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Thanks for the responses from everyone who took time to review, I'm glad so many of you found it funny. The comments are appreciated, really!

    Deana, you said you wanted to see Legolas with a hangover, so here you are!

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    The next morning Legolas woke with a groan. For the first time in years he had to prise his eyelids apart, usually they were open anyway. When his eyes finally opened he decided it had definitely not been worth the effort. Raw sunlight blazed through the open curtains, creating wild splotches of colour as he blinked painfully. As his vision cleared slightly he lay back on the pillows, taking a mental inventory of his injuries. Legolas decided he had a headache like twenty smith's hammers pounding in his brain, his vision was blurred, his stomach was turning violent somersaults at the slightest movement and it really wasn't a good idea to try and remember what had happened the previous night. All in all, things were not looking good for the Elf.

    He rolled sluggishly out of bed and shakily stood up. Instantly the pain in his skull tripled, his vision wavered and he felt as though he would throw up. Dazed, fighting with his rebellious stomach, the Prince of Mirkwood staggered across the wide chamber to the washstand. The reflection in the mirror above the basin was shockingly different from his usual pristine appearance. The smooth golden braids that were always tidy were unravelled and clumps of long blonde hair stuck up in all directions, giving the effect that he had combed his hair backwards and then been dragged feet first through a thick hedge. Legolas was always pale, but today his face had a nasty greenish tinge to it. His normally sharp eyes were vacant and the pupils were huge. He groaned again, almost wishing he were mortal so he could just die.

    Slowly the Wood-Elf collected fresh clothes and pulled them on, having noticed he still wore the ones from the last night, they stank of wine. He deeply regretted doing whatever he had done last night and was almost glad he could not remember. Wincing from the pain in his head he began to comb his hair.

* * * * *

    Shortly before four in the afternoon, eleven shuffling, staggering figures headed to the small dining chamber for some sort of breakfast.

    All of the friends were distinctly the worse for wear. They had little or no memory of the previous night's events and sat sipping hangover cures and clutching their heads until a while later when the ladies glided in.

    'Good morning, or should I say afternoon?' Arwen said, being deliberately loud and cheerful. 'You men all look very awake and ready to go today.'

The other women laughed. The only response she received from the wilting men was a selection of glares for being so loud.

    'I suppose I should be thanking you Arwen.' Said Eowyn, grinning. 'If you hadn't stopped me I would have drunk these men into the floor. I would have won, no man will out-drink me, but I'd be suffering the same kind of torment as these poor fellows.'

She leaned close to Eomer's right ear, looking like she was going to comfort him.

  'Greetings, brother!' she yelled. 'How goes it with you this afternoon?'

Eomer felt like his head would fall off. He blocked his ears and cursed at his sniggering sister.

  'Well, we shall leave you to be antisocial on your own.' declared Arwen. 'I bet you do not remember half of what you did last night. Oh dear, and they were such lovely toasts we heard from outside the door!'

    The ladies laughed again and swept out, leaving the men trying desperately to remember what they had said.

    It was not until some hours later, when more of the alcohol had worn off, that they were able to recall their actions. They spent several days in crimson cheeked embarrassment, avoiding each other as much as possible with the sniggers of women following them everywhere. Eventually the event ceased  to be mentioned, but none of them ever forgot the awful price of drinking contests.