Title: The Conversation Revisited

Rating: R

Author: sheraiah

Genre: Humor

Warnings: discussion of sexuality, naughty humor

Spoilers: Tolkien’s work (and you can be assured that he’s spinning in his grave like a high speed lathe), and my fic ‘The Conversation’

Beta:

Dedication: to all the wonderful readers of the prequel to this story, since your comments inspired this one

Disclaimer: No profit is being made, this is just for fun. All recognizable characters belong to the Tolkien estate.

“In a mine.”

“Gimli, for a dwarf that is NOT unusual. Aragorn specifically said unusual,” Legolas pointed out, swaying unsteadily in his seat. The afore-mentioned king nodded in agreement, swaying even more unsteadily than his elven companion.

“All right, you great, skinny, point-eared git,” the dwarf exclaimed, slamming his half-full mug of ale on the table, “under the feast table in the Great Hall in the Lonely Mountain!” Ale sloshed over the mug’s rim to splatter the dwarf’s drinking companions, both of whom were far too sloshed themselves to take notice. The elf, his normally graceful movements greatly hampered by his heavy wine consumption, snorted rudely.

“I can top that easily,” he announced with a haughty air.

“That’s not the only thing you top easily!” Aragorn stated with a loud guffaw. “If the contest was for most numerous encounters, just one of the years you’ve lived since you hit your majority would beat mine and Gimli’s totals combined.” The elf scowled.

“Would not! Two years, maybe, but not one. That would be Elladan’s or Elrohir’s totals. Now hush and let me think!” He frowned, and then smiled widely. “In the linen closet at Rivendell,” he concluded, raising his wineglass with a flourish. “Your turn, Estel.”

“Um, on the throne.” The king’s face was flushed, but he was grinning wickedly. Legolas and Gimli both spit the mouthful of drink each had just taken, dissolving in to loud hoots of laughter. When he had calmed, the dwarf’s face split in a grin fully as evil as the one Aragorn had worn.

“On a mine cart, rolling down to the lowest mineshaft in the Mountain.” Gimli’s eyes glittered, daring his friends to best that entry. Legolas’ eyebrows rose into his hairline. The elf was clearly impressed.

“The motion of the cart must have made things interesting,” the elf-prince commented. Gimli merely grinned wider. Legolas cleared his throat,” My turn again, then?” His companions nodded. “In my father’s bed while he was off hunting.” He grinned and inclined his head to Aragorn, “Your turn again, mellon nin.”

“In Edoras, on one of the tables in the meeting hall on our last visit there.” The king took a rather large swig of his ale.

“I sincerely hope it was not the one Gimli and I sat at.” Legolas’ face twisted in disgust. “What is it with your family and tables?”

“At least I wasn’t conceived on the desk in my father’s study,” Aragorn retorted, then clapped his hand over his mouth, belatedly remembering Gimli’s presence. The dwarf gave a great shout of laughter.

“So that’s why you call him ‘Desk Boy’! That’s priceless, lads!” Gimli shook with laughter while Legolas gave Aragorn a shove, ears as red as fire. The dwarf wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and downed the rest of his ale.

“That was supposed to be a secret. None of us were ever supposed to speak of it except to each other,” Legolas huffed, still blushing furiously and scowling. Aragorn’s color was a bit high as well, but he was snickering. He peered into his mug, giving a satisfied nod when he found it to still be half full. He raised it to his lips, leaning back as he drank it all in one shot. He continued to lean back as he drank and kept on going, collapsing onto his back, the mug rolling out of his hand. A loud snore was the only sound he made.

“Guess the contest is over,” Gimli observed, pouring himself another mug of ale.

“I would say so,” Legolas agreed, leaning over the fallen king and patting his face. He shrugged when he got no response save another snore. Turning back to the table, Legolas located his wineglass and took a healthy drink. “Who won?” he asked his remaining companion.

“Who cares?” Gimli replied, downing his ale. “We’d better get the king up off the floor. He’s going to be in enough trouble with his wife as it is.” Legolas nodded, rising in a slightly wobbly fashion. Gimli was in a similar state, but they managed to get Aragorn to his rooms without any major incidents.

Legolas had just put his hand on the door when it opened, unbalancing him and causing him to fall at the feet of……….Arwen. He peered up at her as she scowled at him.

“Hullo, Arwen,” he said, giving her a drunken grin. She rolled her eyes and shook her head in disgust.

“Here, you long-legged sot, get up and help me! He’s heavy!” Gimli was swaying dangerously while attempting to support Aragorn’s weight. Arwen stepped over the still prone and giggling elf-prince to lend the dwarf a hand.

“I do not know what possessed the three of you to do this, but you will richly deserve the way you will feel in the morning. Here, Gimli let us put him on the bed.” She guided both her husband and the dwarf across the room. They disappeared through another door, reappearing without Aragorn a few minutes later to find Legolas sitting cross-legged with his back leaned up against the wall. “Do you think the two of you can make it to your respective rooms without assistance?”

“Aye, lass, I think we’ll make it.” Gimli made his way to Legolas’ side, weaving only slightly. “Up you go lad, I’m not carrying you.” He boosted the now drowsy elf to his feet. “Good night then, lass,” he nodded politely to Arwen.

As she closed the door behind them, she could hear her husband’s snores from their bedroom. Still shaking her head, she made her way to his side. From the hallway, she could hear two voices singing a hobbit drinking song. Unbelievable, those three were, she thought, still fuming, not a shred of sense among them.

“Males!” she exclaimed, reaching down to pull Aragorn’s boots off. She truly hoped that their hangovers were spectacular. She certainly planned to torment them as much as possible when they finally woke in the morning. After draping a light blanket over her snoring spouse, Arwen grabbed her pillow and made her way to her sitting room. She would be perfectly comfortable on the settee in her room, and she would not have to put up with alcoholic fumes. Besides, she had revenge to plan.