I do not own Legolas, Tauriel, or Mirkwood's King. Those glorious elves belong to Tolkien. I also don't own Guenhwyvar, Drizzt Do'Urden, or the King of Mithril Hall. Unfortunately, they belong to R.A. Salvatore. I did concoct Bruenor Battlehammer Do'Urden though 'cause I don't think there could be anything cuter than an elf with an adorable brogue who is more like a dwarf to boot:)

And with that in mind, shouldn't he meet the one elf in middle earth that actually learns to like dwarves?

"My prince."

Legolas turned to the guard that called him thus while out in the forest for patrols, brow arched. The guard looked chagrined for but a moment. "Forgive me, but we have found something…unusual," the silvan guard—Evorlis—said, beckoning his prince to follow him away from the main base camp along one of the scheduled patrol routes.

When they arrived to find the rest of Evorlis's patrol, Legolas found he had to agree with his fellow guard. The sight was indeed unusual. It was a panther unlike any he had heard of or seen before. It was huge—at least six hundred pounds—and watching them with intelligent eyes. Its wary gaze flickered around to rest on each of the elves positioned around it with bows taunt. However, that wasn't even the most curious thing.

Its body was hovering protectively over a prone figure even more unusual than the cat. From the ears, Legolas suspected the unconscious warrior to be an elf, but the similarity to any elf line he knew of ended there.

This creature's skin was like onyx and its hair a stark contrast. Tucked in his snow white curls was a slender, but sturdy, circlet of what had to be Mithril. Every trace of metal on him—his breastplate, his bracers, the ornate cuff on his ear, even the bands around his exposed biceps—appeared to be mithril, exquisitely crafted mithril. It glowed in its brilliance.

Legolas made to approach the prone figure, and the cat standing guard released a warning rumble from deep in its throat as it fixed its green eyes on the elven prince. The elven guards drew back further on their bows in response and the cat crouched lower, dropping its head so that the only thing visible of the elf it guarded was one slender, ebony hand.

"I do not mean him harm," he told the cat. "I merely wish to check for injury," he said in Sindarin, hoping the softly spoken words would soothe the beast. The cat, however, seemed to understand the words themselves, for it not only moved from its hovering position to allow Legolas access to its charge, but it nudged the unusual elf to expose a wound to the back of his head.

Legolas cautiously approached, his eyes focused on the cat, careful to make no sudden movements as he knelt by the prone stranger. He allowed his eyes to drop to the dark-skinned elf, trusting his guards to watch the cat. The back of the elf's shortly cropped white head was tinged pink. Legolas gently prodded the injury, brushing the soft strands of white silk aside, but found nothing that would indicate a serious head wound. "It does not appear that he damaged his skull. The blow merely broke the skin," he said, glancing up at the cat. He was startled to see the cat's features relax at the words. As if the panther's previous expression was one of worry that Legolas had succeeded in alleviating.

Legolas felt along the elf's neck and gently prodded his limbs for any breaks, but found none. Legolas met the cat's gaze again, and decided to test his theory regarding the creature's understanding. "May I remove his armor to check for injury?" he asked. He was no longer surprised when the cat nodded its consent.

The elven prince unfastened the mithril breastplate, admiring the beautifully crafted piece. His eyes took in the crest at its center. A foaming mug of ale it appeared to be. Legolas thought it an odd crest to be worn by an elf. It seemed more dwarven in its style, but he let it pass as he set the breastplate aside. The fragile appearing chainmail beneath was also of mithril, and the prince now marveled. This dark-skinned elf was garbed in a fortune of the priceless metal.

Legolas slid his hands beneath mail and tunic to press at the strange elf's torso. He earned a soft cry for his effort from the elf and a rumble from the panther. His gaze flickered to the face of the injured elf to see his white brows drawn together in pain. "His ribs are bruised, but do not feel broken," Legolas said, meeting the panther's emerald gaze. "Still, I cannot be sure. He needs a healer," Legolas added. "Will you permit us to carry him to our main camp? We have healers there."

Legolas watched with a measure of amusement as the panther visibly seemed to muse over the offer as it stared down on the strange elf, its eyes glancing uncertainly at Legolas and then the surrounding guards before settling on its prone charge once more. Its large, liquid eyes seemed to soften as it watched the dark-skinned elf where he lay, nuzzling the unique elf before meeting the elven prince's gaze and nodding its consent.

Legolas motioned to Evorlis. "Bring a stretcher," he ordered.