The dwarf belched prodigiously and laughed into his beer. "Ha! Beat that if you can, princeling!"
Faramir made himself more comfortable in the big leather chair in front of the fireplace. "Steady on," he urged Gimli. "Let me replenish my armory, and I'll match you!"
He began enthusiastically drinking himself up to a reply which he fantasized would echo from the walls of the king's private sanctum for days, but was interrupted by the study door suddenly bursting loudly open. In his startlement Faramir swallowed the wrong way and his beer-induced masterpiece turned to a series of uncomfortable and disappointing hiccups.
He addressed the intruder grumpily. "Ecthelion's - uck - teeth, Legolas! Must you come thundering in here like - uck - that and scare the skin off a fellow?"
"And at this time of night," Gimli grumbled, wiping morosely at a wet patch on his right knee where at the elf's dramatic entrance he had accidentally sloshed a generous draught of perfectly good beer. "Thought you lot were supposed to be quiet," he muttered accusingly.
"--uck," agreed Faramir.
Legolas leapt gracefully onto Aragorn's great desk and perched at the edge, swinging his legs out agitatedly. "Do you know where Aragorn is at this very moment?" he demanded.
Faramir opened his mouth to reply in the negative, but Legolas snapped instead, "In the throne room! That's where he is!"
Ranger and dwarf glanced at one another. "He is the king," Gimli said gently, as if reminding a forgetful child.
"With Boromir!" the elf asserted meaningfully.
"Boromir is the Steward of Gondor," Faramir pointed out carefully, glancing at Gimli again, who shrugged as if to say he wasn't to know when exactly the elf had lost his mind.
The prince of Mirkwood snorted. "They are not," he clarified indignantly, "in there crafting foreign policy! Or trade agreements. Or... or anything like that!" He crossed his arms over his chest, huffing plaintively, "I walked in on them. I have never been so embarrassed!"
"Walked in--? Ohhhh," Faramir nodded at Gimli. "Walked in." He poured out a third mug of beer.
"Ahhhh," Gimli nodded back knowingly and passed the mug of beer to the scandalized elf.
Legolas squawked, "What do you mean, 'Ahhh'?" He took a long, comforting swallow and cleared his throat. "They are in there, right now--"
"Buck naked," Gimli surmised, staring into the fire.
"Mating like bunnies," Faramir elaborated, savoring his beer thoughtfully, and a bit regretfully.
"I wonder who's taking whom tonight?" Gimli mused, eyeing Legolas for a hint.
Legolas choked briefly. "Who's taking--? Throne room! Throne room!" The elf attempted to drive his argument home to his unappreciative audience. He declared earnestly, "I don't care a fig for what they're doing, but for the love of Elbereth, could they not do it in the throne room? Centuries of Gondorian dignity and tradition, just--!" He flailed helplessly. "Am I the only one who finds that extremely inappropriate?"
Faramir chortled, "If you're bothered so dreadfully by that, perhaps we shouldn't tell you the sorts of things that have been done atop that desk you're sitting on."
The elf let out a strangled cry of horror and bolted up from the desk like a frightened pigeon which, Faramir commented honestly, was no mean feat starting from a sitting position, though it was too bad about the beer, and landed in an enervated tangle on the high-backed bench beside Gimli.
"Welcome to Arda," Gimli sniggered.
"Faramir," Legolas growled, mustering his dignity and ignoring the dwarf as well as he might, "I suggest that you speak to your brother and Aragorn about being more discreet in their, erm, indiscretions. I could have been anybody, you know. A councilor, or a diplomat. Visiting royalty!"
Faramir smirked and stretched his long legs toward the fire. "Wouldn't be the first time."
Legolas yawped.
"Oh, it was just Imrahil." Faramir chuckled and waved at the elf's panicked wheezing. "According to my uncle, the look on Aragorn's face as he peered at Imrahil over Boromir's sweaty shoulder was entirely priceless." He grinned. "Of course, to hear Aragorn tell it, my uncle's expression was pretty rare, as well."
Legolas struggled for words, gave a small, defeated gurgle and finally slumped hopelessly on the bench. "I give up. You're all disgusting!"
Gimli cackled happily and poured the elf another beer.
--end--
First posted at the LoM on 2002
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