Here is the story I promised to write for MistressOfImladris.

DISCLAIMER: This story took longer than anticipated. This fact was, chiefly, her own fault. Amusing conversations with her took up much of my writing time over the past few days, and the fact that I didn't have the self-discipline to stick to it had absolutely nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. :)

Peregrin Took, Knight of Gondor, stood in the wide-open doorway of the palace kitchen, observing the pre-supper activity within. Many women in aprons and caps were bustling about, carrying bowls and pots, stirring and mixing and talking. Other women banked fires, washed dishes, or pulled long loaves of fresh bread out of the great ovens that lined the far wall.

"Brandy Hall was never this busy," he whispered, turning to his cousin Merry.

Merry sniffed appreciatively. "No, and there was never this much food there, either."

"Are those strawberry tarts?"

Merry observed the dish in question closely, and then gave a decisive nod. "I'd say so, Pip. All nice and fresh, just waiting to be eaten." He cocked his head. "Shall we?"

Pippin sighed and scuffed one foot against the cool flagstones. "Mistress Baxster caught me this afternoon."

Merry's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "Pippin, no! How?"

"I thought she'd left – honest, Merry! I had just nabbed one of those nice plum pastries when she opened the door."

"But that was our last chance! Now we're outlawed, permanently, from the best place in Gondor, and all because you were too impatient!"

"I know," said Pippin contritely. "But how was I to know she'd forgotten her shawl?"

"Well, never mind that now," Merry said. "It's not as if she hadn't caught me several times already. Let me think. . ." He lapsed into silence. Pippin peeked back into the kitchen.

The palace kitchens, as far as he could tell, were one of the worst places to carry out an organized raid. They were altogether too busy, too organized, and most importantly of all, too big for easy maneuvering.

Merry's mind seemed to be traveling along the same path, for he stopped suddenly and turned to Pippin. "The one thing completely in our favor is that we're small enough to hide easily. The other cooks are busy, and they might not even know we're outlawed."

"But Mistress Baxster!"

"Yes," said Merry, with a grim nod. "She sees everything. What we need, Pippin, is an ally. Or possibly a distraction."

Pippin rubbed his nose. "What about getting Gimli? He loves those little meat pies." "Yes, but how would we get him to distract Mistress Baxster? He's not exactly on her good side, you know."

Pippin looked dejected until Merry added, "I suppose we could ask Legolas to challenge Gimli."

"But they've never had a battle in a kitchen before. Maybe –"

"No, not like that," said Merry. "What I meant is, we must get Legolas to challenge Gimli to talk to Mistress Baxster. Gimli won't be able to refuse!"

"He will, Master Brandybuck," said an amused voice, and the two hobbits jumped, turning to see one of Elrond's sons gazing down at them. "Gimli is currently in the smithy, mending his hand axe. And Legolas is very much occupied with polishing the nicks out of his knife."

"Oh," said Merry, not sure he wanted to know what had happened. He cast about for a different topic. "Er – which one are you, then?"

"Elladan," he said, bowing. "As for my brother –" He glanced around, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "You've had a chance to reconnoiter the kitchens?"

"Just from a distance," said Pippin hesitantly.

"Tell me," said Elladan, dropping onto one knee and glancing about. "Is it true that the cooks have made strawberry tarts?"

The hobbits nodded. Elladan's grey eyes gleamed, and he smiled. "Very well then. Elrohir will join us momentarily, and then we can begin!"

Merry looked at him curiously. "Begin what, if I might ask?"

Elladan got to his feet just as Elrohir joined them; the younger twin's expression was actually bordering on self-satisfied. "Aragon is a safe distance away," he said, glancing through the kitchen door. "He sent me to find out where Legolas and Gimli are."

"Did you tell him our plan worked?"

"Yes, and he now thinks I'm searching for Faramir."

"Excellent!" said Elladan. "Faramir sent me to locate Estel, which of course I did not do, so we shall be safe from their interference for the time at least."

The hobbits looked at each other; Pippin felt a trifle worried by all this. "I'm sorry," he said. "What are you talking about?"

"Treachery," said Elladan in a dark voice. "But you can trust that we will not betray you, though we have had experience with hobbits and their insatiable appetites."

"I think I begin to see," said Merry. "You will help us get the tarts."

"Yes; as long as you promise not to run off with them afterwards," said Elrohir.

Pippin and Merry exchanged glances again, and each knew what the other was thinking: Was it better to be forced to share the coveted tarts, or was it better to attempt a raid on their own and risk failure?

