Elwin – Eternal Love

Note: The bits of song I've used in this are from the song called 'The Cat and the Moon' from the LotR musical (though it is originally sung by the Hobbits in Bree in the musical, I think). It's a drinking song, and I love it so much! It's so cheery and upbeat and nonsense xD

Thank you for the lovely reviews, and favourites and everything! You are all amazing and just asdfghjkl; and just thank you –flails-

~ Chapter 5 ~

Legolas's POV

"Drink as many as you can, first one down loses. No food is to be allowed, nor any other sort of drink besides what I hand you, and no pauses nor spills." Éomer handed Gimli a tankard of ale, who took it joyfully, before passing one to me as well. I smiled dryly – just because he was good friends with Elwin now that did not mean that I had to be nice to him, and it seemed that Éomer thought the same. We had arrived in Edoras early this afternoon and the celebrations were beginning now, just as Arien was starting to set beyond the horizon and Ithil would soon rise, marking the beginning of night.

"And no regurgitations!" Gimli lifted the tankard to his mouth, his loud laughter adding to the general atmosphere and cheerful rowdiness.

I looked at Gimli, trying not to smile at his enthusiasm – I was not quite sure what was going on, but the Dwarf obviously thought he was going to beat me and that was not going to happen. It was not like I had not drunk before (I had grown up with my father, and anyone who knew him could tell you that – besides ruling Mirkwood – he only really had two passions in life: hoarding treasure and good, strong wine) but I did not drink… well, competitively.

"So… it is a drinking game?" I asked, and Gimli smiled, looking at me as if I was some innocent young Elfling. I scowled at him. "I did not realise there were rules to consuming alcohol… and what exactly is the point of it?"

"No point, lad! Aye, this will be the decider as to who the better Dwarf is!" He raised his tankard to me, frothing ale sloshing over the side. "Last one standing wins!" Gimli shouted, downing his flagon in one.

I stared into the cup, swirling about the murky brown liquid a few times. It was certainly different to the stuff I usually drank, but Gimli seemed to be enjoying it.

Gingerly, I took a sip, before swallowing slowly and then finishing the tankard, only to passed another, then another, and then yet another. It became a sort of rhythm for Gimli and me, with a whole line of people willing to hand us more and more drinks as we consumed them all, one after the other.

After we had both acquired a fair number (and growing) of empty tankards before us, Gimli paused a let a tremendous burp rip through his lips – I had not noticed it until now, but he was looking rather worse for wear. "Aye, you men an' all your maidens, but you don' know what you're missing! But if you ever come around with me, then you'll realise it's the Dwarves that go swimming with little, hairy women!" he sniggered and burped again, wrenching another flagon from Éomer's hand but only managing to swallow about half of it, as most of it missed his mouth completely and was soaked into his beard.

Reaching out for another tankard myself, my hand hesitated before I could grip the mug.

"I… I think I might feel something…" I flexed my fingers slowly, staring at them; out of the corner of my eye I saw Éomer raise an eyebrow – did he honestly expect to see my worst, most inebriated self tonight? "It might be affecting me. I have a slight tingle in the tips of my fingers. How long are we supposed to go on for again?"

Gimli giggled and slammed his tankard down on the wooden table, his words slurred and barely audible. "Wha' did I say? 'e can't hold his liquor!" the Dwarf managed to wheeze out before his eyes rolled back into his head and keeling over backwards off of his stool.

I couldn't help myself and looked Éomer straight in the eyes, feeling very smug with victory. "Game over."

By the time our drinking competition had finished (Éomer and the others were thoroughly inebriated, having been trying to match the number of our tankards throughout), the Rohirrim men had soon pushed Éomer up onto a table and were calling for him to say or sing something, celebrating our victory.

"My comrades!" The Lord of the Mark was shouting, his cheeks a little flushed from all the excitement and his words ever so slightly slurred, "My friends! Tonight we drink to our victory!"

He punched his flagon into the air, drink spilling everywhere, and the men cheered and shouted.

