair, lips quivering― "I just―I need time to think before everything might―" You don't dare say it, but by the wounded look on Thorin's face, you know that he knew what you were going to say: "Everything might be lost."

Thorin stands from his throne, seeming so strong, so weak. What has the gold done to him? Now you wish you could strangle the gold with your hands. You wish you could look Thranduil in the eye, and say, "Why ask for the gold? All you did was ruin him. You finished what you started." Then you might punch Thranduil afterwards.

Thorin closes the distance between you two. For the first time, you really notice how cold the hollow of the mountain is without too much Dwarven body heat. No one is within sight. It is just you and Thorin, the throne of Erebor behind him, everything he fought for: blood, sweat, and tears.

Gently, Thorin wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you until your chest is pressed against his armor. You resist the urge to squeak and look like a dork because your heart is racing a million beats per minute. He is gazing at you, gazing in your soul, his blue eyes so penetrable they might break you right now. Your decision to go seek out Bilbo, Kili, Fili, Dwalin, and Balin is up in the air. Because when Thorin stares at you like this, you can see the pain whirling inside his mind, and you want nothing more than to cradle him, to protect him against the world's horrors. He has seen enough horrors to last him fifty different lifetimes. Just one lifetime you would like him to see that he has everything he's ever wanted, that he is more than he thought he could ever be. He is not less than his grandfather and father were―he is more―he has gone beyond any average person's capabilities, building a new home for his people. And now he has reclaimed Erebor, something countless people told him he would never do. Those are the things that make you love him. Thorin has always been the true King Under the Mountain, always will be.

Thorin presses his forehead against yours, gazing at you with affection. He murmurs inches away from your mouth, "What is the gold doing to me?" For a second, you think he might be mocking you, but he's serious. You were frightened he might lash out at you next, but―

"You can't see it?" You ask, hugging his waist. Tears threaten to spill out your eyes.

Thorin shakes his head. "It is as though I am seeing someone else's life, not my own." He leans closer to nuzzle your cheek with his lips, softly planting a trail of kisses from your jawline to underneath your eye. Huskily, he says, "Tell me. I trust your word."

You rest your head on the crook of his shoulder, breathing in his familiar, coaxing scent. Many times before, he's always made you feel like the safest woman in the world. But now, now he needs you to make him feel safe.

"You're not yourself," you choke out, voice splintering. Your tears soak his shoulder, but Thorin doesn't seem to care. He's stroking your hair, holding you tighter and tighter each passing second. You continue on, scared shitless, "This isn't you, Thorin. You're brave, brilliant, loyal, honorable, smart. You're―" You gulp out of fear, not believing your about to say this― "Sick." Lovingly, you touch his cheek, caressing the roughness of his skin, loving the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips. He shudders. You love this man―this Dwarf―so much that you feel what he feels, that you are willing to right his wrongs.

His pride slips with you in his arms. "I know," he speaks gruffly, shamefully.

It feels like a kick in your heart as you step away from him. Thorin is startled by the gesture, eyes becoming big in desperation. You never thought you could have made him feel so desperate.

You take one-step backwards, legs trembling. Thorin's strong hand latches out for you, catching your forearm gently, yet urgently. In that moment, you know you're all he has left, you know you are the only thing keeping him sane. But you also know that Bilbo, Kili, Fili, Balin, and Dwalin need you.

"Don't go," Thorin says quietly, intensity pulsing his eyes.

You wipe your wet nose, sniveling like a big baby. "I―I have to go right now, but I―"

You stop speaking, speechless as Thorin slowly kneels down. You never thought Thorin would do this in a million years. He's a king. He shouldn't do this. You're a nobody compared to him, practically a peasant. His pride is his everything. Once, Gandalf said it would be his downfall.

Thorin gets on his knees, still gripping your forearm. He takes one harrowing glimpse at you, lips slightly parted. Then he lowers his gaze in unprecedented shame.

