This chapter, like the first scene in 'The Desolation of Smaug' is a flashback into Farren's life. :)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The attack
Farren had been only a youngling when she received the news that the people of her bloodline were being murdered brutally one by one. And her brother had been one of them.
At aged just seventy two, the weight of defending her frail parents and her name.
"My child, you have not finished your training!" her father told her quietly, before the attack, before she was to take a perimeter check around the estate, "You cannot call for help if you should fall into danger,"
"I have my weapons father," she snapped, her voice high and dainty like a princess, "Alvar bestowed your safety upon me and I intend to see that you live to a grand old age,"
"Just don't make the foolish mistake that I did when I lost my father," he sighed defeated and he sat back in his chair, closing his eyes and waiting for his daughter to sit at his feet like she used to and ask what mistake he made.
Then he would tell the tearful tale of how he had ensured his own father that the sword that the twenty year old had made had been able to defeat any enemy, and being the kindly father he was, Dalfazar the Great took the sword into battle and it shattered within minutes, leaving him weapon-less.
It was his fault that his father had died in that glorious battle, it was his fault that his beautiful daughter did not know the famous dragon tamer who changed history, and it was his fault that she did not have a grandfather.
"I will return before midnight," Farren uttered sadly, standing in the doorway and she stooped to pick up her bow and arrows, and her boots.
It had been the most pleasant night of Medium Enim Aestatis (midsummer) so far and Farren regretted wearing a thick kirtle, fanning herself as she trudged around the perimeter of her family's land, searching and checking for danger that could potentially threaten her family.
Of course, she was not alone. Several of her father's guardsmen had accompanied her, as they did on every check because quite frankly, it would take one person at least one whole night to secure the premises and if one were to fall into some sort of danger, or find a threat; they would have no one to call upon to help.
So four men had volunteered, all in hopes of saving the lord's daughter from something terrible and winning her heart. All were wasting their time; it was too soon for a woman of her age to wed.
It was too soon for a woman of her age to be bestowed with the safety of her family.
Do not think about Alvar, Farren scolded herself, pulling a arrow from her quiver and placing it into her bow, he is none of your concern.
She looked to her right suddenly, her ears picking up a faint crackling and the sound of someone screaming.
She saw fire. It was burning the trees.
She felt heat all over her skin. She smelt blood in the breeze.
Her heart lurched and she ran, towards where the fire was raging into the sky. Smoke billowed into her eyes and she cried out, wafting her hands in front of her to clear a straight path towards where the night was burning.
Her home, her brothers, her people; their souls were screaming into the sky. People were running, crying, bleeding, burning.
Farren could not breath, the smoke was too thick and she could barely see, her eyes watering and creating clean rivers exposing her cheeks beneath the mud.
Patrem Meum
My father.
Mater Mea
My mother.
Someone was holding her tightly, around the waist and she screeched mercilessly, ordering the captor to let go.
But they did not.
"Primiparentesmori," (Your parents were the first to die) a calming voice sobbed into her ear, "Non adjuvant quenquam," (You cannot help anyone) but Farren still struggled, throwing her bow down and attempting to break her captors wrist.
"My people!" she shrieked hysterically, "How they perish! My home burns Maeve, let me go!"
She could not look at her home smoking auburn, she tried to block out the servants wailing in peril, the thundering of footmen and guards trying to control the fire,
"Farren, my lady," the guard had no time to bow and she hissed at her maid, who had tightened her grip, "We cannot control the blaze, if fear that it will consume the whole of the estate,"
"Let it," she hissed, "Let it take what it wants, I shall not stop it," and she puffed out a pitiful sob that nearly broke Maeve's heart, "I am of no help,"
The cage she was trapped in softened and the silk surrounding her torso lessened until the small woman with white hair stood afore her with tearful eyes,
"Farren fallor, si ignis est, non omnes combureret," (I was wrong Farren, if the fire burns on, then we shall all burn) Maeve said over the noise of peril.
And with tears blotching her skin, Farren lifted her head with her eyes glowing gold,
"Tantamvirtutemignisin animam meam," (I bestow the power of the fire upon my soul) she uttered with a raw throat, her voice powerful and grand.
The heat lessened, the roaring silenced, the orange turned to black, the smoke turned to rain and the terror turned to relief.
Farren sobbed once, and crumbled to the floor, her skin pale and her eyes glazed.