Lys's eyes fly open at the first sounds of awakening within the hobbit-hole. The day has not yet broken, and only the grey hint of a dawn to come is slowly making its way into all the dark corners of the living-room.
She gets up from the armchair in which she has been sprawled all night and stretches.
Kíli and Fíli are still fast asleep on the sofa, while Ori snores quietly in another chair. Judging by the faint noises from other rooms, however, some of the other dwarves are awake.
Lys steps over to the window and lays her fingers upon the cool glass, suddenly fascinated by the way the pale light makes dark sillhouettes of her fingers, the way her breath fogs up the windowpane ever so slightly…
Footsteps tear her from her reverie, and she turns to see Thorin entering the room.
"Good morning," he says with a brief nod, and then, glancing at the three others, "Wake them up, would you? Then you can come help me pack." He walks out of the room, leaving Lys wondering how on earth one wakes someone up.
"Kíli," she says, standing over him. No response. "Kíli, wake up." He stirs slightly, but remains fast asleep. Lys reaches out and shakes his shoulder gently. He mumbles something and lethargically swats at her hand, eyes still closed. Lys keeps shaking. "Oi, Kíli!"
His eyes open and she hastily steps back, snatching her hand to herself.
"Thorin said I should wake you up. We're leaving soon."
Kíli blinks sleepily. "Right."
He begins to kick Fíli, and Lys goes in search of Thorin.
A warm sunlight filters through Bilbo's window, streaming onto his face. He groans and turns over, then, giving in, sits up with a huge yawn. He stops mid-yawn and mid-stretch as, quite suddenly, the memory of last night's events floods into his mind with staggering violence. He slumps forward and buries his head in his hands. He had gone to bed half hoping that he would wake up and it would all be a dream. Maybe it was, he tells himself, not very convincingly, as he slowly pushes off the covers and swings his feet over the edge of the bed. Of course it wasn't. They were here, and they offered him an adventure, and he refused… but why does he feel so damn unhappy about it? He doesn't regret it… does he? Bilbo, he tells himself sternly, you would have regretted it quite a lot more if you had gone. Anyhow, it's much too late now.
As he reaches to open the door he sees a slip of paper that has apparently been pushed under it from the outside. He stoops and picks it up with a sense of anticipation.
If you change your mind, it reads, I'm sure fifteen is alright too.
The handwriting is small and cramped; a messy, detached scrawl which slants to the left and wanders crookedly across the page. There are a considerable amount of ink smudges for such a small amount of words, as if someone has dragged their hand across them. For some reason, Bilbo can only associate it with one person: Lys, the newcomer… his replacement.
His heart pounds. Has he changed his mind? Of course not, he tells himself, you… but at that moment the dull, respectable Baggins part of him is drowned out and his Tookish nature takes over. This, he decides as he changes and stuffs a few belongings into a knapsack, is the only way to get rid of the nagging unpleasant feeling. And so, within a matter of minutes Bilbo Baggins is slamming his beautiful green door and taking off down Bag End - entirely without his pocket-handkerchief.
He is quite out of breath by the time he reaches them.
"Wait," he calls as he comes to a bend in the road and sees them up ahead, "Wait!"
They halt, ponies shuffling, heads turning, and look on with astonishment as he barrels towards them.
"I've… I've…" he pants, trying to think of what to say. "I've changed my mind."
Balin smiles and welcomes him into the Company.
Thorin fixes him with a piercing gaze, then simply utters, "Give him a pony."
Bilbo protests but is abruptly lifted up by Fíli and Kíli and dropped onto the back of one of the furry beasts, and without further delay the party continues on its way.
Bilbo's pony falls in line behind Lys's. She turns her head and they exchange a wordless glance. She does not smile, simply regards him with those pale eyes, and Bilbo feels something about her that is beyond the negative aura he had sensed when she was standing on his doorstep. The glance is brief, however, and soon he is drawn into the rhythm of the ponies' hooves and the gentle swaying of the beast beneath him, gazing contentedly at the ever-shifting pattern of the shadows cast by the rustling leaves.
"So where are you from?"
Lys looks up, startled. Kíli and Fíli have ridden up on either side of her and are regarding her with curiosity.
"I'm from London," she replies, tensing slightly at being trapped between the two, then adds, "It's in a different universe."
They exchange an amazed glance across her, then Kíli asks, "And how exactly did you get here?"
Lys seems to hesitate for a fraction of a second before answering, "A giant eagle."
"Just plucked you up, just like that? Or did you know it was coming?"
"No. It… yeah, plucked me off the street."
"And you haven't got dwarves or elves or anything in your universe?" asks Fíli, recalling Lys's conversation with Thorin the night before.
"No. Just humans."
"How dull," remarks Kíli.
They ponder this for a moment, then Lys inquires, "Elves?"
Kíli chuckles. "Yeah. We've never seen one. Probably just as well. Uncle Thorin hates them."
"He has good reason to," Fíli reminds him. "They have always forsaken us in times of darkness, and sat idly by and watched as our kingdoms were taken over by orcs and dragons."
Lys looks at him, then says in her quiet voice, "Tell me about your kingdoms."
