Red of Rivendell

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was but a child to the eyes of an elf at the mere age of thirty-four when he had his first taste of wine.

It wasn't his idea to get drunk really, it was more of his foster brothers', Elladan and Elrohir, who were less wise and home more often back then. But, it was definitely not something he would forget for a while.

It was the Elvish New Year, where all the elves gathered to feast and drink neath the blanket of shining stars. As most folks know, elven wine was more potent to Men than most others, but Estel, as was his name back then, did not know.

Just in luck, the twins had returned from tracking several orc packs backs across the valley and journeyed back to Rivendell in high spirits in time for one of the biggest festivals they've had in at least a century, for Gandalf, one of the five wizards who had arrived a few days earlier with his famous fireworks.

Lines of blooming flowers were draped about the open square, bright lights visible at every corner. Fireworks of all the colors one could imagine lit up the sky with beauty and activity. The sweet sound of laughter, singing, and silken voices could be heard throughout the Last Homely House. Estel, who did not usually attend these parties could be seen sitting alone on a bench, observing the merrymaking around him with a small smile curving his face. His two brothers had come in formal robes worn for festivals and plastered themselves one to each side of the man.

Knowing they were probably not here to just converse, he sighed. "Elladan, Elrohir, have you any business with me?"

They shared a knowing look behind his back.

"Yes brother, since you have come of age in the eyes of a human, we thought you would like to try some of the best wine in Rivendell," Elladan said, while Elrohir placed an intricately carved silver goblet into his hands, a deep crimson liquid sloshing inside.

It smelled strongly of fruit and had an intoxicating scent that drew most drinkers, but he never had an interest in becoming drunk, especially not there and now.

Yes, it was the best wine in the region, loved by all elves, but if one drank too much or any other person with a low alcohol tolerance, then they could be intoxicated for days on end and end up with a massive hangover that some described as "splitting your skull open". It was definitely not designed to be consumed by anyone without Elven blood, for it was powerful even to elves who had a much higher tolerance rate than any other race.

Even without knowing any of this, the future king was still suspicious of his older siblings, for they had pulled many tricks on him in the past, involving food and drink and other mischiefs.

Once as a child they had lied to him about rosy berries in the garden, saying they would be delicious once he tasted them, but instead it had stained his mouth and fingers and face with a dull green and extremely noticeable juice for four days and had tasted worse than mud from a marsh. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only time he had been a victim of their deceit, and over time, he had learned to avoid most of their gimmicks, though occasionally one would slip through his defenses.

This was one of those instances.

"Are you sure brother?" Elladan insisted.