Chapter Forty-Three

~ Legolas ~
The expression on Estel's face was to die for; if I hadn't had better control, I would have burst out laughing and spat ale all over the table and anyone who was sitting at the table. Gimli was too inebriated to notice anything, but I could see how Éomer was trying to control his own smirk at her expression.

"What in the name of the Valar are you doing?" she demanded.

"~Calm down,~" I told her between sips. "~It's just a little drinking contest.~"

"A what?" Horror transformed her expression.

"A drinking contest," Éomer said calmly, fighting a smile at her horror. "What, do you want to join?"

I lowered my mug, startled by his suggestion, and Estel's horror took on a whole new level.

He laughed uneasily. "It was just a joke."

She looked at me. "~Is Gimli out of his mind?~" she hissed. "~Doesn't he know that the Eldar have stronger constitutions than Men and Dwarves alike?~"

"~Oh, I'm sure he knows,~" I said cheerfully, reaching for another mug. "~But he was the one who proposed the challenge, after all. I merely accepted it and am now doing my best not to fall over or pass out or spill the ale on myself.~"

She groaned. "~Males!~"

I shrugged, smiling ruefully, and downed another mug. Estel was right, though; I could easily endure enough to make a Man or a Dwarf ill, a throwback to my Elven heritage. And the fact that I had had nearly 3000 years of exposure and experience didn't hurt my chances either.

But despite her scolding, Estel stayed and watched as we both slogged our way through mug after mug of ale.

And her expression of concern was just about enough to cause a twinge of guilt within me, so after a couple more mugs I stopped looking at her.

I would be perfectly fine come morning. And if not . . . well, then it would be a good thing Elves recovered very quickly, rarely got sick, and usually didn't get hangovers. My pride would recover.

One day.

Gimli, though, might find his pride a little harder to recover. For example, him saying "Here, here. It's the dwarves that go swimming with little hairy women" didn't exactly endear him to Estel or Éomer, who were perfectly sober.

After that, I started looking at Estel again.

I didn't need to see Gimli, who was burping, had ale all down his beard, and had terribly crossed eyes.

Estel had changed out of her normal working outfit, back into the gown Lady Galadriel had given her in Lothlórien. The silver gown shimmered softly under the harsh lights, seeming at once more delicate and more beautiful than usual – and making Estel seem far more ethereal than usual. Her long dark brown hair spilled unbound down her back, free from its normal restraints, reaching past her waist.

All in all, although I suspected she didn't know it, she looked more like an Elf than ever.

And suddenly I found . . . that I could barely take my eyes off of her.

Inwardly, I wondered why. She was just a normal mortal – well, perhaps not normal by all standards, but rarely did the kings of Men hold up against the kings of the Eldar. Her royal blood meant little to us . . . except for the part she inherited from Elros Tar-Minyatur.

Outwardly, though, I was beginning to suspect that I was past caring that she was just a "normal" mortal.

~ Estel ~
We were far into the ale contest when Legolas suddenly started examining his fingers. Gimli was busy trying to down another mug and hadn't noticed – but I was perfectly sober and worried about the both of them, so I did. And the fact that Legolas looked slightly worried didn't really help me either.

"Legolas?" I asked.

"I think I . . . feel something," he said slowly. "A slight tingling in my fingers." He paused and looked at me, his eyes grave. "I think it's affecting me."

You think, idiot?

That was the response I dearly wanted to make, but I felt it would be inappropriate, so I held my tongue. Thankfully, I didn't have to hold it for long.

"What did I say?" Gimli blubbered drunkenly. "He can't hold his liquor!"

Gimli started laughing raucously, but moments later his eyes started crossing, his fingers started relaxing – and then he collapsed and fell backwards. His mug dripped ale all down the table, but of course no one really cared. Everyone was too busy laughing and celebrating on their own.

Legolas shrugged. "Game over," he said calmly.

Éomer crossed to my side as Legolas examined Gimli carefully. For a moment I ignored him, watching Legolas anxiously to see if he found anything wrong with Gimli. But after a moment, Legolas shrugged and I knew Gimli was fine.

Well, until he woke up with a hangover, that is.

"Will he be all right?" I asked.

"He'll be fine. He'll be back to his normal, cheery self in the morning – whenever he wakes up, that is," Legolas commented with a slight smile.

