Shattered A/N

Hey guys! I was supposed to upload this first chapter on my birthday like a proper Hobbit, but things didn't quite work out. My laptop deleted the first half of the chapter and I had no time before leaving to get my tattoo to rewrite it. And, even though its been almost a week since my birthday, my new house has no internet for my posting needs. Anyway, as a belated present to you guys, enjoy.

Now, time for the important notes. There is no on-screen rape/non-con in this story, but it contains many mentions of past non-con and graphic descriptions of violence. Please, please, please, know your triggers and read carefully. Okay? Okay.

Read on!

_Hobbit_

Bilbo stared at the large white body before him, emerald eyes wide with fear. Azog leered down at him, an ugly smirk on his scarred face.

"Come now, Halfling," the Pale Orc sneered roughly, his tongue twisting with the rarely-used Westron. He reached out and snagged a handful of Bilbo's golden curls, yanking his head up roughly. "Let's play."

Bilbo struggled against the rope keeping his hands bound, fighting to escape though he knew it was useless, and would only result in torn wrists. The Defiler barked something the guttural language of his people, causing the group of Orcs behind him to cheer, laughing cruelly as their leader released Bilbo's hair, only to lift the Hobbit into the air with his clawed arm. Azog examined his captive, smirked, and threw the Hobbit into the midst of his army, barely sparing a moment to order his men to leave the Halfling alive.

The Hobbit writhed and struggled helplessly as the army of Orcs closed over him.

Bilbo sat up in bed, panting, and clutched his thick blanket to his chest to stop his trembling. The frightened Hobbit ran a hand through his sweaty curls, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. For many months he had been plagued with these nightmares, and it was getting to the point that he feared closing his eyes. He rolled out of bed and went to make tea, hoping a good cuppa would soothe him.

Making the tea helped slow his beating heart, the familiar routine calming and soothing, and he was almost completely composed by the time the kettle began whistling.

"Bilbo, old boy," he whispered to himself while waiting for the tea leaves to steep, "you have got to pull yourself together'"

Bilbo picked up his cup of camomile and walking and walked into his family room to build up the fire. He then lit a few candles and a small oil lantern to illuminate his dark smial and sat down I'm his father's old armchair with a book of Elvish poetry, which never failed t sooth his tormented soul. The Hobbit pulled an old afghan across his knees and settled in to read.

_Hobbit_

When Bilbo finally looked up from his book , the sun had risen high in the sky and even the latest sleeping Shire-folk were well on their way to beginning the day. He set the book aside with a sigh, then folded the afghan to drape across the arm of the chair and went to go make breakfast.

After fighting down two slices of toast and a bit of fried ham, Bilbo dressed himself in a pair of short, tan breeches, suspenders to hold up his trousers, and a white button up shirt before wrapping a black scarf 'round his neck and grabbing his pipe, a pouch of Old Toby, and a box of matches. He walked outside and settled himself down on the bench overlooking his garden. He filled his beautifully carved pipe with Old Toby and struck a match to light it. The Hobbit relaxed at the first draw and slumped back in his seat.

Bilbo inhaled deeply and blew out a perfectly round smoke ring, smiling slightly as it sailed away.

The clearing of someone's throat drew Bilbo out of his thoughts and he looked up, startled, to see and elderly gentleman clothed in gray robes standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to Bag End. The man had long gray hair, a gray beard that hung near to his knees, wore a pointy blue hat, and carried a staff. And he was very, very tall.

Bilbo swallowed hard. "Good morning," he ventured politely.

"What do mean?" the old man asked, his blue eyes twinkling. "Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or mean to say that it is a good morning whether I want it or not. Or perhaps you mean to say you feel good on this particular morning; or are you simply stating that this is a morning to feel good on?"

"Um...all of them at once, I suppose."

"To think that I should have lived to be 'good morning'ed by Belladonna Took's son, as if I were selling buttons at the door!" the man exclaimed.

Bilbo's head snapped up and he stared at the strange man. "You knew my mother?"

"Of course! She was one of my dearest friends, before she passed."

The Hobbit dumped out the ashes in his pipe and stood. "Perhaps you'd like to come in, Master..."

"I am Gandalf!" the stranger proclaimed. "And I would love to come in, my boy. I think we could do with a chat."

_Hobbit_

Later that night, long after Gandalf had gone his own way, Bilbo was setting his supper on the table when he was interrupted by a loud knock on his door. The Hobbit walked down the hall, eyebrows furrowed, to pull the door open...

...and stared.

There was a /Dwarf/ on his front stoop. A very large, heavily armed Dwarf.

Said Dwarf bowed slightly, keeping his eyes on Bilbo, assessing him. "Dwalin, at yer service," he growled.

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," Bilbo replied, tightening his patchwork robe self-consciously.

Dwalin pushed past him' asking "which way, laddie? Is it down here?"

"Is what down where?"

"Supper. He said there'd be food."

Bilbo led Dwalin down the hall to his dining room, all the while wondering who "he" was. He offered Dwalin his own supper, fried fish with steamed vegetables, not feeling very hungry anyway.

The Hobbit slipped away as soon as he was able, burying his face in his hands, trying -and failing- to reign in his anxiety.

The sound of the doorbell rang through his smial and he rushed to answer it. A Baggins is never rude, after all. He pulled the door open to reveal another Dwarf, this one much shorter with pure white hair and a long white beard.

"Balin, at your service." the Dwarf introduced himself with a bow."

"G-good evening," Bilbo stuttered back, then cursed himself for sounding like a fool.

"Yes it is," Balin agreed as he stepping into Bag End. "Though, I think it might rain later."

Bilbo watched numbly as Dwalin and Balin greeted each other, feeling awkward, out of place and confused. He opened his mouth to ask the Dwarrows something, but was cut off by yet another knock at the door.

The Hobbit sighed and turned to open the door once again, this time to see two very young Dwarves, one with blonde hair and the other with brown.

"Fili-"

"-And Kili-"

"-At your service." The two bowed, offering him identical cheeky smiles. All Bilbo could do was stare, even as the two pushed past him into his home.

The Hobbit, sighed and rubbed his temples. He was tired, anxious, a bit scared, and he just wanted these Dwarves out of his home.

The doorbell sounded once more, and Bilbo turned around and yanked the door open. Several Dwarves came tumbling into his smial, collapsing I'm a heap on his welcome mat. And standing behind the, was...

"Gandalf."

Bilbo glared at the Wizard standing before him, knowing the nutty old dodger was responsible for this.

The Dwarrows lying upon his mat stood and brushed themselves off, chattering to one another as they went into the kitchen where the other four had gathered.

Bilbo felt the familiar tightening in his chest as the Dwarves rushed about, plucking things out of his pantry and tearing apart his kitchen. It was loud, so loud, and he needed air, he couldn't breathe, he needed air...

And then everything went dark.