Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: This is just a short fic to keep my readers of “Masquerade” entertained while they wait for the next chapter. It recounts the prank war between Aragorn and the hobbits that is mentioned in Chapter Thirteen of that fic. I hope you all like it!

A Merry War

By Elendiari

Chapter One: A Beginning

It was not to be said that Merry Brandybuck did not choose his battles wisely. When he had to fight, he fought with at least one hour of precise calculation and well-thought out plans behind him. That being said, the first thing Merry was inclined to do after looking at the map of Eriador in Elrond’s library was to find Strider and push him in the nearest body of water.

Instead of acting on this urge, Merry bent closer to the map. Yes, there it was. A path, curving straight around the Midgewater Marshes, marked in Elvish and Westron ‘Way known only to Elves and Rangers’. Oh, this was so, so wrong. Merry traced the path, then glanced back at the way they had all come, several weeks before. Straight through the marshes, a long, cold, wet journey filled with plaguing neekerbreekers and other obnoxious insects. He had no doubt that this other way was difficult, but it looked dry, at least.

“He was testing us,” growled Merry under his breath, hand tightening to a fist on the table. “Oh, that…that…”

“Merry? What are you doing?” Pippin came to lean against the high table, a curious look on his sharp face.

Merry pointed at the map. “Look at this.” Pippin followed his finger as it traced the path again. “Now this is the way we went.”

Pippin’s eyebrows flew up, his green eyes going wide. “Why would Strider take us through the Marshes if he hadn’t needed to?”

“I think he was testing us. He thought we were soft,” Merry hissed.

Pippin looked at him, surprised. From his tone, Merry sounded annoyed. One look at his cousin’s face confirmed this, but there was also a look there that Pippin knew well. Merry had a plan.

“Pippin, I think we need to teach Strider a lesson.”

*****

Aragorn had not yet learned to be wary of hobbits sitting in a huddle, glancing in his direction and whispering. Such a thing was cause for worry among Rangers, yes, and among orcs, definitely, but hobbits, in his mind, were fairly harmless for all they were surprisingly tough. Therefore, Aragorn was not at all prepared for dinner that night.

Pippin was seated next to him that evening. Aragorn smiled at the lad; he liked the cheeky streak in Pippin. “Hullo, Pippin, how are you?”

“Just fine, Strider. I have a question for you,” Pippin replied. He fixed his green eyes on the Ranger and smiled winsomely. “Are you afraid of anything?”

Aragorn gave a gust of laughter. “Truth be told, I have never liked frogs,” he admitted. “They disturb me, for some reason that I have never understood. What about yourself?”

Pippin pulled a face. “My cousin, Diamond. She’s bossy and has a way of getting everyone to side with her,” he said. Aragorn laughed.

“Women can be like that,” he admitted. “But don’t tell Lady Arwen I said so.”

Pippin grinned innocently. “Not a word, Strider, I promise. Not a word.”

*****

It cost them an evening away from the Hall of Fire, but by bedtime that night, Merry and Pippin had found the king of the bullfrogs in a sludgy old pond. Dripping with scummy water and green slime, the lads rushed back to their room, the frog held firmly in Merry’s hands. They deposited him in their washbasin and put a tray left over from elevenses on top to keep it from jumping out.

“Nice work,” Merry said appreciatively. “Now we’ll get cleaned up before we go. Can’t have old Strider guessing it was us, now, can we?”

Pippin rather thought that Strider would know anyway, considering the conversation at dinner, but he nodded in agreement with Merry. Sometimes it was easier to let the older cousins do the thinking.

After scrubbing with water from the other basin and changing into fresh clothes, the hobbits took their captured frog, who was making his disgust with them plan in loud, resounding croaks, and walked into the hallway.

As luck would have it, the first person they walked into was Sam. The gardener took one look at their too-innocent faces and the bowl in their hands and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you two up to at this time of night?” he asked, knowing from experience that these two could be troublesome.

Merry gave him a thoroughly innocent look. “We’re going to the bathhouse, to fetch some new water, Sam. This stuff is brackish.”

Sam’s eyebrow climbed further up his forehead. “Is that so?” he asked drily. “I could have sworn I saw a servant come from cleaning your room not half an hour ago.”

Merry frowned; he had not expected that. “Well, it’s brackish now. We must be going, Sam, enjoy your evening.”

With that, Merry firmly grabbed Pippin’s sleeve and hauled him down the corridor. Sam stared after them, shaking his head.

“Up to no good, those two. I don’t even want to know. I don’t.”

*****

Pippin stood guard as Merry snuck into Aragorn’s room. They were lucky that the Ranger was still in the Hall, talking Elf lore with Bilbo and Frodo. It gave them an easier time of things. Still, Pippin was antsy as he waited for his cousin to come out. He hated standing watch; it was thoroughly bothersome.

Luckily, Merry did not take long. He flew out of Aragorn’s room, grinning madly, and Pippin followed him at a run back to their room.

“I put it right in his bed!” Merry cackled once they were safely behind closed doors. “And his balcony door was open, so we’ll be able to hear when he finds it! Quick, put out the lights.”

They doused the candles, climbed into their beds, and waited. Slowly, lights began to go out across Rivendell. The singing in the Hall of Fire faded as everyone retired to their beds. The lads huddled on Merry’s bed, which had the best view of Aragorn’s room. They watched as Strider walked into his room, shut the door, and stripped down to his tunic and trousers. They watched as he doused all but one candle and walked to his bed. They leaned forward in anticipation as he pulled back the covers.

The resulting bellow was most satisfying. It seemed that Rivendell was one place where Aragorn let his guard down, for he screamed like a girl upon seeing the frog. The hobbits gave twin howls of laughter and buried their faces in the pillows. This was too good to be true.

It was lucky for Aragorn that he had not yet locked his door, for it enabled Legolas to burst in and aid him in rousting the frog from his bed. The bullfrog was truly aggravated, and he sprang straight in Legolas’ face. The Elf dived aside, howling, and fell into Aragorn. Both fell over and crashed onto the floor, and the frog jumped after them. Legolas did the only sensible thing he could think of. He grabbed the frog and flung it over the balcony in one easy movement.

Aragorn sat on the floor and attempted to get his breath back. He hated frogs. Now he had to remake the bed! Who would have done such a thing? Elves did not play pranks like this. Aragorn turned towards Legolas, but the Elf raised a hand to silence him.

“I hear laughter,” he said. “Hobbit laughter. Whose balcony is that?”

Aragorn followed his friend’s gaze and groaned. “Merry and Pippin. I even told Pippin that I didn’t like frogs! I wonder why they did this?”

Legolas shrugged, helping the man stand up. “I can’t imagine. Perhaps you angered them?”

Aragorn shook his head. “I don’t know. I do know one thing, though.”

“What is that?”

Aragorn’s voice was grim. “Three can play this game.”

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done.

Author’s Note: Wow, I’m really amazed at the response this fic has gotten. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Enjoy!

Chapter Two: Red Hot Chili Pepper

Pippin sat at the laden breakfast table and worried. Things were far too normal to be good. Aragorn sat at the high table, talking to Lady Arwen and one of the sons of Elrond. He had bidden Pippin a cheery ‘good morning’ when he had walked in, which disconcerted the tweenager mightily. He had expected Strider to be grudging, even angry, but not normal. It was terribly confusing.

Sighing worriedly, Pippin dug into his hotcakes. They were paper-thin and filled with chocolate sauce and some strange fruit called bananas, which Pippin adored. Today, however, he could not properly enjoy the food. It had dawned on him that Strider was a Ranger, and Rangers might fight back. But that was not possible, was it? How could Strider possibly know that Merry and Pippin had put the frog in his bed? He should just put it out of his head and get on with his breakfast.

“Hullo, Pippin.”

The voice in his ear was soft and velvety, and just slightly sinister. Pippin jumped a foot high and yelped. The speaker laughed and sat down beside him; Pippin relaxed greatly when he saw that it was Legolas. The elf helped himself to some of the rich cakes and smiled at him.

“Did I frighten you? I am sorry,” Legolas said.

Pippin shook his head, trying to calm his racing heart. “No, no, no! I’m fine, really. Fine. Perfectly fine.” Aware that he was babbling, Pippin bit down on his lip. On second thought, he shoved a forkful of food in his mouth. If anything would keep him quiet, the chocolaty hotcakes would.

Legolas took his time spreading a thin cake flat and filling it with strawberries and cream. If he had not been so agitated, Pippin would have been interested; he had never seen that mixture on hotcakes before. Still, he could not shake the feeling that Legolas was sitting by him for more reason than camaraderie. His suspicions were confirmed as Legolas set down the bowl of strawberries.

“Did you hear what happened to Aragorn last night? There was a bullfrog in his bed,” Legolas said, his voice light.

“Oh?” squeaked Pippin. Where was Merry, he wondered frantically? He was so much braver when Merry was around! “What happened?”

“Well, nothing,” Legolas replied. “Aragorn changed the sheets and went to his rest. I wonder how the frog got there.”

Pippin shrugged and forced himself to swallow another bite. The hotcakes had turned to stone in his stomach, though. He wondered desperately what Legolas was about.

“I-I really must see to Frodo, Legolas,” he said, abandoning his breakfast and jumping up. “Sam will be needing to come eat himself. Food, I mean, Sam couldn’t possibly eat himself. I mean, I suppose it’s possibly, but I doubt he would actually do it, I mean Sam is so sensible...”

Pippin turned and fled. Legolas stared after him, trying not to choke on his laughter. Amazing, how the lad had gone from giggles to terror in one night. Aragorn just might have something on them. Legolas took a bite of his breakfast and snickered to himself. Perhaps his stay in Rivendell would not be as dull as he had originally thought.

*****

“Legolas knows!” howled Pippin, throwing himself facedown on Merry’s bed. His cousin paused in brushing his hair and stared at him. “I was eating hotcakes and Legolas came up and said good morning all smoothly, like father when he knows we broke into the pantry, and then he told me about the frog! Merry, I’m scared!”

Merry dropped his brush and used a pillow to whack his cousin gently. “Pull yourself together, Pippin! He’s an Elf! Elves do not pull pranks! It’s against their code, or something. So even if he knows, Legolas probably won’t act on it. We have nothing to fear.”

Pippin hugged the pillow to his chest and gave Merry a soulful look. “How do we know that for certain? Who told you that elves don’t play pranks?”

Merry blinked. Well, elves were elves. They were the Elder Race, beings of serenity and light. Surely they were too serene to indulge in mortal entertainments. Weren’t they?

“Let’s go join Frodo,” Merry said at last, dodging Pippin’s question. “No one can get us in his room.”

It was better, after all, to be safe than sorry.

*****

Aragorn looked down at his handiwork speculatively. He reached out and nudged a cup slightly to the left. There. Everything was perfectly aligned.

He had taken a great deal of care putting together this tea tray. It held a pot of tea, a plate of sandwiches, a plate of biscuits, and two teacups. Everything a hobbit would require for tea.

Grinning diabolically, Aragorn picked up the tray and took it to one of the kitchen staff, the elf maiden responsible for taking the hobbits their tea. Luinil gazed at the smug Ranger drily for a moment, than took the tray. She had had far too much experience with this particular mortal to not know when he was up to something.

“I hope this does not have anything to do with the frog found in your bed, Estel,” she said.

Aragorn adopted a totally innocent expression, saw Luinil raise an eyebrow, and sighed. “Only a little, I promise. Please just take it to them.”

Luinil rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Mortals. Children, all of them. Very well, you young cad. Now get on with ye.”

Aragorn nodded his thanks and bowed himself out of the kitchen. Why was it that he could never pull the wool over Luinil’s eyes? She treated him the way Frodo treated Pippin: like a young lad that must be indulged. Interesting.

*****

Merry idly wondered if it was a pitying look he saw on the elf maiden’s face as she put the tea tray down beside him. No, it couldn’t be, she looked far too serene.

“Thank you,” he said, and helped himself to the tea.

“Pour me some, Merry,” Pippin commanded, picking up a teacup and presenting it to his cousin. “Thanks.”

Merry poured two fragrant cups and inhaled the steam deeply. The maiden left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her so as not to disturb Frodo, who was dozing on his bed, and Bilbo, who was dozing in his chair.

Merry raised his glass to Pippin. “To us, for managing to avoid Strider all day,” he said.

