“All right,” said Pippin, fingering his feather.  “That was the easy part.  How do you reckon we should get at his feet?”

Merry was chewing his lip and looking off into the distance with an air of abstraction.  There had to be some way…

Pippin tweaked his nose.

“Hoy!”

“How do we get at his feet?”

Merry frowned at Pippin as sternly as he could manage.  “I don’t know yet.”

“Don’t frown like that; you look like a frog who’s just learned his mother died. You really don’t have a plan?”

“No—for one thing, he’s stronger than we are, even in a corset, and for another, his legs are very long.  I don’t see how we can do anything at the moment.”

“But you always have a plan!” Pippin hissed.

“Yes, well, the chaos of this day makes planning particularly difficult, so if you’ll just give me a moment’s peace…”

“Why, Merry, you goose, you’re going about it all wrong!”  Pippin grinned.  “Remind me—do you plan better with or withoutbeer?”

“Ugh, don’t try to get me drunk on top of everything else!”

Pippin only grinned wider, and ran to the nearest barrel.  Merry followed him.  “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Pippin was tapping into the barrel with such zeal that Merry refused to gratify him with an answer.  He pressed a cup into Merry’s hand.  “You implied ‘without beer,’ so I figure wine’s our only option.  Drink up.”

Merry handed the cup back.  “No!”

“Really, it’s quite simple.  The day’s gone mad, so to accomplish anything worthwhile, you have to go a little mad yourself.  Fortunately, his Majesty has provided us with the means.”  He gave the cup back to Merry.

“You’re already mad!”  Merry tried to hand Pippin the cup of wine, but Pippin had clenched his fists shut.  “By that logic, you should have tonight figured out down to the last letter.”

“Don’t be so rough with the wine, Merry; you’ll spill it.”

“Take it, then!”

Pippin took it, but handed it back to Merry before he could put his hands away.

Merry stamped his foot, and immediately regretted it.  Pippin was making him act like a ten-year-old…

Which was probably his point.  Merry took one sip of the wine, and then—carefully—set it on the floor.  “You’re distracting me, Pippin.  One can go a little mad without risking a hangover, as you well know.”

“Case in point,” said Pippin, nudging Merry and drawing his attention to Gimli, who was striding angrily towards them, hefting his axe.  “What do you think we did?”

Merry took a long, hard look at Gimli.  “I don’t think it’s us he’s upset with.  He wouldn’t be quite so violent.”

“Indeed not,” said the dwarf loudly.  “This is not some minor slight, but a grave injustice.  And it concerns not you.”

“What happened?” said Pippin.

“The fairest lady that ever walked on earth—you know of whom I speak—has a number of ornaments for the hair—”

“Oh, dear,” said Merry.  “Don’t tell us he’s lost one of them?”

“The tale is known to you?  Good.”  Gimli nodded.  “I go to see Aragorn—either to help him find it, or else avenge its loss.”  He slapped the axe into his hard hand.

Merry swallowed.  “Any chance you could knock him down?...”

Gimli eyed them suspiciously.  “What game are you playing at?  This is no time for games!  The King has given insult to my lady…”

“And so, you must knock him down,” said Pippin, nodding.  “And preferably, unshoe him as well.”

“No,” said Sam from the other side of the barrel, “you mustn’t.”

Pippin jumped a full six inches.  “Sam!  What are you doing here?”

“Listening in,” said Sam sternly.  “And keeping an eye on you, as Mr. Frodo said.”

Pippin jabbed Merry with his elbow.  “Take your ‘grim, disappointed father’ cues from Sam.  He’s much better at it than you.”

“Mr. Pippin, listen to me.  Don’t do anything as you’ll wish you hadn’t later, especially tonight.”

“Oh.  Did Frodo tell you to say that?  Why do we need you to keep an eye on us, anyhow?”

“Pippin!” said Merry.  “Do you really need an answer to that question?”

“Oh, dry up, Merry.”

“Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, “wanted to enjoy himself as well, enough that he couldn’t keep an eye on you.  He asked me to help.”

“Well,” said Pippin, “that’s a very noble thing and all, but seeing as Frodo is currently climbing upon a table, don’t you think he rather needs looking after more?”

Sam spun his head around to where the singers had gathered, and saw, with growing horror, that Pippin had not lied.  He turned back to Pippin and hesitated.

The far end of the hall, where the King had been, erupted in a stentorian “Khazad!”

Merry and Pippin shared a glance, then ran in pursuit, leaving Sam behind, bewildered, to ponder what he should do next.