Thanks to the following reviewers for additional ideas and encouragement: Dis Thrainsdotter, Natural Beauty, and Starlit Hope.
Gloin's howls of outrage would have cowed even an Uruk-hai. Waving his arms, stamping his feet, his face purple, his eyes bulging, the glowering Dwarf seized an ax and made as if he were going to prepare elf cutlets. Elrond, Celeborn, and Thranduil—Haldir and Legolas were still in the closet—scrambled for the door, but a desperate Gimli blocked their path.
"No! no! you can't leave. You've got to do this makeover!"
"Uh, Gimli," gasped Elrond, who was trying to keep Gimli between himself and Gloin. "I don't think your family is ready for you to take this step!"
"Nonsense," shouted Gimli. "Dad! Dad! Haven't you been saying that it's time for me to settle down with a nice Dwarf maiden? These makeover experts will have the ladies breaking down the doors to reach me."
"Probably literally," thought Elrond to himself.
Suspiciously, still brandishing the ax, Gloin stopped his ranting. He was indeed bothered by the total absence of womenfolk from Gimli's social calendar. Warg-hunting, troll-baiting, brew-hoisting, hafling-tossing—that's all his son seemed to do in his spare time. Gloin enjoyed gutting a warg as much as the next Dwarf, but, really, spending a little time with the hairier sex was something a really dwarfly Dwarf should do at least once a century, if not once a decade. But how could these—these Elves help Gimli make his mark in that department? I mean, what do Elves know about being dwarfly?
Still, it wouldn't hurt to listen to what they had to say. Gloin lowered the ax and glared at the three elves, who were huddled together behind Gimli. "Alright," he grumbled grudgingly, "What've ye got in mind?"
Elrond stepped out tentatively from behind Gimli.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Elrond. I hail from Rivendell, and I am here to advise Gimli on cultural matters.
"I'm Celeborn. I live in Lothlorien, and I'm here to assist in the area of interior design."
"And I am Thranduil. I reside in Mirkwood, and my expertise is in the selection of wine and the preparation and presentation of food."
Gloin snorted. "Mirkwood, eh? I've been there. During my stay, I wasn't very well entertained, food- and beverage-wise. Accommodations were pretty poor, too."
"Oh," said Thranduil nervously. "Was that so? Well, uh, I promise you that I'll take up the matter with the management."
Gloin grunted and turned back to Elrond. As the older Dwarf interrogated the Elf as to his intentions vis-à-vis Gimli, Thranduil and Celeborn held a whispered conversation with his son.
"Gimli, I've never seen a dwarf-woman," said Celeborn curiously. "Tell me about them."
"They are so alike in voice and appearance that they're often mistaken for dwarf-men. This has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf-women and that Dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground, which is of course ridiculous."
Celeborn and Thranduil exchanged glances, but before they could say anything further, the closet door was flung open and Haldir and Legolas stumbled out.
"What's this!?" roared Gloin. "Why are there elves coming out of the closet!?"
"Oh," said Elrond hastily, throwing out the first thing that came to mind, "they were measuring."
"Yes," chimed in Celeborn, "they were measuring, uh, the length of the—the length of, uh—"
"In the name of Durin," bristled Gloin, "the length of what!?"
"The spear!"
"The sword!"
"The shaft!"
"I think I can clear up this matter," said Elrond, recovering his composure. "They were examining the tools in the closet. You know, Gimli should consider polishing his tools and putting them on display."
"Oh, yes, collections of any sort are great conversation openers, and I'm sure Gimli's prospective guests would find his tools to be fascinating," added Celeborn.
"That's true," declared Haldir. "I can't tell you how many times I've used the line, 'Would you like to come back to my talan and see my—'"
"Uh, thank you, Haldir," interrupted Elrond. "Gloin, let me properly introduce you to our remaining experts. This is Haldir, who specializes in apparel, and this is Legolas, who will provide Gimli with suggestions on grooming."
"Legolas, Legolas," murmured Gloin thoughtfully. "That name sounds familiar." He turned to Gimli. "Didn't you use to go about with a Legolas, oh, about a millennium ago?"
Gimli looked nervous. "Aye, Dad, that I did."
"That's right," Legolas piped up. "Gimli and I spent a lot of time in each other's company."
"What!" shouted Gloin. "You never told me this Legolas you were gallivanting about with was an Elf!"
"Well," replied Gimli a trifle defensively, "I was distracted at the time—trying to keep my head, you know, when all about me were losing theirs."
"Gimli and I became quite close," said Legolas cheerfully. "Gimli, do you remember how you used to hold me around the waist so tightly!? Sometimes you clutched me so hard that you left bruises on my hips!"
"GIMLI!" shrieked Gloin, his voice as high-pitched as a ringwraith's. "WHAT is he talking about!?" Gloin's face was redder than a balrog's, and the veins on his forehead stood out like the ridges of the Misty Mountains.
"Uh, Dad, I rode with Legolas. Sometimes things got bumpy, and I had to hold on really tightly."
"You rode with LEGOLAS! You RODE with Legolas!"
"Gloin," counseled Elrond, "you really need to put more emphasis on the preposition. Gimli rode with Legolas—not, I beg you to notice, on Legolas. In terms of cultural awareness, it is vitally importance to pay attention to the niceties of the language."
"Shaddup before I preposition you!" snarled Gloin.
"Ooh, ooh! me first! me first!" squealed Haldir.
Speechless, Gloin stared at Haldir.
"Um, Dorwinion wine, anyone?" asked Thranduil nervously.
TBC