“Here, here!” Pippin cheered softly.

The hobbits put their cups to their lips and gulped the warm tea. Both felt their throats close as something hot seared their mouths. Both choked on their tea as they fell over, coughing and gagging, wailing at the pain of whatever had been put in their tea.

*****

Aragorn, sitting out in the garden nearby, cackled to himself quietly. He had taken the liberty of adding a certain spice to Merry and Pippin’s tea, a certain spice known in the common speech as red-hot chili pepper.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done!

Author’s Note: I love the response that this fic is getting! I think it may end up being longer than I had originally intended it to be. Enjoy!

Chapter Three: War Official

Merry was convinced that he was dying. His mouth and throat were on fire, causing him to emit little shrieks of pain. He curled up into a little ball on the floor and tried to pass peaceably.

Except, as luck would have it, Bilbo and Frodo were really not being much help. At the lads’ first shrieks, the two older hobbits had woken with a start, and were now leaning over their young cousins, trying to get them to sit up and tell them what was wrong. Bilbo left Frodo frantically banging on Pippin’s back and took a tiny sip of the tea.

“Chili pepper,” he muttered. He shook his head and turned back to the moaning lads. “All right, you lot, a little spice won’t kill you! Up you get. Sam, lad, will you kindly fetch us some cold milk?”

“Certainly, Mr. Bilbo,” Sam replied, ducking back out of the room that he had hastily entered upon hearing the uproar. “I’ll jest get it.”

Merry and Pippin sat up slowly, wiping tears from their eyes. Pippin’s face was flushed, and Merry doubted he looked much better. His mouth was still aflame, but the pain was receding a little. Sam was back in just a moment bearing two tall glasses full of milk.

“There was an elf-lady in the hall, waiting with the glasses,” he reported, handing the beverage to the lads. “She seemed to know they’d be needed.”

Bilbo supervised the lads as they gulped down the milk. Milk, he knew from experience, was good at calming the burn of spices. Indeed, it worked on Merry and Pippin, for both were looking fairly normal again once they had finished the drink.

“Now, what is this all about, lads?” he asked kindly. “I highly doubt that an Elf would have done this to you without reason.”

Sam interrupted, blushing a little at his boldness. “I don’t think the lady in the hall did it, Mr. Bilbo, sir. I think it was someone else. She walked away muttering about an Estel and trouble.”

Frodo frowned, looking at his cousin. “Who is Estel, Bilbo?”

“A certain Dunadan,” Bilbo replied with a laugh. “What have you lads done to Aragorn?”

Merry bit his lip and sent a warning glance at Pippin. Frodo, seeing it, glowered at the two of them. “Yes, I want to know, too. I don’t see Strider as the type who would spike your tea for no reason.”

Pippin sighed miserably and gave Merry a defeated look. Merry, however, stood firm. “This is between ourselves and Strider, Frodo. You’re not nearly strong enough to know yet. Really. Trust me.”

Frodo raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to counter that remark, but Bilbo laid a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Frodo-lad, I’d say these two have had their comeuppance. Let it go.”

Frodo gave one last hard look at Merry, who gazed back at him defiantly, then sighed. “All right, I suppose you’re right. Now you two run along, and behave yourselves! I don’t want anymore shenanigans,” he said sternly.

Merry pulled himself up and gave his hand to Pippin. “Yes, Frodo. We’ll be good lads.”

“Yes, Frodo,” Pippin agreed meekly. “My mouth is too sore to think of being a bother.”

Frodo stared at them, rather shocked at their easy acquiescence. He had expected a bit more resistance, truth be told. His younger cousins smiled a little at him and left the room.

“Lads will be lads,” Bilbo remarked. “Now back to bed with you, Frodo.”

*****

“This is war! No one messes with a hobbit’s food!”

Pippin sat on the bed and watched Merry, slightly alarmed. He could recognize the fact that Strider had gotten them, fair and square. They were even now. It didn’t seem that Merry would recognize that, though, and that worried Pippin. It did not surprise him, but it worried him.

“What shall we do to him?” Merry asked, rounding on Pippin. “Think, Pip. You’ve got a good imagination.”

Never one to let a challenge pass, Pippin bit his lip and thought. The frog had worked spectacularly well. Maybe something along that line would work again, although if he were Strider, Pippin would have been checking between the sheets before climbing into bed from now on. It would have to be something a little different.

His thoughts flew back to his time as a little lad. They hearkened back to the golden age of his bath time, when he had splashed in the tub with various toys and made huge waves for the maids to mop up. With a huge grin, he looked up at Merry.

“I think I have an idea.”

*****

A water snake was perhaps not the easiest thing to find in Rivendell in the late fall. It cost Merry and Pippin an afternoon wading through every body of water in the valley. The fact that they had no real excuse for doing such a thing was not very helpful, either, but they were lucky enough not to see anyone besides the gardener.

At long last, Pippin found a water snake. It was small and beautifully green, and Pippin made Merry catch it. It may have been a good idea, but Pippin did not like snakes.

“I feel rather mean, doing this to poor old Strider,” he said.

Merry shook his head, making the snake comfortable in the little box they had prepared. “Have no qualms, Pippin. Remember how that wretched spice felt in your throat.”

Pippin remembered. It served to clear his head of guilt.

Moving nonchalantly, Merry and Pippin returned towards the Last Homely House. They skirted towards the bathhouse, knowing that Strider tended to bathe before dinner. It was one of the little facts they had learned that first week in Rivendell. Merry led the way up to the door, and smiled kindly at the elf who came to assist them. Both lads were soaked and muddy, and would need a good scrub to get the dirt off. No, Master Estel was not in yet, although they would doubtless see him before they left. Could he take their things? No? Well, help yourselves to tubs; there’s no one else here.

Merry sat back in the hot water and sighed with contentment. This was something that he would build at home: veritable pools of pumped-in water in special rooms, instead of tubs that had to be filled by hand. A myriad of candles lit the large rooms, and the waters were scented with special herbs.

First things first. Both hobbits scrubbed with the scented soaps until all of the mud and pond scum of the last day had been washed away. The elf at the door had sent someone to fetch fresh clothes for them, and the lads happily dressed when they were done. Only then did they look around for Strider.

They had heard him come in. He wasn’t in their room of the house, but in an adjoining one. Merry and Pippin, moving with the silence that only hobbits possess, tiptoed towards the door.

Strider had his back to them, and was busily washing his hair. Merry idly wondered if they would see a return of his greasy hair when they left Rivendell again. He hoped not.

Merry was holding the snake loosely in his hands. Grinning diabolically, he let it down onto the floor. Seeing water nearby, the snake began to move itself rapidly towards Aragorn.

The hobbits fled howling as Aragorn launched himself out of his tub, roaring like some wild beast. Like when they were confronted with an angry farmer’s dogs, they knew when to run away. Fairly flying, they pelted back to their rooms.

“Did you see his face?!” panted Pippin, giggling uncontrollably.

Merry nodded, laughing so hard he had tears running down his face. “That was the most brilliant thing we’ve ever done! It was even better than the frog!”

Pippin sobered a bit, but his grin was still in place as he said, “There’s only one thing I have against this venture, though. Merry, I never want to see a naked Man again.”

*****

In the bathhouse, Aragorn shakily tried to get his nerves back in order. What was it with those hobbits? Did they want him to retaliate? He would, of course. He would stake his honor on it. Besides, he had to show Erenath, the bathhouse warden, somehow that he was not a weakling. The Elf was still laughing at him. Now, what would be the best thing to do to them?

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: Just a short chapter today, because I will admit to being stymied when it comes to Aragorn’s next prank. If any of you have suggestions, please let me know!

Chapter Four: Warnings

“Really, Aragorn, don’t you think this is going a bit far? They’re only hobbits.”

“Legolas, I defy you to act rationally and then not defend your honor after having a snake put in your bath!”

Legolas had to concede that point. He could not stand snakes, and knew that he would have been just as eager to deal out punishment as Aragorn was had he been in the man’s place.

They were sitting on the floor in Aragorn’s room with the curtains drawn, making battle plans. Aragorn had quite a list of ideas for getting back at the hobbits, all of them quite intricate. Legolas was endeavoring to keep some semblance of sanity in the situation, seeing as some of the plots were quite horrible. Itching powder in the hobbits’ smallclothes, for instance, set his teeth on edge.

“Try something harmless and embarrassing,” he advised. “Something that will not actually hurt them.”

Aragorn sighed. “I suppose leaving blue dye in their baths is out of the question, then.”

Legolas rolled his eyes and sighed.

*****

“Can you see anything?”

“Nothing,” Merry replied grimly. “He’s up to something. Be very careful with your food tonight, Pip.”

Pippin nodded, and Merry closed the small spyglass with a snap. Aragorn’s curtains were firmly shut, without the smallest crack in them to let him see through. That could only mean that the man was planning something devious. Hopefully, it would not come at dinner that evening. There was only so much excitement they could handle in one day.

Dinner that evening was as excellent as usual. Frodo joined them in the dining hall, a change of scene from taking his meals in his room. It was a lively company, too. The man from Gondor, Boromir, joined the hobbits, sitting at their table rather bashfully. They had not yet met, not really, and introductions were swiftly made.

“Have you met Strider, yet, Boromir?” Pippin asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Boromir felt curiosity brush him; the hobbit looked as though he were sizing him up. “I have met Aragorn, yes. He seems like a good companion.”

Merry waved a hand. “He is nice. I can fault his sense of direction, though. He seems to like slogging through marshes as opposed to nice dry pathways.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Boromir said cautiously, storing away that remark in his memory. It might be good to know about the future King.

Frodo had been following the conversation silently, often trading dry looks with Sam. The gardener looked like he really did not want to know what the lads were up to, and worried about Boromir. Now, Frodo reached for the gravy boat and liberally poured gravy onto his steamed potatoes.

“I hear there was a debacle in the bathhouse today, lads,” he remarked casually. “Something about a snake?”

Merry blanched, and Pippin choked on his drink. Frodo fixed them with a penetrating stare. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain spice being in your tea this afternoon, would it?” he inquired. The younger lads traded a panicked look. Frodo continued, implacable. “I can only imagine what sort of horrible thing must be happening to whoever let that snake in. Do you think that Elves deal in hot irons, Lord Boromir? Or perhaps they simply take rascals out of the valley and let the wolves get them. I don’t think that’s worthy of them, though, nor any of the Dunedain. I suppose whatever retribution comes will be much more subtle.”

Here, Frodo looked up at his cousins and gave them a grim, almost ghoulish smile. They gazed back at him sickly, looking terrified.

“I doubt that anybody will be punished,” Boromir said quickly, seeing their faces. “Sometimes, small creatures get inside. It happens, Master Frodo.”

Frodo nodded, conceding that point. Still, he could tell that he had sufficiently scared Merry and Pippin silly. Whatever was going on with Aragorn, it had to stop.

Feeling slightly ill, and in no mood for the succulent roast turkey on the plate before him, Merry stood up and edged away from the table.

“Well, we had better go, eh, Pip?” he said, smiling sickly at Frodo and Boromir. “Enjoy dinner, both of you. We’ll see you later.”

And grabbing Pippin’s sleeve, Merry hurried out of the dining hall. Boromir gazed after them, perturbed.

“May I ask what that was about?” he asked Frodo.

The hobbit grinned. “Just thought I’d give them a warning, Boromir. I saw Aragorn preparing something that cannot be good. It won’t hurt them, but it may teach them a lesson. If, of course, their honor is not so affronted that they retaliate. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Boromir frowned, obviously confused. “If you say so,” he said dubiously.

*****

From his place at the high table, Aragorn chuckled to himself. This was going to be excellent.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: My thanks to the lovely Dreamflower, who e-mailed me a list of enough pranks to make this fic last the summer. Thank you, too, all of those who left a suggestion!

Chapter Five: Bubbles

“Mr. Merry! Wait a moment!”

Merry paused in the corridor outside their room, releasing Pippin’s arm as he turned to face Sam. The gardener was hurrying towards them, holding a plate covered with a fine linen napkin in each hand. He presented them to Merry with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Can’t have you lads going hungry with this prank war going on,” he said. “You’ll need your wits about you. I’m not taking sides in this, sir, but it’s not good for a hobbit to go hungry.”

