#bronwen

“I’m usually not this clumsy.”

Earocorn, was, of course, often even clumsier. But as the elf gently assessed and treated the wound, he didn’t want her to know that.

“Although I usually wouldn’t call this lucky,” she teased. “Luckily for you, I am this clumsy. So I’ve gotten pretty good at fixing my own boo boos.”

Earocorn knew this about Bronwen already. She’d joined the fellowship on their current adventure as she had been working with Jerry in his cookie venture - baking to deliver to Sporks far and wide. She didn’t quite fit in with the other elves - it seemed everything she touched turned to disaster. Still, Jerry considered her a good friend, and the more time Earocorn spent with her, the more he wished she could be more than just a friend to him.

He wrote poem after poem, sonnet after sonnet, all composed with the same muse in mind. The same elf with ginger hair and eyes that sparkles liked emeralds, who was the gentlest, sweetest, kindest soul he ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“Well then,” he held back giggles, not wanting to kill the vibe of his not-so-good flirting “I’m lucky you’re here.”

A bashful smile crossed Bronwen’s lips as she mused “Most of Center Earth doesn’t feel that way. I’m a walking disaster. They prefer if I steer clear.”

“Then they’re missing out. You’re wonderful company.” He smiled.

With a soft laugh, she warned “you might change your mind when I start cleaning that wound. I can’t promise it won’t hurt.”

“It hurts anyway.” He reminded her. “that’s not your fault.”

It was, he supposed, in a way, her fault. But really his. He’d been swinging his sword around, trying to catch her eye, to impress her, when he fumbled with his grip, grazing his arm with his own blade. He wouldn’t have been doing that if she wasn’t accompanying them.

Bronwen continued to soak a cloth in a bath of water and healing herbs, but gently wrung it out, cautioning “this will probably sting.”

Earocorn put on a brave face, but it was quickly negated by the hissing sound and wince. “Yep! It stings!”

“I’m sorry,” Bronwen muttered “it’s going to have to stay on like this for a few minutes. Maybe you could come up with another poem? Help to distract yourself?”

“You really like hearing those, don’t you?” He couldn’t help but grin.

“She’s lucky, this maiden, to have someone who thinks so highly of her.” Bronwen smiled, eyes cast downwards. “She must miss you when you’re away like this.”

“Well,” Earocorn felt the blood rush to his cheeks, a level of flustered he wasn’t really sure he had felt before. “She doesn’t…exactly…have me. Or know they’re even about her.”

Bronwen’s hands busied with preparing a fresh cloth to tie around the wound. “Why haven’t you told her? She’d be thrilled, I’m sure. Anyone would be to have such a brave, kind, handsome suitor.”

“You think I’m handsome?” He smirked, despite knowing she was too busy fixing his arm to see the teasing grin.

“You are.” She smiled. “I’m sure that maiden you pine over agrees.”

“Well if you think I’m handsome,” he spoke pointedly “she definitely does.”

“So why haven’t you told her?” Bronwen asked as she tied the fresh dry cloth over his wound to bandage it.

Earocorn watched her work for a moment, holding in a lovestruck sigh, before admitting “I’m kinda trying to tell her right now. But I don’t think she’s getting the hint.”

“Oh?” Bronwen brought her eyes back up to his, but let her hands on his biceps “How so? Have you been sending her the poems and she hasn’t responded? That may just be because we’re moving around so much…”

“Nope.” He smiled, letting his good arm reach up, resting gently on the elf’s waist. “Right now. Face to face.”

Immediately, he could see her cheeks flush as she murmured “Don’t joke about that. I’m being serious.”

“I’m not joking.” He spoke with a calm seriousness. “The poems…they’re all about you, Bronwen. About the soft green of your eyes like freshly fallen dew on spring grass, how the nights you stay up with me to watch the fire are far more wonderful than anything I could have dreamed…”

“How much blood did you lose?” She giggled. “These aren’t your best metaphors.”

“Oh no!” Earocorn fake gasped. “I guess I’ll just have to sit here until I come back to my senses…finally alone with my muse who knows how much she means to me as my only means of entertainment…whatever shall I do?”

“I’m still not sure I’m really this maiden you’ve been so passionate about,” Bronwen teased “what with how you still haven’t come up with a new poem way back when I asked when your arm was still bleeding…”

“Seems to me like someone just wants more poems written about her.” He laughed, but brought his face closer to hers in the process, gently rubbing his nose against hers.