A/N: Again, random drabble written several years ago for my sister's Tolkien magazine. I AM SORRY.
Snow hills crowded the mountain path of Caradhras as Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam struggled to get through them.
"Shall I help you up?" cried Legolas sweetly, who was mincing along on top of the snow.
Gandalf glared at the Elf with thinly-veiled distaste.
"Come down and help us," suggested Aragorn hopelessly, wishing that he could walk on snow like Elves.
Legolas gave a gasp. "And risk wetting my hairdo utensils? No, thank you. You must be mad!" He made a pretence of stamping on the firm snow upon which he stood. "Besides, look. I'm too light to get down." He crossed his arms, assumed a superior and vaguely sympathetic look, and smirked, which faded as a rumbling sound was heard. Legolas looked up, worried. "It looks like – ai Valar!"
He was cut off as a huge avalanche of snow came tumbling down from above and buried the whole company. His shrieks of anguish faded as he was smothered, but despite his panic and wild flailing, the Elf was the first to poke his head out from under the freezing snow. His first thought was of tender loving care as he felt through the pack on his back, and the hopeful expression on his face turned to one of utter dismay. "They're wet! They're ruined!" he howled. His shrieks of agony were carried to Isengard and up to Saruman's ears. The wizard grinned.
Legolas scrabbled frantically around in his pack and found a mirror and comb. Then, as he tried to comb the snow out of his tangled hair, he sighed in defeat. "There, do I look all right?" he demanded half-heartedly of Aragorn.
The latter made a disgusted face. "A dainty little girl," he said in feigned earnestness.
"Saruman's arm has grown long if he thinks that he can reach me here," said Legolas tearfully.
"His arm has grown long," agreed Gandalf.