SOUSED GANDER

Aragorn held up his cup for Eomer to refill with pale wine, but when Rohan's king would have topped off Faramir's, the once Steward hastily covered it, shaking his head a little ruefully. Eomer's pale brows arose in query.

"Remember, I am to be wed upon the morrow," Faramir pointed out.

When Eomer's men would have given a traditional feast for the groom to be, Faramir had politely declined, but the two kings would not hear of their friend spending the eve before his wedding day alone. So the three of them sat in one of Meduseld's private chambers this night.

Aragorn grinned, raising his cup in salute, "To the groom." He took a long swallow and rolled it around his mouth with some degree of appreciation. "This really is very good wine, Your Majesty."

Eomer snorted, but not before taking an enthusiastic draught himself. "Stop calling me that...Your Majesty! Those elves left it after my uncle's funeral. Most of my people prefer ale so it has been sitting in the cellar." Eomer shrugged as he eyed the contents of his cup. "I have to say that if all elven wine tastes as good as this, I wish I had opened it earlier."

"Ah, but then we would not have had the pleasure of sharing it. Are you certain we cannot tempt you to more, Faramir?" Aragorn asked as he sipped this time. "This is a Lorien vintage, if I am not mistaken." His words were a little slurred, but that went unnoticed by his companions, as all three of them had been drinking for some hours.

Faramir grinned. "I think if I arrived at my hand-fasting, nursing a thick head, my lady would probably walk away."

Eomer laughed. "She is as smitten as you. I do not think that she would not walk away, but I doubt you would either. I suspect your wedding night would be spoiled by your two broken legs."

"The maidens of Rohan are strong willed," Aragorn observed, darkly.

"I think my sister proved that well enough." Eomer's nudge nearly made Faramir spill what little wine he had left. "I can guarantee that your marriage will not be boring, future brother."

Faramir blinked. "That's right. You will be my brother. I had not considered that."

"And may I be as good a brother to you as Boromir was." Eomer raised his cup in an exuberant toast, and Faramir dodged as the action splashed wine across the table.

Aragorn carefully set down his cup, leaning in to murmur, somewhat pointedly in Faramir's ear, "You will be alright on your wedding night I hope?"

Farmir chuckled. "I do no intend to get my legs broken, if that is what you mean."

The High King burped. "Your pardon. What I mean is...you do know what goes where? How to please a lady?"

"What!" Faramir's jaw dropped, and for a moment he could only splutter.

For his part, Eomer let out a hoot of laugher. "Never say that the folk of Gondor are untutored in how to tup a maid?"

Somewhat aggrieved that he should be considered lacking in that side of his education, Faramir straightened, his annunciation adopting the painfully precise tone of one who has imbibed a little too much alcohol. "I was a soldier for several years, you know. It seems to be one of the main topics of conversation around army camp fires. My rank as a son of the Steward may have ensured that I did not put that knowledge into practice, but I have gleaned more information than I would ever wish to make use of." Remembrance of some of that information made him grab his cup, refill it to the brim, and take a large swallow.

Aragorn joined his laughter to Eomer's roar, and when the two had finally subsided into chuckles, he leaned in again, throwing an arm about Faramir's shoulders. "Perhaps we should compare campfires. In my time I have served in several armies."

"Aye," Eomer agreed, adding with a shudder, "And we had best switch from wine to water, if we do not wish to spend the whole of the rest of our evenings about those fires. For, have no doubt about it, gentlemen, my sister would see to it."

Aragorn frowned, setting aside his own cup. "As would my lady."

The wedding of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and the lady Eowyn, was a merry affair...once Queen Arwen had arranged cold baths for the three men. If Faramir's hand trembled as he exchanged rings with his lady, he knew it was not alcohol that made it so.

As Faramir led his lady to their wedding feast Aragorn leaned in to whisper to his wife, "Have no fear for them this eve. He knows what he is about."

Arwen raised one delicate brow. "As does she." Her husband blinked and Arwen's smile grew arch. "We ladies also shared a few glasses of wine last night."

END