Thorin walked with her to her room through the night, one arm still encircling her.

And once they were in there, once Arien was sure no one was listening, she told him about it.

Her past.

She told him the story of the girl who had been there when her people waged battle after battle upon the orcs, when war tore and blazed through her lands.

Her people had lost every time.

She told him of that final battle, and her parents' deaths, and how she had fled and left her people.

And how she hated herself for it.

She told him of the years afterwards in Rivendell, of how she had tried to forget her pain and grief.

And failed.

And finally, as dawn began to break, as sunlight began to cast its radiance over her bedroom, she told him of her people.

Of her parents and her homeland, her origins and the history of the Taurhelim.

All through it, he listened in silence, asking questions only when conformation was needed.

When she had finished, Thorin smiled at her.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For telling me this."

As if he understood just how much courage it had taken for her to tell him, understood just how hard it had been.

"You should rest," he told her.

She nodded and curled up in the bed they had been sitting on.

Thorin pulled the covers over her.

She thought he left, though she didn't hear him.

But just as she was falling asleep, just when her senses were blanketed by tiredness, she felt the mattress sink beneath his weight as he slipped into bed beside her.

She shifted closer to him, and she felt his arms wrap around her.

"Sleep, Arien," he murmured gently.

So she did.