"Sing us a song!" someone shouted, and Aragorn (who had appeared next to me, smirking and leaning against one of the tables) chuckled and sent me a look as Éomer laughed with agreement and nodded,

Éowyn looked slightly flustered at her drunken brother pulling her up onto the table top with him, but she was laughing and smiling, so she can't have been too annoyed. In fact, she even reached down into the crowd, grabbing a pale arm, and suddenly Elwin was up there as well, giggling beside her and ignoring all the whistles they were getting. (Neither of the two women had drunk very much, as they both appeared to be sober, but they seemed to be having fun where they were, going along with whatever Éomer was planning in his intoxicated state.)

"You know the words do you not, dear sister?" Éomer asked Éowyn, who nodded and smiled.

"I know all the songs you know!"

"Of course you do, my apologies. Are you ready?" Éomer cleared his throat and grinned.

"There's an inn of old renown

Where they brew a beer so brown

Moon came rolling down the hill

One Hevnsday night to drink his fill!"

"What song is this?" I asked, frowning at the unfamiliar tune that practically the whole room was now singing along too. Aragorn shrugged at the question, laughing.

"No clue, but they seem to know it." He nodded to where the crowd of men had surrounded the table where they were all dancing cheerfully; Éowyn had hooked Elwin's arm and they spun round a few times in time to the singing, giggling between themselves.

"On a three-stringed fiddle there

Played the Ostler's cat so fair

The hornèd Cow that night was seen

To dance a jig upon the green.

Called by the fiddle to the

Middle of the muddle where the

Cow with a caper sent the

Small dog squealing.

Moon in a fuddle went to

Huddle by the griddle but he

Slipped in a puddle and the

World went reeling."

Aragorn and I laughed as Éowyn joined in on the chorus, while Elwin looked at her, slightly bewildered but very much enjoying herself. During the last verse she had stopped swinging herself around with Éowyn and let Éomer take up her hand for the next few verses.

After the chorus had come round for a fourth time, Merry and Pippin had also joined the crew on the table top, and I saw Merry bow to Elwin, who smirked and curtsied in return, while Pippin took up Éowyn's hand, and they all began dancing together. It was hard not to laugh at the two tiny Hobbits dancing with girls almost double their height, and Aragorn and I exchanged grins as he handed me another flagon.

Almost all of the tables now had people dancing and singing on them. "I bet we could find an empty table for you," Aragorn said, and we laughed brightly together – the atmosphere really was very contagious.

"Oh, of course," I grinned back, "We Elves are renowned for our tabletop dancing – you could join me, having been raised by my kind yourself! Maybe Lord Elrond knew a few moves that you could pass onto me? I would appreciate it very much."

"If anyone should be doing the teaching, it is you, dear friend! Your father is used to this sort of scene, I am sure he has a vast array of dances that you could share!"

Eventually, after the men had gotten through a fair amount of verses, the song closed to an end, the room erupting in wails and roars of cheering and laughter and clapping. Éomer stumbled down off of the table, swiping another mug of drink from a fellow soldier and bringing it immediately to his lips.

Had he not had enough? I understand he was celebrating (I could not blame him for that), but it would be unfortunate if his blood were poisoned due to over-consumption. I am sure the other men would not be amused if their lord were to die – albeit, he would die happy.

I watched Éomer as he made his way across the room, bumping into every available chair, table, or person. No one minded, of course, most of them were as inebriated as he was, and I felt like a bit of black sheep due to the fact that I was probably one of the few people in the room who could actually see straight.

With his cheeks stained red with effort, the man finally found a spare seat (unfortunately fairly close to me, though I don't think his mind was clear enough to recognise my presence unless I chose to make myself known) and rested his head on his palm, twisting the mug around mindlessly in his other hand.

"I think you have had more than enough," I found myself telling the drunken man, anxious to tear his hand away from the flagon. I had not intended to sound quite as snide and pretentious as the words came out, but somehow I just couldn't help myself. "You would not wish to collapse next time you try clambering up on any more tables. I am sure you have plenty more songs to get you through the night, and I am sure neither Éowyn nor Elwin would be too pleased if you passed out halfway through the first chorus."

