Chapter Text
When the men got drunk enough, they no more noticed whether there was more water than ale in their cup. This was the secret of Medusel’s never ending ale storage, although fills were long in between. It was a tactic only the maids and grandmothers in the kitchen knew of, their way to save ale (sometimes for themselves) and avoid big fights among the celebrating men, when they didn’t get too drunk. Lilia smiled to herself in dark amusement, watching the party. Many thought her to be a strange girl, uninterested in marrying or pleasing men. She did this job to feed her many younger siblings. It had become necessary after her father’s death, when her mother’s savings weren’t enough. But she did like her job, just not for the reasons one would imagine a girl in her age to find pleasing. She enjoyed observing the royals and the soldiers. Especially the Lady Eowyn was someone who often catched her attention, and the two had their own strange way of communication.
Celebrations like these were the peak of her interest, when the men got drunk and their behaviour changed. Their tongues loosened, slipping out things they would regret in the morning. They lost the skill of thinking twice before taking action, and bad ideas suddenly felt brilliant. Also the clumsiness was very amusing to watch. Most interesting things happened during these nights, things only Lilia - who stayed sober for more reasons than her duty as a waitress - would remember in the morning. Many became brave and acted on to confess their love, for example. The married shared kisses with friends, the old danced like the gods had given them new will for life. She herself might have had her fingers in play whenever something very amusing would take place, such as men removing their clothing or love confessions in the form of a ballads being sung in the middle of it all.
She never missed even the smallest of things. This particular night, something that made her curious was naturally the new creatures. Hobbits, a dwarf and an elf, not leaving out Gandalf the wizard of course. She heard the people whisper to each other, telling their expectations of those races. Everyone found the hobbits to be very entertaining, and the dwarf made many smile also. But what made her most curious was the elf. Even before seeing him with her own eyes, she heard many whisper about his beauty. She followed the way of their mesmerised and even lust-filled eyes, finding the elf, dressed in a silvery tunic. He truly was someone who held extraordinary beauty, and even Lilia forgot her observations for a moment as she watched the creature. A rumour was whispered, that this elf was from Mirkwood. A wood-elf, the old gossiped, I’ve heard they can be very dangerous creatures. Not to be trusted. If the others look nothing like this one, I believe it very easy for them to seduce their ways into weaker hearts. Well, that definitely catched her interest.
This elf didn’t seem seductive. Quickly Lilia noticed him to be shy, even though on the outside he looked very graceful and unhesitant. She noticed his nervousness rather in the way he avoided conversations with smooth politeness and kept close to his companions, truly speaking only with them. He spoke quietly, as if trying to draw the least attention to himself as possible. As Lilia observed the elf, he noticed him to be quite similar to herself. Tonight only one of them succeeded to be invisible, though.
He didn’t drink much, and soon Lilia realised he didn’t like ale, and was most likely not very used to it. Until the dwarf - Gamli, was that his name? - challenged him into a drinking competition. He was openly hesitant at first, but soon was emptying the cups very steadily. Lilia saw the darkness in Eomer’s eyes, as he watched the elf. This darkness Lilia recognized. Lust. She herself had seen that lust in the warrior’s eyes being directed at her on one of these nights. She had even experienced the pleasure - or misfortune, she still couldn’t decide - of kissing the man, though that was again, one of those things only she remembered in the morning. Even more benefits of these drunken nights. Now though, what made her ever more curious was the way the well-respected ranger - Aragorn - watched the two. His eyes were narrowed, his brows furrowed, his arms crossed.
Lilia’s heart beat for drama, and now it was standing in front of her. She sensed that Eomer’s lust could take over him, the events could even turn dangerous, and the thought left her feeling like she had drunk a glass of deep, red wine. Maybe the two men would fight of the elf, or then the elf - Legolas! That was his name - would fight for himself. The imagined liquor burned comfortably in her chest, as the feeling of dark enjoyment filled her. But this was only in her head, a part of her mind she spoke to no one. Ale changed people, as well as the night. In sober daylight she never wished harm for anyone, and these three were all good and respected men. The nights were dark. The nights were drunk. It was like another reality.
Eowyn met her gaze as she slipped outside after the elf. She had a serious look on her face. It was understandable, Eowyn never really liked it when Lilia’s drama was focused on her brother. Too bad, Eomer was often the most entertaining one during celebrations like this. Lilia felt the older maiden’s eyes follow her, making her skin tingle. The lady had catched her eye already when she was a child, but now at sixteen Eowyn had become almost an obsession for her. Lilia woke up everyday hoping to find herself in the same room with the woman. Sometimes she wished for ale, mostly for red wine (quite rare in Medusel, unfortunately), often for drama and everyday for the touch of a certain lady.
～
Eomer was drunk. So was Legolas. That was the only reason why the man had managed to pin the elf against a wall. Fortunately Legolas gained control over the situation just when Eomer tried to kiss him. He pulled his blade from where he had hid it under his tunic and pressed it against Eomer’s chest, in a way that would hurt but not cause any real damage.
Suddenly Eomer was jerked backwards, only to right away be smashed on the wall beside Legolas. It was Aragorn, he realised in relief.
“Keep your hands off him”, Aragorn growled with a low, dangerous voice. Eomer attacked him and Legolas was ready to rush to break the fight, but found himself frozen, watching as his man fighted for him. The men were perhaps equal in strength, but Eomer was more drunk and on the loosing side. Finally Legolas surged forward and grabbed Aragon’s swinging arm, tugging at it forcefully. Aragorn shook him off. Soon his fist hit Eomer’s face, and Legolas tried again.
“Aragorn!” he yelled, succeeding to pull the men apart. They were both breathing heavily. Eomer leaned on the wall behind him, apparently trying to gain some clarity. No wonder, Aragorn’s hits could be very strong. Aragorn’s eyes burned, his hands were curled into tight fists.
“Let me make him remember never to touch you again”, he growled. Legolas stepped in front of him, blocking Eomer from his view. He held his hand flat on Aragorn’s chest, keeping him in place.
“No. Come on, let’s get away from here.”
Finally Aragorn gave up. He wrapped his arm quite possessively around Legolas’ shoulders, giving Eomer a final, dangerous stare before letting Legolas walk him out of there.
Soon Legolas shook Aragorn’s hand off. The man was angry and he was upset, he needed to find a quiet place where he could calm Aragorn down. They passed a young maid who was standing in a corner, humming while braiding a small strand of her red unruly hair. Her eyes were large and somewhat intimidating, her form short and narrow. She rose her gaze and locked eyes with Legolas, only for a fleeting second before they both turned away.