Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings
Era: Fourth Age of the Sun
Genre: Humour, Drama
Rating: K+ / FRC
Characters: Éomer, Gimli, Legolas.
Summary: Gimli maybe lost the first round of the drinking contest, but he is going to make sure that won’t happen again…
A movie-verse. Complete.
Beta: Kitt of Lindon (thanks for corrections and assistance!)
Disclaimer: This story is based on J.R.R. Tolkien’s stories about Middle-earth (mostly on the Lord of the Rings), and even more to Peter Jackson’s movies. The characters are not mine - except for those whom I have created. The story has been written to honour Tolkien’s creations.
Have a good time and enjoy the ride (at least I hope you do!)
Feedback: Yes, please, be so kind! Please review, I would love to know your opinion.
Author’s Notes: English is not my mother tongue, so it isn’t perfect. Please inform me of spelling and grammar errors, so I can correct them!
About Re-match: This will be utterly fun, of course. Or so I wish it to be. When I started to write this, I hadn’t yet made my mind of who would win… We shall see what I come up with *evil grin*. But after all, Legolas and Gimli are best friends, and surely they would never hurt each other… severely, at least…
This is purely written for that scene in the Return of the King’s extended edition. I loved that scene. Wonderful they put it into EE.
And great, huge thanks for Kitt of Lindon for aiding me with the plot!
But, have fun while reading this, and please sent me that strange thing called feedback…
Story and status: Here below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title name, then it is finished and checked.
My most grateful thanks to Kitt of Lindon about her beta-reading and plot-assisting!
Have a good laugh, everyone, and learn of this…. ;)
“You wish to do what?” Legolas exclaimed, shock showing plainly upon his fair face.
“You heard me, Elf. I want a re-match,” said the Dwarf gruffly.
Legolas eyed Gimli suspiciously, his blue eyes narrowing. ”You must be joking,” he stated flatly at length.
Gimli merely shrugged, crossing his hands over his chest as a display of stubbornness. Legolas knew well when he was loosing.
“You must remember what happened last time. I wouldn’t wish to repeat that,” the Elf said, staring at the Dwarf wearily.
“Ah, but I have no intentions at all to repeat the past. In fact, Master Elf, I am going to ensure that you shall be the one to lose this time.”
The strange glint sparking in the Dwarf’s eyes made Legolas even more suspicious. The Dwarf was surely planning something, but Legolas couldn’t guess what. ”Surely you are not going to cheat, Master Dwarf?” he asked somewhat arrogantly.
“Cheat?” Gimli’s face was purely innocent, maybe too so. ”How can you think anything that - that low of me, my dear friend and companion? Cheating you...”
Gimli was interrupted, however, when a new voice joined to their discussion.
“Ah, here you are, my Lords. I have been looking for you a while.”
Both Legolas and Gimli gave a bow to Éomer who had arrived.
“You have a need for our presence, King Éomer?” Gimli asked most courteously.
Éomer smiled, though he watched the two friends with interest. He was very much aware that the Elf and the Dwarf were planning something. “I merely wondered where you two had disappeared, because you have been unusually... quiet... this morning.”
Legolas was tempted to add that their unusual ‘quietness’ was caused by Gimli’s constant planning of how to drink his Elven friend under the table. But the Prince held his tongue, knowing that it would be rather unwise to pull Éomer into their current course of sparring. The King of Rohan surely had enough problems himself to take care of.
“Ah well, the Elf has been in the stables since the sun rose, taking care of Arod, and I have been deep in thought for the most of the morning,” Gimli answered, and Legolas couldn’t help but snort, his mind easily imaging what the Dwarf had been thinking…
Éomer nodded somewhat suspiciously, swiftly glancing at Legolas. The King of Rohan was now certain that the two friends were up to something. But before the Man was able to voice his doubts, a Rohan soldier came into view, telling the King that his attention was needed somewhere else. With a bow Éomer left his companions, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
When Éomer had disappeared behind a corner, Legolas turned back to the Dwarf, who was already staring at him most strangely. Legolas shifted nervously, raising an eyebrow towards Gimli to hide further signs of uneasiness. “Master Dwarf…”
“Ah, do not tax yourself, Master Elf. I shall take care of the preparations.”
“Preparations?” Legolas asked, an edge of uncertainty in his voice. The Dwarf is definitely planning something.
Gimli merely nodded, making his beard sway. “Yes. I shall see you at the evening’s celebration.” With that, Gimli turned around and stamped down the hallway to the lower parts of Helm’s Deep, leaving the utterly stunned Elf behind.