"Very well," said Merry at last. "But you must promise the same."

The sons of Elrond bowed. "We promise," they said solemnly. "The spoils will be divided equally among us."

"Now," said Pippin. "Let's get to work."

Gandalf strolled across the courtyard, humming snatches of a drinking song he'd heard once in Hobbiton. The theme of the song, predictably, focused on whether beer or ale was better. Gandalf was changing the lyrics as he walked: by the time he was finished, any intelligent listener, even the habitual ale-drinker, would find himself inexplicably biased in favor of a good strong wine.

He favored a bottle of Dorwinion, himself. Perhaps it was time to pay another visit to Mirkwood. . .

Thinking of Mirkwood made him remember his original intent in walking to the smithy. He had heard a rumor (from the knowledgable Samwise) that a certain Elf and Dwarf had spent the last half-hour apparently trying to kill each other; and that both were now in the smithy.

As he drew near the smithy, he heard two voices within, and paused to listen. After a moment's thought, he crept up to the window, removing his pointed hat, and peeked inside.

"It was not my suggestion, you blasted Elf," grumbled Gimli, pausing in his work to run his thumb across his axe-blade.

"Neither was it mine," retorted Legolas, running a whetstone repeatedly across his long knife.

Gimli sighed and slid his throwing axe back into the leather loop at his belt. "Now that you mention it, I don't remember your suggesting it. But then who did?"

"Who was nearby?" said Legolas, finally dropping the whestone to the workbench and sheathing his knife. "The sons of Elrond, a few guards, and Samwise – but he only came after we began the contest."

Gandalf put his hat back on and strode in, humming cheerfully.

Legolas narrowed his eyes at the wizard. "Mithrandir, if I may – what are you doing here?"

"Coming to have a word with you," replied Gandalf cheerfully, seating himself on the bench. "Poor Sam was nervous about the contest you two were having, and as I was wandering about anyway . . ."

Gimli chuckled. "The Elf meant to ask, 'what you were doing listening outside the window?'"

Gandalf gazed at him equitably, although he was thinking to himself that his abilities must have declined at some point in the last few months. "One often hears more when one's presence remains unknown," he said, replacing his hat. "What contest do you speak of?"

"We were determining which of us is more skilled at hitting small targets with a thrown weapon," said Legolas. "Gimli threw his axe; and I, my knife."

"I see. But how did this damage your weapons?"

Surprisingly, they both looked abashed. After a moment, Gimli said, "The challenge was to knock the other's weapon from the air with our own weapon."

Gandalf felt about in his pocket for his pipe. "Who was the victor?"

"Neither," said Legolas. "And Gimli, I now recall that it was Elrohir who spoke of it."

"You are right," said Gimli, a look of suspicion entering his deep-set eyes. "And it is strange that neither he nor Elladan stayed to witness the contest."

"Which means," concluded Legolas, moving swiftly to the doorway, "that they are plotting something devious, and do not want us to interfere."

Gandalf lit his pipe and stood. "I had come to the same conclusion. What do you intend to do?"

"Interfere with their plan," said Gimli, and stumped out.

Gandalf gave a thoughtful nod, blew a smoke ring at a passing butterfly, and followed, humming contentedly to himself.

Aragorn glanced across the empty study for the third time, his face grim. Elrohir still had not returned, and a horrible suspicion was entering his mind: Elrohir must have betrayed him, which meant that Elladan had also revealed the plot to the enemy.

Aragorn got to his feet. Skilled his foster-brothers might be, but they would not prevail against the King of Gondor!

Casting an old cloak about his shoulders, he drew the hood low over his face and hurried down the stairs and to the first floor of the castle. Upon reaching the kitchens, his first impulse was to enter the nearest door, but he recalled how well stealth had served him over the years, and he slipped around to the back, determining to take the servants' entrance. The faint sound of whispering made him even more cautious, and he peered around the corner to see the traitorous sons of Elrond whispering with Pippin and Merry.

Aragorn closed his eyes wearily – the twins' alliance with the hobbits was sure to be difficult to overcome – but then he reopened them, filled with new resolve. There were other hobbits in Minas Tirith, after all, and he would have the advantage: Frodo and Sam had not been banished from the kitchens.

Pippin watched eagerly as Elladan entered the kitchen through the main door. He was noticed immediately, and several of the cooks curtseyed, seeming very pleased by his presence; but Mistress Baxster put her hands on her hips and took a threatening step forward.

"Master Elladan," she said. "I made my demands clear last time, did I not?"