Merry was touched. He took the plates and peeked under one of the napkins; the plate was filled with roast turkey, taters, and several biscuits. The plates were elf-sized, and definitely contained enough to last them until breakfast.

“Thank you, Sam,” Merry said, handing one of the plates to Pippin, who smiled his thanks at Sam and turned to open the bedroom door. “That was very kind of you. Tell me, how did you know-”

He was interrupted by a ghastly shriek. Whirling around, Merry saw Pippin standing in a doorway that was filled with fluffy white bubbles. The bubbles were popping and frizzing, and were about to spill over onto Pippin. With a yelp, Merry yanked his cousin out of the way, pulling him back across the corridor. The bubbles cascaded down onto the floor, creating a slimy puddle where Pippin had been standing.

“…having a prank war with Strider?” Merry finished faintly.

Sam was staring at the bubbles, astonished. “I should have thought that was fairly obvious, what with the racket you three have been making. How in the Shire’s name do you suppose he did that?”

The bubbles were oozing into the hall, a pink and white tinted mess that smelled strangely of strawberries. The hobbits retreated further up the hallway, blank with amazement. From the look of it, Merry and Pippin’s room was filled with the stuff. Sam sighed.

“I suppose we’ll be needing a mop,” he said weakly.

“Quite a few mops,” Pippin agreed. He pulled the napkin back and took a bite of the turkey. Seeing the looks on the others faces, he yelped, “What? I always think better with a full stomach! It calms me!”

Sam and Merry sighed. What on earth were they going to do?

“Wow! Would you look at that? He really did it!” The hobbits spun around and stared at Legolas, aghast. Seeing their faces, the elf hastily adjusted his expression. “I mean, how truly heinous of Aragorn to do such a thing. Allow me to call the maids to come clean up this mess.”

Legolas turned around and hurried back towards the dining hall, calling for aid. As one, the hobbits stormed after him.

“Did you have something to do with this?” cried Merry.

Legolas deigned to look affronted. “Me? I assure you, Merry, that I did not help Aragorn fill your room with bubbles. I am not involved with this. Ah, Lord Elrond! Merry and Pippin’s room is full of bubbles.”

Elrond, majestic in his long robes, stared at them all. Serving elves were hurrying past him with mops and buckets to stop the flow of the bubbles, which were already seeping down the hallway. Poor Elrond looked as though he were going to have a fit of some sort.

“Bubbles? How?” he cried, his normal poise somewhat shattered by the sight of the pink bubbles oozing towards them. The hobbits’ replies were lost, though, by the arrival of the Lady Arwen.

“Great Valar! My bath bubbles!” she wailed, her lovely face distraught. “Oh, who did this?!”

“Alas, the world will mourn for the loss of Arwen’s strawberry bubble bath,” Legolas said in a dry voice, smiling sarcastically.

For a moment, Merry thought that Arwen would hit him. She turned such a glower on Legolas that the prince took a step back. The situation, Merry thought rather helplessly, was getting out of control. He idly smacked Pippin’s hand away from his plate and took a bite of his turkey. He needed his wits about him.

“Elflings!” snapped Elrond. “Please, restrain yourselves in front of our guests. My apologies, Meriadoc, Peregrin. I will order a new room for you until yours is cleaned.”

Merry swallowed and attempted to smile. “Thank you, my lord. That’s very kind of you, very kind indeed.”

Elrond nodded at him. “And do you know how this happened? I must say, bubbles seeping out of the guest rooms are not a normal occurrence here.”

How the hobbits managed a three-way glance without seeming too obvious was something that Elrond found amazing. It was Pippin who spoke, slowly and shyly. “I don’t know, sir. Perhaps it was someone unexpected, like…Strider.”

“Aragorn?” Elrond passed a hand over his eyes. It made sense, a terrible amount of it. “All right. Luinil will show you to your new room now. Good night, lads.”

In a swirl of mauve robes, Elrond swept away. Legolas and Arwen followed, snapping at each other in Elvish. Sam, Merry and Pippin stood looking bemused as Luinil approached them. She looked as rueful as they felt.

“If you’ll follow me, young sirs,” she said.

“Of course, lady,” Merry said.

At that moment, Frodo walked into the hallway. Seeing the bubbles seeping from the lads’ room, and the Elves desperately trying to clean them up, he began to snicker.

“Got you, did he? Oh, this is rich! If you need me, I’ll be in the Hall of Fire with Bilbo,” he said. And still snickering, he walked away.

Thoroughly demoralized, Merry and Pippin followed Luinil to their new chamber. Sam left them once he had ascertained its whereabouts, and went to join his master in the Hall. Merry sat on his new bed, mind rapidly sorting ways to get back at Aragorn. The only thing he could come up with on such short notice was very simple, but effective.

“Stay here, Pip, I’ll be back shortly,” he said, jumping up.

Pippin waved from his perch on the sofa. He had no intention of going anywhere for a while.

Merry returned shortly, dusting his hands and looking pleased with himself.

“What did you do?” Pippin asked warily. He knew that look well.

“Not much,” Merry replied, bolting the door. He leaned forward to whisper in Pippin’s ear.

*****

Aragorn kicked off his boots and tossed his tunic onto a chair. He was bone-tired. This evening had turned out to be thoroughly aggravating. First the snake in his bath, then the trouble he had gone through setting up the flood of bubbles, and then avoiding Elrond for the rest of the evening. All of it had taken the strength out of him. It had not helped that Arwen and Legolas had decided to act like children and fight with each other because of strawberry bubbles. They may have known each other for several thousand years, but sometimes they acted younger than he did.

With a sigh of relief, Aragorn climbed between his sheets. Perhaps he would sleep late tomorrow. He never slept late, and he owed it to himself. The hobbits would not be able to do anything to him until tomorrow, anyway.

Opening his eyes suddenly, Aragorn frowned. Or would they? His bed was oddly loose, not at all like it should have been. He sat up and flipped the quilt back, and moaned wretchedly.

There had obviously been a hobbit in his room within the past two hours. And he had untucked all of the sheets from the mattress.

Grumbling colorfully under his breath, Aragorn fixed the sheets. As he climbed back into bed, he consoled himself with the thought that tomorrow was another day, and he was infinitely cleverer than Merry and Pippin.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: Sorry I didn’t update yesterday; my dad spent the whole day on the computer! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and thank you again for reading!

Chapter Six: Allies

Aragorn woke to a room filled with string. For several moments, he lay on his back, staring at the twine criss-crossing his chamber, then he sat up with a jerk.

They had gotten him! Twine was strung everywhere like a great spider web, winding its way across the room from his door to the balcony and back again. Aragorn groaned and looked around for his knife.

It took his half an hour to cut his way from his bed to the balcony. Aragorn did not even try to get to the door. A short walk of five feet was bad enough, but it was nearly triple that to the chamber door. Aragorn stood on the balcony in his trousers and under tunic, glowering back at the beauty of Rivendell in annoyance.

What had he done to deserve this? He thought that he had been nothing but kind to the hobbits since they had arrived in Rivendell. Before that, he had admittedly been brusque and short, but that had been a very stressful time. Frodo’s injury had not been any help either. But surely, he had done nothing to deserve this!

Aragorn leaned on the railing and looked around. It was fairly early, and there were very few people around. He couldn’t see anyone in this particular area, but he could hear boots thudding on the path. Someone, at least, was coming. Aragorn leaned out farther, with every intention of calling out for help.

As luck would have it, the person to round the corner was Boromir. Aragorn cursed to himself; it would be his future steward, and not someone like Legolas or the twins. Where were the twins, anyway? He had to speak to them before Merry and Pippin did. But first things first. Steeling himself, Aragorn called out to the man walking below him.

“Good morning, Boromir,” he said. Boromir stopped and looked up. His face was carefully expressionless, but Aragorn saw something like curiosity flash in his eyes. “I require your assistance, if you would be so kind.”

“What is the problem, my lord?” Boromir asked.

Aragorn hesitated. How could he say this without sounding like a fool? “Well, er, the younger hobbits have covered my room in string, and I need you to fetch your sword and come help me cut it down. I’m trapped here unless I get some help.”

Boromir goggled at him. “Certainly. Er, may I ask where your own sword is?”

Being reforged, Aragorn thought dismally. Aloud, he said, “It’s in the wardrobe, and I can’t reach it. Would you please hurry?”

Boromir nodded and turned up the path. Aragorn sighed and looked back at his room. This was so embarrassing.

*****

Boromir knocked once before pushing Aragorn’s door open. He gave a burst of amazed laughter upon seeing the scads of string laced all over the room. Aragorn, leaning against the balcony door, glowered at him.

“You really do need help, don’t you?” Boromir remarked, unsheathing his sword and hacking away at the string. “They certainly got you back.”

“Did you know about the bubbles?” Aragorn snapped.

Boromir nodded, smiling a little. “Master Baggins mentioned something about it at dinner last night. I believe he saw you setting it up. Quite clever, if you ask me. This is, too.”

“They also short-sheeted the bed,” Aragorn sighed. “What am I going to do to them?”

Boromir pulled some of the string down with his hand and continued hacking. “May I ask what this is about, Aragorn?” he asked. “Those lads are terribly polite to me.”

“They would be. I have no idea why they’re being so vile,” Aragorn replied. “Although I’m not really much better, retaliating. I aim to find out. After, of course, I get them back for this.”

Boromir couldn’t think of anything to say. He did not particularly want to become involved, but he felt sorry for Aragorn. The man should at least know why he was battling the hobbits.

“Shall I ask for you? That ought to make it fair,” he said.

Aragorn gave him such an earnest look that Boromir’s pity rose higher. “Would you? Thank you.”

“I assure you, it’s not a problem,” Boromir replied, giving one last hack at the string. By this time, he had reached Aragorn at the balcony door. A long pathway across the room had been cleared. “There you are. I suggest you have the maids clean the rest of it up.”

Aragorn nodded. “I will. Thank you, my friend.”

Boromir just smiled, a trifle bemused. Rivendell was turning out to be a much more interesting place than he had originally assumed it would be.

*****

Merry was not pleased. From his place at the breakfast table, he could see Strider sitting beside Lady Arwen, talking to her earnestly. He looked well rested and well groomed, and Merry was annoyed to no end. It should have taken him hours to fight free of all that string.

“Maybe he sleeps with a knife under his pillow,” Pippin suggested, tucking into his eggs. “I wouldn’t put it past him. I’m still amazed he slept through us being in there.”

Merry sighed. He and Pippin had gotten up in the dead of night to roll the room full of string, and Aragorn had done nothing more than roll over once and sigh. Of course, they had been near silent and had not gone near him. Merry had no doubt that if they had even touched Aragorn or his bed, the ranger would have jumped up and killed them before he was even fully awake. Bilbo had warned them that Rangers could be violent like that.

“I wonder what he’ll do next,” Merry said contemplatively.

Nothing, it seemed. That day passed quite peacefully, for everyone except the lads. Every time they saw Aragorn, the man simply smiled at them. By luncheon, they were nearly frantic with worry. It was like sitting on pins, Pippin thought as he and Merry nervously ate their soup. He hated suspense.

That afternoon, the sons of Elrond returned from their travels. They spent a long time closeted with Elrond, than went walking in the garden with Aragorn. The lads saw them speaking quietly together in Elvish as they walked up and down the paths. The twins looked positively gleeful, and all three of the walkers waved at the hobbits as they passed.

As soon as they were gone, Pippin clutched at Merry. “I can’t handle this!” he wailed. “They’re being too proper! And Strider is getting the Elves to help him! Merry, what are we going to do?!”

Merry gripped Pippin’s arm. “Don’t panic!” he snapped. “I think that’s what he wants us to do.”

Nonetheless, Merry felt as frightened as Pippin looked. A happy, smiling Ranger could only mean trouble.

Suddenly, the peace and quiet was broken by a resounding scream from the area of the library. The lads leapt to their feet, hearts hammering. What on earth had happened now?

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done.

Author’s Note: Thank you all for your lovely reviews, I’m highly enjoying the. I hope you like this chapter!

Chapter Seven: The Monster

Whatever Merry had expected to see in the library, it was not a sodden, dripping Evenstar. The lady of Rivendell stood glowering in the general direction of the gardens. The hobbits skidded to a halt, staring at her in horror.

