My apologies for being so late updating. I have an extensive list of reasons (five to be exact), but I'm not gonna waste time listing them.

Also, I have recently been too busy to steal any copyrights. Especially ones from New Line Cinemas.

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Aragorn sighed. They were losing. Especially since this was High-Heels Deep, and that meant that they were all obeying the tradition of wearing heels into battle. Legolas, being an elf, was graceful, or even more graceful than usual, if that was even possible. Gimli was inventive and stuck the shoes to his wrists for whacking orcs with the stiletto heels. Aragorn himself had somehow hid and got away from the horror. The warriors of Rohan obviously hadn't been at High-Heels Deep for generations, because they were all tripping and falling. The orcs, on the other hand, had gotten rollerblades (obviously foul craft of Saruman). Suddenly, a pink glow appeared over the horizon.

"Hi orcsies! Prepare to die!" Fandalf screamed. The orcs fled, trying to run in the rollerblades. And failing. That in turn gave the Rohirrim enough time to get up and walk over their faces in six inch stilettos. Aragorn got over to Éomer to ask him how they switched on Fandalf.

"Long story," Éomer grunted, slicing the head off a stray orc. "I brushed off him while I was maneuvering my horse around, he changed into this pink light-bulb and tried to hug me, I told him to go away and kill some orcs, and then he said something along the lines of 'Anything for you' and that's how we got here. Can you tell me what's up with him?"

"I'll explain later, now go and whack him again, you dumbass Thor wannabe!" Aragorn commanded Éomer, desperate to stop the essence of pinkness slowly spreading over the battlefield.

"I am not a Thor wannabe! It's Thor that's an Éomer wannabe!" Éomer shot back at Aragorn, but still obeyed the instruction. The orcs were spilling their limited edition peach and apricot Fanta everywhere, and running away from Fandalf, who was squealing incoherently every time he managed to whack anyone, friend or foe. Unsurprisingly, he soon became the target of an unbelievable amount of "WTF" looks. Finally, one of the orcs got up with the help of a pile of his friends' carcasses and rollerbladed over to Fandalf.

"Begone, foul beast!" the orc roared and attempted to pull Fandalf off Princess Celestia. The true Gandalf whacked the orc with his staff and balanced himself on the Alicorn.

"Okay, what was going on with Mr. Glo-stick over here?" Éomer demanded after the battle.

"That was Fandalf, Mithrandir's alternate personality," Legolas explained. "He appears whenever someone touches him and becomes a fan of whoever switched him on."

"Oh, why did I not murder him when I had the chance and an excuse to do so?" Éomer wailed in despair, falling to his knees.

"We all regret the same thing, my friend," Gimli patted the human on the back consolingly.

"Hey, how do you think I feel? I have to deal with this in first-person point of view!" Gandalf shouted, clearly cracked from all the insane giggling he'd done earlier on that day.

"We all feel sorry for you, now shut up," Aragorn said. "Time to go to Isengard!"

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Please remind me of any spelling mistakes. I'm pedantic about that sort of thing. I know this chapter is short, but I'm planning on uploading two more over the Christmas break. And I apologise again for my lateness. #WAFFLES!