Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. Which may be a good thing…

A/N: Yeah, I've updated again…even though it's nowhere near Christmas time. But please, read and review!

Gimli sat in his room, axe in his hands. He was in Mirkwood, visiting Legolas. Although dwarves were rarely welcome among so many elves, Legolas had seen to it that his friend be made as comfortable as possible. So Gimli's room consisted of rocks embedded into the walls, a stone floor and dripping ceilings. Every elf who passed this room gave it a wide berth, shaking their heads in quiet disapproval. Unfortunately, being in an environment with so many elves had made Gimli a bit paranoid. Which explains why he was holding his axe with hands that shook.

When a servant unexpectedly knocked on the door, Gimli jumped a few feet before securing his grip on his axe and tiptoeing to the door. He opened it a crack.

"Yes?" he said, peering through the small space.

The servant was no more comfortable than Gimli. "Master dwarf," he said with slight distaste. "This packaged arrived for you. It is from Lord Aragorn."

"Really?" Gimli eyed the brown packaged cautiously, then quickly opened the door, snatched it out of the elf's hands, and slammed the door shut. He had it bolted before he knew what he was doing. As I said, paranoid.

The servant frowned, wondering what was wrong with the dwarf. But then, all dwarves were strange and vulgar, and he made a point of avoiding this room as much as possible.

Inside Gimli's cave, the dwarf opened Aragorn's package. It contained a cake. It was a two-storey cake (you know, with two levels), adorned with mounds of icing and marzipan and whatever else you can imagine. On the very top a white songbird was perched.

"Oh!" Gimli sighed in delight. "Aragorn really knows how to cater to a dwarf…"

But then the cake started dancing. Alarmed, Gimli grabbed his axe. Music came from somewhere inside the cake and the little songbird burst into…song.

"Gimli, the elf-loving dwarf,

his majesty King Aragorn

invites you to a Christmas party

in Rivendell.

Your dislike for such

Social gatherings is known,

But Lord Aragorn promises

That this cake is only a small

Sample of what will be on the

Christmas table."

"Bribery!" Gimli muttered, his mouth full. "Before the songbird had finished his song the cake was already half-gone. Dancing or not, said cake was delicious, and Gimli realized the only way he could get more of it was to go to this Christmas party.

"Very well, Aragorn," he grinned. "I'll come to this party of yours, but don't expect me to mingle excessively… I'll be busy guarding the dinner table!"

Hobbiton

Gandalf sighed as he rode to his temporary hobbit home in his horse carriage. The blasted hobbit had beat him again in their daily chess game. Even with his super-mental-prediction powers he hadn't been able to win the game.

"I'm getting old," the wizard sighed again.

A big butterfly suddenly flew in front of Gandalf.

"Senile!" it shrieked. "Decrepit!"

Gandalf's face contorted with rage. "You will pay for that!" he muttered a spell and watched in satisfaction as the butterfly swelled and exploded.

The authoress screamed and berated Gandalf about animal rights and brought the butterfly back, as a ghost that would haunt the wizard forever.

As Gandalf approached his hobbit-home he heard loud bangs coming from within. He hurried back and yanked open the door, only to be thrown back onto the porch by a flying chair. A closer inspection of the situation revealed that mini-explosions were being caused by something on his kitchen table. Shielding his face from the objects being blown at him, Gandalf walked over to the table and grabbed whatever it was that was causing the explosions.

It was a card. The wizard groaned. Aragorn's doing, no doubt. He hurled the card outside before it could explode again. Then he went out into the garden, cast a spell, and utterly destroyed the object.

But to his dismay, the object did not disintegrate. It shot spouts of fire into the air, forming words.

"Lord Aragorn invites you to a Christmas party in Rivendell…"

At the end of the message, the card combusted and Gandalf was faced with the wreckage of his home.

"You will pay, Aragorn," he grimaced. "Mark my words, you will pay."

A/N: Not my best, but I'm really running out of ideas. I think I'm just going to skip over the rest of the invitees and get on with the story, unless I'm faced with some brilliant ideas or urgent requests to continue with the reactions. Please review!