Arwen turned to them with an upraised eyebrow, her face rather deadly. “Were you the ones who set a bucket of water over the door?” she asked, her voice chilly.

They shook their heads mutely. Arwen sighed, perceiving that they spoke the truth.

“Then it was either Estel or Legolas,” she muttered, clenching and unclenching her fists. “Or my brothers. All right. I’ll see you lads at the evening meal.”

Utterly bemused, the hobbits watched as the lady stormed gracefully out of the library, nodding at the other people who had come rushing on hearing her scream. Pippin turned to Merry with a frazzled look on his face.

“I need a drink,” he said.

Merry agreed wholeheartedly. Today was strange.

*****

Boromir sat with the hobbits that night. Merry and Pippin watched him nervously, picking at their food. The man was polite and lordly, but he was also friendly with Aragorn, and that was cause for worry. Their suspicions were confirmed when he asked casually, “By the way, may I ask why you and Aragorn are fighting?”

Merry twisted his fork apprehensively. “Well, er, it’s not like we’re actually fighting. Not technically, anyway. Why do you need to know?”

“I’m curious,” Boromir replied easily. And I promised I’d let Aragorn know, he thought.

Frodo smiled sweetly over at them. “Yes, lads, I’m curious about this, too. Why are you fighting with Aragorn?”

They were caught and they knew it. As Merry hesitated, Pippin blurted out, “He dragged us through the Midgewater Marshes when he could have taken us on a secret ranger path!”

Frodo’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. Sam choked on his wine, and Boromir looked confused.

“Midgewater Marshes?” he said.

“There was a secret Ranger path?!” Frodo repeated dangerously.

Boromir looked from hobbit to hobbit. “Were these marshes bad?”

“Bad!” Frodo burst out. “They were intolerable! There were all sorts of insects that ate at us, and these wretched creaking things! Lads, you have my full permission to make Aragorn sorry for that.”

Merry grinned broadly, feeling his anxiety melt away. If Frodo didn’t mind, they would be able to do all sorts of things. Pippin looked equally as happy.

Boromir shrugged to himself and went back to eating his trifle. Now he had something to tell Aragorn.

*****

Later in the evening, as they sat in the Hall of Fire, Merry contemplated their next possible prank. He and Pippin really couldn’t react until Aragorn had done something, but there was no problem with being prepared.

As he thought about it, Pippin sitting silently beside him, Merry heard the sound of voices talking urgently nearby. The words were in Westron, and he could make them out quite clearly.

“It was seen last near the waterfall. Lindir thinks it is hungry,” one voice said.

“Best warn our folk not to wander too far from the paths,” another replied. “We can’t have anyone being eaten. What has Galdor said?”

The first voice answered, sounding grim. “That this monster won’t be sated by a few sheep this time. We must kill it!”

“I agree,” the other voice said. “Let us go alert the guards to keep a sharp eye out.”

The voices faded away, and Merry looked after them. He could see two tall Elves well wrapped in cloaks walking out of the hall. His heart pounding, Merry glanced at Pippin to see if he had heard. The tween’s face was white.

“There’s a monster here?” Pippin squeaked. “Merry, I’m afraid! What if it eats Frodo?”

Merry squeezed his cousin’s arm, shaking his head. “Frodo’s too cantankerous for a monster to eat, Pippin. If they Elves have it under control, than everything will be all right.”

Still, they spent the rest of the evening very tensely, and resolved to leave their candles burning when they retired to their room. Their original room was clean now, the bubbles fully gone, and the lads thankfully retired to their familiar beds. The candles in their holders burned quite low, and the hobbits dropped off to sleep.

Pippin woke up because something was making a scratching sound on the balcony. He sat up and peered through the darkness; the candles had burnt out and the room was pitch black. Frowning, Pippin leaned closer to the sound.

Scratch, scratch, whoosh. Something dark and heavy was out there, in the trees. A light breeze was blowing, making the branches snap and flutter. Pippin climbed out of his bed and crept over to Merry.

“Merry,” he whispered. “There’s something outside.”

Merry opened his eyes blearily, glaring at Pippin. “It’s the middle of the night, Pip. You were dreaming.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Pippin insisted. “See, there it is again!”

Scratch, creak, thump. Merry sat up and whirled towards the balcony. A huge, dark shape, like an animal, was standing there. It had red eyes and was making an awful panting noise. The monster!

Merry climbed backwards out of his bed, pushing Pippin behind him towards the door. The monster advanced after them, breathing heavily and making little slobbering noises. The hobbits backed all the way to the door, almost too frightened to breathe. The monster gathered itself to jump at them, and Pippin grabbed the knob and swung the door open. The two hobbits fled from the room, screaming at the top of their lungs. Merry had the foresight to slam the door hard behind them as they ran for Frodo’s room.

*****

Gandalf stormed towards the hobbits room, staff raised. He had been talking late with Frodo and Bilbo when the lads burst in, sobbing and claiming that there was a monster in their room. Although he had a good idea of what the monster actually was, Gandalf had promised them that he would go take care of it.

He swung their door open and let his staff illuminate the room. There was nothing there but the tangled sheets on the beds, and a slight tracking of leaves and mud across the floor from the balcony. Gandalf walked over to the balcony and peered around. From there, he could see Aragorn’s room. It was still lit, and laughter drifted towards Gandalf on the night wind. The wizard rolled his eyes and sighed.

*****

“I can’t believe that worked so well,” Elladan said gleefully. “We haven’t played that trick since Arwen was an elfling.”

Aragorn grinned, surveying the “monster”. It had been nothing more than bent wire covered with a cloak and several animal skins. The eyes had been two tiny candles in small red globes. Amateurish, yes, but it had worked. He and Elrohir had carried it, with Elladan and Legolas making the various noises. They had retired quietly and quickly to his room when the hobbits’ door had slammed.

“I wonder how long it will take for Merry and Pippin to realize it was us,” he said.

Elrohir grinned. “They seem like sensible lads, if a little inclined to believe anything we tell them. They’ll probably be furious by morning.”

Aragorn snickered. “Did you see their faces? I’ll remember those expressions whenever I need amusement.”

Their laughter rang out for a long time as the four friends howled like children. At last, Elladan wiped his eyes.

“We have to be careful of Arwen, though,” he said. “She’s likely to commiserate with the hobbits, especially after that bucket of water I put up in the library emptied on her and not them.”

Aragorn chuckled, although he was slightly worried. Arwen may have been the fairest of all women, but she was a force to be reckoned with when perturbed. It looked like the next few days would not be at all dull.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: Sorry I’ve taken so long to update! I’m moving tomorrow, and this past week has been quite hectic as I’ve packed and such. There probably won’t be another update ’til Tuesday or Wednesday, but hopefully this chapter will tide you over!

Chapter Eight: Explosion

Merry and Pippin were groggy and tired when they slumped into the dining hall for breakfast in the morning. They had spent the rest of the night in Frodo’s room, barely asleep, listening for the sound of the monster’s return. Gandalf’s assurances that the thing had not been real had no effect on their imaginations. It had been a bad night for all involved.

“You know, of course, that it was Strider,” Merry said as he poured cream onto his porridge. “And he had help.”

Pippin nodded weakly. This was really getting beyond him. “Why don’t you just call a truce and tell Strider why you’re angry at him? I think things would work out much better that way.”

Merry snorted. “What, and give in that easily? Not on your life, Pip. We have to avenge ourselves, and then we’ll call a truce.”

“Master Brandybuck is quite right.”

The lads whipped their heads up at the tinkling voice. They gaped. Lady Arwen stood over them, smiling demurely with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Before either hobbit could say anything, she sat down beside them.

“While I am not usually one to hold a grudge, I must say that having water poured over me when I walked into the library was not something I appreciate,” the Evenstar said. “Last night’s debacle with that silly monster puppet affirmed my decision to aid you in your prank war with Aragorn. May I ask what you have in mind to do next?”

The hobbits stared at her. That the beautiful lady of Rivendell would stoop to playing tricks on Strider was something that had never quite crossed their minds. Arwen, seeing their dumbfounded expressions, smiled.

“All right, here is what we can do.”

*****

Elrond, implacable lord of Rivendell, was not having a good morning. He had had a difficult night, trying to convince the younger hobbits that there were no legendary monsters within the bounds or Rivendell, then tracking down Aragorn, Legolas and the twins to give them a thorough tongue-lashing. The fact that Gandalf was more amused than anything else with this entire situation was thoroughly aggravating.

“They’re young, Elrond. Let them play a bit before the danger sets in again,” Gandalf said, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

Elrond rubbed his forehead, trying to fight off a headache. “Gandalf, four adults dressed up as a monster and scared the living daylights out of a couple of young hobbits. How is that ‘play’?”

Gandalf tilted his head, regarding his friend. “Have you not hear what those lads did to Aragorn? It’s fairly awful.”

Elrond sighed. “I heard. Believe me, I heard. Aragorn and the rest were acting like complete children, shouting in their defense. It was utterly aggravating. I have never been at such a loss of words, Gandalf, never! Whatever can we do?”

The last was practically a wail. Gandalf had no answer, and so calmly puffed at his pipe. Elrond rubbed his temples again. Outside, something exploded.

Elrond cursed under his breath and buried his face in his hands. “What was that?”

Gandalf shrugged, standing and walking to the window. “It was wooden, in any case. Oh, dear. It was the privy over by the stables.”

Elrond groaned, even as a hurried knock sounded on the chamber door. A servant burst in, looking harried.

“My lord Elrond, the privy by the stables has-“

“Exploded. Yes, we heard,” Elrond sighed. “Is anyone injured?”

The servant dithered for a moment in a very un-elven show of nerves. “Well, er, I mean, you see…”

“Take a deep breath,” Gandalf advised. “Calm down. What happened?”

The servant drew a ragged breath. “Prince Legolas was in there, and he is, er, buried in the rubble.”

Elrond dropped his face in his hands. “Would the young hobbits happen to have been around at the time?”

“Well, they were there about half an hour ago, but they are nowhere to be found now, sir.”

Elrond groaned. The servant stared at him worriedly, clearly wondering what was wrong with his liege lord. Gandalf waved a hand at him.

“Go on, lad. Thank you for telling us. We’ll be down in a few moments.”

The elf nodded and left. Gandalf waited. At length, Elrond said in a very strained voice, “They blew up a privy while Legolas of Mirkwood was in it. Oh, the indignity!”

Gandalf chuckled. “They used my fireworks. I’ll have to get after them for that. I’d like to see the damage, Elrond. Shall we?”

Elrond sighed again and stood up. “Let us go see what the damage is. I suspect it is grievous.”

“Quite,” Gandalf replied cheerfully. “Alas, poor little Greenleaf.”

Elrond shook his head at his friend’s mischievous tone and steeled himself to meet the damage of a shattered privy. Legolas, he knew, was going to be furious.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: I am so sorry that I’ve taken this long to get an update to you all! Moving was difficult, and then my wireless decided not to work down here. I ended up having to buy a new wireless card and a new router, and finally got the whole thing hooked up yesterday. I can only hope that you are all still with me and interested in this fic. Sadly, this chapter is quite short, for once again I must ask for your help in practical jokes. Any suggestions?

Chapter Nine: Waiting

Legolas was not best pleased with the situation. Never before in all of his thousands of years had he ever been trapped in a privy, certainly not a privy that had exploded around him. He did not even want to think about what he was sitting in.

Above him he could hear various people talking loudly, clamoring to know what had happened and how they were going to fetch him out of the mound of rubble. Legolas sighed and instantly regretted it; the acrid smell of the fireworks mixed with the horrid stench of the privy’s contents made his stomach roll.

He knew whom he had to blame for this predicament, of course. Arwen was not the sort of elf to let something go for very long, and Legolas knew that he had stoked her ire with his comment about the strawberry bubble bath. Such a silly thing, but so deadly. He would never understand her obsession with strawberry bubbles.

Now, her joining forces with the hobbits was something that Legolas understood perfectly. Arwen favored the underdog in most things and this was no exception. Still, things were definitely getting out of hand. Blowing up the privy was a bit below the belt.

“Legolas! Legolas? Are you all right?”

Legolas grimaced at the voice. “As well as one can be when trapped under a mound of rubble and refuse, Aragorn.”

Aragorn laughed. “I must say I am glad that it is you and not me. Hold on, Legolas, we’re getting to you as fast as we can.”

