Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter Six

Bilbo realized something was wrong when he heard the Wargs howl.

The Company did not hesitate. They had their weapons out and were ready before he could even stop and think. Their efficiency paid off for no sooner had they heard the howl, there was a Warg leaping out from the foliage and heading straight for Thorin. The king dodged and ran his new sword into the back of the neck of the creature in one quick move. As he pulled his blade out, Dwalin and Bofur were running their own weapons into the creature; finishing it off for good.

"Orcs," cursed Thorin, wiping his blade clean.

"How did they find us?" Balin wondered at his side.

"Who did you tell, Thorin?" Gandalf demanded of the king, and the two soon erupted into an argument.

Bilbo ignored them all as he felt his heart begin to pick up speed. The last time around Radagast was here when the Wargs attacked. Why isn't he here now?

"I swear I told no one!"

"What do we do? We can't take them all on at once!"

"We need a plan!"

Could I have done something that prevented him from coming? Did keeping Gandalf around during the troll incident do this? Wait, never mind that, Bilbo. Focus on the Orcs! Without Radagast here, we won't be able to get away.

"How far is the nearest settlement?"

"There is nothing out here but us and the Orcs!"

"Why are we even arguing about this? We should stand our ground and fight!"

The Elves. Elrond is leading a company of Elves this way. We simply have to hold out until then.

"We can use the area," he declared loudly over the arguing Dwarves and wizard. "Station those with long-ranged weapons in the trees. Those with melee weapons need to take cover and wait for the Orcs to come. If we can kill them before they alert the others, we can keep them away from our location."

Most of the Company ignored his words, but Thorin was gazing at him in consideration. He met the blue gaze evenly, and tried his best to ignore the pounding of his heart.

"We cannot fight them all at once. You know that their numbers will be too great," he pointed out.

Thorin slowly nodded. "And there is no place to take cover in the coming plains. This is the only area with trees and covering."

"Wait, are we actually considering this?" Glóin demanded, looking back and forth between the king and Hobbit.

"Do you have a better idea?" retorted Kíli, eyeing up potential trees to climb.

"We make our stand here. Everyone take position," Thorin ordered. "Halfling, stay with Bofur."

Everyone moved to act without question. Even Bilbo could not bring himself to retort to the 'halfling' comment as he moved to crouch in some shrubbery with the toymaker.

"Stay within in my sight. I will do my best to protect you," Bofur murmured to him.

"Funny. I was about to say the same to you," he murmured back, unsheathing Sting.

On his other side, Bombur snickered.

Three Orcs riding Wargs found them soon enough. Bilbo watched from his position as Kíli and Ori took out one of the Wargs while Nori, Dwalin and Fíli attacked the Orc. Another was ambushed by the others; Thorin neatly beheading the Orc before taking out the Warg with the aid of Gandalf, Balin and Glóin.

The third wandered closer to them, the Warg clearly sniffing them out. He felt Bofur and Bombur stiffen on each side of him as Sting begun to glow a familiar bright blue. He could feel how fast his heart was beating, and wondered if the Orc could hear it too. It certainly seemed that way as the Warg turned and looked through the foliage and straight into his eyes. It bared its teeth in a twisted snarl, and crouched low as its rider turned its attention to them.

He did not wait for the Warg to attack. In battle, you took any opening the enemy gave you with no hesitation. Pausing for even a second could be the difference between life and death. He'd learnt that the hard way.

So without any warning to his companions, Bilbo charged.

The Warg had clearly not expected it. It pulled back; ducking his blade and growling deep in its throat. He followed through with another swing before throwing himself to the side as the Orc rider tried to cleave his head off. He stumbled only once before catching himself in time to bring Sting up to block the hungry mouth that tried to rip his face off.

The Warg bit into his blade and tried to pull it away. He dug his feet into the loose dirt beneath him and pulled back. Before the Warg could successfully pull his blade away, a mattock was slammed into its face; shattering its skull open in a bloody mess and making him jerk free and stumble back.

Óin caught him before he fell as Bofur yanked his mattock out of the dead Warg. The Orc had been knocked down by a combined attack from Kíli—who was still perched in the trees—and Bombur and Bifur. As he watched, Bifur stabbed the Orc in the chest with his spear as Bombur cleaved his knife into its back. In moments the Orc laid as still as its pet.

"All right there, Master Baggins?" Óin questioned, leaning in to hear him with his good ear.

He nodded, feeling his blood rush and his breath catch. "Y-Yes, I'm all right. Thank you."

"Didn't expect you to go charging off like that," the healer commented with a wry grin. "Threw us all off for a moment."

