Ahem. So, I was going to wait a little longer to write this. Then I saw the Hobbit trailer. So, consider this my own personal celebration in honor of the amazing trailer and the awesome, hot majesticness that is Richard Armitage on the same screen as the adorably-sassy Martin Freeman and the incredibly-hot Orlando Bloom and- and- and pretty much every other person in that cast because I love the Hobbit way too much for my sanity. Anyways~ Rant over, on to the chapter! Oh, real quick though, please remember to review and lemme know what you think of this, or just tell me what your own reaction was to the Hobbit trailer! I want to know that I'm not the only dork out there, hahaha.

Bilbo Baggins woke to the sounds of battle.

The hobbit blinked slowly in the dim, shadowy light that struggled to filter through the trees of Mirkwood and painfully pulled himself into a sitting position. He bit his lip as his eyes flickered across the dark scarlet rosette of half-dried blood that had spread across the front of his shirt, his breath catching in his throat in response to the sharp stab of pain that went through his aching body.

A screeching goblin raced past his hiding place, causing the hobbit to flinch back into the branches in a sudden, painful panic, his eyes widening in surprise when a silver-haired elf leaped at the goblin, his twin blades flashing silver and black as they sliced through the creature's dry skin. The elf hastily shoved the goblin's corpse away and sheathed his blades before reaching for the bow that had been slung across his back, his bright blue eyes already combing the trees for his next target. Bilbo's breath hitched and slowly started to move closer to the stationary elf, his shaking fingers moving to curl around the cold ring that still rested on his finger.

NO!

The hobbit instinctively recoiled at the loud, hissing shout that rang through his mind, his head suddenly pounding with a sharp, searing pain.

Do not reveal yourself to the elf, the voice of the ring hissed frantically in his mind. The elves cannot be trusted. They imprisoned your friends-

Oh, now they're my friends, are they? Bilbo shot back irritably, only dimly worried that he was now arguing with a disembodied voice.

Do not trust the elves! The voice seemed to grow within his mind, its flat, almost hypnotic tones tinged with the barest hint of anger. They will take the ring from you, they will use it to take everything away from you. They will destroy you! Stay hidden… Stay hidden and wait until they leave…

Bilbo slowly pulled his hand away from the ring, his muscles already relaxing back into the underbrush as he prepared to follow the rings instructions, prepared to wait-

Wait for what? he thought suddenly. And… And the elves are my friends, too. They took me in when Thorin… when he… They will not hurt me.

Do not trust-

Bilbo forcibly shoved the voice of the ring out of his mind and pulled the burning metal off of his finger, a low gasp of pain and surprise breaking through his lips when the ring stung the palm of his hand like a flame. The elf whirled around at the sound of the gasp, his eyes widening in shock and recognition when he caught sight of the bloodied hobbit that was crouched in the underbrush behind him. Bilbo offered the elf a weary smile, his eyes finally focusing on the taller man's familiar face.

"Legolas…" he croaked.

"Mister Baggins," the elf prince whispered in shock and awe. "What are you-?" The elf broke off abruptly when Bilbo's breath hitched again, his bright blue eyes narrowed with concern. "You are injured."

"I- I'm afraid so," Bilbo admitted sheepishly. The hobbit carefully tucked the burning ring into the pocket of his coat just as Legolas hurried to his side, the breath hissing out of his lungs as the elf's lithe arms gingerly lifted him into the air.

"I am sorry," Legolas murmured apologetically. "But we must get you to a healer as soon as possible."

Bilbo nodded stiffly and allowed himself to relax against the elf's armored chest, his eyes locking for a brief moment on the goblin corpse that was still crumpled onto the ground a few feet away.

"Battle…" he gasped.

"My men and I were merely taking care of a few stragglers," Legolas assured him quickly. "I am told that the main battle is already over."

"The main…?"