“Aye, laddie, but it will take some time. Just you it tight.”

Legolas swallowed a groan. Of all the people to help him out of this predicament, Gimli was not one that he wanted. The dwarf sounded positively gleeful. Oh, he was going to get Arwen for this.

*****

Merry and Pippin were one again hiding in their room. They had been watching the rescue attempt from their balcony, but when Legolas had finally been freed they had scampered indoors. They had considerately taken the prince’s feelings into account, and had refrained from laughter at seeing him covered in refuse until they were safely behind closed doors.

“That was low of us. Brilliant, but low,” Pippin gasped, giggling. “We are masters, Merry! Absolute masters.”

Merry nodded, his mouth still stretched into an impossibly smug grin. “Poor Legolas. He wasn’t expecting that. Now for the rest of them.”

Pippin looked up at his cousin, noting the thoughtful look on the Brandybuck’s face. He wondered what they would do next. It was Aragorn’s turn for something shocking.

“I think we should wait for awhile, Pip. That’s what he did to us, and we were wrecks,” Merry said at last. “Yes, I think a day or so between pranks might be a good thing.”

Pippin shrugged. It sounded good to him. He just hoped that Aragorn and company did not get them, first. Somehow he did not put it past them.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: Things are about to get very, very irreverent.

Chapter Ten: Farting Powder

“Now lads, I want you to understand that the Dunadan is my friend, and so I don’t want the origins of this to get back to him. That being said, use it well.”

Merry and Pippin stared at Bilbo. Their elderly cousin had sought them out after seeing Legolas stalk towards the baths, covered in grime. Rightly guessing that the lads were going to need all the help they could get, Bilbo had offered them a great weapon.

“I suggest putting it in his cup at dinner, if you can manage it,” Bilbo added. “I always found it useful for livening dull parties, but I suppose that Aragorn will find it thoroughly embarrassing.”

The lads continued to stare, wearing expressions appropriate for having been clubbed upside the head. Bilbo chuckled, waved merrily, and left the room.

Gob smacked, Merry and Pippin looked from the bottle to each other, and back again. This was so, so vile. And yet…

“Tonight,” Merry said, his face splitting into an evil grin. “If we can manage it. Tonight.”

*****

Dinner was, as always, an opulent affair in the great hall. Merry got there early and for once blessed the Elves for being so tall. It kept him better hidden as he scurried through the rows of tables. The cups had already been placed on the table; Merry quickly tipped the contents of the vial into the bottom of one and hoped that no one would notice it. Aragorn usually sat next to Lord Elrond, so he knew he had the right cup. They set things differently here than at home, but this was the right cup. It was.

Task completed, Merry scurried out of the dining hall, feeling inordinately pleased with himself.

*****

“Did you do it?” Bilbo muttered to Merry at dinner later that evening.

Merry nodded. “I put it in his cup-the cup next to Lord Elrond’s. When will it start working?”

“A few minutes after they-Merry lad, which cup did you say you put it in?” Bilbo whispered, suddenly looking stricken.

Merry frowned at him. “The one on the right hand side of the plate. Aragorn’s.”

Bilbo passed a hand over his eyes, shaking his head ruefully. “I think I forgot to tell you, lad, about the way they set tables here. Look at your goblet, where it’s sitting.”

Merry looked, stared, and jumped. His cup rested on the left of the plate.

“I got the wrong cup! Bilbo! Who’s did I put it in?”

Bilbo looked harried. “Well, er, I do believe it was-”

Pfft.

Lady Arwen’s eyes flew wide open, Aragorn choked on his wine and Lord Elrond raised one long hand to slowly massage his temples.

“-Lord Elrond’s,” Bilbo finished bleakly.

Pfft. Pfft.

Frodo glanced over at Merry and Bilbo, saw their stricken faces and snorted into his glass.

“Aren’t we in trouble,” he muttered. “Idiots. Bilbo, I can’t believe you brought farting powder all the way to Rivendell.”

On the dais behind them, Arwen was laughing into her napkin. Aragorn was suspiciously sniffing Elrond’s wine, his eyebrows inclined almost to his hairline. Pffffft. Elrond rose and left the hall through a small door behind the high table. Shortly after, Arwen excused herself, shaking with laughter so hard she was crying. Aragorn set the cup down and shook his head, turning his attention to his meal. Unbelievable.

“You put farting powder in Lord Elrond’s wine?” Boromir whispered incredulously from his place across the hobbit’s table.

Merry huffed at him. “I didn’t mean to! It was supposed to be in Strider’s, but they set the tables here differently!”

“Merry,” Pippin whispered. “We’re in trouble. More trouble than before, I think.”

Boromir stared at the hobbits, speechless. Bilbo looked amused, Merry anxious, Pippin terrified. Any words he might have had left were lost when Frodo raised his glass.

“Here’s to Rivendell. May it’s winds never be unsullied.”

Boromir rolled his eyes, still unable to believe how unbelievable mad this place was. First Aragorn tied into his room, then a monster puppet at night and then an exploding privy. And this…this was beyond anything he had ever thought of before. Farting powder.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: Sorry I didn’t reply to the comments you all left me with the last chapter; I’ve been traveling back and forth between the homes of my two older siblings, baby-sitting their children, so my computer time has been limited. I want you all to know that I really appreciate your comments!

Chapter Eleven: Venting

Elrond mixed the tonic carefully, mindful of the ingredients he put in. Anything to make this obnoxious ailment abate, but it would be preferable to have something that would not give him a sleepless night. Mixing the herbs served as a good vent of frustration. The poor plants were crushed beyond recognition.

“They’re going home. All of them,” he said flatly. “And I have half a mind to have Aragorn beaten out of Rivendell for starting this whole affair.”

Gandalf snorted, smoking his pipe as calmly as ever across the room. “He did not start it, and anyway I highly doubt that Aragorn even knows why the hobbits are doing this,” he commented. “I would hazard to guess that he is just as annoyed as you are.”

Elrond drained his tonic, grimacing at the bitterness. “I think that it is high time, my friend, to find out exactly why the younger hobbits are laying Rivendell to ruin. I would also love to know why my daughter is aiding them in tormenting her betrothed.” Pfffft. Elrond sighed and rubbed his temples. Gandalf opened a window.

“I don’t think Arwen is so much getting after Aragorn as she is Legolas. He taunted her strawberry bubble bath, you know.”

“Legolas taunted the bubbles? Well, that settles the question of which Elf belongs in the Fellowship. It will be best for him to get as far from her as possible,” Elrond sighed. At least he had one concern taken care of.

Gandalf’s eyes twinkled. “Very good. I suggest you get some sleep, Elrond. I’ll find out why the hobbits are angry.”

“Very good. And inform Merry and Pippin that they are not going on the Quest.”

“Yes, they are.”

“No, they are not.”

“Yes, they are.”

“No. Emphatically, they are not!” Pfffft.

Gandalf rolled his eyes as he left the room. “Yes, they are.”

*****

Boromir found Aragorn on the balcony outside the Hall of Fire. Isildur’s heir was smoking his pipe and chuckling to himself. Boromir cleared his throat politely, not quite certain yet how to address this man. After the incident with the twine he had a vague idea, but it was best to still be respectful.

“They put farting powder in Elrond’s wine. Not even I would have the courage to do that,” Aragorn remarked, and turned to grin at his future steward. “What did you make of it?”

Boromir stared at him, amazed. “I, er, worry for the young hobbits. I believe they did not intend Lord Elrond to drink it.”

Aragorn nodded, his eyes bright with amusement. “They meant it for me. Cheeky little buggers. We should bring them with us just for the amusement they bring.”

“You’re not angry?” Boromir said, flabbergasted.

Aragorn shook his head. He did not know how to describe his reaction to the hobbits’ latest prank. Amazement, disbelief, and a certain amount of respect for their blatant idiocy were key emotions, as well as a hearty thankfulness that they had gotten the wrong cup. It was too much to put into words, and he settled for a discreet, “It was foolish, but well worth the effort.”

Boromir looked stunned. Aragorn chuckled, clapped the man on the shoulder, and dared to wonder how things would be when they were in Gondor.

*****

“We are most certainly dead. We should never have started this,” Merry moaned, pulling at his hair. He lay on his bed, writhing. “Do you suppose that they will torture us before they kill us, or just throw us off one of the waterfalls?”

Pippin shrugged and didn’t answer. He rather resented Merry’s attack of melodrama; he felt it was his place, as the baby of the family, to be the one with the attack of the vapors.

“In any case, I think it is best if we leave Rivendell under cover of darkness. If we take the Road we can make it to Bree in a fortnight, I think.”

“I won’t allow it,” a voice said from the doorway. Pippin looked up to see Frodo standing there, grinning at them. “You lads are going to stay here and live with the consequences of your actions.”

Merry moaned and rolled over to give Frodo a deeply mournful look. “It was Bilbo’s idea, Frodo. You should get after him for suggesting it. And anyway, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Pippin had had enough. He swooned back, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Oh la, good sir, I feel faint,” he mimicked. Merry hit him with a pillow.

“Anyway,” Frodo said loudly, bringing the burgeoning tussle to a close, “I am here to announce a visitor. Gandalf would like to talk to you both.”

Merry and Pippin froze. Gandalf entered the room, a small smile on his face. “Hullo lads. I have a question for you, if you are not too ill to answer it.” The lads nodded mutely. “Then here it is. Why, exactly, are you playing so many pranks on Aragorn?”

They traded a nervous glance, than Merry spoke slowly. “He, er, took us through the Midgewater Marshes when he really didn’t have to. I found a map in the library that showed a secret Ranger path that cut around the marshes, not through. We were avenging our honor.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows had risen higher with each word, and he shook his head when Merry had finished.

“Oh, dear. Well, thank you for telling me. I’ll leave you alone now,” he said, and went the door There he paused and looked back at them. “And you needn’t worry about death at the hands of the Elves. I daresay that they needed the entertainment.”

Leaving the hobbits to themselves, Gandalf strode down the hall towards the library. There was something concerning a certain map that he had to clarify.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: Because so many people suggested that I mess with the pipeweed…

Chapter Twelve: The Pipeweed Debacle

The knock on their door later that evening nearly sent Merry and Pippin running for their lives. Frodo and Sam, however, merely shared an amused glance that the lads’ discomfiture, and Sam went to open the door.

“Well, hello, Prince Legolas,” the gardener said, looking surprised. “Come right in.”

Legolas smiled at Sam and entered. Having spent the day in the baths, he looked himself again. Merry and Pippin looked at him apprehensively, anxiety written all over their faces.

“Hello,” the Prince said politely, giving them both a disarmingly friendly smile. “I just wanted to ask you if the exploding privy was meant for myself or for Aragorn.”

Merry and Pippin traded a panicked glance; Legolas could see them weighing the answer in their minds. “Er,” Merry said at last. “Well, you see, um, we were simply told to strike a spark to light a fuse when Lady Arwen gave us the signal. We didn’t know that the privy would be exploding.”

Frodo snorted and Sam shook his head, but Legolas just smiled serenely at them. “Very good, then. Thank you. Good night.”

He left them, and Merry slumped bonelessly back onto the bed. “We have to make it up to him. Poor old Legolas didn’t mean to get caught in the cross-fire.”

Frodo nodded. “Put your head to it, Merry-lad, I’m sure you’ll think of something. Let me know how it turns out, for I am going to bed. Good night, lads.” And Frodo left, accompanied by Sam. The gardener gave them a commiserating look as he left.

Pippin sighed. The evening had not improved following Gandalf’s visit, although it had grown decidedly calmer. He was beginning to think that constantly following Merry’s advice might just get him into more trouble than it was worth. It was his dear cousin’s fault that they were in this mess, after all.

Pippin pulled his pipe out of his pocket and lit it. After all, there was nothing else to do while wracking their brains to come up with ways to grovel before Legolas. As he lit a flame in the bowl, however, Pippin was struck by an idea of such sheer brilliance that he could not believe himself.

“Merry,” he breathed, a grin dawning on his sharp face. “I have the perfect idea!”

*****

Legolas had barely returned from the Hall of Fire (where he had been calming his shattered nerves) when there was a knock on his door. Curious as to who could possibly be knocking at this time of night, Legolas went to the door and opened it.

Merry and Pippin stood there, gazing at him with unfeigned contriteness. Pippin held a wrapped package in his hands.

