She dreams of Golden Hope

Awake praying to a God I don't believe in

"For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, in the sepulchre there by the sea, in her tomb by the sounding sea."- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe

He couldn't sleep.

Night had fallen long ago. His quiescent company had retired a few hours back and the quietude of the night was broken by the periodical snoring of his kin. The company, which tonight had not sat around the campfire after having set up shelter for the night and told humorous stories. Bofur had not sang one of his infamous ballads in his deeply accented voice, but had sat beside his cousins in silent solemn reverie, occasionally glancing worriedly at their burglar. Bombur and Bifur had kept their gazes lowered to the ground during this time, Bombur with clear shame and self-deprecation marring his face probably arising during reflection on his behavior towards her. Bifur's expression had been one of undiluted sorrow and occasionally Thorin had felt his accusing gaze on his back. The rest of the company had shown similar behavior as Bombur, all had kept silent and contemplative and they had shown clear regret at their behavior towards the little half-elf in the last few weeks. Even Dwalin, who Thorin at times thought was even more contemptuous than even him toward the race of elves. Even Dwalin had kept mournfully quiet, as they descended the Carrock and set up camp for the night. His nephews... He had practically been able to feel the resentment radiating off them. His nephews had grown uncharacteristically grave and he had realized that the girl meant much more to them, than he had previously thought. And as he had looked at them and the light of the flames of the campfire, which had long gone out now, had thrown shadows across their faces only serving to further bring out the sorrow in their blue eyes, he had thought for a single moment that his nephews had fallen for her. His entire company had become fond of the fiery girl with her kind heart and her beaming smile, he could see that now. The burglar had been inconsolable and had kept to himself, even refusing the company of the wizard and of Bofur whom he had befriended, but all were grieved at the girl's capture.

He couldn't sleep.

He knew that he should be resting and regaining his strength, especially after he had been gravelly wounded during the confrontation with that Orcish Filth. He knew it had been foolhardy to confront the Pale Orc, but he had been so angry. An emotion he knew well, for now he realized that he had always been angry, ever since the day that fire drake had come and had taken from him everything that had mattered to him. Ever since Smaug had come and had brought with it the misery that would constantly haunt Thorin's life. For decades anger had been the only emotion that had resided within him. He had been angry when he had to lead his inconsolable people, who had once been so mighty but now were brought low. When he'd had to lead them to poor lodgings in exile. He had been angry when he had been forced to take work in that black smith in Bree, manufacturing swords for those arrogant individuals who looked down at him for being a dwarf. He had been so angry every night he'd had to go to sleep on that narrow straw bed and he'd remember the opulence of his former halls as he looked up at the wooden ceiling of his chamber. He had been angry when Dain, the dwarfs of the Iron Hills had refused him help when they had surely disfruited of their affluence when Thror had still ruled under the Lonely Mountain. He had always been angry... when he had lost his father and his grandfather on the same fateful day. Cruel and heartless, a dulcet soft voice whispered in his mind. Thorin pursed his lips and shook his head slightly, as if in hopes of shaking off the voice, her voice. In hopes of shaking off the thoughts that ghosted in his head and that would not let him sleep.

He couldn't sleep.

He couldn't find rest because of his thoughts that created a chaotic disarray within him. Thoughts of her. He knew that the honorable thing would have been to go back for her. That he should have gone back for her, especially when time and time again she had sacrificed herself for his quest. When even after he had allowed her to get tortured in goblin town at the hands of that odious goblin chieftain, she had rescued him by stepping in between him and that Orc with his sword raised, prepared to bring it down on him. He thought of her fate. Rationally, he knew that it would be better if she was dead. That it would surely be more merciful if she had died, than her being at the hands of that odious creature who had once more caused a gaping sense of loss within Thorin. He knew that it would be better than the images that now ran through his mind and that tormented him- images of blood coating her rose red hair, images of her horrified gaze and her fair skin marred by blood and ugly injuries. And the sounds of her screams accompanied those images that made his heart constrict tightly in his chest. Her scream- the same heart wrenching, piercing sound that had taunted him in goblin town. The sound that had made his insides freeze and his heart stop. The sounds that had him feel ice-cold dread. The sound that he had never wanted her to ever emit again. Yet the thought of the light going out in those deep pools of blue distressed him more than he could have ever admitted.