A Better Place - The Hobbit Fanfiction

Sixteenth Entry - Elvish Wine

“What sorts of things are your wines made of?” I asked a few minutes later, curious. “Ours are predominantly grapes, but it’s becoming popular to try other things as well, such as peaches and strawberries. I think a local man made dandelion wine a few years ago and was selling it.”

Oloran smiled down at me from where he sat at my right. “We make them from many similar things. Nearly any fruit can be turned into a passable wine. Many flowers, as well. Would you like to try this one?”

“What is it?”

He slid his mug sideways. “Guess.”

I was just putting my lips to the mug with both hands around it when Tauriel, who had been engrossed in a conversation with Cerian, saw me and her hand flew across the table to press the mug back to the tabletop. “Don’t give her that, it isn’t mixed!”

“She is having but a sip!” Oloran protested.

Tauriel took both the mug and my cup of water from me. “Which to a mortal may as well be a barrel full.” She dripped less than a mouthful of Oloran’s wine into my water and returned the beverages to their respective owners. “You may try this. Preferably slowly.” But Tauriel could only drop her head into her hand and shake it as I resolutely grasped the cup and drank the lot of it.

“Apple,” I declared, and Oloran smiled.

“Close. Apple and maple. A perfect wine for fall.”

“Hm.” I peered down into my empty cup. “May I have some more?”

Oloran opened his mouth but Tauriel firmly said “No” and that settled the matter.

Within ten minutes I knew why she had refused. I was stone-rolling, chair-tipping, bleary-eyed drunk. At least as drunk as Bofur had gotten me, if not more. If I were capable of straight thought I would have feared the hangover to come but I wasn’t so I didn’t.

“Why are your lamps swaying?” I asked loudly, having somewhere along the way lost my ability to temper my volume. The elves didn’t seem to mind.

“They aren’t, Mabyn,” Soviel laughed. “You are!”

“Oh.” I continued staring up at them, wishing they would hold still, unaware that Oloran already had one hand on my back so I wouldn’t slip off my crate on the bench. The lamps were flame-shaped glass wrapped in metal vines, and I wanted a closer look at them. I decided to have one.

Oloran’s hand was a deciding factor in how I managed to stay upright as I stood, slapping one hand down on his shoulder to steady myself further. “I want a better look,” I said decisively, facing him and planting my second hand on top of his head for leverage.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, stifling his laughter as I tugged on his head to boost myself up as I picked my way up his back. He didn’t mind.

“I want to inspect the makings of that gorgeous lamp,” I declared, getting, with some difficulty, my knee onto his shoulder. The elves on either side of him casually stood and arranged themselves so if I fell one of them could catch me. They were two very amused elves among all the rest of the very amused elves. I got both feet under me on Oloran’s shoulders—he was holding remarkably still—and slowly straightened them out, swaying precariously but not yet dangerously. I stood, and gazed up at the flamelike lamp in wonder, and tried to remember if human hands had ever created anything so beautiful. I tried to touch it but it was too far away, and that made me sad.

“Will you be coming down anytime soon, our dear Mabyn?” Oloran inquired. “I’m feeling rather used.”

“Well you are rather used,” I logically responded, and he shook his head in mock dismay as those who had heard chuckled into their cups. I shuffled my feet—it was always harder getting down—and started to bend my knees. I did a great job starting to bend my knees but I shuffled my feet wrong and somehow ended up plunging backward still standing upright.