Still don't own Legolas or any of Tolkien's charcters, and certainly not R.A. Salvatore's creations. I just borrowed them. I'm gonna give 'em back!
To those kind souls that took the time to review . . . THANK YOU:)
Bruenor picked at the berries and nuts the elves had given him to eat, and let out a gusty sigh. "Wha' I wouldn' give to 'ave a nice bit o' roasted mutton an' a mug o' ale reet now," he muttered under his breath.
"Is the food not to your liking?"
Bruenor jumped, startled, but did not back away. He had no wish to fall out of the tree again. He glanced at the healer that he had awoken to earlier. Mearnin. "It'll serve," Bruenor said, feeling guilty for complaining of the offering. "I do no' mean to be trouble," Bruenor added, quirking a small smile for the healer's benefit.
Mearnin returned the dimpled smile of this exotic elf with a soft smile of his own. "How are your ribs feeling?" he asked.
"Stout enough," Bruenor answered, deliberately popping a berry into his mouth and forcing himself to eat it with a straight face, before asking, "is this where ye live? In this tree?" Bruenor glanced around the small 'flet' as the elves called it, disappointed. The structure was so small that Guen had to remain on the ground beneath him.
"Nay, master Bruenor," the healer said, holding out a flask of water to his patient. "This is merely a temporary touch point for our patrols," Mearnin told him, as Bruenor set the berry and nut-filled leaf to the side to accept a drink.
"I think I will wrap your ribs, just to be safe," the healer said. While Mearnin set about wrapping the young elf's ribs, he told the dark elf, "Some of us are due to return home. We will begin the trek back to our city once the new rotation has arrived and all of the other guards scheduled for leave return from their current patrols. We could never live so exposed," the healer told him, "not with the spiders as they are now."
"Spiders?" Bruenor asked, a little apprehensive.
"Yes," Mearnin said, pulling the bandage tight enough to draw a small grunt from the dark-skinned elf. "Full grown, their bodies alone exceed the height of a full grown elf in length. That does not account for leg length." The healer didn't seem to notice the wide-eyed, stunned expression of his patient. Instead, he simply tied off the bandage and indicated the dark elf could dress.
"I don't like spiders," Bruenor said, carefully slipping his shirt over his head with the help of the healer. "We're no' gonna see any, are we?" he asked, reaching for his tunic. His thoughts went to a story his Grady told him about climbing a shaft in Mithril Hall. His Grady, Bruenor Battlehammer, eighth and tenth king of Mithril Hall, had been bitten by a giant spider. He was never sure if the old dwarf was toying with him or telling the truth, but the great grandson and namesake of the dwarven king did know one thing. He never wanted to come across a spider that size himself.
The drow of Menzoberranzan might worship spiders and that spider whore, Lloth, but not him. By Moradin's beard, he HATED spiders. Big. Little. Poisonous or not. He didn't care. Bruenor Battlehammer Do'Urden had one overpowering weakness that only those closest to him knew.
He was afraid of spiders.
His cousin and best friend, Mick, would say Bruenor squealed like a girl anytime he saw one. Bruenor would deny it, even if it was true.
He missed Mick.
He missed all of them. Even uncle Pwent. Bruenor was pretty sure he'd hug that old battlerager if the dwarf suddenly appeared in front of him, smelly or not. He'd been away from the mines before, sometimes for months at a time and never missed home like he was right now. But then, home had never felt this far away before.
"How is our guest, Mearnin?" Legolas asked. Bruenor hadn't even noticed the other elf's arrival, and the elf had brought a friend. Bruenor perked up when he saw the female. She had red in her hair.
He liked red.
Bruenor missed the words between Legolas and the healer, as the female approached him, kneeling beside Bruenor to introduce herself. "Greetings," she said, with a tentative smile. "I am Tauriel."
"No need to be so formal-like," he told her with a dimpled grin. "Me name's Bruenor," he added, extending his hand to her. She seemed at a loss, so he leaned forward, despite his ribs protesting, and gripped her pale hand in his ebony one, giving it a shake. When he made to let go, she held on. He could see surprised wonder. It was written all over her face. Most of the other elves had looked on him with wariness. Not the outright terror he was accustom to on the surface back home when met with strangers, but just the wariness often shown to the unknown. He found it refreshing.
This female, Tauriel, was fascinated though, not wary. He found her interest downright flattering. He thought of asking for his hand back, but found he didn't have the heart. Besides, her hands were soft as she ran her fingers across his knuckles and examined his palm. A polite clearing of the throat from Legolas had her dropping Bruenor's hand as if it were a hot coal though. "I beg your pardon, Bruenor," she said, disconcerted.
"Nay, lass," he said with a grin. "Nothin' to be ashamed of," he added, with a wink. "As I understand it, ye've ne'er saw a drow before," he said. "I can understand ye'd be curious."
"Do all drow sound like you, Bruenor?" Tauriel couldn't help but ask as Legolas sat with them. She found it . . . lyrical.
He seemed to be at a loss for a moment, but then smiled, amused. "Nay, lass. I were raised with the dwarves o' Mithril Hall. Most drow wouldn't sit pretty like this an' chat with ye. They're no' fond o' one another, and they hate all other races, especially other elves." Bruenor didn't see Legolas stiffen when he mentioned being raised by dwarves, but Tauriel did. "Me Da is the son o' the king o' Mithril Hall's adopted daughter, Cattibrie, an' the drow ranger, Drizzt Do'Urden," he said, proudly, but his smile faltered as he added, "no' that ye know of 'em or Mithril Hall." His shoulders slumped for a moment, but he seemed to be a naturally upbeat creature, so the melancholy was quickly shaken off. "I don't suppose ye 'ave wizards here?"