"Yes, well, I can't very well sit back and leave everything to you lot. Might get me killed if I did," he reasoned.

Óin cackled and patted him on the shoulder. "In that case, we will leave the next one to you."

He gave the older Dwarf a dirty look. "That wasn't a challenge—"

"Move!" Bofur ordered, coming up from behind them and pushing them both back. "More Orcs are coming."

Bilbo went silent and tightened his grip on Sting. Soon enough, more Orcs appeared; this time five with only three riding Wargs. Kíli and Ori did not hesitate and began pelting the Wargs while the others ambushed the rest. He saw Fíli twirl out of the reach of an Orc with his twin blades singing as Dwalin swung one of his axes into the legs of a Warg. Beyond them, he could see Glóin and Nori fighting back to back against two Orcs.

They need help, he realized, and then once more charged into the fray without another thought.

In combat, Bilbo found that time slowed down until every second felt like an hour. He knew that even though the battle—or skirmish, really, considering some of the scrapes they would get into later—felt like it lasted for hours, he knew it was only a matter of minutes.

Before they could finish off the five Orcs, even more appeared to aid their brethren. He soon last track of how many Orcs there were and who was fighting who. Soon he even forgot where he was and what he was doing. All he could focus on was each strike, each blow, and each dodge as he struggled to hold his own against the Orcs and Wargs.

Eru is this how it will really end? Here before we even start? he wondered.

An arrow in the forehead of the Orc above him was his answer.

"Elves!" Kíli announced from the trees, his voice a mix between surprise and disgust. "There are Elves coming!"

Bilbo felt his shoulders relax as the thunder of hooves became audible. Nine riders soon came charging into the clearing with arrows flying and swords raised high. With the extra aid, they soon enough turned the tide of battle and finally cut down the Orcs and Wargs.

As the last Orc fell, the Elven riders began to disembark as the Dwarves moved to check on one another, and huddle in suspicious groups. He watched Dori hover over Ori while Balin patted Dwalin on the back as they chuckled over something. Nearby he saw Kíli jump down from his tree and rush to Fíli's side, and spotted Bofur speaking to Bombur and Nori. Beyond them he could see Óin looking over a protesting Bifur.

Where is Thorin? he wondered before his eyes finally found the king.

He stood scowling next to Gandalf as the wizard spoke to a very familiar Elf. Lord Elrond looked no different since the last time he saw him. His face was perhaps less weary and jaded this time around, but it was no less finely crafted with an unworldly beauty that Bilbo had never seen in any other race.

He could not hear the conversation they were having, but could guess the subject from the dark look on Thorin's face. Gandalf was clearly trying to convince the king to head to Rivendell for rest and aid in reading the map. But from the stubborn set of his jaw, Thorin was clearly not having it.

Eventually Elrond stepped forward and said something that made Thorin pause and scowl. Eventually he gave a grudging nod that won a loud sigh from Gandalf, and a small smirk from the Elf.

Hmm. Why do I have the feeling Elrond offered him food?

"Everyone get ready! We will be joining the… Elves for dinner tonight," Thorin said, his lips curling back into a sneer.

Bilbo snickered as the rest of his companions let our disgruntled groans. It was good to know that, even in the midst of so many changes, some things like appetite would never alter.

Bilbo had seen many beautiful and wondrous sights in his life, but the most wondrous of them all would always be Rivendell. The last time he had seen it he had been an old man with eyes half blind and a mind half gone. But now he looked upon it with clear eyes and a sound mind, and it made him want to weep at the sheer beauty of it all. From the graceful curves of architect to the majestic glory of nature, Rivendell was a masterpiece in every way. He could only stand there and silently admire the genius and artistry that went into creating such a place.

It was a shame that his companions didn't agree.

"Ugh, look at all that water. How do they not drown themselves in it?"

"Soddy architect. That roof is going to collapse one of these days."

"They're wide open in a valley! How have they not been invaded by a dragon yet?"

"What's with all the trees? Are they trying to become one with them or something?"

"I hope they have ale here."

He ignored all the snide comments and simply took in the city that had been his home in his later years. It seemed brighter and warmer than the last time he had seen it. But then, the last time he had seen Rivendell most of the Elves had left the fair city for good. Of course there would be no life to a city when there was no one to live in it any longer.

Elrond left them with an attendant who silently escorted them all to a wing of rooms. His Dwarves muttered and glowered at the Elf and the rooms, but Bilbo ignored them and thanked the attendant. After all, it was not his blood that carried centuries of hatred and mistrust.

"Don't get too chummy with the Elves," cautioned Óin from his side as the Elf left. "You never know when they'll turn around and stab you in the back."

