I apologize to all of those following and my reviewers. I hadn't realized that I'd gone so long without updating:(
I don't own any of Tolkien's sweet elves, nor do I own Salvatore's Guen:) It's a shame, I know.
Bruenor followed after Legolas and the others returning to their home in open-mouthed wonder—or-horror—even Bruenor himself wasn't sure which emotion fit the moment. The woods around him were stately and broken, beautiful and twisted. He may have been an elf raised in a mine full of dwarves, but even he was elf enough to pick up on the fact that something was seriously wrong with this place. "So," he said, glancing sideways at Tauriel, "wha' is wit' the trees?" he asked. "The forest seems," he floundered a moment for a word to describe it, "sick."
The smile Tauriel gave him as they wove silently down the path was wistful. "It was not always so," she said, "but shadow has fallen on these lands."
"Huh?" was all Bruenor could manage at that.
"Forgive me," she said, her smile lightening in amusement at his expression of confusion. "I forget that you are as unfamiliar with our world as we would be with yours." She held a gnarled branch back to allow him to pass her as she began to explain about the history of their world. She talked of Mordor and Sauron, the Nine Riders, and the weakness of Isildur. Every once in a while, one of the other elves would interject something into the narrative; their initial wariness having worn off under Bruenor's child-like curiosity and contagious good-humor.
"Sound s like ye could use some Harkles," Bruenor said with a small whistle.
"What is a Harkle?" Tauriel asked, her eyes flickering across Bruenor's features.
"Who are the Harkles woul' be the better question," Bruenor answered, the r's rolling off his tongue like a song to Tauriel's ears. "They're a family of wizards an' friends o' me family," he added, suddenly coming to a stop, his eyes widening in alarm as he caught sight of something above him. Tauriel's gaze darted to the same, her hand jumping to her bow, only to relax as she saw the webs far above. "Is tha' wha' I think i' is?" Bruenor asked, his brogue becoming even more pronounced in his nervousness. His eyes flickering to Tauriel and then back to the gargantuan webs above, "spiders?" he asked, the word coming a little higher in pitch.
"Yes," she answered, "though I do not sense any near us at the moment, we are passing near a recently exterminated nest." She began walking again, beckoning Bruenor to follow. "Are you afraid of spiders, Master Bruenor?"
"Jus' Bruenor, lass," he said, before considering her question. "As fer the spiders, of course I'm no—" His eyes met hers as she glanced back at him, one delicate brow was arched and amusement was written all over her face. "Fine! Yes. I hate spiders, even little ones. I'd 'ave been happy if they'd ne'er been made," he confessed. "There, I said it." He saw the amused faces of the elves nearest him and told them, "go on, laugh i' up."
There was a light amount of ribbing from the elves and a sense of camaraderie grew between this odd elf and this group of mirkwood elves. Tauriel, watching Bruenor interact with her fellow guards found she wasn't surprised. Bruenor just had an air about him that beckoned to their spirits. "It is difficult to believe that he was a stranger a day ago." At the words, Tauriel turned and dipped her head toward her prince.
"It is," she acknowledged. "It seems as if he is one of us and always has been," she added. Her brow suddenly creased with concern. "Do you think the King will feel the same?" she asked, fearing the answer, but hoping for reassurance. She liked Bruenor, even if he was raised by dwarves, or perhaps because of it. It just made him an even greater curiosity.
"I hope so," Legolas answered, uncertain. "But I fear at the first mention of dwarves, father will alienate Bruenor at best, imprison him at worst." Legolas frowned at the thought. His eyes followed Bruenor who was laughing brightly; the sound seemed to push the heaviness of the air back for a moment. Evorlis was sharing a tale, and when both of their eyes turned back to meet his, Legolas knew he somehow figured into the story in an unfavorable light. But as his guards nearly skipped with the lightness of spirit that currently rested on the group, he found he didn't care what story was being bandied about. Anything that lifted the spirits of his people was worth it.
Legolas should have known the moment would be stolen though, shattered as the dark elf's cat bounded into the clearing with a frantic roar. Something was wrong.