CHAPTER THREE
Into the Wild
No one dared to wake Farren the next morning; for fear that she would impale them with her sword. She had been up keeping watch for most of the night, clutching her weapon so tightly that her knuckles had turned white and only when Bilbo prod her knee to tell her to sleep, did she lay her head and close her weary eyes.
Gandalf watched her now, still sleeping peacefully in a nest of hay with her arms tucked beneath her chest and her cloak thrown precariously over her back. She looked so young, so innocent and her cheeks were as rosy as they were when the two had first met,
Ah, it was all still so vivid. Gandalf closed his eyes dreamily, conjuring up the memory that was tucked very safety away within his grand old mind…
"Will you teach me magic Mr Gandalf, sir?" the tiny ten year old asked him excitedly in a high pitched voice, so sweet that the younger wizard smiled widely,
"Perhaps when you are older my dear," he promised but waved his hands, darkening the candles that lit the room and small blinking lights appeared all around them. Farren shrieked with happiness, leaping from Gandalf's side and began to gaily dance in-between the lights.
"Sing for me please sir," she begged him, placing her small and perfect hands over his with a pleading smile and twinkling eyes.
Gandalf pretended to think hard about his decision – only to playfully frustrate poor Farren,
"North montem viscéribus ," he sang the first line and Farren squealed, bounding away to dance,
"Tales habitant, et reptilibus, et in morem parturientium
dormientes vocentur frequentet domino
et cum secat cantet, neque evigilare dracones
latet sub rupibus ignis qui terroribus Aquilo
et equite forti, protegat, defendat audias rector,"
(Deep within the mount of the North
such creatures dwell and crawl and writhe
are called by their master to haunt the sleeping
and when the lark sings, do the dragons wake
to ignite those terrors that lurk beneath the rocks of the North
and their riders protect, defend and rule the sky and sea)
He hummed the tune of that song as he sipped his drink, relishing in the few memories that they had together before the dreadful attack occurred and the tamer-to-be changed paths.
"What are you singing Gandalf?" Bilbo asked him, nibbling on a piece of grey bread and the wizard sighed deeply,
"Just an age old story," he replied sincerely, watching as Farren's limbs began to twitch as she woke herself up. Sitting up, she yawned widely and scrubbed at her eyes, rubbing the sleep from them and smiling subconsciously.
But that smile vanished when her eyes were directed above her, into the face of the largest and hair laden man she had ever seen. His eyes were the same as the glowing amber ones she had seen last night and his face was scratched, as if he had been in many fights,
"You are hungry?" he asked her gruffly although his voice seemed to calm Farren's nerves, her frightened gaze switching back and forth between Gandalf and the giant man before her. He was handing her a plate of bread dipped in milk and honey, a delicacy that only a few enjoyed.
"You are the skin changer from last night," she commented, licking the dripping honey from the bread before taking a large bite. The man nodded and straightened up to his full height, looking down upon Farren as though she was a measly little rabbit.
"I am Beorn," he said, extending a hand out and tugging Farren from her bed of hay, "And you are the one they call Thorin Oakenshield," Beorn joined the rest at a massive, scrubbed wooden table groaning under the weight of many breakfast items. He gestured for Farren to sit in the empty seat next to Bilbo, who greeted her enthusiastically and Gandalf reached across the table to pat her clasped hands. The rest of the dwarves merely grunted, all too tired to talk,
"Tell me," Beorn continued, "Why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"
Thorin was stood too, near a cavernous fireplace with his fur cape already wrapped around his shoulders ready to leave at any point,
"You know of Azog? How?" he asked with shock written all over his features and Beorn's lips thinned, the veins in his neck straining ever so slightly,
"My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the Orcs came down from the north," he explained with an air of blood red anger, "The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved,"
There was a silence, only broken by Killi noisily clanging his cup down on to the table,
"Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him," Beorn continued and Bilbo nervously jigged his foot,
"There are others like you?" the Hobbit asked wearily,
"Once, there were many," was the gruff reply,
"And now?"
"There is only one," there was another silence, this time tense and Farren felt another weight bare down on her shoulders, to avenge Beorn's race, "You need to get to the mountain before autumn falls?"
"Before Durin's Day, yes," Farren explained, pushing her now empty plate away from her and filling her cup with water,
"You are running out of time," Beorn muttered, standing perfectly still,
"Which is why we need to go through Mirkwood," Gandalf interrupted and Farren stood abruptly, starting Bilbo who knocked his knee on the underside of the table,
"A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. I would not venture there except in great need," Beorn took no notice of Farren and she clenched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms,
"I know of Mirkwood," she said hastily, "Although the elven road will lead us, we cannot be sure that it is still connected,"
"It's settled then," Gandalf concluded, ever so sure of himself,
"I wouldn't be so sure my lady," Beorn growled, "These lands are crawling with Orcs, their numbers are growing and you are only on foot. You will never reach the forest alive," he turned to Thorin, who was still leaning near the fireplace now with his arms crossed in irritation,
"I don't like dwarves," the skin-changer uttered dangerously, "they are greedy and blind, bling to the lives deemed lesser than their own,"
Farren held her breath as the great man reached to the table, gently plucking a small white mouse that had been burrowing through the bread between his fingers,
"But Orcs I hate more," Beorn concluded proudly, "What do you need?"