"You trust in her and let her run. You let her fight and have watched her get hurt-only recently. Not much of a father, if you ask me."
"Who asked ye?"
"Well, if you did..."
"If I did and ye telled me that, I'd kick ye in yer skinny elf arse!"
"If you did and I told you that, you'd kick empty air and wonder why a hundred blows were raining upon your thick head."
Bruenor scoffed and tossed his bowl to the ground, then pulled off his one-homed helm and began rapping hard on his head.
"Bah! Ye'd need more'n a hunnerd to get through this skull, elf!"
Drizzt smiled and didn't disagree.
Dagnabbit returned then to find his king in a fine mood. The younger dwarf looked at Drizzt, but the drow merely nodded and grinned all the wider.
"If we're wantin' to make Shallows in two days, we gotta set straight out," Dagnabbit remarked. "No more chasin' orcs after this group's dead."
"Then no more chasing orcs," said Drizzt.
Dagnabbit nodded, seeming neither surprised nor upset.
"Rushing me home, still," Bruenor said with a shake of his head, broth flying from his wild beard. He brought a hand up and wiped the beard down.
"Or we might be using Shallows as the front base," Dagnabbit offered. "Put a link line to Pwent an' his boys at both camps outside o' Mithral Hall, and spend the summer runnin' the mountains near to Shallows. The folks'll appreciate that, I'm thinking."
A look of astonishment melted into a smile on Bruenor's face.
"And I'm liking the way ye're thinking!" he said as he took the bowl for his third helping. "Making sure there's not too much for Rumblebelly when he gets in," Bruenor offered between gulps. "Can't let him get too fat again if we're walkin' mountain roads, now can we?"
Drizzt settled back comfortably and was quite pleased for his dwarf friend. It was one thing to know your heart, another thing to admit it.
And something altogether different to allow yourself to follow it.
Torgar walked his post on Mirabar's northern wall, a slight limp in his stride from a swollen knee he had suffered in the previous night's escapade. The wind was up strong this day, blowing sand all about the dwarf, but it was warm enough so that Torgar had loosened his heavy breastplate.
He was well aware of the many looks, scowls mostly, coming at him from the other sentries. His actions with Bruenor had resulted in downward spiral, with arguments growing across the city and with many fists being raised. Torgar was tired of it all. All he wanted was to be left alone to his duties, to walk the wall without conversation, without trouble.
When he noted the approach of a well-groomed dwarf wearing bright robes, he knew he wouldn't get his wish.
He moved to the base of the ladder leading to the parapet, hiked up his robes and began to climb.
Torgar kept walking the other way, looking out over the wall and feigning ignorance, but when Agrathan called again, more loudly, he realized that to delay would only bring him more frustration.
He paused and leaned his strong, bruised hands on the wall, staring out to the empty, open land.
Agrathan moved up beside him, and similarly leaned on the wall.
"Another battle last night," the councilor stated.
"When they're askin' for a fist, they're getting a fist," Torgar replied.
"And how many are ye to fight?"
"How many're needin' a good kick?"
He looked at Agrathan, and saw that the councilor was not amused.
"Yer actions're tearing Mirabar apart. Is that what ye're looking to do?"
"I'm not looking to do anything," Torgar insisted, and honestly. He turned to Agrathan, his eyes narrowing. "If me speaking me mind's doing what ye say, then the problem's been there afore I speaked it."
Agrathan settled more comfortably against the wall and seemed to relax, as if he was not disagreeing.
"Many of us have been shaking our heads at the Mithral Hall problem. Ye know that. We're all wishin' that our biggest rivals weren't Battle-hammer dwarvess! But they are. That's the way of it, and ye know it, and if ye keep pressing that point into everyone's nose, ye're to bend those noses out of shape."
"The rivalry and the arguin' are as much our own fault as the Battle-hammers'," Torgar reminded. "Might that a deal benefiting us both could be fashioned, but how're we to know unless someone tries?"
"Yer words aren't without merit," the councilor agreed. "It's been suggested and talked about at the Sparkling Stones."