Éomer's clouded eyes narrowed slightly, the lines in his face deepening into a drunken scowl. "Stop getting jealous, Elf. You worried that I get to dance with her and you don't? Just because you want to keep the lass all to yourself!" A hint of contempt edged his tone and I leered down at where he was sat on his stool.

A white hot flame of fury unfurled within me and my hands quivered, trying to contain it. Éomer was just a man; a drunk man at that. Of course, we had never exactly seen eye to eye and right now I bet he had no idea what he was even saying. I couldn't blame him for insulting me to my face; I mean the man was completely out of it, for Manwe's sake! He had drunk at least as much as me, except I could handle the vast amount a lot better.

"I am not jealous," I hissed to him, curling my fist until my knuckles went white with strain. "You have some nerve to suggest such a thing! Just because I have no interest in cavorting on tabletops with the girl that is not to say I envy you for it, horse man."

Of course, there was no way I could deny that I was in fact completely jealous, not to mention I was arguing with a drunken man who had no hope of seeing any sense right now – that said, it was the same man who had been keeping Elwin from me ever since we had set off.

Éomer stood up and took a staggering step towards me, but I held my ground. The wooden stool crashed to the floor from where he had pushed up from it with too much force while standing. "Do not lie, I see how you eye her up. You," the man said aggressively, jabbing me in the centre of my chest, "are far away from your corrupted little forest, Elf. If anyone has got nerve it is you, insulting me in my own land – my own home!" I narrowed my eyes at him and Éomer shoved me roughly. "Just because someone else is spending time with her that is not to say that you have to get testy. Why not just climb a tree or something and leave us all alone."

I could have forgiven him for that remark – Éomer had simply more alcohol than blood running in his system, and it was making him say things that I do not think he meant. Unfortunately, forgiving drunken men for insulting me, my home, or any of my friends, was generally not one of my most favoured traits.

I took a step towards him, squaring up to him with my body trembling with pent up frustration. My whole body was tense, aching from being still for so long, and suddenly I just couldn't take it anymore.

The whole thing happened rather fast. Anger and drink had wiped my mind completely, leaving a hazy, clouded ghost of what it once was in its place. Before I quite knew what was happening, my fist connected full on with his nose.

There was a horrible, wet, crunching sound and Éomer, being quite unprepared for the attack, stumbled backwards and cried out, clutching with bloody hands at his face. At the site of the blood I looked at my own fist to see it stained with glistening crimson.

Using my shirt, I wiped off the blood and gripped my fist with my other hand, wincing but feeling strangely satisfied that I had dealt out some sort of justice. But there was also a vague sense of despair; not only had I been unable to control my emotions (causing it to land me in quite a mess) but I was not sure I wanted to face anybody after this.

Elwin especially.

A tense moment of stillness followed, but no one besides the men closest to us had actually seen what had happened and stopped to witness it; everybody else was none the wiser, continuing with their drinking and celebrating as if nothing had happened.

I realised I was breathing hard and heavy, adrenaline still rushing through my veins and pooling in my throbbing fist.

Ai, Elbereth. I wish I could have blamed it on the liquor, but I was nt drunk – it took a lot of some seriously strong brew to get an Elf (especially a Mirkwood Elf who was fairly used to heavy alcohol) properly knocked out. However, I had certainly downed more than a few of those tankards when battling it out with Gimli, and though this Rohirrim drink was not as strong as some others I had sampled in the past, it was certainly not for the weak-hearted.

I had definitely been more alert on other days, let's say, and maybe engaging in a drinking competition with Gimli (despite winning it) had not been on of the best ideas.

Neither had punching Éomer either, then again.

While Éomer scrambled to his feet again, swaying and blinking away stars, I peered over his shoulder to see Aragorn giving me an alarmed look. He looked towards the doorway and I followed his gaze, nodding.

I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my frenzied breathing, still fuelled with emotion. I didn't know whether I felt bad or not yet, but I was guessing I would realise tomorrow.