"You did," he said with a smooth bow. "I beg your pardon – I must have entered the wrong room."

"Which room were you looking for?" she asked suspiciously, but he was already gone. Only a moment later did it occur to her that she hadn't seen his brother anywhere. But there was nowhere in the kitchen that an elf could hide, not even a short one; and both the sons of Elrond were very tall.

Pippin and Merry lay side by side beneath a heavy cupboard, holding their breaths as they watched Mistress Baxster's neatly blacked shoes move away from their hiding place and back to the table where the chickens for dinner were being prepared.

The first phase of the plan had been successful: now they just had to wait until Mistress Baxster left to inspect the tables in the Great Hall. Pippin counted down the minutes eagerly.

Elladan left the kitchen, well-pleased at the way this venture was turning out. As he turned down the hall that led back to the servant's entrance, a long-fingered hand wrapped around his wrist, jerking him to a halt. He looked up to see the Steward of Gondor staring at him, a dangerous fire burning in the depths of his eyes.

"You would betray me, son of Elrond?" he hissed. "Where is the King?"

"Also betrayed," said Elladan.

Faramir nodded slowly. "That is well."

Elladan used the moment of distraction to break free. "And how is your plan coming along, my Lord Steward?"

"I have nothing to work with," he admitted. "And you? Have you succeeded?"

"My brother and I have allied with the holbytla. It will not be long now. But," he added, his sense of fair play inconveniently reasserting itself, "if you will serve as our lookout, we will allow you in on the spoils."

"I have not forgotten your treachery," said Faramir, "but I accept your offer."

Elrohir watched the hobbits, ensuring that they were well-hidden, and then stepped back from the door, preparing to wait. A whisper of movement behind him was the only warning he had.

A strong arm latched across his throat. He was dragged back into the shadows, where Gimli was standing.

"Well, Peredhel," said Legolas' voice, close to his ear. "What have you to say now?"

"I broke no vow," said Elrohir, struggling against his captor.

"No," said Gimli, fingering his axe. "but you did deliberately distract us, rather than giving us Aragorn's report."

Elrohir grimaced. He hoped Elladan returned soon, because he was not going to be able to break Legolas' hold. "My allegiance to the king comes before any friendship I may feel for you," he said defiantly.

"So," said Legolas. "It seems that we have a score to settle with Aragorn as well."

"Aye," replied Gimli. "What shall we do with this one?"

"Bind him and put him in the closet," said Legolas heartlessly.

It was no sooner said than done. Elrohir struggled valiantly, but the dwarf was surprisingly strong for one of his height, and the wood-elf held him still, preventing him from landing any truly dangerous blows. Elrohir, his mouth gagged with his own handkerchief, stared at the blank wood of the closet wall and shook his head, annoyed. He could only hope that Elladan would not fall into the same trap. In the meantime, he would loosen his ropes and get back to the hobbits.

Aragorn strode to the kitchen door, Frodo and Sam trotting close behind him. His plan was about to be tested, and it would not fail.

"My Lord King, I must ask that you surrender."

Aragorn turned around, taking back his previous thought. He had hardly ever heard that tone of voice from his Steward, and it never boded well for the person to whom Faramir addressed himself.

"You forget your place, my Lord Steward," Aragorn said, putting every ounce of royal bearing and strength into his own voice.

"Some things transcend even my sworn duty to you."

Aragorn rested one hand on Anduril's hilt. "Stand down, Lord Faramir."

A door clicked shut behind him, and Aragorn turned. Mistress Baxster stood in the hall, a look of confusion on her face and a large pan in her hand.

"Your Majesty," she said, wondering what on earth she had just overheard. "How may I serve you?"

"You will serve me best by carrying out your duties," said King Elessar graciously, giving her a courteous bow.

She left, and Faramir leapt past the king, grasping at the door's ornate handle and flinging himself against it, but Aragorn dragged him back, holding him against the wall.

"Frodo, Sam, now!" he cried.

"We cannot just leave you alone, Strider," said Sam. "Mistress Baxster had a mighty big frying pan with her. And I don't have mine with me."

"You must complete our quest!" Aragorn insisted, and grunted as Faramir's elbow struck him hard in the stomach. He gasped for breath, and wheezed, "Even your own worthy pan is no match for the many dark plots that surround us! Our only hope is for you to carry out your part!"

Frodo nodded seriously and disappeared into the kitchen, Sam trailing close behind.