And so, as they ride along the winding path under the fir trees and blue sky, Fíli weaves with carefully chosen words the ancient tales of the glory of Khazad-dûm, tells of vast halls filled with glittering stones, the sound of hammers ringing, of legions of dwarves seeking to set free the gems from the rock, to release them so that they could capture the light and throw it back in rays of many colours, creating a place of beauty out of the dark caverns. Tells of the over-eager delving for mithril, true-silver, which eventually brought forth Durin's Bane, the Balrog, a shadow wreathed in flame, bringing death and destruction to that place of wonder. Of the solace brought by Erebor, incomparable to Khazâd-dûm but glorious and magnificent - until the coming of Smaug. And he tells of the hope that all of them still bear that they might one day regain the glory and splendour that the race of Khazâd once owned.
They set up camp on a small hill surrounded by fields and forests. Kíli and Fíli are given first watch, and they settle down next to the fire, leaning against a stony face of the hillside while the others lie down to sleep. Gandalf, however, remains awake, seated on a rock a little ways away.
The two gaze out at the dark landscape, which lies under an indigo, star-pierced sky.
"Adventure," murmurs Kíli, and Fíli hums in agreement, knowing what his brother means. He, too, is excited about the quest, but he is also more aware of the dangers that lie in wait than Kíli is. And he fears for his brother - fears for them all.
His thoughts wander as the night draws on, turning from the dragon… to the two newly acquired members… to Thorin… to Mirkwood that he knows they must traverse…
A lanky figure rises from among the sleeping forms and makes its way towards them. Lys. She drops into a crosslegged position on the other side of the fire.
"Hey there," says Kíli cheerily, but keeping his voice muted. "Can't sleep?"
Lys shakes her head and stretches her long thin fingers towards the flames, even though the night is not particularly cold. The fire casts a reddish glow on her face, contrasting with the green of her eyes.
The two brothers exchange a glance. Since their conversation with her earlier, they have discovered only one further fact about her - namely that she doesn't eat meat, or anything that comes from animals for that matter, because she believes it cruel to cage them up.
Beyond curiosity about her, Fíli feels a slight distrust towards her which he cannot explain, and which he knows his exuberant brother does not share.
"Why do you wear those bracelets?" Kíli asks. "And aren't they made of leather?"
Lys glances at the bracelets of different sizes that cover her right wrist. "It's not real leather." She pauses, then shrugs. "No reason, really. I just like them."
Kíli nods, then all three look up as Bilbo gets up and stretches, then walks stiffly down to where the ponies are. Evidently, Lys is not the only one having trouble sleeping.
Suddenly, a piercing howl cuts through the air. Bilbo turns towards them, startled. "What was that?"
A mischievious gleam enters Kíli's eyes. "Orcs," he says. "Throat-cutters."
Fíli joins in. "The hills will be teeming with them."
Their prank is cut short by Thorin, who has come to take over the watch from his nephews. "You think a night-raid by orcs is a joke?"
"We meant nothing by it," says Kíli, but Thorin walks past them to the edge of the ridge upon which they are encamped and stares out into the night, his back turned.
Most of the dwarves have been woken by the howling and have gathered round, Bilbo joining them.
"Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs," says Balin softly. Seeing everyone's eyes fixed on him, and remembering the two newcomers who know nothing of their history, he launches into the tale of the Battle of Azanulbizar, describing how Thrór was beheaded by Azog and Thráin later captured, tortured and killed, how Thorin had defended himself with an oaken branch and severed Azog's hand, how the battle had been won at the cost of countless dead.
There is a long silence when his narrative ends.
Bilbo breaks it. "What happened to Azog?"
"That filth died of his wounds long ago," replies Thorin, striding back towards the fire.
The rest of the Company returns to their bedrolls, and for the rest of the night they are undisturbed by whatever creatures might be lurking in the darkness.
The next few days pass pleasantly. Bilbo becomes more and more acquainted with the members of the Company, and Kíli and Fíli continue to talk to Lys, learning about her world in exchange for telling her more of the history of the dwarves, in which she seems interested, and general information about Middle-earth. She remains distant and reserved, but is not unfriendly, and after a few days Kíli gets the impression that a faint shadow of a smile sometimes creeps its way onto her grim face - but perhaps it is just an illusion.
He refrains from asking if she has a family, not because he knows it would be painful to be separated from them, but because even he can tell that she has never been close to anyone. The way she talks - or, rather, doesn't talk, the way she avoids proximity, let alone contact, point to the fact that she has been very alone in her world. He is saddened by this, for he cannot imagine having no one to share both grief and joy with. The dwarves of Erebor have been through many hardships and suffered innumerable losses, but they have always been together. And he - he has always had Fíli. He looks towards his brother, sunlight glinting off his golden hair, and tries not to think of the possibility that something might happen to him on this adventure, which he had never thought could end in anything but glory.
The fine weather does not last long. Several days into their journey, it begins to pour. The rain streams down from the dark grey sky, pattering on leaves and sending small streams running down the path. The ponies slosh laboriously through the muddy water, as miserable as their riders.
"Can't you do anything about this weather?" Dori asks Gandalf.
"It is raining, Master Dwarf," replies the wizard, "And it will continue to rain until it stops." This seems as good an answer as they are going to get.
Bilbo finds himself thinking wistfully of his cozy hobbit-hole, a fire in the fireplace and the kettle whistling.
Oh, well, he thinks, This is what you bargained for, after all. And anyhow - he pushes a dripping lock from his forehead - a little rain is far better than an attack by… whatever nasty creatures might be out there. He urges his lagging pony forward, hoping that the nasty creatures will leave them alone for now and the rest of their journey.