“Hello, Legolas,” the lad said politely. “We brought you something, to make up for us blowing you up today. Here.”

He held out the package; Legolas took it, curious. He knew whose idea the privy debacle had been, and was somewhat touched by the hobbits’ concern for him. Unwrapping it, he saw a smooth clay pipe and a bundle of herbs.

“Pipeweed. Longbottom Leaf, that, it’s the best in the Shire,” Merry explained, seeing Legolas’ perplexed look.

“Ah, I see. Thank you, friends, but I am afraid I do not know how to smoke,” Legolas replied. He wrongfully assumed that this would be the end of the conversation.

The hobbits looked horrified, and Legolas instantly regretted his words. Of course, he should have known just to thank them and shut the door.

“Oh, but we must teach you then!” cried Pippin. “We’ve been learning so much about Elves that it would be awful for us not to return the favor.”

Merry and Pippin pushed their way into his room, and Legolas stifled a sigh. So much for getting to sleep; it looked like he was going to receive a lesson on hobbit culture. Hoping that he did not look too long suffering, Legolas let the hobbits in.

They settled on the bed. First things first, you must fill the pipe. Then you must light it, with a flaming stick lit in some sort of fire-they used the candle on his table. They made him try it, and Legolas frowned at the intricacy of lighting herbs in a small clay bowl on fire. They then showed him how to inhale the smoke and blow it out into a smoke ring.

“Now you try,” Merry instructed after producing several large rings with expert ease.

Legolas looked nervously at the pipe. While he did not mind the smell, which rather reminded him of Gandalf and Aragorn, he did not relish the idea of inhaling smoke. Still, it was best to be courteous, and he could always put the pipe away for good once the hobbits were gone. Legolas put the stem of the pipe to his lips and inhaled.

Acrid smoke filled his lungs and choked him. Coughing and hacking, Legolas groped blindly for a glass of water, or anything to get this taste from his mouth. One of the hobbits slipped a cup into his hand, and the Elf downed its contents in one long gulp.

“Don’t worry, everyone does that their first time,” Pippin assured him. “I certainly did.”

Legolas nodded weakly, dashing away the tears that had sprung to his eyes. Merry handed him the pipe, which he had dropped, and said encouragingly, “Try it again, and this time make sure that you blow the smoke directly out again, and don’t inhale it. Go on, don’t be frightened.”

If I can handle orcs and Dol Gulder, I can handle hobbits and their infernal habits, Legolas thought grimly as he took another puff. He braced himself, expecting the worst.

Except that it was not so bad this time. He actually managed to do as Merry had said to, inhaling and exhaling the smoke continuously. The hobbits were certainly applauding him, looking delighted at having taught an immortal something. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, after all.

*****

It was Merry who first noticed that something was wrong with Legolas. They had been teaching him to blow smoke rings, and though they had only succeeded in getting the Elven Prince to produce two, Legolas proved to be an apt pupil. However, something was strange to Merry. Legolas’ eyes had gone from blue to black, and he was listing slightly to one side, looking rather dazed. It was not stopping his sudden enthusiasm for the pipe, though.

“Look! I did it, Merry! Pippin! Look!” Legolas cried, pointing gleefully at the wobbly smoke ring he had set floating in the air. He giggled, covering his red face with a hand that trembled slightly. This only seemed to make him giggle more.

“Very good!” Pippin said, bouncing slightly on the bed with excitement. “Do it again!”

Legolas did, inhaling smoke and producing another ring. This one was slightly more skewed than the last, and Legolas giggled again when he saw it. Giggles were perhaps not the best descriptions, Merry thought worriedly. Maniacal laughter was more like it.

“I love you, Merry and Pippin,” Legolas announced, jumping up and fixing them with a huge smile. “My dear, darling friends. I love everybody. I love Aragorn, too. I think I must show him my newfound talent. Don’t you think so? Let’s go to him, right now!”

And Legolas yanked open the door and bounced into the hallway.

Merry experienced a sinking feeling then. He somehow felt that this was not working at all how it should have been. Things had definitely, inadvertently gone from bad to worse.

*****

“ARAGORN!”

Aragorn sat bolt upright, heart pounding as his door crashed open and a dark shape hurled itself onto his bed. He recognized Legolas in the dim light, and stared at his friend, utterly perplexed.

“Did I wake you? I am sorry! I just had to show you the new trick I’ve learned, although I’m certain you already know how to do it, but now I know how to do it and I will soon be better than you, and watch!” Legolas then raised a pipe to his lips, inhaled smoke, and blew out a wobbly ring that collapsed within moment of hitting the open air. The prince cursed and tried again. “I really can do it, you know, just ask Merry and Pippin, they saw me, and they taught me because they are my dear, darling friends!” he said.

Aragorn stared at Legolas, open-mouthed. The prince was giddy, speaking fast and with an unusual amount of energy. He was bouncing lightly on the bed, attempting to relight his pipe. He smelled very strongly of pipeweed.

“Legolas, where did you get that pipe?” Aragorn asked, though he had the sneaking suspicion that he knew. He just hoped that he was wrong.

“From Merry and Pippin! They gave it to me to apologize for helping Arwen blow the privy up on me, and they taught me how to use it when I didn’t know how!” Legolas cried, and giggled again. He jumped up and did a little jig. “And now I know something that know other Elf knows how to do, not even Lord Elrond! Did you know that he is one of the Noldor, one of the High Elves, Aragorn? Did you know that? Elrond’s a High Elf and Gandalf is a wizard, and you are a smelly little mortal!” This last was delivered in the lilting tone of a children’s song.

“I think you are a high elf,” Aragorn muttered, and climbed out of bed. “Legolas, my friend, will you please come with me?”

He put an arm around the Elf’s shoulders; Legolas leaned on him, grinning like a fool. “Where are we going, vanimelda?” he asked, his voice low and full of would-be seduction.

Aragorn fought the urge to smack some sense back into him. “To see Lord Elrond, Legolas, so that you can show him your new, er, trick.”

“Talent, Aragorn, talent! This is the most noble and illustrious of talents!”

“Yes, Legolas, I understand. Now come on.”

Aragorn hauled Legolas down the hallway, towards the infirmary. It was not every day that an elf breathed in pipeweed, and Aragorn had to wonder how Legolas had never heard of, or indeed chosen to ignore, its extremely potent narcotic effect upon immortals. He wondered how the hobbits had known to give it to him.

Legolas danced down the hallway, singing snatches of songs to himself and occasionally running into tapestries. Aragorn rolled his eyes. This was madness.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry for the length of time that has passed since I last updated! I don’t even have a hurricane to blame; school and work started at the same time for me, and when I’m not at one I’m at the other. Also, I was having some trouble thinking of something that could possibly top the High Elf. And I thought that the farting powder was difficult to follow up. I hope you all like this chapter!

Chapter Thirteen: Snippets

“Boromir! Help! Save us!”

Boromir turned as his door crashed open and two blurs burst in. If his sword had been in his hand, he would likely have attacked them, but as this was Rivendell, he had felt it safe to go unarmed. The sight of the two younger hobbits cowering in the corner was enough to cause him to re-think that opinion, however.

“What is the matter?” Boromir asked, gazing at Merry and Pippin in consternation. “What happened?”

Pippin was trembling visibly as he answered. “We did something to Legolas, and it was unintentional this time, it really was!”

“We taught him how to smoke, and he started acting…funny,” Merry supplied. “He was giggling and dancing around.”

Boromir stared at them, utterly mystified. This really was getting out of hand. “And it was unintentional, you say? Why?”

“Because we were apologizing for blowing the privy up on him. Lady Arwen asked us to light a fuse, and we didn’t know what it was for, so we needed to apologize,” Merry said. He made a visible effort to pull himself together. “But Legolas went dancing off to Aragorn, and we knew that we were in trouble then. So we came here.”

Pippin nodded and gave Boromir an imploring look. “Will you protect us, Boromir? Please?”

*****

Aragorn did not know whether he should be amused or chagrinned. Elrond had dosed Legolas with tonic and put him to bed with a long-suffering look on his face, muttering something about younglings and mischief under his breath. Legolas was now sound asleep in the infirmary, a little smile on his face that would likely stay there until the effects of the pipeweed had diminished. When Aragorn had attempted to tell Elrond the reason behind Legolas’ behavior, the Elf Lord had raised a hand to stop him.

“I don’t want to know, Estel. I don’t.”

The use of his childhood name had shown Aragorn just how frazzled Elrond was. Bowing, he left the infirmary and headed back to his own room.

There was really only one explanation, of course. Merry and Pippin had attacked Legolas to get to him, Aragorn. It made sense, logically, and yet it did not. From what he knew about Legolas and Arwen’s past together, it made sense that Arwen would have been the one to get Legolas, not the hobbits. The privy incident made sense when Aragorn added her into the picture.

Still, the hobbits needed to learn a lesson, once and for all. It was time for this foolishness to end. And he knew just what to do to ensure that Merry and Pippin would be cowed into playing no more pranks.

*****

Boromir sat puzzled, reclining in his chair. Merry and Pippin had claimed his bed, and had lain whispering to each other for a long time, until sleep had finally claimed them both. The Man of Gondor was now determined to ignore the pangs of curiosity that stirred within him and get as much sleep as was possible.

But it was not to be. A soft knock on the door jerked Boromir to his feet. Muttering under his breath, he strode across the room and yanked the door open. It was Aragorn.

“Hullo,” the Ranger said lightly. “I take it Merry and Pippin have found refuge with you, then?”

Boromir stared at the man. Aragorn had an expression of absolute blankness on his face, which reminded Boromir oddly of his brother Faramir, when he was going to do something irrevocably childish. Aragorn just waited for an answer.

“Yes,” Boromir said at last. “They came in here hysterical about getting Prince Legolas intoxicated, or some such thing, and asked it they could stay the night. I let them.”

Aragorn nodded. “All right. Very good, Boromir. Thank you.”

And he turned and walked away.

Boromir shut his door and decided that he had definitely wandered into a den of lunatics.

*****

In the library, Gandalf sat chuckling to himself, holding an old map of Eriador. So this was the reason for all the turmoil of the past few days! Would it be wrong, he wondered, to tell everyone and put an end to the madness? It was so amusing.

A bellow echoing through the corridors made up his mind for him. He would let it go for a few more hours, and allow everyone to defend their honor just a little longer. That way, once the quest had begun, they would have something to look back on and laugh at.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: Sorry once again about the long time with no updating. This as been percolating for a while, but I was only just able to sit down and write it last night. I hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter Fourteen: Of Smallclothes

Item: two pairs of hobbit smallclothes. Item: one large bowl of raw meat pilfered from the kitchens. Item: one large fan pinched from the library. Item: Elladan and Elrohir’s dogs. Aragorn chuckled to himself as he set to work. This was going to be so very, very rich.

*****

Legolas awoke with a dull throbbing in his head. He groaned, passing a hand over his eyes; the room was far too bright for his liking. He dimly heard someone get up and close the curtains, and mentally thanked that person for their kindness. His relief turned to despair, however, when the person spoke.

“How do you feel this fine morning, Legolas?” Arwen asked, a smile in her voice.

Legolas groaned pathetically, opening one eye to stare at her. She looked the very picture of radiance, and he hated her for it.

“What happened?” he moaned. “My head…”

“Will be quite all right once you’ve drunk this tonic,” Arwen replied. She seemed to be repressing laughter. “Legolas, you smoked the hobbits’ pipeweed. Don’t you know better?”

Legolas moaned again, remembering the words of the healers at home. How could he have forgotten? Snippets of the night before were floating back to him now, the sharpest being bouncing on Aragorn’s bed and running into the walls. How utterly humiliating.

“I think, though, that we must come to a truce,” Arwen continued, ignoring his moans of embarrassment. “Your own stupidity has done far more for you than any trick of my devising. Friends?”

She held out her hand; Legolas stared at it in consternation. She was giving in too easily, though he had to admit that Arwen had a point. And he was tired of being the bubble bath bandit.

He put his hand in hers and they shook firmly. “Friends,” he said, grinning weakly.

*****

Merry and Pippin left Boromir after breakfast. Lady Arwen had joined them, and informed them that Legolas was fully recovered and doing well. Aragorn was nowhere to be found, but they decided to brave returning to their room. After all, one could only go so long without bathing and a fresh change of clothes.