"Pippin, Merry; Mistress Baxster has just left!" hissed Elladan's voice from the servants' entrance. "But you must hurry: something has gone amiss! Elrohir is nowhere to be found."

Pippin nodded grimly and scooted out from beneath the cupboard, snagging his waistcoat buttons on the mortar between the smooth stones of the floor. Merry was quicker than he; already he was nearing the tray of strawberry tarts, his fingers outstretched.

"NO!" A horrified cry rang through the kitchen.

The unsuspecting cooks spun to face the instigator of the disturbance and saw Frodo Baggins, hero of the War of the Ring, make a mighty leap and tackle his two young cousins to the ground in a whirl of cloaks, arms, and legs.

His stalwart protector, Samwise Gamgee, hauled his master out of the fray, and the two of them snatched up an enormous tray of strawberry tarts and ran for the door.

Those who worked in the kitchens were too shocked to move: how did one respond to such a situation?

Elladan, seeing Pippin and Merry's fall, rushed into the room, jumped over them, and stood with his back to the door. Frodo and Sam stopped short, staring up at him, wide-eyed.

Pippin and Merry stepped forward to relieve them of the tray's considerable weight, and Elladan was just about to order a retreat when there was a loud racket outside the door.

A dwarven voice bellowed, "There you are, you treacherous human!"

"Gimli!" shouted Aragorn's voice. "We must settle our differences later! Pippin and Merry have allied themselves with Elladan and Elrohir!"

Legolas said something about a closet, and Elladan stared back at Pippin and Merry, all three of them looking deeply concerned. Frodo and Sam wisely took shelter beneath a nearby table.

"I cannot help you; I must restrain Faramir!" Aragorn's voice sounded again. "Gimli, you helped build this door! You know it's weaknesses!"

"Indeed I do, laddie!" roared Gimli.

Elladan's eyes widened, but he had no time to move.

The door burst open and slammed into him from behind, catapulting him across the kitchen. Unable to catch his balance, he landed face-first on Pippin, Merry, and the tray of tarts they had been so jealously guarding.

At the same moment, Elrohir burst into the room from the opposite direction, trailing rope and pulling a handkerchief out of his mouth. He skidded on the stone floor, trying to avoid the disaster, but crashed into his brother, who had just gotten to his feet.

Gandalf watched through the kitchen window, still blowing smoke rings, as the unhappy events unfolded. Frodo and Sam had retreated to the servant's entrance. Faramir and Aragorn stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, their differences forgotten in the face of this great tragedy. Gimli stood directly in front of them, coughing as he leaned against the door. Legolas looked slightly disbelieving at first, but eventually settled for smirking at the sons of Elrond. Elladan and Elrohir struggled to their feet again, vowing revenge against Legolas and Gimli in every tongue known to them. Pippin and Merry were sitting upright, covered from head to foot in strawberry preserves and pieces of crust, looking mildly confused.

At last Aragorn drew a deep breath. "We have all failed," he declared.

"Yes," sighed Frodo, whose voice sounded curiously strangled. "We – we –"

He rushed from the room, but his laughter was clearly audible to them. The other hobbits laughed with him. Faramir kept his face sober for as long as Aragorn did, and then they both turned away, hiding their own laughter.

Legolas picked up the empty tray and set it back on the table as Gimli hauled the two tart-covered hobbits to their feet. "We'd best get you two out of sight before Mistress Baxster returns."

Pippin shuddered.

At the mention of Mistress Baxster, the cooks rushed into action, aided by Elladan and Elrohir, Legolas and Gimli, and the two hobbits.

Gandalf gave sage advice through the window. "If I were you, my lads, I would not go walking through the palace in that manner," he said, pointing to their red-spattered clothing. "You look as though you have been grievously injured."

At this remark, Elladan, who had been assisting Pippin, somehow contrived to flick a large piece of tart onto Gandalf's immaculately white hat. He took it off and looked at it, grumbling under his breath as he tried to clean it.

"Mistress Baxster is returning!" cried one of the cooks suddenly. "You must leave!"

"No need to tell me twice!" agreed Merry, and he and Pippin bolted for the servant's entrance. The others followed; they waited outside the door, listening.

"Mithrandir," said Mistress Baxster's sharp voice. "What are you doing outside the window? And WHERE are the strawberry tarts?"

Poor Gandalf . . . *shrug* ;D

Baxster is the female form of the medieval surname for English bakers. ;D I couldn't resist.

So, I do hope everyone laughed at this, or possibly groaned - and do you recognize the chapter title this title was stolen from? :) Reviews are appreciated, as always!