"The siege of Erebor," the elf explained, his arms tightening slightly around the hobbit as he darted soundlessly through the forrest. Dimly, Bilbo was aware of several other elves falling into place behind them, their bows and knives held at the ready as they searched the trees for any remaining enemies. "The forces of the Iron Hills, Laketown, and Mirkwood entered into an alliance with the company of Thorin Oakenshield before the orcs and goblins arrived."

"R-Really?" Bilbo whispered, his heart pounding with a sudden wave of fear and relief. Thorin had allied himself with the elves?

Legolas nodded and shot the hobbit a gentle smile. The sunlight was growing stronger now; Bilbo found that he could just make out the edges of the forest and wondered hazily how the elf could move so quickly.

"It is thanks to you, really," the elf prince mused quietly. "If it had not been for your insistence that my father and Bard take refuge in Erebor, the alliance would never have taken place and we would have been slaughtered." Legolas paused, his lips curving upwards into a smile that was almost mischievous. "And I am told that much of Thorin's willingness to give refuge to my people is due to you, as well."

Bilbo felt the blood rush into his cheeks and started to shake his head, only to stop when the movement sent waves of dizziness through his weakening body. He felt Legolas tighten his grip and tried to smile in response to the worry in the elf's gaze, his lips working to form a proper response to the elf's words.

"N-No," he whispered, his words noticeably slurred. "Thorin doesn't… Not for me… N-Not now, after the… the Arkenstone…"

His vision began to fade almost immediately after he had spoken the word. The hobbit finally allowed himself to slip into oblivion against the comforting warmth of the elf's chest, his ears perking up one last time as the elf murmured into his ear.

"…You are wrong," Legolas whispered gently, his voice echoing strangely in Bilbo's mind as it accompanied him into shadowy dreams.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

The gates of Erebor were already open by the time Legolas and his guards ran up to the mountain, its dark halls alive and echoing with the moans of the wounded and the shouts of victorious warriors. Legolas paused at the entrance and shifted the weight of the small, unconscious hobbit in his arms, his muscles burning with the first hints of exhaustion. He forced himself to stand tall as he strode into the halls, centuries of his father's lectures and lessons on behavior befitting elven royalty flitting through the back of his mind. One of his guards ran to a pair of wary dwarven guards and quietly informed them of the identity of the newest arrivals, his eyes widening in silent shock and alarm when a small mob of dirty and bloodied dwarrows came barreling out of the halls of Erebor towards his prince.

Legolas stiffened slightly when the group of half-familiar dwarves surrounded him, a half-raised eyebrows the only hint of his own confusion and surprise when he recognized the two princes of Erebor at the head of the mob. He bowed his head in a stiff, half-formed bow, his arms tightening instinctively around the hobbit cradled against his chest to ensure that the creature did not fall. Several of the dwarves made as if to pluck the hobbit from his grasp, their eyes wild with relief and alarm. The eldest of the two princes, a dwarf with golden hair and shrewd eyes that had once glared at Legolas with cold fury, bit his lip and met Legolas's gaze, his features working to find some semblance of control.

"Your father is meeting with Bard, Dain, and my uncle to work out the details of our alliance," he informed the elf carefully. My brother and I were told to watch for your arrival and send word to the king the moment that you arrived." The golden dwarf paused and took a deep breath, his eyes locking once more on the hobbit. "Bilbo, is he… how is he?"

"He needs a healer," Legolas explained flatly. "And he has lost some blood, but I do believe that he will survive."

The dwarf visibly relaxed and nodded, his lips quirking upwards into a small, hesitant smile.

"Kíli," he said quietly, immediately drawing the attention of the dark-haired prince. "Tell King Thranduil that his son has arrived. And tell Uncle-."

"On it!" Kíli crowed, his legs already carrying him further into the halls of Erebor.

Legolas smiled slightly, his smile fading when the hobbit shivered in his arms.

"Where are the healing rooms?" he asked quietly.

An old, wizened dwarf that had also been among the former captives of Mirkwood shuffled forward, a battered horn pressed into his ear.

"Follow me," the dwarf grunted. "Has the bleeding stopped?"