You are bawling, choking on your tears, sobbing these painful sobs that kick at your stomach with the force of a horse's hoof. Between nearly doubling over and shivering from the millions of nerves jumbling inside you, you manage to croak, "You don't have to get on your knees. You're a king and you're my leader, and this isn't right. Thorin…"

You can't help yourself, cupping his cheek, feeling his beard beneath your skin. You love him so much. He plants a hungry kiss in the palm of your hand, leaning against your touch. Still you notice how he refuses to meet your eyes.

"Please, don't leave me," Thorin says quietly, sounding brokenhearted like he knew this would have happened all along, sounding lost before you have even left.

Then in that moment, with Thorin on his knees in front of you, he crushes your chances of reaching the banished members of the company by the end of daylight. All he does is gaze in your eyes for a split-second before turning away. You can't leave him. Not after, he got down on his knees for you. He already believes you would've eventually left him anyway. For a man that is so brilliant, so awe-inspiring, you have never met anyone with more insecurity. It baffles you that he feels so much self-doubt.

"I won't go," you say gently, slinging your arms around Thorin's neck. You pull him toward you. With desperation, he swings his arms around your waist, burying his head against your stomach, inhaling sharply, shutting his eyes. You run your fingers through his majestic hair, loving how the waves cascade across your fingers in beautiful tangles.

You beckon him to stand as you softly cup his face with both hands. Thorin stands, and then he is crushing you in his arms, and you know he never wants to let you go again. He is tense, burying his head in the crook of your shoulder. Seconds later, he removes his head, resting his forehead on yours. He's breathing heavily, hot breath brushing your lips.

"I never meant―I would never want to frighten you into leaving," he says hoarsely. "This is your home, and I―" Thorin gazes at you right in the eyes, his passion electrifying every fiber of your being― "Apologize for what I have done." He is exploring your eyes with his own.

You nod. "It's okay, Thorin. You'll be okay. All we have to do is survive the battle, and then―then we'll talk about the gold."

Suddenly, Thorin closes the distance between you two. His lips crash against yours heatedly, urgently. He wraps his arms around you, making true what he has whispered to you many times between heated kisses, "You're mine. And I am yours." Your arms cling around his strong neck, loving the feel of his Dwarven body against yours. You two are kissing passionately, Thorin's lips landing on the corners of your mouth, jawline, chin, upper lip, and everywhere. You kiss him back longingly, never wanting this to end. Because tomorrow you might lose him. Your noses bump and mouths collide. His hands run all over your upper body, fingers clutching your shoulders, lower back, and then hair. He grips your hair with a fist, his passion and intensity so much that he can't help himself. Whenever you two kiss passionately, Thorin is always groaning, murmuring sweet-nothings in Khuzdul, and holding onto your hair like it is a lifeline. You love that you make him feel so much.

"You're mine," he says between a heated kiss.

"You're mine, too," you add playfully. You want to say those three words, but the feel of Thorin kissing you is giving you a dizzying spell.

Then against your lips; his eyes wide-open, warm, and loving, he says it huskily.

"I love you."

You're nearly crying, giving him a warm kiss. "I love you, too."

When he hears you say these words back, he smiles, kissing you once again. You know Thorin's emotions are too much for him to handle at times, even if he would never dare admit it. He's kissing you hungrily now, pecking your upper lip. You catch his lower lip, knowing Thorin enjoys it when you do this. He groans.

Still, you cannot bring yourself to tell Thorin what you plan to do: seek out the banished members of the company in the middle of the night. Because what you must do is more important than how you feel in one moment. You're doing it no matter what, because Thorin Oakenshield means everything to you. And if for just one moment, Thorin can have the people back in his life that mean everything to him, you will die a happy woman.

Author's Note: This may or may not have been inspired by a preview of the future for my own Thorin/OC fic, "Heroes." I hope you enjoyed it, reader :) Reviews are much appreciated. How did I do second-person and present tense? I hope this qualifies as Thorin comforting the reader, and luckily, this request happened to coincide with an idea I've been playing around with to have in my own fic. He's apologetic in here and speaking about his Dragon Sickness. As you can see, I added Balin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili to his list of banished, since this is move-canon and I believe there is a chance he will banish all the people that are closest to him.