"I doubt they would do that to me. I'm not so important," he reasoned calmly, watching as the others explored their new rooms with guarded interest.

Óin snorted. "Indeed. Well, now that we're here, take off your shirt."

Bilbo turned and stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your shirt, laddie, take it off. I need to check your wounds," Óin explained impatiently, tugging at the bottom of his coat.

"What wounds? I don't recall getting hurt," he said, pulling his clothes free from the Dwarf.

"That's because the rush of battle dulls the pain," Óin retorted. "Now off before I take it off for you."

Bilbo sighed and began to strip. He knew that when it came to matters of healing, it was better to simply obey the older Dwarf. Even Thorin knew better than to go against the healer's orders.

When his upper body was finally unclothed, Óin wasted no time in examining each scratch and bruise that marred his flesh. The last time around he would had been greatly embarrassed to be so exposed in a room full of healthy and hardy Dwarves. A Hobbit was hardly as firm and chiseled as an average Dwarf, and nor were they as tall and exquisitely made as an Elf. Being around such races had made him feel quite plain and awkward the first time around.

It was not so now. Not when he recalled quite vividly of being wrinkled and withered and as frail as a piece of parchment. This time he had a new appreciation for his fifty-year-old body with its firm skin, thick curls, and strong bones.

"Hmm. Looks like a Warg got you on the shoulder blade," Óin commented as he examined his back.

"Really?" He craned his head back and caught a glimpse of four red scratches going across his back. "Huh. I didn't even notice that."

"Like I said, the rush of battle dulls the pain," Óin reminded. "Now hold still while I clean it out."

Bilbo hissed as he felt the healer dab something cool onto his wounds. It stung but did not hurt as bad as some of the other injuries he had endured.

"What does that do?" he asked.

"The herbs in the tonic will keep it from becoming decayed and expanding. It will also ensure that the scratches heal and leave behind less of a scar."

"Scars don't bother me, but it's good to know it won't get worse. I would hate to get sick so early on in our quest," he said snidely.

Óin simply chuckled. "Good attitude. Try to remember that when you get burned by the dragon you're robbing."

Dinner with the Elves went much as he recalled the first time around. There was music, good food, and much grumbling from the Dwarves. He spent most of his time during dinner listening to the snide remarks being muttered, and trying not to laugh too loudly. When dinner ended, Bilbo watched Thorin leave with Elrond, Gandalf, and Balin while the rest of the Company returned to their rooms.

"Mister Baggins, where are you going?" Ori asked when he noticed him walking in another direction.

"Ahh, just for a walk. I want to explore this place some more before we leave," he explained with a smile.

"Oh, okay. Would you like some company?" Ori offered though he looked hesitant to wander off through an Elven city.

He shook his head. "No, that's not needed. You go on with the others. I'm sure I won't be long."

"Okay. Have fun," Ori bid before scampering off to join Dori who was waiting for him.

Bilbo waved goodbye to the Dwarves before turning on his heel and heading to his real destination.

Rivendell was known to keep a library that housed a collection of books that anyone could read. It was there that he had conducted most of his research into the Elven language, and it was there that he had composed most of his writings. And it would be there that he would find what he was looking for.

Now where would they keep it? he pondered when stood among the collection of writings. Hmm. Art, poetry, language, politics… ah-ha! There it is!

Bilbo made his way to a small bookshelf and began to search through the Elven titles until he finally found the one he was looking for.

"Mordor," he whispered, pulling the book out and skimming through it quickly. He was the only one in the library but he did not know how long that would last. He had to be quick or he risked getting caught. He found the page he was looking for in the very back of the book. It was old and slightly outdated, but it was still a good rendition of a map to Mordor. Carefully, he tore the page out and wrapped it up and slipped it away in his coat. He just as quickly placed the book back where it belonged and headed to the door; eager to be away from the place and out of suspicion.

So quick he was in his haste that he nearly walked straight into Thorin in the corridor.

"Oh!" Bilbo stopped short and jumped back slightly. "Pardon me, I didn't see you there."

"Not surprising considering how quick you were moving," Thorin pointed out, not looking at all fazed. "What were you doing in there?"

"Oh, I was just looking at their books. They have a great deal of them," he lied, tilting his head up to get a better look at the king.

In the dark halls the only source of light came from the moon above them. The pale moonlight made Thorin's skin gleam ivory and brought out the silver threads in his black hair until it shone like mithril, and made his eyes shine like fresh cut jewels. The sight of it all made his stomach clench up. He had forgotten, over the many decades, how beautiful Thorin really was. Or perhaps it was his love that made the king look so achingly gorgeous.