I sighed. "Well, at least his hangover won't be too bad. . . He didn't get very far. And you?"

He shrugged.

I felt my eyes narrow. "~Were your fingers even actually tingling?~"

"~No.~"

I sighed.

Éomer shifted beside me, obviously annoyed that we continued speaking in Elvish even though he didn't really understand it. It was bad manners, and his movement reminded me of that. But before I could apologize, he was already speaking.

"Now that I no longer have to judge this contest," he said, looking at me, "would you honor me with a dance?"

I blinked. "What?"

He laughed. "Come on, Estel. A dance won't kill you."

"But . . ."

Éomer held out his hand, grinning at my attempts at protest. "Estel, you've faced down Uruk-hai in battle, you've survived the Fangorn Forest, and you've lived through the surprise of reuniting with your family. I think you can also endure a single dance."

I shot a pleading glance at Legolas.

But the Elf's blue eyes were dancing, and he crossed his arms, a small smile on his lips.

And I knew then that he was just as amused at my attempts as Éomer had been, and that he wouldn't help me escape.

"~You'll pay for this,~" I hissed at him.

He spread his arms, as if to say, Who, me? What did I do?

Éomer took my hand. "You'll be fine," he said quietly, looking at me. "I promise."

Reluctantly, I let him lead me forward.

If I had looked back, I would have noticed how the smile on Legolas's face faded and how a shadow of sadness crossed it.

~ Éomer ~
Midway through the dance, I shook my head in amusement and exasperation at my partner. "Estel, your fears were for naught," I chided. "You dance wonderfully."

"Only because you're leading," she shot back. "I don't even really know what I'm doing!"

"Just relax," I advised.

I twirled her gently, and she went along with it after only a moment's hesitation. I couldn't help but admire her grace and beauty even this situation, where she was caught unprepared and yet seemed to flow so naturally through the stances. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought she really was an Elf instead of just a Ranger.

"You look beautiful."

She waved it off. "Only because my mother and sister dragged me to the mirror."

"You don't like dressing up?" I asked in surprise.

We separated momentarily, as the dance required, and then she put her hand back in mine. "Not really," she replied.

I studied her. Yet another difference.

She shifted. "What is it? Did I spill something on myself?"

"What? No, no! Just . . ." I shook my head, at a loss for words. "You are very different from any woman I've ever met, Estel, that's all. I guess you might say that . . . I'm trying to understand you."

"Who said I had to be understood?" she asked, her grey-blue eyes challenging me.

"Not have to," I corrected. "I would like to, though."

"Why?"

"Well, when one comes along a puzzle, he'd like to understand it eventually. Natural curiosity of Men, you know," I added.

That wrought a smile out of her. "As a son of the royal house, surely you've met more complicated puzzles than me," she remarked.

"Not really."

"How is that so?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted shyly. I put a hand on her waist, drawing her closer and looking deep into her grey-blue eyes. "I guess it's because . . . I never really found someone I wanted to really figure out before . . . before you."

She hesitated, her hand faltering in mine. "What are you talking about?"

By then, of course, the dance ended, but I still held her hand. "Estel . . . I . . . I think you're smart enough to know what I'm talking about."

Estel looked down momentarily. It was only with a gentle shake of her head that she looked back up. "Éomer, listen to me," she said. "We've only known each other for . . . less than a week. Give it some time. You might change your mind. The night is still young – for both of us."

"But not the heart," I countered, holding her hands tighter.

She backed away. "Give me some time, Éomer. I can't deal with this now. Please. I still barely know you."

I dropped her hand, slowly and reluctantly. "I won't change my mind, Estel."

"Éomer . . ."

"Estel!"

We both looked up to see Legolas emerge from the crowd, a large smile on his face.

"What is it?" Estel asked.

Legolas moved to her side, eyes alit with excitement. "Merry and Pippin are doing a jig; come and see," he urged.

Estel laughed as he took her hand. "All right, all right. I'm coming."

"Wait." I gripped her shoulder. "Estel . . . Think about it. Please. Just at least think about it."

She stared at me, her grey-blue eyes as uncertain as I'd ever seen them. She looked definitely mortal now, with none of the otherworldliness of her Elvish blood. But it didn't dim her beauty a single whit – well, not to me.

"Estel."

"I will," she said lowly.