After all the necessary formalities were completed, it was time for the classic highlight of any banquet.
"No stopping, spilling, and regurgitating."
Gimli announced the rules of the contest as he took the cup of ale Théodred handed him.
Legolas picked up his own cup, looking curious. "So this is... a drinking contest?"
"Of course! What, you've never drunk before?"
At that moment, Boromir came over, holding a cup of his own.
He had just been chatting with Théoden, and the two of them seemed to be getting along splendidly. They had plenty of common ground.
Especially when it came to speeches, both agreed that solemn occasions didn't need fancy rhetoric. What mattered more were sincerity and respect. As for the speech itself, the shorter, the better.
"Didn't your father ever teach you how to drink at home?"
Seeing Legolas frowning at the ale in his cup, Boromir teased him.
Gimli immediately jumped in to fan the flames, laughing loudly. "What's wrong, our little woodland princess? Want me to get you a cup of fruit juice instead?"
By now, the Dwarf and the Elf had become good friends, and this kind of banter had become routine.
But this time, Legolas didn't reply in kind. He simply shook his head and said quietly, "No, I can drink, a little."
"It's just... this ale tastes rather weak."
"Weak?"
Gimli leaned in close to the cup.
No, it was definitely fine. Top-quality barley ale, quite strong, in fact.
Had this fellow lost his sense of smell?
"Then what kind of drink do you usually have, huh?" He asked curiously.
"Usually? I don't drink much," Legolas said after thinking for a moment. "But during special festivals, my father would bring out fine wines from Dorwinion and the lands near Wayfort for the people to taste. The one I remember most was this clear, colorless liquor. The first time I ever got drunk was because of it, a long time ago, when I visited Garrett. That drink was called... 'vodka,' I think. I drank several barrels."
"Never heard of it. I still prefer ale made from grain." Gimli shook his head.
"What could be more intoxicating than that fresh barley aroma and the sweet aftertaste of malt?"
"Stop making excuses, Legolas. Come on, drink!"
"Count me in, too." Boromir eagerly sat down beside them, cup in hand.
"Wait."
Legolas suddenly stopped them.
"What now?"
"I want to invite someone else to join. You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not. The more, the merrier! Who are you calling?"
"Garrett. Last time I drank with him, I passed out first, but something about that didn't feel right. I want a rematch."
"That's perfect! Go get him!"
Gimli's eyes lit up instantly. "I've been wanting to test him myself, but never got the chance."
"Interesting. I'd like to see that too," Boromir said, clearly intrigued. "But it seems Garrett isn't in the hall."
Indeed, Garrett wasn't in the hall.
At that moment, he was outside at the even livelier open-air feast, raising cups and celebrating with his soldiers. Every now and then, Rohan guards would come over to join in, and the two groups were chatting merrily.
At the height of the celebration, Théoden and Théodred came over to express their thanks on behalf of Rohan, and they spent a while talking with Garrett.
While they were chatting, Legolas arrived and explained his purpose.
Naturally, Garrett didn't refuse.
However, the moment Legolas dragged him back into the hall, he began to feel a twinge of regret.
Before Boromir and Gimli, Legolas fixed his gaze on Garrett and said, "This time, you're not allowed to drink milk."
The smile slowly faded from Garrett's face.
Uh oh.
Smiles, after all, are constant. When they vanish from one face, they always appear on another.
Legolas lifted his cup with a gentle smile. "I'll be watching you. Come, let's drink to our victory."
With that, he quietly raised the cup and drained it in one go.
"Not bad," Gimli said, refusing to be outdone, and raised his cup to chug it down as well.
Boromir followed suit, lifting his cup and tilting his head back, draining it all in one go without even a hiccup.
The three of them turned to look at Garrett, showing him their empty cups.
A bead of sweat slid down Garrett's face.
An unprecedented sense of crisis rose from deep within his heart.
---
Night had fallen.
The banquet had reached its peak, and the atmosphere grew ever more heated.
"Hic."
No one knew how long they had been drinking when Gimli hiccupped and started babbling nonsense.
Before him, the table was piled high with empty cups, and several drained barrels lay on the ground.
"Haha! Come on, let's keep the fun going!"
Gulp gulp gulp.
Gimli kept drinking, while Boromir's face had turned red. He was clutching his head and struggling even to stay seated.
Anyone could see that the two of them were nearing their limit.
On the other hand, Garrett sat quietly, leaning back in his chair, sipping his drink with calm, elegant composure.
Legolas still stood tall, his drinking pace steady as ever.
"I'm starting to feel it," Legolas murmured after finishing another cup.
He looked down at his fingers.
Théodred, who had been moving about nearby, stopped and leaned against a wooden beam, raising an eyebrow at him.
Legolas went on, "My fingertips feel a little tingly. This drink is finally starting to affect me."
Théodred's eyes widened in disbelief.
Wait, this Elf...?
"I told you so! He can't handle his drink!"
The half-delirious Gimli burst out laughing. "I said it long ago, he... hic."
Thud!
Before he could finish, he toppled over.
Fast asleep.
A bit of foam dribbled from the corner of his mouth, not a very pleasant sight.
"You lose," Legolas declared, and turned to the other side, where Boromir's head was beginning to droop.
He leaned over, speaking gently, his tone full of concern. "If you can't drink anymore, don't force yourself..."
Bang!
At those words, Boromir slammed his cup down hard on the table, glaring at Legolas as if gravely insulted.
"Don't get cocky, Elf... There's still one man left standing..." he said through gritted teeth.
Then his body went limp, and he collapsed onto the table, snoring.
Clearly, he wasn't the one still standing.
Which left only one man still conscious, Garrett.
"Then let's continue," Legolas said, raising his cup and taking small, graceful sips.
Garrett leaned back in his chair, silent, simply repeating the motion of pouring and drinking.
Even after the barrel was empty, he kept at it, trying to pour more from it.
Noticing this, Théodred quickly brought him a fresh, full barrel so he could keep going.
"As expected of a legend. He's taken down both a Dwarf and the commander of Gondor, without even changing expression. Now it's just between him and the Elf."
The contest dragged on for quite some time.
As the night wore on and the empty barrels piled up high, even Legolas began to falter.
"My head's getting a little numb," he admitted to Garrett, "and my fingers don't quite listen to me anymore. Yet you're still exactly the same as when we started, completely unchanged. I used to think your drinking ability came from some kind of trick, but now I see... perhaps I was too suspicious. The match is over. You win."
Conceding defeat, he bowed slightly and went off to rest.
Garrett said nothing, continuing the same motion. Pour, drink, pour, drink.
"My lord, a toast to you."
Théodred, thoroughly impressed, came over with a cup of his own and tried to clink glasses with Garrett.
But Garrett didn't respond. He just kept repeating the same motion.
Having watched the whole thing, Théodred finally sensed that something wasn't right. He called softly once, then again, but got no reply.
So he stepped closer, waving a hand lightly in front of Garrett's face.
"My lord?"
"My lord?!"