CHAPTER SEVEN
Swords
Thorin, admittedly, had been increasingly concerned about Farren's well-being when they had settled in Rivendell. She had not been seen by anyone since they had left her to defend them against the Warg pack. Well, no one of his Company had heard any news of her and he refused to ask Lord Elrond.
He refused to talk to any of the Elves.
Yet he worried throughout the day as they collected supplies about her. He had not seen her get injured but when the Elven guard had returned, they had only brought Abe and not her. The horse had been unharmed and bore no sign of a bloody attack or death even.
He shivered involuntarily at the thought of her mangled body, the sight of her blood.
Then he was sitting next to Elrond at the high table, looking over Rivendell and eating his weight in chicken and other meats.
And then he saw her mischievous, icy eyes looking at him from across the table with that smirk that meant she knew something he didn't,
"You survived then?" he asked her drearily, acting as though he didn't care whether she died or lived and he saw her smile falter slightly,
"I'll always survive," she replied just as carelessly and helped herself to a chicken thigh and a handful of some sort of purple leaves. And when she stretched her arm out to pour herself some wine, he saw a large and angry gash on her bicep surrounded by a scattering of purple bruises. So she had been injured.
Farren has seen Thorin inspecting her wounds but thought nothing of it, he was probably comparing it to one of his terrific sword lacerations that he had received during battle, not defending fourteen lower beings.
Do not think like that, she scolded herself and took a large gulp of wine to prevent herself from snapping at Thorin who had found better use for his concentration, listening in on what Elrond was telling him about his sword,
"This is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver," he explained wisely, "A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West, my kin. May it serve you well," the black haired Elf handed the sword back to its owner with a careful smile, which Thorin did not return.
Farren reached down and stroked the Blue Egg of her sword, which lay beneath her bare feet. Funnily enough, when she had awoken after she was struck by a poisoned Orc sword, she knew her surroundings as if she had been living there for years. She knew where to go to find Lord Elrond who had been pacing in the courtyard below her healing quarters; she knew her temporary maid's name; she knew how she was healed and what was used. She felt at home and it was – odd.
"May I see your sword Farren?" Elrond asked kindly, his eyes soft and she obeyed, standing and trotting over to his seat. She handed him the bow and knelt next to him, feeling Gandalf's eyes on the back of her head and Thorin's on the front, "Ah, Draconem Pilos, The Dragon's Blade," he said with a twinkling smile, "Your own ancestors made this but I assume you already are aware of this?"
He handed it back to Farren and she nodded her head, sitting down and flashing Bilbo a small smile as he made to show Elrond his own sword,
"I wouldn't bother, laddie," Balin told him quietly and quiet mockingly, "Swords are named for the great deeds they do in war,"
"What are you saying?" Bilbo challenged with a small squeak, "My sword hasn't seen battle?" and Balin thundered a laugh,
"I'm not even sure it's even a sword; more of a letter opener really," he replied and went back to eating as though he was a starving child. Bilbo's shoulders dropped and let his sword fall back to his feet, feeling a strong grip on his shoulder,
"Hey, I'm sure your sword has seen many battles," Farren assured him, "Dwarves – tend to speak their minds a bit,"
"Right," he said with a scowl and folded his arms, Farren's brows furrowing in frustration.
It was clear to her that some of the Dwarves did not want Bilbo to accompany them on their quest, especially Thorin. And in a way, she did want him going any further than Rivendell and she was tempted to persuade him to stay in the safety of the elves. She did not want him getting hurt or killed even; she could not live with the guilt if anything happened to him.
But they were very alike, the Hobbit and the Wanderer. Thorin did not like either of them, yet everyone else did; Gandalf had requested them especially for this quest and they were both needed to complete it.