"Yes, it-"

"What?" the dwarf barked, startling the elf.

"He doesn't hear very well," a kindly-looking dwarf with an odd hat offered helpfully, his dark eyes narrowed with worry as they looked at Bilbo. "Try speaking up, yeah?"

"Ah… Yes," Legoals shouted hesitantly, immediately grabbing the attention of several passing humans and dwarves. "The bleeding stopped entirely on the way here."

"No need to shout, laddie," the old dwarf huffed before he turned to lead the group down a half-hidden passageway.

Legolas frowned and shot a half-furious glance at the dwarf with the funny hat, only to find the dwarf snickering quietly beside an equally-amused dwarf prince.

"I didn' tell ya to shout, you know," the kindly dwarf purred. "Just said that you needed to speak up."

"Dwarves," Legolas grumbled under his breath, stubbornly ignoring the small, exasperated smile that was already trying to make its appearance on his lips.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Thorin sat heavily in his seat at the meeting table, his blue eyes following Bard and Dain as the two men paced at opposite ends of the large, dusty meeting room. Thranduil merely stared at the ceiling above them, his immaculate silver hair and cool, disinterested expression a marked contrast to the bruised faces of the dwarf kings and the uneasy frowns of the human archer. Thorin rolled his eyes at the elf's composure and rubbed absently at the bandages that had been wrapped around his injured shoulder, trying to ignore the dull ache that had settled in his chest after the fury and adrenaline of battle had faded.

"Dain," he called tiredly. "I already agreed to give the men of Dale and the elves of Mirkwood more gold in exchange for their services in battle."

"But, Thorin, have you seen the amount that they have asked for?" Dain hissed furiously.

"It's not like we don't have the gold," Thorin pointed out wryly.

"Thorin-"

"I fail to see why it is such a hardship for you dwarves to give to those who have nothing," Bard snapped irritably. "Especially when you have so much."

"And what of the elves?" Dain snarled. "Do you mean to tell me that they also have nothing?"

"The affairs of the elves are none of your concern, Dain of the Iron Hills," Thranduil broke in flatly.

"They are, however, mine," Thorin interrupted harshly. "Dain, I have already agreed to their terms and I will stand by my word. I will not allow greed for gold to cloud my judgment in this." Not again… "The arrangement should be of benefit to us all, since I am sure that the markets of Dale will welcome the trade of dwarves and men alike as it did in ages past."

Bard nodded and opened his mouth to comment, only to be cut short as the door to the meeting room burst open and Kíli burst into the room, his features flushed beneath the bandages that had been wrapped around his head and arm.

"Uncle!" he called out, apparently oblivious to the other men that were gathered in the room. "Uncle, Prince Legolas has arrived with a small contingent of guards."

Thranduil shot to his feet immediately, his pale features softening for the briefest of moments with something that could almost be called relief. The elf king opened his mouth, only to be cut off as well as Kíli continued, his limbs nearly trembling in excitement.

"Bilbo is with him!" the youngest prince of Erebor declared happily, his dark eyes sparkling with relief and mirth.

Thorin gasped and slowly lifted himself from his seat, his knuckles whitening against the edge of the table as he braced himself against the carved stone surface.

"Bilbo?" he croaked. "He is… alive?"

Kíli's happiness dimmed visibly, nearly stopping Thorin's heart in his chest.

"He's unconscious," the young dwarf reported carefully. "And Prince Legolas says that he has lost some blood, but he seems to think that Bilbo will live."

Thorin nodded stiffly and pushed away from the table to join his nephew at the door, barely noticing when Thranduil moved to follow him.

"We will continue this meeting later," he announced to the other two inhabitants of the room. "There is something that I must see to first."

Dain frowned and cocked his head to the side, his frown deepening when Bard merely smiled knowingly and bowed his head.

"Give my regards to the Halfling," the human archer murmured.

Thorin spared the archer a brief bow and hurried out of the room, his heart pounding frantically in his chest as Kíli's words finally began to sink in.

Bilbo is alive….