I'm sorry it took me so long to update, guys… and gals… Please forgive me! I've been rather uninspired recently, and theatre was winning over writing time. (Would you believe I've been the old woman in every play this year? Rediculous…)

Anyway, sorry again… A rather unsatisfying update, I know, and I apologize… Anyway, here you are.

(shrugs lamely)


Gandalf sniggered as he waited calmly for Pippin to pass into his line of sight. This was the most interesting snowball fight they'd ever had… with the possible exception of the time when Gimli had tried to make Aragorn coffee and accidentally put in 35 shots of espresso.

The top of Pippin's head became visible as he snuck a peek over the roof, and Gandalf fired. A miss; Pippin's head quickly disappeared and didn't make its presence known again.

All he needed to do now was pick off the two hobbits. Sam shouldn't present much a problem, Gandalf thought, eyeing the snow fortress. His cannon could deal with that. In fact, Pippin shouldn't be a problem either. Now the hobbit was trapped on the roof, while he- Gandalf- was out of range and Sam was too well protected to be harmed. Gandalf fought down a cackle of glee and waited. He could do this.

888

Pippin paced as best he could, gnawing his lip. He couldn't feel it at the moment, numb as it was, and later its soreness would remind him that it isn't wise to gnaw one's lip so much. But, as mentioned, he couldn't feel it at the time, so chewing on it presented no problems.

He really, really did not know what to do. He had two enemies left and had no way to reach either without giving up the roof. The Battle of the Roof over, and Pippin emerging the victor, he was reluctant to release it now. He had to admit, though, it had lost its helpfulness. Pippin needed the roof no longer. He looked across the top towards Gandalf, then down at Sam's fort. He had an idea… Risking it all, he took a running start and leapt of the edge of the roof.

888

Sam started in surprise, then stared in shock as Pippin landed right next to him in his fort. The Took moaned something that sounded like "aaauugh," shook his snow-slathered head, then raised his arms defensively.

"TRUCE! TRUCE!"

Sam was too stunned to say much of anything. Pippin took advantage of this.

"Okay, Sam, before you come to your senses and start throwing snow at me and kill me, I beg for, um, um… mercy? Oh!" The Took's face lit up like a jack-o-lantern. "Sanctuary! I plead Sanctuary!"

This shook Sam out of his stupor. "This isn't a cathedral!"

"You don't need a cathedral to plead sanctuary!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"DO NOT!"

"Do TOO!"

"Go ask Gandalf!"

"Fine! I will!"

Pippin watched, astonished, as Sam scrabbled over the walls and out of the safety of his fort. Pippin built a slipshod step out of snow, then stood tenderly on it to peek over the high crystalline ramparts. Peregrin couldn't believe his icy green eyes. Sam marched right up to the elderly wizard, who was rolling his slightly misshapen snow-cannon around the house.

The moment Sam's brain registered what had just occurred was visible. There was a slight vibration of realization throughout his entire body before he stood stock still. "Peregrin Took!" the hobbit screamed, then turned and ran back at the walls.

Gandalf was already in action, training his snow cannon carefully on the perfect target that was the fleeing hobbit's back. Sam was halfway back to his invaded fortress when Gandalf fired. Sam never saw it coming, but that was actually quite alright. The spell on Gandalf's weapon was weakening, and the warped barrel of the cannon sent the near-lethal missile careening far off course. It whizzed right over Sam's frying pan-covered head, heading straight for Pippin's noggin, which was half-visible behind the fort's walls.

Pippin's eyes widened and he froze in a mixture of shock and terror. Fortunately, however, just when his doom seemed assured, the sloppy step of slush he had formed dissolved beneath him and Gandalf's weapon harmlessly (though perhaps a bit wetly) ruffled the hobbit's hair.

Gandalf and Sam stared in awe as the back wall of Sam's fort exploded with the impact of the wizard's cannonball. Masses of slush that had been the hind wall were jettisoned into the air, and the front wall slumped pathetically. There was a muffled yelling from Pippin beneath the slopping of snow, then silence. Witnesses half expected to see smoke and flames rising from the destruction; instead, the sun came out and gave the white ground a heavenly glow.

Nobody moved; nobody dared. The quiet stretched and the silence grew thicker.

Finally, a noise. "Urp," gulped Merry from the open doorway of the house.

Merry's noise seemed to give the all-clear, and the silence thinned and the quiet lifted.

"Do you think he's dead?" whispered Sam hoarsely.

"Nah," Gandalf said calmly, "Even if he did get hit in the head by the snow, he would still have another life left."

"I meant literally!"

"Oh. No, I shouldn't expect so."

Nonetheless, it was with dreaded caution that the two remaining players crept around either side of the remaining wall of the fort, and it was with equal slowness that the rest of the fellowship slunk from the house to rubberneck.

Gandalf and Sam disappeared behind the wall. Merry, Frodo, Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli held their breath.

Thlup! Gandalf began cursing and stalked out from behind the snow barrier, wiping snow from his beard. "FOOL OF A TOOK!" he screamed.

Merry began giggling hysterically behind his hand, while Legolas and Gimli openly pointed and laughed at the wizard. Aragorn hid a smile before dashing to see how the final duel between the two remaining hobbits would play out, the rest trailing eagerly behind.

The battle was already in full-swing by the time the rest of the Fellowship got there. Sam appeared to have the advantage with his armor, but it also hindered him. Pippin had no protection, but because of that he had greater agility and easily evaded Sam's shots. Legolas and Gimli excitedly began taking bets.

A well-aimed ball from Sam grazed Pippin's arm, and a fierce sphere of Pippin's knocked Sam's "helmet" clean off. "Stats! Stats!" Frodo called, "Give us your stats!"

"We're each on our last life," Pippin called breathlessly, ducking to evade Sam's snowball.

"Master Took here's got two injuries," Sam panted, "While I've not got none."

"You would if you weren't wearing your armor," Pippin muttered darkly.

Sam's loss of his helmet seemed to give him a new desperation. Despite the cold air there was a line of sweat on his brow, and a tenseness visible even beneath his pillow body armor showed he was fighting the urge to grab his frying pan. Finally the feeling of helplessness proved too much for him, and he lunged for it.

Pippin, seeing his opening, sent a perfectly formed snowball at Sam's head. It flew straight and true, with a slight spin that reflected the sunlight and dazzled the eyes of the viewers.

WAPffht! Just in time, Sam brought the frying pan swinging around and batted the snowball away like it was an attacking orc. Pippin pitched the snowballs, Sam swung at them, each time a perfect hit.

"This isn't baseball," Merry shouted to the combatants.

"Come on, Sam," Legolas urged, "I've got twenty on you!"

"Learn to pitch," Gimli growled at Pippin. "He'd better win," the dwarf added conspiratorially to Aragorn, "I haven't got a twenty!"