First, I apologise for the huge delay. Hopefully, updates will be more frequent in the future. Second, this chapter didn't go how I planned it to, and I'm coming to the conclusion that this story, be it ever so little at the moment, has a life of its own. But anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Any reviews would be gratefully received.

A Rather Epic Game of Ping Pong

2. A Rather Sarcastic Cough

Aragorn tried in vain to hide his grin as he watched Gandalf. The trouble, the wizard thought, of having someone who knew you so well was that they could tell when you were bluffing. After all the adventures the fellowship had been on together, mind, they all knew Gandalf well enough to see through his brave attempts at explanation. Which made the wizard wonder exactly who he was bluffing to.

Aragorn couldn't say. He didn't dare open his mouth, for fear of bursting out laughing. But that was what came from hanging around with hobbits. In fact, Aragorn sometimes thought he spent too much time laughing for someone with quite so many titles. Sometimes, he missed the travel, adventure and regular mortal peril that came with being a ranger of the Dunedain.

Aragorn was interrupted from his thoughts by much huffing and puffing. The sound was caused by the fact that Pippin was sat on Merry's shoulders, so that he could poke Aragorn. Satisfied that he had got the King's attention, he opened his mouth to make what would probably have been a comment on Gandalf's waffle, if he hadn't at that moment fallen to the floor and broken his nose. Gandalf stopped his purposeful walking towards the doors.

Aragorn, unsure whether to laugh or offer assistance, was left standing there as all hell broke loose. Well, not all hell, considering that the presence of the entire Forces for Evil meant the opportunity for hell was somewhat increased. All the same, the amount of hell that ensued was quite enough to be getting on with.

Pippin howled as his nose broke beneath him with a resounding crunch. Merry collapsed onto the floor, laughing so hard at the expression of his friend that the current resting place of his head (e.g. on his shoulders) was put at serious risk. Pippin, seeing Merry rolling about laughing hysterically at the former's misfortune, employed some of the best and most imaginative insults a hobbit can come up with at short notice, and leaped on top of Merry.

Their fight was, unsurprisingly, only exacerbated by Gimli joining in, in an attempt to annoy Gandalf cunningly disguised as an attempt to keep the peace.

Only when Gandalf had released a total of 27 firecrackers, given the combatants a tail, and ulcer and an enlarged nose respectively, and accidentally set his own beard on fire, did the fighting eventually cease.

By this time, Aragorn had lost all hope of keeping a straight face. He might have succeeded, if not for Gandalf's inadvertent display of facial pyrotechnics, but as it was the sight of the wizard stood with a halo of firecrackers and a gently smouldering beard was too much to bear.

Spluttering, and desperately trying to remember how to breathe properly, Aragorn pulled himself up from the floor, and started trying to think of a way to alter the atmosphere that was at the same time as taut and dangerous as a drawn bow string, and as fluffy and humorous as a marshmallow on fire. He failed. As soon as the thought of an atmosphere like flaming confectionary entered his mind, he was on the floor again, laughing fit to burst.

A small yet interestingly loud cough brought a halt to Aragorn's mirth. It was one of those coughs that simply oozed sarcasm, and Gandalf had been perfecting it for many years. In slightly less time than the average moment, the ranger was stood with his back against a wall, looking about as sheepish as a sheep, or at least as sheepish as a King of Gondor caught laughing madly on the floor by his now silent companions can look (the silent companions having had their facial features returned to the proper proportions).

"So, what was it you said about ping-pong?" asked Aragorn in a wildly transparent attempt at changing the subject.

"Thank you," said Gandalf again, giving Aragorn a rather pointed look that said 'about time' in a calm yet extremely threatening voice.

Aragorn almost nodded, as if to say 'it's nothing,' but decided against it. He valued his life. Gandalf continued speaking.

"My friends," said he, making a great deal of the fact that he was explaining to them, and that he therefore had a far superior wisdom. "It would appear that Fate has one more task for us-"

"Well, what's new?" remarked Gimli, rather loudly. "Fate'll still be demanding favours of us when we're dead! 'Do this! Do that!' Well, I'm fed up! Fate can go-"

"Gimli!"cried Legolas, who, as an elf,had rather an affinity with Fate. It could be said that Fate was an old family friend.

Gandalf gave a smile, which offended many nearby crocodiles, as they had spent the last millennia perfecting an identical threatening grin, and who were of the belief that Gandalf was, in using it, under breach of copyright. But, despite the complaints of the surrounding reptiles, the wizard spoke again. "Thank you, Legolas. Now, if I might continue?"

The rest of the Fellowship had the grace to look a little bit ashamed.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Fate has one more task for us. We must once again face the forces of Evil in a terrible battle, yet this time the weapons will not be swords and strength in arms, or the destruction of the ruling ring. No, we must take up the table-tennis paddles and go forth to yet again rid the world from the forces of darkness."

Gandalf personally felt that his speech should have been met with an awed silence, but it wasn't to be. Instead the assembled humans, hobbits, elves and dwarves exploded into a babble of speech.

"Could anyone else hear an orchestra in the last bit of that speech, or was it just me?"Aragorn was heard to say. Gandalf himself half-fancied that he had heard the souring notes of a string section as he had uttered the final words, but he had dismissed it as an over-active imagination, which Wizards are prone to developing. After all, it wasn't like they were in a film.

"Well, personally, I feel a bit short changed," complained Frodo, waving about his injured hand. "I mean, I lost a finger to defeat Sauron, and now he refuses to stay dead!"

"You feel short changed?" exclaimed Boromir. "I flipping died, and now apparently Evil's back. I've got half a mind to complain!"

"To be honest," came the voice of a particularly small orc from across the courtyard, "I'm a bit miffed too. I mean, I lost a thoroughly embarrassing battle, and died, but now I'm being resurrected just to lose another embarrassing battle, which happens to be in the form of a ping-pong match. And Idon't even like ping-pong! I used to pretend to be ill when we had to do it at school."

It occurred to all members of the Fellowship who were gathered in the courtyard that it was not only Gandalf who could put many words into a glare. The fact that Sauron comprised entirely of a giant only added to the effect.

Gandalf saw all of this, and heard everything they said. For one, he had a vague idea that being compared to Sauron would undermine his authority, and also, he didn't at all like the fact that people were insulting Fate. If things had got to someone like Fate being insulted, then the Wizard stood very little chance.

"Excuse me," cried Gandalf, projecting his voice loudly to ensure that all could hear him. "Don't you think we ought to go inside, we've been stood here rather a long time? May I continue with my purposeful walking- nay, striding. It is time we cooperated with Fate's will, and began this ping-pong tournament." And, with a strange vision of a young man with a completely ridiculous swishy fringe, who was about to commence in a sporting activity himself, he added, under his breath, two words: "Game on."