Sam ran along, reassuring himself for the twelfth time that, yes, Mr. Frodo could in fact handle himself even if he was singing a pub song on a table in front of Gondorian nobles.

Ahead of him were Messrs. Merry and Pippin, manically brandishing their feathers, and ahead of them was Gimli, manically brandishing his axe, and ahead of him was Strider, for whom Sam had nothing at the moment but utter sympathy.

We must look a lot of tom-fools right now, he thought, running like this.  They’d fortunately left the hall, but not after running right across it so every last lord and lady could behold the spectacle.  Now they were in the wings of guest rooms, and Sam had no idea what the King was playing at.  Surely he had something up his sleeve, but the rooms were locked and the hall was coming to a dead end…

Strider stopped at the last door ahead of them and began to pound upon it.  Surely that wasn’t Mr. Gimli’s room?

Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Legolas all day!

Gimli had caught up to Strider now.  “Turn round and face me like a man!”

At last the door opened to reveal Legolas—

who went pale as a sheet when he saw the tableau in front of him.  Sam stopped his ears in fear of the inevitable.

“AIIIII!”