Posted: May 2004
Title: The Drinking Game (Special Extended Version)
Author: Haleth Haladin
Type: FCS
Characters: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: PG-15 for sexual suggestiveness, R for excessive consumption of alcohol
Disclaimer: Other than the brief clip available on the internet, we have no idea what actually happens in the dreaded drinking game scene, so obviously this is not the actual scene and no profit is made from this speculation whatsoever.
Special Note to Peter Jackson: If you read this and decide it is much better than your version, you may feel free to call back the relevant actors and reshoot it in time for the release of the ROTK EE DVD. I promise I won't charge you a penny, but you will have to give me credit for it.
Other note: This has nothing to do with any of my other writings about HotElfDwarfLoving. This is a completely unrelated stand-alone.
Summary: After the battle at Helm's Deep, Legolas and Gimli party with the Rohirrim at Edoras.

*****

"It's a drinking game."

"Aye!" went up a chorus of shouts.

"And what is its purpose?"

"Last one standing wins!" Gimli crowed this with a gleeful laugh.

Legolas gave an elegant shrug. It seemed ridiculous to him, but it would be rude to show it. He was a guest of these people, and they had proven bold in battle, stalwart and possessed of admirable fortitude. He would humor them with this game. He drank down the pint of ale, a bit hesitant at first as the taste of it was not what he was accustomed to, but it was easy enough to drink, and placed the stein back on the table.

Gimli and the four Rohirrim drank theirs as well, smashing the mugs down on the wooden tabletop with relish. They demanded the next round immediately. Legolas went along with all this politely. He saw no value in overly questioning the customs of another race. After all, he'd been travelling for quite some time with Hobbits, Men, a Wizard and a Dwarf, and though he found some of their ways strange, he found that, on the whole, their peculiarities were fairly tolerable.

After the fifth stein of ale, a look of vague discomfort marred the fine features of the Elf. "I am not sure Elves can hold this much ale," Legolas said.

The Rohirrim laughed heartily, joined by Gimli.

"Is one allowed to void?"

Gimli stopped laughing. "What?" he asked suspiciously.

Legolas sat up even straighter. "In the course of one of these drinking games, are the participants permitted to relieve themselves?" He gestured at the men seated around the table. "I believe that the greater bulk of Men and Dwarves may bestow an unfair advantage. I simply cannot hold this much liquid within me for long."

Gimli chortled, "No, there's no rule against pissing, as long ye don't throw any of it up from the other end."

Legolas looked terribly affronted. "Elves do not throw up," he said with disdain.

So the Elf, the Dwarf and the three Rohirrim (the fourth was snoring with his head resting on the table) made their way from the Golden Hall, down the hill to the left, and lined up opposite the wall of a stable. Soon the air was filled with relieved sighs, and the wall sported four mildly misting, more-or-less vertical lines of wetness.

Legolas turned his back to the others and aimed for the base of the wall. He released the remains of the ale neatly in a puddle and tucked himself back into his leggings. That was better. He walked back to the hall, leaving the others to wonder at the tiny pool, which let off a veritable cloud of steam and evaporated almost immediately.

"Hmm, must have something to do with the core temperature of Elves," Gimli muttered as he trudged back up the hill with the horse lords, leaving the trails of urine to dry in the night air.

Legolas was waiting for them, looking greatly refreshed, with five steins of ale lined up on the table. "Shall we continue?" he asked brightly.

Everyone nodded and the game went on, until the tallest of the three Rohirrim, though not the broadest, stood unsteadily and tipped to one side. Gimli grabbed his belt to keep him from crashing to the floor, and lowered him to the bench again, where he slumped over the table with a dull thud. There were hearty laughs all around, except from Legolas, who gazed at the man with some concern.

"Is he not well?"

The shortest Rohirrim laughed. "Haven't you ever seen someone pass out before?"

Legolas made a face, nose scrunched up in distaste. "Elves do not pass out."

"Well, what happens when they drink too much?"

Legolas was confused for only a moment. Oh, so that was the purpose of the game. He felt a little foolish for not having figured it out earlier. He'd assumed the man at the end of the table had dropped out of the game for reason of weariness, but now he understood. Ale had a peculiar effect on Men. He thought on the parties at his father's home. It took vast vast quantities of extremely potent wine to have this sort of effect. He drank down the next stein of ale. "They fall asleep, but with much more grace than that," he said as he placed the mug back down on the table.

When it was time for the next journey down the hill to the wall, only Legolas, Gimli and one Rohirrim remained in the contest. Again, Legolas turned away politely and laid his piss in the tiniest area possible. He walked away lightly, and the Dwarf and Man were left to watch it steam away in the night air.

"Strange creatures, those Elves," the Man said sagely. He stumbled a little as he pulled himself out of his leggings and aimed roughly at the wall.

Gimli prudently took three steps away from the wildly veering spray and relieved himself against the wall.

Legolas again waited at the table, with a mildly expectant look on his face. "Is this a common practice?" he asked. "This drinking game?"

