What The Actual? (LotR x Reader)

Bane of My Existence

"Oh you can search far and wide,

You can drink the whole town dry,

But you'll never find a beer so brown,

As the one we drink in our hometown.

You can drink your fancy ales,

You can drink 'em by the flagon,

But the only brew for the brave and true," The Hobbits and the laughter of Gandalf blurred out in the background as you and Legolas stared each other down. Elven wine was one thing--hardly a fair fight--but old-fashioned ale? You could take your ale.

A small crowd had formed around you both, half of the Fellowship included, and empty mugs were skewed about, littering the table with wet rings and damp splotches. You felt Boromir's hand on your head, him uttering words of amused encouragement while Gimli stood behind the Elf--words of, well, the opposite of encouragement, leaving his own mouth.

"C'mon lass, show the Elf why they're the laughin' stock of Middle-Earth,"

"I thought you were supposed to be giving me support--"

"And why on Middle-Earth would I do that when I can help ya fail instead?" Legolas expressed meager aggravation, hardly bothered by the Dwarf or the alcohol (save for a slight tingle rising in his fingers) while you blinked repeatedly, trying to focus and not smash headfirst into the table. You had challenged him to a drinking contest, which he at first refused--before you brought his father into it.

Now you sat in a rickety seat, already having downed 5 pints.

"Listen, when, when I--" You burped mid sentence, patting your chest with a fist as onlookers watched the strange woman do strange women things, before pointing across the surface.

"When I beat you, I want you to tell everyone that Dwarves rule and Elves drool."

"When I win," The prince began, leaning forward with an air of hubris. Not knowing defeat did that to a guy.

"I want you to retire to bed."

"Psh--you really, you really think, that, that you, that if you think that--Boromir tell him what he thinks." Boromir snorted. He knew there was no way you were walking out of this, and leaned forward as well, speaking to the both of you. "I shall tell you what I think. I think you should call it a draw." Boos sounded, and Éomer placed a flat palm on the wood beside your mug, agreeing with the Gondorian. Last time he saw you drink, it ended with a broom handle in your eye.

"I believe the man is right, you're both just going to end up suffering. Rohan's ale is potent--it will leave a sting in its wake."

"Psh, your ale has nothin' on Elvish wine, you tell 'em Legolas,"

Aragorn watched the spectacle of you two with veiled amusement, sitting comfortably beside the old wizard while he reclined, said wizard content that his belly was full and his head was filled with song. Aragorn had never wanted children at first, something he and Arwen had numerous discussions on concerning a possible future. After all, he had basically looked after 5 on this blasted journey, and he did not want to bring life into the world if it was sure to suffer. Yet, seeing you and the prince bicker back and forth like babies filled him with a certain fondness and a sense of pride. Maybe children would not be so bad.

"I never thought she would grow very fond of the Elf," Gandalf started as he pulled out his pipe. The Ranger turned to him for an answer.

"And why is that?"

Gandalf chuckled, that look of I-know-something-you-don't present on his features. Then again, it always was.

"She has spent so much time with rambunctious Dwarves, it is a miracle she has not become one."