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To my loverly and extremely patient reviewers… And the not-so-patient ones…

I finally updated. I was in the musical and then the play and then I was lazy. I don't really have an excuse except that I was attacked by mad Amish people. Even though it wasn't very nice, I couldn't get mad at them because Amish people are really, really cool.

So… here is more… The snowball fight ends at last! Ah hahahaha!

TheMagesticMoose- Go You! You're a very supportive reviewer! For that, this chapter is dedicated to you. It doesn't really change the content of the chapter at all, but it's all for you anyways.

Enelya Wood- I'm glad you liked it! (And that you said so). I Updated when I could… granted, there were several times I COULD have before now… but I can now, too.

TheMushroomCommander- Hey, the Christmas season was… ((checks calendar)) SIX months ago, and we need the Christmas spirit now more than ever!

Altaria Artanis- I wouldn't say Sam's stupid… just open to suggestion. And I'm sure Pippin hears your cheers. Hehe… I rhymed.

Changeofheart18782- YAY! In-character is what I strive for. Your wish is my command. And I command you to read more.

LoTRwriter27- Got five bucks?

Admiral Ducky- I can't say honestly if I like dragons that breathe carrots, as I've never met one personally. Though I do get on well with the dragon that breathes turnips, so I may like the carrot-breathing ones, too. And I like my screen name, too. It's mine. No touchy. . .

Malozing- LOL! Thanks!

Almostinsane- I'm glad you like it. But both sniggered and snickered are acceptable terms to describe a kind of demeaning laughter.

If I missed any lovely reviewers, I love you, I'm sorry, and have a muffin!

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There was an uneasy pause in the game, where Sam and Pippin ignored each other and focused on breathing. Their audience grumbled in irritation at the delay in action, but the two hobbits were tired, Sam especially. Though the pillows protected him well, they made each movement take nearly twice the energy than it would take were his limbs unhampered.

Sam eyed Pippin nervously; his opponent seemed perfectly content to extend the slight respite for a little longer. Sam's fingers twitched for a snow ball. If he could only catch him off guard…

Likewise, Pippin carefully surveyed Sam through his peripheral vision. One quick shot to the head, and it would be over. He bent over, hands on his knees, pretending to catch his breath.

Sam crouched, pretending to loosen the constrictive hold of his leg armor.

"Yaaargh!"

"Raaaauugh!"

Simultaneously, both combatants grabbed a pile of snow and, not even taking the time to form it into a proper projectile, flung it blindly towards the other.

Wupth. Pippin cried out as he was blinded by whiteness.

Plfffh. Sam grunted as his mouth filled with slush.

Pippin wiped his eyes. Sam spat. They stared at each other in a confused silence, which was broken moments later by Legolas and Gimli turning on each other.

"You owe me a twenty!"

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"So wait," Merry started as they all trudged sloppily into the house, "who won?"

"He did," Pippin and Sam said wearily, pointing at each other.

"It was a tie, Merry." Aragorn elucidated.

"It was a tie, and I'm tired," Gandalf commented, covering an oversized yawn with a theatrical flourish.

"Ah yes, now comes Gandalf's favorite Christmas tradition," Frodo remarked wryly, a shadow of a smirk apparent.

"Drinking 'till you pass out!" Gimli cried, raising an imaginary mug. He then drained the imaginary beer and hiccupped.

"Passing out," Gandalf amended, flopping into His Chair with an almighty squelch.

"Do what you like," Legolas said, tossing his wet hair, "but I'm changing into dry clothes. After I take a shower," he added as an afterthought.

"Let me go to the bathroom first," Sam warned, shedding sopping pillows as he skittered up the staircase.

"And I," Pippin announced, "am going to eat." Merry followed him into the kitchen.

After everyone had recuperated from the ferocious snowball fight and changed into dry clothes, there was a general aura of uncharacteristic calm over the house as they all settled into the cozy living room.

Gandalf was sprawled comfortably on the couch, Aragorn was nursing his eighth cup of "javajavajavajava," and the others were involved in a particularly violent game of Killer Uno.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and everyone looked at each other challengingly; every expression read, "Well I'M not getting up."

Finally Aragorn sighed. "I've got it."

"Uno," Merry warned.

The others heard the door squeak open, and then there was a squeak of an entirely different nature, rapidly followed by a house-shaking thump.

Curious, everyone except for Gandalf (who appeared unconscious) abandoned their game to see the source of the sounds. Merry was about to win, anyway.

They came to the hall to see a somewhat overwhelmed Aragorn sprawled on the floor and beset by an enthusiastic Arwen, who was busy snogging her hubby for all she was worth. Towering above the couple, positively reeking of disapproval, was Elrond.

After a moment, Aragorn spoke around Arwen's lips. "Hi dad."

Elrond snorted.

After a while, they managed to pry Aragorn and Arwen apart and started a whole new round of Killer Uno, this time the two new arrivals included.

"I can't believe you've never learned how to play Uno, Ada," Arwen giggled.

"Uno I've played," Elrond corrected, frowning fiercely. "This is NOT Uno."

"Nope," Frodo agreed. "It's Killer Uno."

Everyone jumped as Sam laid down a card and slapped it, but then everyone hastily followed suit. Everyone except Elrond.

"You have to draw four cards now," Aragorn told the elf lord.

"What? Why?"

"He played a nine," Gimli explained, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You have to slap the nines, and whoever's last has to draw four cards."

"That's got to be the most ridiculous rule I've ever heard in my life," Elrond muttered, drawing from the pile. "When are your brothers getting here?" He added to Arwen.

"Elladan and Elrohir are coming, too?" Legolas perked up. He and Aragorn had always gotten on well with the twins.

"Mmm-hmmm," Arwen nodded, playing a blue zero and trading her seven-card hand for Pippin's four-card hand. Pippin scowled. "I think Faramir and Eowyn are coming too."

"That will be nice," Merry remarked absently, then froze in the middle of putting down his next card. "That will make twelve," he said slowly. "Twelve people. It's almost three o' clock! I've got to get supper started!" He threw down his hand and dashed to the kitchen and slammed the sliding door shut.

Everyone stared after him for a moment. The door slid back open a few seconds later, and Merry's head popped back out. "Don't come in!" He shouted shrilly, then slammed the door shut again.

There was a pause. "What just happened?" Arwen asked.

Sam sighed heavily and glowered at his hand.

"Merry coerced Sam into letting him fix Christmas dinner," Frodo explained.

Elrond, despite himself, allowed a slight flicker of surprise flash across his face. "How did he manage THAT?"

Pippin snorted. "Lots of wheedling."

Elrond's eyebrows arched. "Maybe Arwen and I should escape while we still have a chance."

"Oh, give the lad a chance," Gimli chuckled. "I've not seen him this excited since… since…"

"Ever," Pippin supplied.

"Maybe I ought to go check on him," Sam said, casting a longing glance towards the kitchen doors. "Just in case he-"

"Sam," Frodo admonished, "You leave him alone. What would you do if someone walked in on you while you were cooking Christmas dinner?"

Sam brandished an imaginary saucepan. "I'd smack him a good one."

"Exactly," Frodo nodded. "Stay out of there."