The Rohirrim shrugged. "After a good battle, it helps to let off some steam."

Gimli snickered. "And some of us, it seems, let off more steam than others."

Legolas looked at him blandly.

Gimli stopped laughing.

Legolas downed the next tankard and raised an eyebrow in an exquisite arch. "Are we waiting for something?"

The Rohirrim drank his own ale, then teetered on the bench. "We're waiting for you to get drunk," he slurred.

Legolas graced him with amiable smile. "Elves do not get drunk."

The Rohirrim nodded, then slumped forward. Legolas's hand shot out to catch the Man's forehead before it crashed into the tabletop. He gently laid the head down on the wood. "At least not on the feeble ales of Men. Friend Gimli, you have not consumed your next tankard," he pointed out politely.

Gimli sniggered and downed the ale.

One of the Rohirrim, not a participant in the game but one who'd been betting on the outcome, brought two more tankards to the table. "Keep it going, it's not over until there's only one standing."

The Elf and the Dwarf smiled at each other across the table. Neither believed the count of the ale would grow to as high a number as the count of the Orcs killed at Helm's Deep, as the rest of the room would be long asleep before that number could be reached. After a few more tankards, they excused themselves from the five or six Rohirrim still barely conscious in the Hall, and made one last journey to the wall at the base of the hill.

Legolas turned to the side, and Gimli made a noise of disapproval. "And are Elves always so bashful?" he asked.

Legolas's hand stilled at the ties of his leggings. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Men and Dwarves are not so shy about our private parts." Gimli hauled up his tunic and pulled his trousers open.

"I believe they are referred to as ‘private' parts for a reason, Gimli."

Gimli pulled out his cock, thick and heavy as one might expect from a Dwarf. "Nonsense. Among friends, among fellow warriors and drinkers, there's nothing to be coy about." He let loose a stream of piss against the wall.

Legolas pondered a moment, and then opened his leggings. "Very well, if this is all part of the drinking game, I shall partake." He pulled himself out of the opening.

Gimli's jaw dropped in much the same manner that the arc of his piss tapered off to nary a drip.

Legolas tried to keep himself from smirking as he aimed carefully at the base of the wall.

"So that's what you've been hiding all these months."

Legolas said nothing. He waited for the last steaming drops to fall, then shook himself elegantly.

"And are all Elves endowed like that?"

"Like what?" Legolas still held himself.

Gimli could not help noticing that Legolas had fairly large hands, and that the considerable width of his palm, where it curled around his shaft, did nothing at all to obscure the other half of the shaft, or the somewhat impressive, slightly darker pink head. Gimli blinked.

"Well, that's a rather impressive piece of equipment you've got there, lad."

Legolas tucked himself back into his leggings. "I did notice, during the quest, that Men did not seem to be so generously gifted. I assume this is an attribute of the race, not of Aragorn and Boromir, so I felt it prudent to turn away during this part of the game. I understand that some males are sensitive about size."

Gimli abruptly realized he was standing with his own equipment displayed quite prominently in his hand. He shoved it into his trousers hastily. "So, is that what you were using that keen eyesight for on our journey," he grumbled. "Making a size comparison of the different races, eh?"

Legolas looked insulted. "I cannot help that I am observant."

Gimli chuckled. "I'm sorry, Legolas. It wasn't an insult. I was just teasing."

"And I was merely curious. It is well known that Elves are curious."

They walked back toward the hall, but stopped at the top of the steps and sat down.

"So Elves don't get drunk on ale, eh, Legolas?"

Legolas smiled. "No, they do not."

"Well, neither do Dwarves. At least not on that weak, Rohan ale. So I guess the game is over. We'll call it a draw."

Legolas nodded and gazed up at the stars.

"What do Elves get drunk on?"

"Oh, they get drunk on Mirkwood wine, but I doubt a Man would withstand more than a glass or two of it. Perhaps if an Elf were to drink an equal quantity of Mirkwood wine to the Man's ale, it might be a fair contest. I have noticed a similar effect."

"So, you've had Men's ale before."

"Oh yes, we trade for it. We drink ale when we are on patrol. Wine would slow our responses too much. And Mirkwood wine really is better straight from the cask. We carry ale with us in skins, and when we have cleared an area we celebrate by drinking the ale."

"Doesn't sound like much of a celebration if you don't get drunk."

Legolas smiled. "We don't get drunk and fall asleep from ale. I never said it does not have an affect."

Gimli pondered this. "So, what does it do? When you're on patrol and you drink the ale, what happens?"

"It is nothing special. We get very randy and we have wild, passionate orgies." Legolas smiled fondly as he remembered patrolling the depths of Mirkwood. "But we stay alert for spiders and Orcs throughout the festivities," he added prudently.

Gimli found himself unable to speak, or perhaps breathe.

"And when we're finished, we continue our patrols."

"I see," Gimli said. "So that explains the, uh…" He gestured vaguely in the direction of Legolas's loins.

