It all happened so suddenly and unexpectedly. The company had been on the road for quite some time- maybe a few weeks, even months, Bilbo Baggins could hardly tell anymore. They had faced bears, Wargs, Orcs since he had left the safety of the Shire and if the Hobbit hadn't regretted leaving his home in the Shire before, he certainly was now. But that hardly mattered anymore, he was far from Bag-End now. His home. With his leather bound books, his fireplace, and his bed. He would not be seeing those any time soon and it filled him with longing every time he remembered it. He missed being warm, being safe, and being… well, being a Hobbit. Temptation was there, tantalizing him and trying to convince him to turn his back on the quest and just make a break for it in the dead of the night. This wasn't his problem, this was not his Kingdom he was risking his life day in and day out for. He could turn his back on all of this and other Hobbits of Hobbiton would hardly bat an eye, claiming that what he did was right and just (after they stopped with their gossiping, of course).

But then a thought had occurred to him. With all of his thoughts of Bag-End, missing his home, he realised that this is what the Dwarves had felt for so long. They didn't have a place to call home like he did. That was the reason he was still on this blasted quest and he wordlessly swore that he would see this adventure through. That and it gave him a few more stories for dinner parties- anything to rile up that Lobelia Baggins. Oh no. His silver- she was guaranteed to steal it from-

What was that?

Bilbo paused his train of thought from where he had been laying out his bedroll, pointed ears perking up to listen better to what had broken him out of his jumbled thoughts. The rest of the Company were busying themselves around the campfire, cooking, sharpening their weapons for the next day. Gandalf was, unsurprisingly, absent- claiming to have gone scouting ahead again as he did every few days or so.

The Halfling's ears twitched again, desperately trying to pick up any sound to make sure he hadn't been imagining things. It may have been a rabbit or squirrel or another form of small animal. After all, they were camping in one of the larger forests. Maybe Bilbo could catch it for supper tonight considering that Bombur's food had started becoming something along the lines of… well- tasteless for a fine Hobbit of his taste. No more snapping of twigs or crushing of leaves attracted his attention and Baggins glumly believed whatever animal had made the sound had run off at his quiet and hesitant approach (he hardly even remembered climbing out of his bedroll). He stepped closer to where he believed the sound had originated, head tilted to the side to listen better and frown pulling his features downward.

It was sunset now, the last few rays of the sun reflecting on something in the darkness, successfully grasping Bilbo's attention and making his nose twitch in curiosity. A gasp fell from his lips and his brown eyes widened when they finally came accustomed to what it was.

A knife-

-and it was moving closer. Bilbo knew what kind of blade it was and which race it specifically belonged to; for a moment the words had died in his throat before they could leave his lips. The blade began moving quickly, more light reflecting off of the metal and revealing just who the wielder was. The hobbit began stumbling in reverse and it was only when he fell backwards and landed ungracefully on his side that he finally found his words. Camp was hardly that far away, but he didn't hold anything back once he looked up to the sky and screamed as loud as he could, hoping to alert his companions to-

"-ORCS!"

The moment the single word had clawed out of Bilbo's throat, a heavy weight landed on his shoulders and his chest, effectively pinning him to the ground hard enough to bruise. He gasped in a mix surprise and horror as a bony and cold hand closed around his throat, abruptly cutting off his air. Thrashing wildly proved useless as soon his legs and arms too were pinned in place. The blade he had recognised earlier was now pressed against his cheekbone and dragged down to his chin, splitting the delicate skin there and earning a broken choke of pain. Blood dipped from the new wound and he tried to scream again but all that came out of his mouth was a pathetic wheeze of air.

"You are more trouble than you are worth, creature." The Orc spat. Bilbo's fear began to rise as it had seemed his cry hadn't alerted his companions to anything wrong. What if they hadn't heard him? What if they were ignoring him? Or even worse, left him to his fate?

