CHAPTER TWELVE
Their realisation
Gandalf had sensed something, as had Farren but she had seen them before he had. His senses merely noted how negatively the aura around them had changed and he turned his head towards the Wanderer, who was staring with crinkled eyes up towards the top of the mountains.
There was a blood-curdling howl that caused the Company to stop dead and look to where they had originated from. Farren jumped up and grabbed her sword, standing in front of the Hobbit in a protective stance,
"Out of the frying pan…," Thorin murmured seriously, squaring his shoulders,
"And into the frying pan," Gandalf finished, fisting Farren's hood and forcing her in front of him, pushing her forcefully down the mountain, "Run! RUN!" he bellowed, following Farren who kept looking behind her carelessly and swearing in a tongue unknown to Thorin, obviously trying to double back to retrieve Bilbo, who was falling behind.
"THORIN!" someone shouted from behind and he turned to his right, slicing the stomach of a leaping Warg that had caught up with them. There were several, shadows flying through the night and up in front to where Farren was breathlessly cutting them down like she was dancing,
"Up into the trees, all of you!" she shouted, gracefully bounding on to a rock and swinging herself up into a tall pine tree, "Come on Bilbo! Climb!" the Hobbit had bravely fought off a Warg that had decided that he was worthy prey, stabbing it in the head but proceeding to being unable to wrench his sword out of the creature's skull,
"They're coming!" Thorin said fearfully from above him and Bilbo set into a panic, spotting several more Wargs approaching. With his chest heaving and his hands sweating, he ripped his sword from the Warg and leapt nimbly up into a tree. He felt hot breath on the bottom of his feet and two strong hands suddenly wrapped around his arms and hoisted him up further away from the snapping jaws below, his eyes swivelling to see Farren staring ahead of her with a horror that he had never seen before.
"Azog?!" she whispered at the same time Thorin did, placing Bilbo on a branch next to her and clenching her hands into fists,
"Do you smell it? The scent of fear?" the pale monster that sat upon a pure white Warg was one of a nightmare, with a bald head, scarred torso and a metal hand clutched his Warg protectively, "I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin son of Thrain,"
"It cannot be," the king said in horror, his face showing pain in realising that the Orc had his father as captive and Farren felt a burst of pity, wanting to protect him from the thoughts that were going through his head right at that moment, going through scenes of torture and suffering that he feared his father was being put through.
"That one is mine!" the pale orc shouted, pointing at Thorin with a metallic finger, "Kill the others!"
At his command, his filthy pets began their desperate attempt to climb the trees that the Company were struggling to hold on to. Farren tried swinging her sword to kill the Warg, but the tip barely brushed a nose, angering the Wargs even more.
"Drink their blood!" Azog called out sweetly, his tongue rolling and his lips smiling like he had blood already in his mouth.
Farren felt the tree she was perched in give a sudden lurch, the roots beginning to groan with the weight of the Wargs, her body swaying precariously and she clutched Bilbo's jacket, preparing to jump – but the sharp jerk that came next she was not prepared for and she shunted Bilbo and Fili into the next tree, only just grasping a thin branch with her fingertips in time.
She did not scream as something sank its teeth into her ankle, spit soaking into her clothes,
"Pelli meæ, et veneni," (my skin will poison) she said through gritted teeth, kicking wildly below her and a pained whine relieved her leg of the clamp, the Warg falling back with a foaming mouth and yellowing eyes. Someone was calling her name in fear, several hands grabbing her clothes to get her out of the reach of the Wargs who were furious at the sudden and mysterious death of their pack mate,
"You are hurt!" it was Thorin holding his hand to the dark red patch on her calf,
"I will heal quickly," she said quietly, brushing him away with a small smile before spotting something that made her eyes widen in shock,
"Hold on!" she cried, feeling the tree wobble dangerously before tipping painfully slowly over a sea of darkness that was the valley below. Farren was thrown flat on her stomach as she held on to the trunk, feeling Thorin throw himself atop her body and create a protective cage with his arms, her gaze turning to see Ori's small fingers struggling to keep a firm hold on the suspended tree,
"Ah, oh no, no!" he cried out, terrified and his hands slipped, his small body falling a few feet but managing to grab onto the Dori's boot who exclaimed fearfully,
"Mister Gandalf!" the dwarf could not hold both his and Ori's weight up, and Farren saw him begin to tilt sideways, reaching out for something, anything to keep him up. This just so happened to be Gandalf's staff that he had swung down in an effort to save the two dwarves from plummeting to their deaths.
She felt the weight shift from her back and she twisted awkwardly around, leaning up and balancing on her elbows,
"Don't you dare!" she growled, watching Thorin thread his way through the flames that Gandalf had produced previously as to keep the Warg's at bay, he scooped up a rogue oak branch and pulled his sword from his side.
Azog opened his arms in mock welcome, a smug and death hungry look on his face. Thorin raised his shield and brandished his sword –
But the white Warg got to him first, swiping one massive paw at his chest and forcing his back to connect painfully with the ground.
Thorin stood quickly, panting and breathing deeply, not expecting a mace to collide with his face.
Farren winced and hide her eyes as he fell to the ground again, only to be picked up in the jaws of the Warg,
"Thorin! Nooo!" she heard Dwalin bellow from below her and she pulled herself up, balancing on one foot and gently but quickly weaving her way towards where Thorin now lay, a bloody mess and nearly unconscious,
"Bring me the dwarf's head," Azog cried in triumph, beckoning one of his Orcs forward and Thorin saw a flash of dirtied red, then the coolness of metal on the back of his neck as he lay numbly on the rocks upon which he had landed when the white Warg had thrown him carelessly to the side.
Farren hissed as she limped swiftly towards the fallen dwarf, raising her sword as the Orc raised his, ready to slice Thorin's head.
"Do not touch him!" she shrieked in Black Speech (the language that the Orc's spoke), bringing her sword into the chest of the foul creature, "Kill him, and I will kill you!" Farren kicked the Orc away and stood over Thorin protectively,
"Out of my way whore!" Azog replied harshly, waving two Wargs to attack her but they did not, remembering their pack brother being poisoned by simply touching her,
"You underestimate my power," she hissed, "You do not know who I am,"
"Farren, go back - ," Thorin spat blood on the ground, falling limp clutching her ankle,
"Kulkodar Palay," (Dragon filth) he snarled, "Farren Mirkwood, daughter of the Dragons," he implied, sliding off his pets back and unsheathing the most terrifying sword that Farren had ever seen, serrated at one edge and covered in what looked like rust but she was sure it was something much worse,
"You will not harm him while I live," she replied, feeling much braver than she looked and he raised his knife, a nightmare inducing snarl upon his face and Farren brought hers upwards to meet.
"Then you shall not live,"
There was an ear splitting clang and the caw of a thunderous bird.
And Farren saw the largest eagle that she had ever encountered pick up Thorin gently in its yellow talons, call commandingly to her and fly off.
She seemed to understand it for a moment, bringing her knee up into Azog's stomach and the running away, off the edge of the mountain and on to the back of the eagle that had soared beneath her. She landed on a soft pillow though she struggled to get a firm hold because the feathers were so slippery, but her knees found a nook behind its wings and she settled, burying her face into its neck.
Then she heard the frustrated shrieks and cries of a defeated Azog.
Farren turned around, nursing her ankle and watching as many other giant birds swooped and tore at the Wargs and the Orcs, catching up to hers with dwarves and Bilbo on their backs.
And she looked down, spotting Thorin's limp hand swinging in the breeze, still clutching his sword.