Legolas pointedly ignored him.

Gimli drummed his fingers on the stone step. "So, um, on the quest…"

Legolas turned to look down at him. "Yes?"

"What else did you, um, observe?"

Legolas smiled again. It was close to a grin. Gimli looked almost cute, the way he was asking the question and pretending to be so innocent. Legolas decided to just smile and say nothing for a while. He knew that would infuriate the Dwarf.

Gimli squirmed and fidgeted with the end of his beard.

Legolas decided to finally speak. "Hobbits," he said, "are actually quite well-endowed, if their relatively small body size is taken into account."

Gimli actually blushed. He'd never even considered the contents of a Hobbit's trousers before. The thought that little Merry and Pippin, or Samwise Gamgee, or, the Valar help him, Frodo Baggins, might be well endowed was too shocking for words.

"And Wizards…" Legolas trailed off and looked back up at the sky. Gimli could have sworn his eyes grew misty. Legolas sighed, and Gimli watched in fascination as a pale hand, which had been resting on Legolas's knee, trailed up a taut thigh and came to rest under his long tunic, somewhere in the vicinity, judging by what Gimli had seen earlier, of a rather beautiful Elven crown. "Wizards are lovely," Legolas whispered.

That was possibly more information than Gimli needed to know.

Legolas snapped out of his dreamy state and looked down at the Dwarf again. "And Dwarves," he said evenly, "seem to be built much as the rest of their bodies are. Sturdy and not terribly long, but quite wide."

Gimli made a "harrumphing" sort of noise.

Legolas slid his hand off his own thigh and inched it over to brush Gimli's knee. "I am rather fond of width, actually," he said with just a hint of shyness in his voice, but no nearly enough to conceal the randiness.

Bushy eyebrows rose. "Oh really? I'm rather fond of length, myself." Gimli decided it was time to be very bold, since he knew Legolas appreciated boldness in battle, and so assumed he would appreciate it in other circumstances as well. He reached over and laid his hand over the prominent ridge against Legolas's thigh. He gave a gentle squeeze. It was substantial in size but quite pliant under his fingers. "Please don't tell me that Elves don't get hard."

Legolas smiled, and his eyes sparkled in the starlight. "Oh, do not worry, Master Dwarf. Elves get hard. First they get long, and then they get hard."

Gimli's fingers danced over the smooth but still soft length. "I see. Fascinating, the way Elves are built so differently from Dwarves. We get hard and wide at the same time."

Legolas slid his fingers up to cup Gimli's hardness. "Harder than it looks," he breathed out slowly. "And even wider."

Gimli glanced around the yard. The front steps of the Golden Hall of Meduseld would, at first glance, seem a most public and exposed location. However, not a soul stirred within eyesight and the only sound was muffled snoring from within the Hall. He shuffled closer and slid his hand down to rest his fingers over the twin bulges of Legolas's balls. "So what does it take to get an Elf to move beyond length and into hardness?" he asked in a low voice.

"Oh, that would depend on the situation." Legolas sounded all too casual for an Elf who was, at that very moment, leaning back and spreading his legs for a curious Dwarf. He tilted his hips upward and pressed up into Gimli's hand.

Gimli reached down and his fingers could feel, through the wool of the leggings, the hot entrance to the Elf's body.

Legolas's cock twitched against Gimli's forearm. "That would about do it," Legolas gasped.

Gimli pulled his hand away and stood, grabbing Legolas by the arm to haul him to his feet. "Let's go somewhere a little more private, shall we? I've a mind to get a good deal more curious with you, and I don't want to be interrupted." Gimli ran his thumb over his warm fingertips. He also had a mind to discover a great deal more about the core temperature of Elves.

Much later, when the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, several hours and even more orgasms later, after much panting and groaning, and a few Elven shrieks for good measure - not to mention a very thorough Dwarven exploration of a certain Elf's core, which proved to be possessed of a most enjoyable inner temperature - Legolas and Gimli wandered back into the Golden Hall. The Rohirrim were much as they'd left them, sprawled a cross the table in ungraceful heaps.

"Och, these lads are going to have quite the hangovers," Gimli muttered.

"Hangover?" Legolas asked.

"Headache, dry mouth, swollen tongue, everything tastes like Orc-shit, you know, a hangover."

Legolas smiled smugly. "Elves do not get hangovers."

Gimli started to rummage through the pockets of the unconscious. He wrestled a coin from each Man at the table.

"Gimli, whatever are you doing?" He could not understand why his friend – okay, more than a mere friend after the events of the night before – was robbing the Rohirrim.

"It's part of the drinking game, of course. There's a wager involved as well."

"Ah, well then it is a very good thing that Elves do not get drunk on ale," Legolas said.

"Don't like to lose, eh?"

Legolas shook his head. "No. We are gracious losers, when the rare occasion calls for it."

Gimli grunted as he pulled a coin from the last slumped form.

"However," Legolas continued, "Elves do no carry cash."

*****

THE END

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