Gimli paced in his room far below the citadel of Helm’s Deep, tugging his beard in frustration. After hours of thinking, he hadn’t yet come up with a plan to defeat the Elf. As much as he had boasted in front of the Elf, he had no actual plan of action. But he was going to win. It would not do that a pointy-eared Elven Princeling bested a great Dwarf of the Lonely Mountain…
A knock from the door awoke Gimli from his thoughts, and he grumbled, never halting his pacing. Another Dwarf opened the door, bowing at Gimli respectfully. Gimli merely nodded to the other, frowning. He had to find a way to beat the Elf this time…
The other Dwarf watched his lord for a while, then shut the door behind him and took a step closer. “Something is troubling your mind, my Lord. Perhaps I could help?”
Gimli looked at his kinsman beneath his heavy eyebrows, scowling. This Dwarf was his long-time friend, a trusted companion. I could tell him, and he would no doubt try to help me… But we are talking about an Elf here, and I am the one among my kin knowing this Elf. But maybe he can give me an idea. “I doubt you can help me, but I will tell you anyway.” Gimli paused, thinking, and then continued. “I challenged Legolas to a drinking competition. And I must win. But I haven’t yet come up with a plan how to do so.”
The other Dwarf nodded. He had of course heard of the first drinking contest between Gimli and Legolas – and how it had ended – during his stay in Aglarond. Leaning forward like a fellow conspirator, he smiled. “I think we need special means here, to win an Elf.”
“As far as my knowledge reaches,” the other Dwarf continued, “Elves – especially those of Mirkwood – are accustomed of drinking wine. The ale as well had proven to have little effect to the Elves. I would advice you to show the Elf some speciality of the Dwarves. Maybe that will have more results.”
Gimli thought about it, then laughed darkly and slapped the other’s shoulder with his hand. “You are right. Maybe the Elf has accustomed to a fancy drinking, but tonight…”
“The Dwarves shall buy the next round!”
They both laughed, their dark eyes sparkling, their thoughts in the sweet victory they were going to achieve this evening. This time, it would be the Elf’s time to loose…
Legolas entered the main hall of Helm’s Deep, his blue eyes quickly surveying over the people already filling the room. He didn’t see Gimli, and for a moment he hoped that the Dwarf had given up of any ridiculous thoughts about their new drinking match.
That wish proved to be short-lived.
“Here you are at last, Master Elf. I have been waiting for you.”
Sighing, Legolas turned around to meet his shorter friend. One look at Gimli told Legolas that the Dwarf hadn’t given up of his idea. “Master Gimli,” he returned the salute dryly.
Gimli smiled widely up at the Elf, and then lifted his hand, pointing to one corner of the room. “Come, I have everything ready, and I would like to get this started. After all, there are a lot of people to talk to after I have beaten you, my friend.”
“Gimli, I am not sure where you got this ridiculous idea, but I am wholeheartedly disagreeing,” Legolas tried as he was herded towards the place Gimli had pointed. “Maybe we could skip this childish game and you talk to the people now?” But Gimli wasn’t listening, and eventually Legolas gave up. Soon he was stopped before a stout wooden table that was covered with mugs filled with liquid.
Gimli circled to the other side of the table, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “Now, I think we both know the rules.”
Legolas shook his head, glaring at the Dwarf. “This is stupid. We both know how this will end, Gimli.”
On his side, Gimli laughed darkly, and shook his head. “Do not be so sure, Master Elf. I am not going to give up easily. And I trust that you are not going to do so either, eh?”
Collecting his pride, Legolas pulled the first mug towards him, and then glanced at its contest, sniffing the strange smell. “What is this?”
Gimli gazed at his friend with a look of innocence that was ruined by the look in his eyes. “This is a Dwarvish drink, greatly favoured among my people. A fierce liquid that’s name I am not going to try to teach you. But now, my friend, shall we drink? Of course if you are not up to the challenge…”
“Of course I am!” Legolas said defiantly, his eyes flashing. “ What I am saying is that I would not wish to see you losing again. But as you seem to have done your choice, I must play along.”
“So be it,” shouted Gimli, raising his mug. “May the best Dwarf win,” he murmured as he raised the cup to his lips.
Legolas, staring rather suspiciously to the cup, sniffed it again and then took a first taste. The liquid was indeed fierce. It burned his mouth and throat all the way down. Gulping, Legolas tried to keep his face passive, but failed enough to favour Gimli with a look that made Gimli smirk.
This time, the victory is mine, Gimli thought, and took another long sip. Being a Dwarf, he had rather long experience of this fierce drink. He didn’t doubt a moment that he would get an easy victory from Legolas. Soon he had emptied his first cup, and reached for another. Seeing that Legolas had troubles with emptying his first, Gimli smirked, changing knowing glances with one of the other Dwarves in the hall.