They found their clothes laid out for them on their bed. Well, that wasn’t so odd, Merry thought. The maids here were very good about making their guests comfortable. As soon as he had completed his ablutions, he wasted no time in pulling the clothes on.

Pippin, however, looked at the clothes in consternation. Something was not right about this, he thought. Their clothes were normally laid out for them in the morning, he had to concede that point, but they were usually folded up on the chair, not the bed. Still, he reasoned, if Merry thought it was safe, it must be.

“I think we need a treat, Pip,” Merry said as he buttoned his waistcoat. “Let’s go down to the stable and visit Bill. I daresay the old pony would like to see his friends.”

Pippin nodded. “We’ll have to stop by the kitchens for some apples,” he said. “And some sugar. And perhaps a pastry, for me.”

Merry nodded, grinning. If nothing had happened so far this morning-no buckets of water poured on them, no strawberry bubbles drenching their room-than maybe Aragorn had realized that what they had done to Legolas had been an accident. He hoped so, anyway.

After a quick detour to the kitchens, Merry and Pippin walked out towards the stables. It was a beautiful morning, slightly chilly but clear-skied, and a soft wind whistled through the trees. All was peaceful. Merry smiled, silently congratulating himself on dodging any of Aragorn’s tricks. It never crossed his mind that he was, perhaps, wearing one.

When they saw the first dog, neither Merry nor Pippin was much alarmed. They had met the dogs of Rivendell before, and quite liked the beasts. The dog nosed their trousers, snuffling eagerly, and ignored the sugar cube Pippin held out to him. None of this was cause for alarm, though, and they kept walking.

When a second dog joined them, however, and then a third and fourth, they began to worry. All the dogs were obsessively sniffing their trousers, and it was becoming alarming.

“Er, Merry,” said Pippin. “What do we do now?”

Merry hesitated, looking around. Two more dogs were coming towards them. The ones around them were beginning to pus them around, making soft whuffing noises, like animals that had found something good to eat. He had the sinking feeling that Aragorn had gotten them, after all.

“Pippin,” he said, “When I say ‘three’, run as fast as you can back towards the house.”

*****

Two high, hobbity shrieks and the baying of a pack of hounds brought Boromir to the library balcony at a run. Aragorn was there already, leaning over, shaking with some sort of emotion. Boromir skidded to a halt, sliding the last few feet on the smooth marble floor, and peered over the edge of the balcony at the scene below.

“Good morning, Boromir,” Aragorn remarked, his tone oddly calm, though his eyes were dancing. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Boromir looked down. Merry and Pippin were sprinting headlong towards the house, a pack of yapping dogs following them. The hobbits were moving fast, but the dogs, being larger, were gaining on them. All at once, one leapt forward and caught Pippin by the seat of his trousers. The animal then proceeded to try and tear the trousers off of the unfortunate hobbit, shaking him like a rag doll while the hobbit shrieked and howled for help.

At a shout, however, the dogs fell back. Several of the grooms were running towards them, waving rakes and bellowing in elvish. Reluctantly, the dogs fell back and allowed the hobbits to escape into the house. As they passed, Boromir noticed that both lads were missing the seats of their trousers.

“Well, that was entertaining,” Aragorn remarked jovially. “I daresay that will teach them not to pull anymore pranks.”

Boromir stared at him, open-mouthed. “I-you-what was that?”

Aragorn gave him an enigmatic smile. “Oh, it was simple. It was just-”

“Young man!” bellowed a voice. Aragorn and Boromir turned to see Gandalf storming towards them, looking thoroughly put out. He stormed up to Aragorn and seized him by the ear. “Follow me, lad, you have much explaining to do. What were you thinking, setting the dogs on those two poor hobbits?”

Boromir watched, utterly flummoxed, as Gandalf hauled the King of Men off the balcony, hardly listening to his protests that Merry and Pippin were hardly innocent.

*****

“You soaked their smallclothes in meat,” Gandalf stated, folding his arms and glowering across Elrond’s desk at Aragorn. “That is just wrong. Funny, yes, but wrong. Why?”

Aragorn glowered back at Gandalf, using his sternest look. Grown men had quailed under that glare. It had no effect whatsoever on the wizard.

“They deserved it,” he stated. “You saw what they did to Legolas.”

Gandalf rolled his eyes. “That is besides the point, Aragorn. If Legolas was foolish enough to disregard centuries worth of warnings against the elvish use of pipeweed, than he deserved what he got. You must apologize to the hobbits. Their trousers are ruined.”

Aragorn could not repress a snicker at that, but he met Gandalf’s eyes and said succinctly, “No.”

They glowered at each other for several more moments, than Gandalf sighed. “You’re all being very childish. If it wasn’t so vastly amusing I would be annoyed. I suppose I’ll have to talk with you lot after lunch. The hobbits should have their wits about them again by then. Off with you, Aragorn, and don’t do anything foolish. You have incurred the wrath of a Brandybuck and a Took. Watch your back.”

Aragorn left Elrond’s study with a smug grin on his face. There was nothing that the hobbits could do that would ever top this.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: My apologies to the dear professor, and also to P.G. Wodehouse. In this chapter I quote, almost verbatim, from his comic novel Something Fresh, because it was far too perfect not to use for Boromir’s performance. I don’t own Wodehouse, either. ^_^

Chapter Fifteen: The Great Catfight

It took several cups of strong tea, brewed by Sam, to get Merry and Pippin into a state of coherence. The lads were huddled in the armchairs in Frodo’s room, wrapped in blankets. Frodo was going from one to the other, alternately soothing and scolding them. He looked like he did not know whether to laugh at what had happened or be angry. For the present, he had settled on simply rueful.

“This is what happens when you do battle with a Ranger, lads,” he said, rubbing Pippin’s curls. “The man has years more experience than you in everything. Although it was a cruel prank to play,” he added quickly, seeing Merry’s incredulous look.

“It amazes me, Frodo, that you have a horror of being chased by dogs and yet you can sympathize with Strider over this!” howled Merry. “We could have been eaten!”

Frodo snorted. “Merry-lad, even I know not to run from dogs. Especially when they’re standing around sniffing my pockets. It’s when they come at you barking like mad that you run away. I think that it’s safe to say that if you had kept walking to the stable, the dogs would have left you alone.”

Merry grumbled under his breath, but didn’t reply. Pippin just whimpered again, and Frodo hugged him. Over the lad’s head, he caught Sam’s eye and had to grin. Sam was bearing all this well, not giving into his inclination to laugh. The gardener had had to leave the room coughing when he saw Merry and Pippin’s ruined trousers, and had returned with the tea.

“The maids say they’ll be able to fix your trousers, Mr. Merry, Master Pippin,” Sam said, grinning back at Frodo. “They’ll be like new.”

“Oh, bugger the trousers,” squawked Merry, earning him a reproving look from Frodo. “I’m going to kill him. Dead. Pippin could have died. I’m going to do something so terrible to him that he’ll never dare cross a Brandybuck again. Just you watch, all of you!”

“Oh, we’re watching,” Frodo said dryly. “And you’re not going to do anything. Drop it, Merry.”

Merry gazed at him mutinously. This was war.

*****

Of course, Merry thought later, this was not the time for an elaborate, decadent prank. This was the time for something simple and horrible. It was time to end this, once and for all. Accordingly, he picked his weapon with utter precision. Slipping the small bottle into his pocket, Merry left the library and returned to his room.

*****

Dinner that night was full of the hobbits favorite food. It seemed that all of Rivendell had heard what had happened, and were full of concern for the two lads. That Aragorn had been involved seemed to go unnoticed, which Boromir thought was a bit strange. But then, it seemed that the arrangement of the high table was slightly altered tonight. Aragorn was sitting opposite him.

“Hello, Lord Aragorn,” Boromir said cautiously, sitting down at the table with a slight bow. “I trust you had a good afternoon?”

Aragorn nodded, smiling a bit smugly. “Yes, it was quite nice, actually. I managed to avoid Gandalf for the rest of the day after his first rant at me. And yourself?”

Filled with mad people, Boromir thought, but aloud he said, “It was good enough. Nothing eventful after the hobbits’ little adventure.”

Aragorn chuckled, eyes dancing, and Boromir wondered just how sane this man actually was. Perhaps things were just different in the North, though. Much less formal.

More people were seating themselves at their table. Bilbo joined them, to Boromir’s delight; he quite liked the old hobbit. Merry and Pippin were seated a short ways away, safely far from Aragorn, he noticed with a faint grin. Legolas, his earlier illness cured, was talking to them earnestly. All three were smiling, so Boromir doubted that the elf was angry at the hobbits. If things could continue this peacefully, dinner would be a peaceful affair.

Of course, Boromir did not trust any of his companions to keep the peace any more than he trusted the horn of Gondor to a mischievous child.

As the meal progressed, Boromir enjoyed the conversation of those around him. At one point, Merry moved up the table to sit by him, and Boromir saw Aragorn glance at him sharply. Still, the hobbit seemed cheerful enough, and there seemed to be no hard feelings. Boromir wondered what he had up his sleeve.

When Lady Arwen joined them, seating herself next to Boromir so that she could look Aragorn in the face, Boromir knew that whatever result had been intended by Aragorn’s exile from the high table would not be achieved. At the same moment, as Aragorn was busy looking into the elf-maiden’s eyes, Boromir saw Merry reach across the table and dump something into the Ranger’s mug.

Oh, dear.

Frodo had seen it. He opened his mouth to say something, and Boromir knew that it would be the end for poor Merry if he did. And the dog incident had been horrible.

Now, years before, Boromir had evaded lessons with his tutor to seek out the company of one Targon of the Tower Guard. This Targon had been able to produce the most extraordinary set of noises: that of two tomcats fighting a battle to the death. Young Boromir, smitten by the brilliance of such a talent, had not rested until he had mastered it. It fell short of the master’s performance, as any pupil must, but it was still impressive, and was often called upon by the soldiers when in camp. It would provide the right distraction now.

Boromir turned casually to Arwen.

“I say,” he said. “Have you ever heard two cats fighting in a backyard?”

The next moment the performance was in full swing. The fight was something worthy of an Elvish lay: long and drawn out. The unpleasantness opened with a low gurgling sound, answered by another a hade louder and possibly a little more querulous. A momentary silence was followed by a long-drawn note like rising wind cut off abruptly and succeeded by a grumbling mutter. The response to this was a couple of sharp howls. Both parties to the contest then indulged in a discontented whining, growing louder and louder until the air was full of menace. And then, after another sharp silence, came War, noisy and overwhelming. Standing at Targon’s side, you could almost follow every movement of that intricate fray, and mark how now one, now the other of the battlers gained a short-lived advantage. It was a great fight. Shrewd blows were taken and given, and in the eye of the imagination you could see the air thick with flying fur. Louder and louder grew the din, and then, at its height, it ceased in one crescendo of tumult, and all was still save for a faint, angry moaning.

Such was the catfight of Master Targon. Boromir rendered it faithfully and with energy.

For several moments, there was complete silence in the hall as everyone tried to decide whether to laugh or beat Boromir from the room. Such a performance had never been heard before in Rivendell. Elrond looked like he was going to have a fit of sorts. Then the last feline moan died away, and Boromir smiled around at the staring faces.

“I was just telling Lady Arwen about the cats in Minas Tirith,” he said. “They are a sore trial.”

For perhaps three seconds, Boromir’s reputation swung in the balance. He felt the weight of many elvish eyes staring at him, flabbergasted. And then Arwen flung back her head and gave a great shout of laughter. It was infectious, and soon everyone in the room was cheering Boromir, and the hobbits were slapping him gleefully on the back.

“Wherever did you learn that?” Aragorn asked him, laughing, and Boromir told him. Aragorn shook his head in amazement. “Unbelievable. That was an excellent performance, my friend.” He drained his glass and smiled again.

Boromir blinked at him, and began helplessly to laugh. His laughter drew Legolas’ attention, and the elf openly gaped at Aragorn.

“Er, Aragorn,” he began, looking torn between laughter and chagrin. “Er, I think you ought to-”

He was cut off by a screech. Arwen was staring at Aragorn, horrified. “Sweet Valar, Estel! What happened to your teeth?”