"Were you injured?" he blurted out before he could think. "Earlier today, I mean. When we fought the Orcs."

Thorin blinked a few times. "No, I was not hurt."

"Oh. That's good," he said awkwardly.

Since the journey started, Bilbo had not held a conversation with Thorin alone. Partly because they were constantly surrounded by the others, and partly because Thorin had honestly displayed no interest in talking to him. But after some silent weeks, the Hobbit found himself aching for a chance to speak to the Dwarf alone. There were so many things he wanted to ask him; things they never got a chance to speak of the first time around. But now, standing before the very object of his affections, he found that he could not recall a single question.

"Indeed." The Dwarf glanced down before his eyes flickered back up to his face. "I noticed Óin attending to an injury on your back. Is it serious?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean the scratch," he said, subconsciously reaching behind to touch the bandaged wound. "It's fine. It was only a little scratch."

Thorin's expression did not change but his shoulders relaxed slightly. "That is good to hear. You fought well today, Master Baggins. I had not expected that."

"Thank you," he replied instinctively. Manners were as entwined in the Baggins blood as curiosity was in the Tooks. "You were very impressive as well."

"More impressive than an Orc is at knitting?" Thorin asked, arching one black brow high.

Bilbo was taken aback by the tone and comment before he grinned. "I'm sorry, but are you complaining about what I said? Master Thorin if I offended you—"

"You did not offend me over a simple comment, halfling," Thorin interrupted with a scowl. "It was simply… a challenge. To me. To prove to you that I am a skilled warrior."

He bit his lower lip to keep from smiling. "Aye, you did. I will never doubt your skills again."

"Good." Thorin pulled his shoulders back up slightly. "Well, come along then. I will escort you back to the rooms. Try not to wander around alone again. There's no trusting what our host may be up to."

"Do you ever consider forgiving the Elves?" he asked as they began to walk back to their rooms.

"No," Thorin answered bluntly with a scowl. "I will not."

"Why? I mean, I can understand why you wouldn't forgive Thranduil—"

"How do you know of him?" the Dwarf demanded.

Bilbo gave him a look that he hoped conveyed how silly of a question that was. "Because I asked the others? I wanted to know the details of this quest so I asked around. Anyway, as I was saying, I understand why you wouldn't forgive Thranduil, but what about the others? Why hate all Elves for the wrongdoings of a single Elf?"

"There is a saying among men that I find very fitting for this situation. 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.' To trust an Elf again means risking my people again. That is not a risk I can afford to take," the king explained.

"You know, being this grumpy and serious cannot be good for your health," he grumbled under his breath before pausing as the Dwarf next to him suddenly stopped walking.

Thorin looked at him with his dark brows furrowed. "Why do you constantly talk back to me?"

"Because you're not my king?" he offered, blinking a few times.

"That doesn't matter. Most people who meet me do not challenge me," Thorin declared with all the certainty that came from being blue blooded.

He rolled his eyes. "Probably because they know you'll glare at them if you do."

"That's not why. They do not speak up either out of respect or fear. You hold me in neither regard." The Dwarf sounded confident in his words. "So why do you defy my orders and question me at every turn?"

Because I know who you really are under that cold front you put up? Because I've seen you risk your life for the others time and time again? Because I've seen you cover up your sleeping nephews with your own coat when they were cold? Because I've seen you take an arrow for Ori because you reasoned you could handle it better than him? Because I know you better than you will ever realize?

Bilbo spoke of none of his thoughts. Instead, he said quietly, "Because I want to see the real you. I want to know Thorin Oakenshield and not just the King Under the Mountain."

Thorin's eyes widened and he took a step back as if his words had physically overwhelmed him.

"Why? Why would you want such a thing?" he questioned, his voice a deep rasp.

Because you are the one I hold most dear. Because you somehow got under my skin in a way that no one—not even the Elves I admired so—managed to do. Because my heart is a foolish and soft thing that will not let you go no matter how much time passes.

But he did not speak any of those words either.

Instead he shrugged and gave a simple smile. "Because we are comrades on a great quest, and if you would welcome it, I would see us forge a friendship on this journey."

Thorin simply stared at him as if he had just offered to bring him the sun and the moon.

"You…" he began but did not finish. Instead he shook his head; his face as troubled and lost as the day Bilbo had betrayed him with the Arkenstone. It made his heart ache to see such a look again.

"We should go back to the others. I'm sure they're wondering where we are," he said, silently giving the Dwarf a chance to end the conversation.

Thorin took it with a look of relief. "Indeed. Let's go."

Neither of them spoke again.