Legolas, on his side, wasn’t even near of getting used to this new drink. How on earth are Dwarves able to drink this? But maybe it is their habit to drink a little, and then pass out immediately after… Perhaps, if I drink a little slower, Gimli will give me an easy victory with his haste. But this plan didn’t fit with Legolas’ feel of honour. He would not be the one blamed of cheating in the game. After all, if Gimli drank several cups and he only few…
Frowning, Legolas emptied his cup with a long swallow, trying not to cough. He blinked, setting down the cup and then took another. After first few mouthfuls, the Prince noticed the difference: the liquid didn’t burn his mouth as it had before, and he was able to drink more in one go. But this was followed by a new, strange feeling. Warmth spread through him, and it seemed as if the room was beginning to spin. Blinking, Legolas shook his head and took another sip.
Gimli eyed the Elf, his self-confidence rising even higher. The drink was definitely affecting Legolas. In a matter of moments, the Elf would be overcome with the effects of the liquid, and Gimli would celebrate the victory. Taking a long drink from his cup, Gimli sighed contentedly. He felt marvellous. There would be no doubt who would win…
After some more cups of the fierce drink, Legolas had to admit that Dwarves had rather great endurance. At least in the matters that were common among their own people. Swaying slightly, Legolas raised another cup to his lips. The room was spinning even more now, but he paid it no heed. A nice, warm feel on numbness was coming over him, and the room felt quite hot to him. Or was it just a cause of a drink? He did not know, but it mattered little. The only thing that mattered was that the Dwarf was still standing.
On the other side of the table, Gimli’s rather dull eyes watched the Elf in disbelief. Why cannot that stubborn creature pass out? Is it too much to ask from him?! Gimli took another, furious gulp. Well, I am completely capable of winning an Elf.
Cheers and encouragement were shouted to both competitors when Éomer appeared. He had had a rather long day while riding from a small village to another, meeting people and discussing of politics and people’s needs. Now that he had arrived, he only hoped to get a great mug of ale and sit down. Instead, he met a sight that he had witnessed only once before: a drinking contest between an Elf and a Dwarf. And for once, Éomer was not sure of which was winning.
“What to the name of Valar…” Éomer sighed, pushing himself closer to the two. This is what they planned earlier today. I might have known…
Glancing between the two warriors, Éomer noted that this might be interesting. Gimli looked rather finished by now, but Legolas wasn’t faring much better. The Elf’s face was flushed, his eyes unfocused, and this alarmed Éomer. He had never seen Legolas in such a condition. Reaching out with his hand, Éomer accepted a mug of ale from one of the other men, and then he leaned against a pillar, focusing his attention to the contest before him.
From his side of the table, Gimli hit his empty cup to the wooden surface, muttering something incoherent about a new one. But before anyone was able to give him a new cup, the Dwarf fell to the floor with a loud crash, making Legolas jump with surprise.
It seemed that it took several seconds from Legolas to understand that he had the victory again. With a sly, drunken smile, the Elf smirked at Éomer. “Ah well,” he stated, emptying his cup and letting it fall to the table, “game over.” Only a second after that, he fell down to the floor with a most un-Elvish way.
Éomer, glancing from one to another, eyebrow raised, shook his head and emptied his own cup, and then went to help his men to get the two back to their rooms.
“I truly must wonder at Elves’ ability to endure new situations,“ Éomer said, standing beside the archer who was lying in his bed. The sarcasm in the Man’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by anyone.
Legolas groaned painfully, raising one arm to hold his head. “I knew there was some kind of poison in that drink…” he muttered.
“Poison?” Gimli said, offended. He had got out of bed some time ago, and had gone out to seek the Elf. He had been quite surprised to find Legolas still on the bottom of his bed. “Then how do you explain that I am still on my feet? Or perhaps it is something else…” the Dwarf continued, a smile playing upon his lips.
“What are you referring at?” Legolas asked rather annoyed, closing his eyes.
“Your head hurts, doesn’t it?” Gimli asked with a wicked grin.
“Not only my head, but my eyes, and entire body,” Legolas hissed between gritted teeth.
“Ah, then, it is nothing serious,” Gimli said rather lightly, making Éomer glance down at him. “You are merely enjoying a quite normal after effect of a long drinking.”
“Hangover?” Éomer asked, shocked.
Legolas turned his head to look at them, his face telling the mortals that he had no clue of what they were talking about.
Éomer, not being able to control himself, excused himself and retreated to the hallway, his muffled laugher yet audible to the sharp ears inside the room.
“I do not see anything funny in this,” Legolas muttered.
“Oh, it will pass. We mortals suffer it after every night of drinking, in a form or another.” Legolas’ horror and awe filled face was a sight that Gimli did not forget easily during the years to come. “But I shall leave you now. Rest well.” With a gracious bow, Gimli exited, leaving the pained Elf alone.
At last in peace, Legolas wondered if beating Gimli in another drinking competition had actually been worth it. If he asked from his head, it hadn’t been…