CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Mountain
Riding the giant eagle was similar to being on the back of Abe, and she felt a pang of longing for her companion and of Rivendell where she felt like she belonged. This bird as smoother and it felt like she as lying on a silk bed that was being gently lulled by the sweet waves of the sea.
But the adrenaline that she received while speeding through the trees away from angry traders and disappointed wealthy men, on Abe's back while he whinnied with happiness; it was addictive.
Farren barely saw the breath-taking landscape that she passed, focussing purely on healing her wound and worrying about Thorin. His hand had been the only thing that she could see below, still holding his sword with white and bloody fingers.
She had felt a pang of something that she had never felt before, when the dwarf was struck for the first time by the Warg and it had painfully burned in her chest like a fire was spreading from her heart, which had been the reason why she had defended him and risked her life. She knew that it wasn't love, for she had felt that more than once in her life and it was painful, yes; but this was something that had caused her to cry out.
She felt it again now, looking down at his hand for the fourth time. That fire warming her heart and her lungs, like she was breathing in the rays of the sun. Her cheeks flushed and she puffed out a long breath, not feeling the cool winds against her face.
The eagle began to descend gently, directing itself towards what looked like a large bear shaped rock that stood tall against the carpet of red forest. The sky as a milky red, for the sun was dawning and the shadows where elongating, making the rock seem grander and bigger as Farren swung her legs over the eagle's neck, sliding off too quickly for her liking and landing heavily on her feet.
She stumbled, crying out at the pain that wracked through her right leg, falling against someone.
But she did not care who it as who caught her, she needed to get to Thorin, she needed to heal him for it was her duty.
He was a sorry sight, lying on his back with his eyes closed and her chest rising and falling slowly, blood seeping from a wound on his forehead. His hair was matted and bloody, his skin gaunt and pale like he was almost dead.
Farren crawled towards him cautiously, like if she made any sudden movement, he would wake.
"Frater," (My brother) she began quietly, her hand coming to rest over his eyes, "Etsomno expergisci a vulneribus tuis sanabo te, et suscitemus eum, male te a tuis," (I wake you from your slumber and heal your wounds, I release you from this curse and rouse your soul) As she was saying this spell, a wave of coldness washed over the dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf and they felt her presence turn into something greater, as if they were standing next to someone truly powerful.
Then Thorin gave a shuddering breath and he opened his eyes, looking around wildly and seeing if all his companions made it to safety. His gaze landed on Farren, grey meeting gold and he managed a weak smile, lifting a hand to caress her jaw,
"I am sorry I doubted you," he said with a gritty voice and Farren leaned slightly into his hand, closing her eyes and savouring the earthy smell that invaded her nostrils,
"There is no need to apologize Thorin, I did what I did to save you," she replied almost silently, "We cannot go on without you,"
They smiled at each other for a moment longer before Farren noticed that his eyes were directed at something behind her, far in the distance.
"Is that -?" Bilbo asked excitedly and Farren stood quickly, precariously balancing on one leg. She felt Thorin wobble beside her, the cut on his head now merely a purple scar but her gaze was on the sight ahead of her.
There, framed perfectly against the rising sun, its silhouette spreading a blanket of coolness around; was Erebor.
"The Lonely Mountain," she breathed, "The last of the great dwarf kingdoms in Middle-Earth,"
"Our home," the king said in relief, his shoulders relaxing and he placed an arm over Balin's shoulders.
"Look!" Oin suddenly said cheerfully as a small bird flutter in their eye line, "The ravens are returning to the mountain!"
"Oh no, that my dear Oin," Gandalf chuckled kindly, leaning on his staff, "that is a thrush,"
"But we will take it as a sign," Thorin commented with a smile, "A good omen,"
"You're right," Bilbo breathed out, feeling a strong hand grip his shoulder, "I do believe that the worst is behind us," he looked up and saw Farren looking dreamily into the distance.