CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I cannot heal
There was no point trying to steer the barrels around the rapids that they were all tearing through. Farren was afraid that Bilbo was going to drown for every time she would try to bring into her barrel, he was ripped from her grip and fell back into the water. She did not even care for the dangers that sprinted after her, spitting harsh insults in her direction, her head now as valuable as Thorin's. The dwarves all fended off the oncoming Orcs, tossing each other stolen axes and swords, cutting bulging bellies and slicing heads, all the while attempting to aid Bilbo out of the plunging water,
"Just – don't let go of me," Farren spluttered, now fisting his sodden coat with white knuckles and Bilbo clutched on to her forearms for dear life, his wide eyes reflecting the monstrous figures of the Orcs,
"Farren, cut the branch!" she faintly heard Thorin bellow, hacking at an overhanging tree with his sword, adorned and overflowing with snarling Orcs. Pulling her sword from the bottom of her barrel, she blindly waved it through the air, the glowing blade coming into contact with wood and flesh.
There was a thunderous splash and a thump as the tree tumbled into the rapids, bringing down the Orcs at which Farren stabbed, the water around her turning a nasty black colour. Using both hands to deflect several arrows that had been shot in her direction, Farren dug her hand into the bank of the river, swinging herself around and snatched a fallen dagger, jabbing it into the knee of a ravaging Orc. Seizing its weapon, she thrust it wildly behind her, hoping a dwarf caught it to defend himself.
"Farren! Where's Bilbo?" Bofur called out, cutting down an Orc himself before chucking his axe like a javelin to Gimli.
"I'm doing just fine here," the Hobbit replied, still choking up water from his successful attempt to board something floating and Farren wanted to laugh, spotting the silver haired elf and his guards catching up to them, cutting down Orcs like they were mice.
She whipped forward suddenly, her mouth opening in shock and her throat filled with water. Her eyes were open but all she could see was white and blue, and rocks. Lots of rocks that looked sharp enough to blow her head open. Her arms flailed about, scraping against the river bed, trying to push herself back above the water. Her lungs were squeezing, trying to claw for whatever air there was, but they only found water. With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Farren dug both her hands into a clump of weed and she pressed, her shoulders screaming against the raging current of the water and she surfaced with red eyes and a pulsing chest. She swallowed in bucketful's of air, flipping soaking wet hair from her eyes and brandishing her sword -
"My sword!" her realisation caused her to flush bright red and she ducked an arrow sailing through the air, "Where is my sword!" She must have let go of it when she was under water and she looked about wildly, spotting less Orcs and more elves,
"Lass!" Fili leaned over the side of his barrel, scooping something from the river and hurled it towards her waiting hands. Not missing a beat, Farren threw it into the chest of an Orc that was about to bring its own sword down on to the back of the silver haired elf; the force of the throw pinning the Orc to a tree behind it.
And she was weapon-less again.
"Atara en' i' sgiathatch," Farren did not speak much Elvish however her head flicked round at the words, seeing the elf she recalled being called Legolas, wrench her sword from the Orc and tree, looking intensely into her eyes and throwing it to her hands.
There was a mutual understanding that Farren didn't understand and she raised a hand,
"Plantis, suspendio (plants, strangle)," she hissed, clenching her fist and Legolas heard a gut wrenching gurgling from behind him, his eyes catching the finger-like movements of a vine wrapping around an ambushing Orc's neck, causing its putrid face to turn from purple to blue very quickly.
He looked back, an arrow aimed at the back of her head as she retreated down the river.
"You wouldn't kill your own kind would you son?" the memory of he and his father's heated discussion about whether Farren was to be trusted suddenly entered his head, "Although she is dangerous and her blood is dirtied; she is still more Elven than both you and I,"
Legolas let out a hiss, shooting the arrow instead at a leaping Orc, not smiling as it fell on top of Farren's barrel.
Panting hastily, Farren paddled sloppily, her hands sore and blistered. The river had slowed and the barrels were moving idly along on paddle power, not going anywhere fast.
"Anything behind us?" Thorin called back and Farren twisted around, thankful for the break and her eyes darted to every shadow, every tree, every bush and every rock; seeing nothing out of the ordinary,
"Not that I can see," she replied loudly, going back to paddling with one hand. The other was secured to Bilbo's log that he was slumped upon, pulling it along slowly.
"I think we have outrun the Orcs," Bofur said as if he was settling the fact and Thorin swirled his hand along the still river,
"Not for long," he exclaimed, "We've lost the current," and he turned around to his fellows, seeing their cut and bruised faces,
"Bofur is half-drown," Dwalin pleaded, gesturing to a choking dwarf and Thorin nodded, digging his hand into the riverbed, directing his barrel towards the shore,
"Make for shore!" he called out, "Come on, let's go!" this announcement motivated Farren and she sped up her paddling, bumping into the stony beach and tipping forwards, falling face first into the stones.
"My, I do miss dry land," she scooped pebbles into her palms and hissed when one contacted with an open cut. Sitting up harshly, she nursed the wound, deciding that it would be better off healing in the open but a great gasp of pain caused her to flinch. A jolt jumped down her spine as Kili fell to his knees, clutching a bloody bandage,
"It's nothing," he gritted through his teeth and Farren weaved through the concerned dwarves to kneel by his side, her forehead wrinkling with worry,
"On your feet," Thorin demanded gruffly from behind her and she whipped around with blazing eyes,
"Kili is wounded," she seethed, "His leg needs binding,"
"You have magic," the king snapped back, "You can heal him,"
Farren recoiled, looking delicately back at Kili and squeezing his thigh,
"Virus,quod non infert dolorem meum," Farren thought hard, remembering her practises as a child and when she was alone, she spread her fingers over the wound,"et sanguine, et transferre, (This poison that inflicts pain shall transfer to my skin and blood)."
She did not know whether it would be effective, or even work at all and the anguished cry that escaped Kili's lips issued her with the answer that she had indeed made it worse.