Aragorn, who had been looking from Boromir to Legolas to Arwen in deep consternation, seized his spoon and used it as a mirror. The howl that smote the air was one of deep horror and fury. It was such that Elrond dropped his wineglass and Frodo choked on his mushrooms. Arwen’s hands were pressed to her lips in horror. Gandalf merely rolled his eyes.

Aragorn’s fine white teeth had been stained black as pitch.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: I regret to inform you that this is the end. It’s finished now, though an epilogue will follow. I hope this chapter makes you laugh like I did!

Chapter Sixteen: Resolving the War

“I’m going to kill them. Dead, I tell you!” howled Aragorn, unconsciously echoing Merry’s earlier statement. The Heir of Isildur strode furiously around the library, shaking uncontrollably. He was closer to tears than Elrond had ever seen him, and the Elf Lord shook his head. Meriadoc had struck admirably, if detrimentally, well.

“Peace, Estel,” he said, trying to sound soothing when his own nerves were fraught. “Gandalf wishes to speak with you and the hobbits, and I cannot allow you to pounce on our guests and slay them, even if your teeth are stained black as pitch.”

Aragorn glowered at him. He had tried unsuccessfully for the past half hour to scrub the ink from his teeth, to no avail. The fact that he’d had to listen to the hobbits’ screams of laughter from across the balcony while he had done so had not improved his mood. Nor was the fact that Arwen was semi-hysterical, and refused to kiss him. Aragorn’s good mood had vanished.

The doors opened and Gandalf strode in, holding several rolled scrolls and grinning diabolically. The two younger hobbits followed him, sticking close. Merry and Pippin were still grinning. Aragorn threw himself into a chair and glared at them all.

Gandalf set his scrolls down on a table and turned to face them all. “Now,” he began without preamble, “We are going to clear up a little misunderstanding.”

*****

Boromir had figured that he would retire after Aragorn had left the hall in a blind fury, thinking that there was nothing else this evening that could possibly top the Ranger’s black teeth for entertainment. The knock on his door as he was removing his boots, however, stopped him short. Quickly shoving his foot back into the supple leather, Boromir hurried to answer the knock.

It was Frodo.

“Gandalf wants to talk to Merry, Pippin and Aragorn in the library,” the Ringbearer said without preamble. “I figure that if we go now, we’ll be able to hide up in the gallery, to see what happens.”

Boromir stared at the hobbit. “You want to spy on Gandalf and the rest?” he said incredulously.

Frodo snorted and rolled his eyes. “No. I want to see what will happen when a black-toothed and furious Man of the West confronts my cousins. Legolas, Sam and Bilbo are joining us, too, if you want to come. It ought to be a fine show.”

Boromir shrugged and shut his door behind him. “We’ll have to hurry. This ought to be good.”

Grinning widely, they hurried through the twisting halls until they reached the door that led into the library’s upper gallery. Boromir opened it soundlessly, and he and Frodo slipped inside. Legolas, Sam and Bilbo were already there, and gestured sharply for them to be quiet.

“It’s begun,” mouthed Bilbo, and the small group crowded as close to the balcony as they dared.

Below them, Gandalf stood before two groups of chairs. One contained the still-beaming Merry and Pippin, the other Aragorn, who was glaring at them for all he was worth. The wizard held a rolled map, which he used to gesture.

“Meriadoc informs me that his grief with you, Aragorn, resides in the fact that you took he and his fellow hobbits through the Midgewater Marshes…” Gandalf paused for effect, “…unnecessarily. He has reason to believe that there was another path available. What say you?”

Aragorn had straightened and his mouth had dropped open as Gandalf spoke, and now he sputtered, utterly flummoxed, “I-I-what?”

(“Oh, dear,” said Bilbo, grinning. “I did wonder.”)

Merry spoke up, sounding peeved. “I saw the map, Strider! There was another path, a hidden Ranger path that you could have taken us on, that led around the Marshes, not through them.”

“What path?” howled Aragorn, sounding truly confused.

(“I think he’s sincere,” muttered Boromir, gazing keenly at Aragorn.)

“Don’t deny your knowledge!” roared Merry, leaping up and pointing at him. “You’re guilty and you know it!”

(“Good lad, that Merry,” Sam said appreciatively.)

“Silence, all of you!” Gandalf snapped. He looked terribly, utterly amused. “Hear me out. The reason that Aragorn did not use the so-called ‘secret Ranger path’, Merry, is that…” again he paused for effect, well aware that every eye in the room was upon him. “…it does not exist.”

(“Oh, snap,” said Legolas.)

There was a moment of utter, shocked silence as Merry and Pippin digested this bit of information. Then the room exploded.

“But the map said-” Merry began in horror as Aragorn clutched his head and bellowed, but broke off as Gandalf unfurled the very map that had started this mess before his eyes.

“This map,” the wizard said, holding it up for all to see. “This map is a plaything, made several centuries ago by Lord Glorfindel for young Arwen, when she was a child. The secret ranger path was an invention of his for a game they used to play.”

(“Oh, snap,” Frodo echoed, his mouth open in amazed chagrin.)

“What? We were had by a toy?” bellowed Merry, as Aragorn screeched, “You didn’t think to ask me about it?! I’ve gone through prank after prank because of a fake map?!”

Elrond blinked and rubbed is forehead. Oh, bother. He knew he should have burned that map decades ago, but Arwen insisted upon keeping it for sentimental reasons. The noise of the mortals’ argument was giving him a headache. Merry and Aragorn were standing ten feet apart, screaming at each other.

“You retaliated! You didn’t have to retaliate!” Merry screeched.

“You put a snake in my bath; what was I supposed to do, giggle?” Aragorn retorted.

“Well, it’s your own fault!”

“My fault? You were the one basing your information on a fake map! A fake map!”

“Peace!” bellowed Gandalf, and they fell silent, glaring furiously. The wizard stared around at them all with that infuriating amusement still keenly evident on is face.

Pippin, who had risen with Merry when the Brandybuck jumped up, sat down and looked as though he thoroughly hoped that they would not be turned into reptiles.

“Although I admit that I have enjoyed watching this whole debacle, it is time for it to end. Apologize to each other. Now,” Gandalf said.

Merry and Aragorn looked mutinous. “He started it,” the Ranger said petulantly.

“I don’t care,” Gandalf replied clearly. “Pippin needs to apologize, too. And then you’re all apologizing to Lord Elrond. He deserves some apologies after having his home turned upside down.”

(“I do hope that he doesn’t turn them into newts if they won’t do it,” Bilbo whispered. “I don’t like newts, even ones who are family.”)

Several tense moments passed, then Pippin stood up and made a tiny formal bow at Aragorn. “I’m sorry, Strider,” he said. “Next time we’ll ask you for the truth before we do horrible things to you.”

Aragorn sighed and seemed to deflate. He ran a hand over his face and turned weary grey eyes on the youngest hobbit. “I’m sorry, too. It was childish of me to retaliate. Believe me when I say that I would not go through the Marshes if there were another path.”

“I guess it’s all right,” said Merry reluctantly. That morning’s dog incident was clearly still fresh in his mind. “I’m sorry we put a frog in your bed, and a snake in your bath, and tied up your room, and everything else we did. But at least I got you last.”

Aragorn had to laugh at that. If anything, this prank war had proved to him Merry and Pippin’s ingenuity. “Is there any chance of this stuff coming off?”

“Well, no,” Merry admitted sheepishly. “I chose it for it’s lasting effect. It’ll be there for a month, at least.”

Aragorn whimpered. One could not have everything, it seemed.

*****

As soon as everyone had left the library, Boromir turned to the others.

“Well,” he said. “That was certainly a interesting resolution.”

The others blinked at him. Then, suddenly, Legolas began to laugh. After a moment, Frodo and Sam joined him, then Bilbo. Their laughter was infectious, and Boromir found himself wiping away tears of mirth, his stomach aching from laughing. What a way to end a prank war, he thought.

“And it was all a lie!” Bilbo chuckled. “Poor lads. They’re lucky that Aragorn didn’t spit them on the spot.”

“Brilliant!” crowed Legolas, wiping his eyes. “Sheer brilliance such as Rivendell has not seen in years. There really should be more hobbits in the world.”

Sam spoke up, grinning from ear to ear. “Yes, as once we arrive, people don’t know what they’d do without us.”

*****

Pippin lay on his stomach and watched Merry smoke his pipe. After the sudden revelation, there had not been much for them to do but go back to their room and try to wrap their heads around the fact that they had actually been wrong. But still, it had been such fun.

“Merry,” he said. “I think we need to have another adventure.”

Merry nodded at him. “My thoughts exactly, Pip. What shall we do?

Pippin shrugged. “Something that isn’t all that stressful. We really ought to make it up to poor old Strider. Maybe we can help him on Frodo’s quest, or something.”

“A splendid idea, cousin,” Merry grinned. “We’re good at manipulating events to go our way.”

Pippin laughed. That was a truth, if nothing else.

TBC

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: Well guys, it’s been fun. I’m really going to miss this fic; I feel very melancholy now. Luckily I have something else fun in the works. Elrond’s speech is taken verbatim from “The Ring Goes South” in FOTR. Thank you all for reading!

Epilogue: The End

The goodbyes were said in the great hall, by the fire. Elrond stood in a corner and watched as the members of the newly formed Fellowship went from person to person, bowing, hugging, and kissing as each relationship allowed. Aragorn was missing; Elrond’s eyes sharpened and he gazed piercingly around the room. He had been there just a moment ago, whispering to Arwen…ah, there he was, coming out from a curtained alcove, holding Arwen’s hand and grinning from ear to ear. Aragorn’s hair was slightly more mussed than it had been a few moments ago, and Elrond rolled his eyes. The return of the Ranger’s pearly white teeth had obviously induced the Evenstar to kiss him. Elrond sighed and averted his eyes.

His eyes fell on Merry and Pippin. The young hobbits were being hugged and kissed and laden with foodstuffs by the female members of the kitchen staff. Both lads looked happy and fully sated, and Elrond fought the urge to roll his eyes again. Aragorn was lucky that the hobbits had no political inclinations; it would be hard enough to defeat Sauron without having to worry about Merry and Pippin usurping the throne.

At last, everyone drifted outside, as the sun was setting and it was almost time to depart. Elrond waited until they were all outside, fully prepared to walk out in state, issuing wisdom and a touch of drama. His plan was dashed, though, when Gandalf fell into step with him.

“Peace returns to Rivendell, eh, Master Elrond?” the wizard said with an infuriating grin. “Although things have been decidedly less volatile these past few weeks.”

Elrond ran a hand over his face. “Even hobbits who desist in pulling pranks still manage to get into trouble. My household will never be the same.”

Gandalf just smiled.

Elrond walked out onto his porch and looked over the assembled Company. His heart pounded with relief, for though their task was full of perilous danger, they would soon be gone, and Rivendell would be peaceful again. He was well aware of Gandalf at his side, smiling a small, knowing smile.

Elrond beckoned the Company to him. “This is my last word,” he said in a low voice. “The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the Enemy nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company and the Council, and only then in gravest need. The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way. You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows. The further you go, the less easy it will be to withdraw; yet no oath or bond is laid upon you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road.”

His speech finished, Elrond settled for looking grave. The Fellowship nodded solemnly, murmured their goodbyes to him, and faded slowly into the night.

For several long minutes, the Lord of Rivendell stood frozen, listening for the sound of returning footsteps. Behind him, he could hear Arwen weeping softly and Bilbo comforting her. The wind blew through the trees. The inhabitants of Rivendell turned towards the doors and disappeared within. Elrond suddenly gave a great shout of glee and jumped, fist pumping the air.

“They’re gone! They’re gone! All will be normal again, for a while. Come, we must break out the wine! No more mishaps!”

Chuckling maniacally to himself, Elrond danced back into the house. Arwen and Bilbo, left alone in the cold behind him, stared after the Elf Lord in amazement.

“I do believe he’s relieved,” Bilbo said. “That was certainly the dance of a weary host. I’ve done it myself many times, after company has left.”

Arwen sniffled. “My father needs to lighten his mood. He’s far too uptight.”

Bilbo chuckled and patted her arm. “There, there, my dear. Come on, let’s go inside and have some tea. After all, why not? It’s the end of the world as we know it.”

Arwen nodded and they went inside together. Tea sounded good. After all, it really was the end of the world as they knew it.

The End.