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