Black dots danced across his vision, forcefully hauling him from his darkening thoughts and he became aware of pending unconsciousness that was soon to claim him.

"I shall kill you were you lay." The Orc sneered, raising its blood covered blade, ready to bring it down and Bilbo closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable blow that was to come.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited a little bit more.

Unexpectedly, the weight on his body disappeared and the restraining grip on his arms and feet were lifted, freeing his limbs but more importantly, the hand around his throat was gone. Bilbo's eyes snapped open and he rocketed into a sitting position and breathed in gulps of precious air and filled his lungs to the point of pain. Coughing soon followed; ripping through him somewhat suddenly and so ferociously he fell to his side. He hacked away until his throat was raw and tears had spilled down his cheeks and dripped onto the leaves below him.

Battle cries were heard over the roaring of blood in his ears, accompanied by the sound of sprinting feet and Bilbo, much to his relief, concluded that the dwarves had indeed heard his yell and were charging against the intruders. On quick inspection, the one who was choking him earlier had an arrow right in its head, the force having sent it backwards. He couldn't feel the satisfaction of the death due to the ongoing fact he was still barking out coughs so violent that they rattled his bones and made the bleeding cut on his face hurt. A gloved hand fell onto his shoulder, gripping firm but gentle as they hauled him into a comfortable sitting position whilst the second hand slapped his back with so much force he forlornly noted that bruising would be inevitable in the morning.

The hobbit inhaled and clutched at the front of his open waistcoat as he leaned forwards in an attempt to get his breathing normal. The hand on his back stayed where it was, despite the raging battle around them, and rubbed slow circles

"Bilbo?" a worried voice ventured, unsure and hesitant. "Are you alright?" Bilbo managed a trembling nod at Bofur who remained kneeled next to him, worry etched across his usually jolly features.

"I-I'm okay." The smaller finally got out and staggered to his feet, swaying for a moment before stabilising himself.

Bofur offered him a nod before whirling in a neat circle and slamming his mattock into the face of an Orc who had stupidly snuck up on him and continued to beat it to a pulp with his said weapon.

Bilbo looked around at the chaos around him, noticing how there wasn't a single dwarf of his company who wasn't engaged in battle. Fili and Kili were working together and when an Orc got to close to a brother, the other would be there and striking it down. Bifur was expertly twirling around his spear and seemed to be coping, unsurprisingly, well on his own. Dori and Nori had Ori between them, fighting yet also protecting their youngest brother who was still armed with that endearing slingshot and a few pebbles. Dwalin and Balin were not as close together compared to the others but only strayed a few meters away should either need any help. Bombur, however, didn't even have a weapon to fight with (as ladles were not considered as weapons thank you), and then proceeded to head-butt and sit on Orc with the lack of gracefulness one would expect from the action.

Baggins looked around frantically-

One, two, three-

-eight, nine, ten-

Eleven. Where was eleven?!

A blasted dwarf was missing! He spun in circles in his panic before he broke off into a jog, weaving past Orc's and Dwarves, dodging axes and blades that were swung and ignoring any attackers that charged at him. He cursed at his idiocy at leaving Sting on his bedroll, rendering him even more defenceless than he already was when in battle. This was quickly becoming inevitable. His head snapped up as he heard a loud roar to his right and he sprinted as fast as his large feet would take him towards it. Bursting through a clearing, he had finally located the last dwarf.

There Thorin stood, fighting a trio of Orcs singlehandedly by cutting one down and moving to the next before it could even move to attack- and then pommelling the third in the face. Though his fighting was admirable, his sense of awareness was not- something that quickly became apparent once a fourth attacker had been left unnoticed and had began to sneak up on the dwarf.

Bilbo's mouth went dry when he saw the beast raise his weapon to attack and already he found his legs running- moving him to Oakenshield's aid without a second thought. He came to a sudden halt between Thorin and the Orc just as it plunged the knife down-

-and directly into Bilbo's chest.