A/N Woot, quick update this time. This will be the last chapter for a few days because I want to continue "A road less traveled" and finish its "Wounds of the flesh" short story XD So here is Rivendell. Also, if you guys want to make requests about who you would like to see more in the next chapters or what you would like to read I'm open to suggestions.

Warnings: Will have mentions of war, blood, gore, injuries, character death etc. There will be movie and book spoilers as well.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Angst, Drama, Adventure, Action, Alternate Universe

Disclaimer: I may own a few copies of The Lord of the Rings and at least one copy each of The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, The Children of Hurin and Unfinished Tales, but alas that is all. All the rest belongs to the genius of J.R. English is not my native language

Chapter VI: In peace… restlessness

After almost being roasted by trolls and barely escaping blood thirsty wargs, Rivendell was like a breath of fresh air for Bilbo ( not that any of the dwarves agreed with him ). Having the possibility to spend a night under a solid roof without fearing an attack from orcs or wolves was more than the hobbit could ask for at that particular moment. In addition he finally had the chance to see elves. As he roamed the halls of the city, his eyes strayed everywhere trying to memorize as much as he could before they had to leave. All his childhood he had dreamed of meeting the fair folk and now he was in one of their cities.

Even the dwarves' constant grumbling and snorting could not put a damp on his happiness. He partially understood the dark looks they shot anytime an elf was in the vicinity, but for a simple being like a hobbit, blaming an entire race for the acts of few was beyond his understanding. It would have been similar to him ignoring the whole Shire folk just because Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was an obnoxious woman.

He thought about asking one of the dwarves more about this matter, but something stopped him. He did not want to antagonize anyone and most of the dwarves barely accepted him anyway. Apart from Kili and Fili, only Bofur and Ori looked kindly upon him, the others seeing him as a nuisance at most. As a result he kept to himself, away from the others and partially hidden by the shadows of the hall where they had made their temporary camp ( the dwarves had been adamant that they did not want to request anything else of the elves, especially rooms, a fact which Bilbo lamented profoundly ).

"Why so glum, Master Baggins?" a voice interrupted his thoughts and Bilbo saw himself face to face with a smiling Bofur. "From what Gandalf told us you should have been the only one in the group glad to see the beauty of Rivendell."

"I'd rather steer away from Thorin's glares and grumbles," the hobbit sighed pathetically. "Every time I look at something remotely elvish I feel his glares burning in the back of my head."

"Well, Thorin has reason to distrust elves, more than all of us," Bofur said softly and sat down next to the hobbit, "Yet, I think not even he can deny the charm this place has."

"I cannot pretend to understand," Bilbo frowned, "this hate and distrust between dwarves and elves. It must be more than just what the Woodland king did otherwise not all elves would be held in such dislike."

"The distrust goes back to the First Ages of this world and it never disappeared. It wavered and fade at times when the need for it to be cast aside grew, but friendship between elves and dwarves was mostly unheard of. The only who were rumored to be friends were Celebrimbor of Eregion and Narvi of Durin's Line and even theirs was a secret friendship and frowned upon."

"This is all too much a simple hobbit like me can handle," Bilbo admitted wirily. "Hobbits seen things one a smaller scale. For us distrust means not letting one's relative in your house after she stole your silver spoons."

Bofur grinned at Bilbo and let a short laugh. He imagined the hobbit chasing a furious female hobbit from his home and laughed even more. In a way Bofur was glad the Shire folk had never known the meaning of hate and pain; they were gentle folk and would likely not be able to handle such feelings.

"Well Master Baggins, if I ever come back to your Shire, you must show me this relative of yours."

"I'm not sure you want that," Bilbo gave a forced laughed. "Lobelia is as fierce as a dragon went something unhobbitish happens around her. She might just hit you with her wooden spoon."

With another laugh the two continued their conversation. Bofur wanted to know more about the Shire and its inhabitants, while Bilbo was curious to learn about dwarfish history. When night came, the dark mood that had settled over the company the day before had all been forgotten.

Bilbo had hoped that the peace surrounding Rivendell would have swept into his dreams as well, giving him one night of much craved rest. However, as often, fate had other plans and not long into the night darkness caught him in its clutches with ease. The dream was a new one, yet oddly familiar. However, for the first time, Bilbo was not just a witness, but a reluctant participant at the happenings of his dreams. He felt everything and it frightened him…

The night is clear, a pale, full moon lighting the crisp sky. Some would say it is a good night to die, yet Bilbo thinks otherwise. No night or day is good to die, no moment perfect to see his friends – dare he say his family? – perish. He stands next to Thorin, Fili and Kili, clad in soft mail, almost a warrior and yet still a would-be burglar. He stands in the darkness and awaits the massive horde…

Shrieks and howls fill the sky. Heavy, iron clad boots stomp the earth mercilessly. He hears them long before he can actually spot them. He is afraid, the terror runs through his veins, yet he stands his ground seeing no other choice.

