When Vaughn had left, Thorin opened a bottle. What was that idiot thinking? That he could pull the ropes as soon as he was married to his sister? He refused to marry a woman who couldn't even give him a smile on his face. There had only been one woman to whom he had offered his heart and more and more often he got the feeling she still had it. 
He took a few gulps and watched around the room. In the corner was his harp. He hadn't touched it since he had played a song for her and he wondered how it had gotten here. With hesitation he pushed the instrument away. The pure gold was covered with dust. His fingers slit over the strings, which brought about a quivering inside him. Softly he hummed the notes, his fingertips touched the right strings. For a moment the emptiness seemed to be filled again, until he realized what words he was mumbling.
"All for you, you make me wanna try
All for you, I'll give you everything
All for you, you make me wanna try
All for you, I'll honor you forever
Like the sun that never sets
The brightest shining star, you're the brightest
shining star I've ever seen.'

Bluntly he stepped back, biting on his cheek. He had spoken those words to her and he had done nothing to make them true. He hadn't even tried. He hadn't given her anything. He hadn't honored her at all. Her name was a curse, her face had became that of a monster and her voice was a dark power dragging him into an abyss. 

His thoughts flashed to the last conversation with his sister. 
"You are unhappy. You are unhappy for such a long time and the fact that you're longing for her so heavily, makes clear that she has shown you another side of life."
She had wanted him to take the effort to visit her and now it was too late. It was like a last remedy that didn't work. A last hope that was flying away. Three years ago he could have considered it at least, but now only the thought of going outside frightened him. 
A tear ran down his cheek when he thought about Dís. He had done the right thing. Dís was dead thanks to his feelings for that elf and the only thing he could have done, was getting over it, so that she wouldn't cause the dead of more family members.
Even though Thorin knew he had done the right thing, he knew Dís would be disappointed in him if she saw him this way. So introverted. So empty. So loveless. 
Suddenly he longed for her company. He stared at one of the many fragments of glass that laid against the wall. She couldn't come to him... but he could go to her. All he needed to do was putting out his arm and cutting himself with a sharp edge of the glass. He would bleed to dead before they would find him, so that he finally could hold his family in his arms.
He tore his glance loose from the glass. Nobody would embrace him if he died in such a coward way. None of them had been willing to die and he was nothing but weak if he choose  to die. Kili and he were the only ones who kept up their family name and Kíli had disappeared. Where would he be? Locked up by Thranduil when he tried to visit Tauriel? Or was he save in Chyndall and had he told Alyssae about everything that had happened? About all the lies he had spread about her, all the things he had done to banish her out of his life...
And still he hadn't succeeded. With  renewed interest he looked at the harp, that had been the evil spirit that called up these memories. It had to be destroyed. Everything that made a whimpering, mentally unstable person of him had to be destroyed. 
In a straight line he walked to the table on which he sword was laying, that was only used to ruin things. He pulled the weapon out of its scabbard, turned back to the instrument and hacked against it until it could pass for fire wood.

Half an hour later he sat down on the floor. He was tired. So terribly tired. The edges of the gaping hole inside him were burning, making him shrink. The endless feeling of powerlessness and sadness, that filled him with anger for the rest of the day, forced him on his knees now. 
Anger had left his body as if he had breathed it out, so that even less stayed behind. He stared at his hands, full of scars. 
There he was; the mighty king of Erebor, on his knees and with his head bowed. Longing for something that made his life useful, that gave him the lust to come upright. He did not know how long he could keep this going. He was tired. Worn out. Broken, and only to repair by a type of glue that wasn't around.