CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

A familiar kind of love

They docked in silence, Bard taking the oar from Farren and directing the barge to a gentle halt next to a small wooden walk way, adorned in slim and guts from various sea creatures. Nodding to her, Bard tossed a coin into her outstretched hand, his eyes flicking to the on looking dock keeper. As she wobbled up to him, her legs feeling fuzzy from keeping her upright on a rocking boat for so long, she noticed that he looked rather like the man at the gates; squat, round faced and wide eyed as she approached him. Turning her head, Farren watched Bard rap on the sides of barrels, alerting the dwarves and Bilbo that they had arrived. She smiled at his forced kindness.

"You didn't see them," she whispered, her voice hoarse and husky, "They were never here," She slipped the coin into the man's palm, his faced reddening even more if that was possible, "You can have the fish for nothing,"

Farren returned to Bard oblivious to the stares of the squat man, his eyes only sought the delicate sway of her hips and wondered how she was related to a dusty bargeman.

Word certainly travelled fast in Laketown.

They passed from shadow to shadow, seemingly unnoticed by the slumbering. But Farren knew someone would see them, someone would find it suspicious for a young woman and fourteen smaller males to be following Bard carefully, trying not to slip from the frosty walkways. She was clumsy upon water, constantly concentrating on not falling, not tripping over a pallet, stepping on Thorin's toes and bumping into Bard's back every turn. But there was so much to see. So much that it was impossible to her to take everything in; barrels full of wriggling lobsters and crabs, crates of octopi and ink covered squid; small sprouts of green herbs, grasses and brown bushes that chestnut pigs were gnawing on, squealing as they shuffled past; each house was different, some nearly three stores high and some standing on tall stilts, towering above the rest, all having intricate carvings around the windows and doors. Although the only light came from the moon, and the odd candle that had yet to burn out on a window ledge. Farren's fingers reached for Bard's coat when her ears suddenly picked up the faint sound of running. It was too light to be an adult yet not graceful enough to be female.

"Da!" a small boy launched himself into Bard's arms, his grubby face pressed into his father's chest, "Our house, it's being watched!" there was an air of desperation to his voice, covering the fear that she saw in his muddy brown eyes. He looked remarkably like Bard, yet his nose was delicate and his eyes soft, his face rounded and his hair was a darker, almost blackish brown.

With concerned eyes, Bard turned around to Thorin, seeking his idea for what to do. Thorin then looked expectantly at Farren, her mouth opening in surprise,

"Of course I have a plan," she whispered, as if offended by Thorin's mere gaze, "But unfortunately, none of you are going to like it,"

"All of them are going to hate me," Farren mused a while later, stepping into Bard's home, smiling when she was welcomed by the sudden warmth – as two young girls who also looked like Bard. Yes, Farren thought as she noticed the way they greeted him with concern yet pure happiness, he must've had a beautiful wife to give him beautiful daughters. They were soft jawed and round faced like their brother, but their eyes were deep set and a clear olive green that shined in the flickering light,

"Here is something to eat," Bard said, handing the eldest a canvas sack, "Bain, get them in," at his words, the small boy rushed away, grinning wildly when he caught Farren's twinkling eye, "These are my daughters, Sigrid," he placed a gentle hand on top of his eldest daughter's head, "and Tilda," the youngest smiled prettily, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear,

"Farren," she introduced herself, receiving a bag from Bard and she nodded, heading off to a corner to change. In order to make herself look younger and more innocent, she had been directed to brush her hair out so it covered the white scars on her neck, removed her cloak and hastily wrap it around her waist in an effort to make a skirt. Indeed it had worked and as she re-braided the lower layers of her hair, she watched Bard and his daughters; she gazed at what a family was. It was warmth as he held them both close; it was comfort and truth, Bard explaining to them their plan; it was surprise and confusion, the girls both becoming more puzzled with every drenched dwarf that entered the room.

"Da…why are there dwarves climbing out of our toilet?" the eldest, named Sigrid, asked bashfully and Dwalin merely sneered at her,

"Will they bring us luck?" Tilda, the youngest, said from behind her father and Dwalin dropped his scowl at her innocence and grace.

Minutes later, all the dwarves and hobbit were bundled with blankets made of wool and quilts darned with care. Yet only Bilbo thanked the girls who were handing them out, apologising if one was cold or too small. Farren was leaning back on a wooden chair, balancing on the two back legs whilst admiring the room. It was simple, long and homely with a large fire place, a well sanded table that was adorned with many plain foods, pots of dried flowers and baskets of cooking herbs. It was comfortable, well lived in and frankly, everything that Farren wanted.

Grinning at the thought of a family, she closed her eyes and remembered her own family, sitting by the fire in the library, her father stroking her head and her mother touching a picture of her brother. Oh her dear brother! How she misses him, how she still has nightmares of his death even a hundred years later. Alvar was mighty; he was destined to do great deeds. He was strong, handsome, kind and patient. She loved him dearly, spending all her time with him and telling him about what magic she learnt, what books she had discovered, how far she had ridden on Abe. Yet all he talked about, all he thought about was war.

"We must prepare for war father!" Farren had heard him arguing with their father one night when she was about twenty, old enough to listen but still too young to understand, "They will come for her, He will come for her!"

Farren had never known who was supposedly chasing her, not even to this day. She had not thought about it in a while and, while she caught forty winks; Farren rifled through all the unfortunate enemies that she had made. Many of them were wealthy grounds men or owners of now rebellious daughters but surely none of them would come after her? And besides, she had not even known any of them when she was young.

Alvar had been determined to protect Farren, although she had been oblivious to it; all the extra bow practise and sword fights, all those walks in the woods flanked by several guards – they all seemed so much clearer. The naive young girl had all thought it was attention and that he was finally becoming the role model she was hoping to look up to. And yet, she still stood there while he was murdered.

Farren pinched herself, scolding her past person and buried her head in her hands. Standing rather abruptly, she strode to the small balcony that overlooked Bard's barge. Farren had forced herself for so long not to think about that dreadful memory and now? Why does it surface now? Right when her mind is supposed to be at its calmest.

She fought the urge to scream into the night, deciding that it would attract unwanted attention and instead, she violently kicked a heavy wooden crate full of dirt.

"What makes you so angry?" a quiet voice asked from beside her and Farren sighed, turning to face Bilbo, "You looked sad back there,"

"Just -," Farren didn't know what to say, "Unwanted memories," she turned away, however, the Hobbit looked interested,

"Of dragons?" he said excitedly, pulling his blanket more securely around his shoulders and he noticed, with concern, that Farren did not have a cloak and the material of her shirt was only thin. But he did not say anything, watching her close her eyes and breathe deeply into the chilling wind

"I watched my brother die," she uttered almost inaudibly, "I stood by his side while the poison shut down his brain,"

"Oh-?" Bilbo saw a tear fall from her eye,

"I could've helped him, he could still be here!" she was blank faced but her eyes were distraught, Thorin and Balin hearing her raised voice and leaning towards where she was standing, leaning against the balcony, "He would've loved you, so brave, so courageous; my little Hobbit," she looked down at him with pride. Gazing behind her with glassy eyes, she smiled delicately at Thorin,

"Alvar was similar to you, always seeking out victory and protecting others," Farren held his eyes with hers, verging from green to gold, "He told me stories of dwarves, and of their riches, of their honesty, of their loyalty; if he could see where I was now…,"

Shaking her head, Farren scrubbed at her eyes, Thorin placing a gentle hand on her forearm and he managed a simple, honest and sincere smile.