A pause comes, anticlimactic, as all wait in silence… Quiet from all sides and then a sharp battle cry…

In the ensuring madness he tries to stay as close as possible to the others, but it's almost impossible. His sword flashes blue in the darkness hacking and slashing, wielded by a being too small to be actually noticed by the orcs yet big enough to be seen by the wargs.

He tires, yet he keeps fighting, knowing that it is the only way to remain alive. The others look out for him, but the foes are too many and they cannot be in more than one place at once.

It's almost dawn when he sees Thorin fall, injured by the great mace that once belonged to Azog and was now wielded by his spawn. Kili and Fili quickly protect him with their bodies, their blades moving in sync, keeping the large orc at bay. Still, Bilbo knows it is not enough. He sees the sweat glistering on their brows, the blood sweeping from their wounds and notices how they react slower and slower.

Suddenly, with a cry, Kili falls to his knees, the bone in his sword arm shattered by the mace. His brother moves forward to protect him, but he is injured and weary.

Bilbo acts without thinking. With Sting clutched in his hand, he runs forward and thrusts the blade in Bolg's back. With a roar the orc turns around, shaking the hobbit off and tossing him to the ground. Bilbo feels cold bite into his chest and needs not look to see the blade embedded in his chest. He looks however and sees Bolg's head fly of his shoulders and knows Fili got the opening he needed.

"Bilbo?" the blonde dwarf cries out and looks around, but his only answer is a soft whimper. Darkness sweeps at the edge of his vision and Bilbo slowly falls into oblivion.

"Hobbit! Hobbit! Bilbo!" a deep voice called gravely, but Bilbo barely saw anything around him. His eyes still held the darkness of death and despite the flames roaring in the fireplace, at first he did not know where he was. Thorin almost recoiled in shock seeing the haunted look in the Halfling's eyes. What could the hobbit had dreamed that had frightened him so?

"Bilbo!" he snapped once more, harsher this time, trying to shake the other out of his stupor. With a frightened yelp the hobbit jumped to his feet, a fist clutched to his chest just above his heart.

Several minutes passed during which Bilbo's erratic breathing got slower and quieter… minutes during Thorin stood silent and merely watched.

"The wizard told me of your dreams," the dwarf prince spoke after he had assured himself that Bilbo had partially calmed down. "What did you see?"

"Death…" Bilbo said with an odd reflection in his voice. "Or paths, choices…? I do not know."

"You speak in riddles, burglar!"

"I do not understand the nature of my dreams nor do I know why they have been given to me, Master Oakenshield," Bilbo snapped in annoyance, his nerves still strung from the dream. "All I know is that sometimes they show the past."

"And other times?" Thorin inquired with a gentler voice this time.

"I do not know. As I say, I think they are choices."

None of them saw the shadow that quietly left their halls nor did they see an old man, his face marred by worry. Gandalf had always prided himself with the fact that he was almost always right. Having roamed Middle Earth for so many centuries he had learned to see in the souls of those he met and his intuition had mostly guided him on the right track. Yet, now, as he walked down the halls of Imlandris and felt the ripples of fate, he wondered whether this time his choice had truly been the right one.

He had not expected Bilbo Baggins to be an enigma. Knowing the hobbit as a lad, Gandalf had been sure that nothing could surprise him about the son of Belladonna Took. However, the conversation he had just witnessed had rattled his nerves. Bilbo might had seen the future… choices he had called them and it appeared the path diverged in more ways than one.

What resonance would such a choice have for the fate of the world? The wizard did not know and he was not sure he cared to find out.

"The world has changed," a voice came from the shadows announcing the arrival of the Lord of Imlandris. "Fate itself has changed its course. You did not tell me the Halfling had the gift of foresight, Gandalf."

"I did not know," the wizard closed his eyes, hit with a sudden bout of weariness. "His dreams used to be about the past. He calls them choices now."

"Then he is wiser than most," Elrond remarked, "and unlike many of his kin. Choices they are indeed and only he can make them for better or for worst. His fate is no longer in your hands."

"I know… perhaps this is exactly what I fear."

Nobody truly slept that night. In a hall lit only by the merry flames in the fireplace a hobbit pondered his fate and wondered whether he would ever return to see his home and his books.

A/N Ending this here, because I'm tired. I haven't proof read it, but my eyes are simply closing and I will correct it tomorrow. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts about this chapter.