It took three and a half bottles of Thranduil's Dorwinion wine before Gloin had calmed down enough for the Fab Five to get on with the makeover of Gimli.

            Thranduil began to rummage about in the kitchen nook.  "How can a person possibly prepare a decent meal using this grungy cookware—I mean, really!"  Thranduil tossed a seemingly endless supply of dented pots and grease-encrusted pans into the dumpster that the Dimrill Deli had supplied in exchange for being promoted on the show.  "The Dimrill Deli, an excellent place to find superb cuts of dragon sirloin," declaimed Thranduil to Gimli, who was only able to grunt in acknowledgement because Legolas was working on his beard.

Thranduil repeated his promotional spot about the Dimrill Deli as soon as he saw what was in the larder.  "What is this!" he grimaced, gingerly holding between his thumb and forefinger a strip of something dark and leathery.

Elrond wrinkled up his face.  "Looks like some kind of dried meat."

"Werrrph Jergly," spluttered Gimli.

"What?"

"Weeeerrrpk Jerigly!"

Legolas took his hands off Gimli's beard for a moment.

"Warg Jerky!" shouted Gimli.  "It's really tasty," he added.

Thranduil looked faint and dropped the shriveled ribbon of meat into the dumpster.  When he found the jar of pickled troll eyes, he felt even fainter.

Legolas too was starting to feel ill.  What had at first seemed like a promising situation had rapidly gone bad.

"I catch a whiff of beer in your hair.  Have you been using it as a rinse?"

Gimli stared at him as if he were mad.  "Waste good beer as a rinse!?"

"Um, well, you'd be surprised at what people use in treating problem hair."

Gimli glared at him.  "Are you inferring that I have problem hair?"

"No," interrupted Elrond.  "He's implying that you have problem hair.  You see, Gimli, those two verbs are often confused.  You should use inferring when you mean—

"Elrond," Legolas whispered urgently, "I don't think you're helping!"

 Indeed, Gimli had gone from glaring to glowering, so Elrond dropped the subject and began to help Legolas as he attempted to untangle Gimli's beard."

"Legolas, there seems to be something snarled."

"Yeah, his beard."

"No, I mean snarled in his beard."

Elrond poked and pried and finally succeeded in drawing something brown and crumbly out of Gimli's beard.

"A crust of bread?"

"Yep, I think so.  Hey, Thranduil, can you use this?"

Thanduil didn't look as if he thought that was funny.

"There's something else in here."

Elrond probed a little more and managed to extricate the rind of a cheese.

"Hey, Thranduil.  You're the expert.  Can you tell us what kind of cheese this is?"

"Was," muttered Legolas.

Thranduil swayed a little bit.  Suddenly he grabbed a bottle of Dorwinion wine and downed nearly half of it without stopping to breathe.  Gimli looked impressed.

It was the longest makeover they had ever done, but at last, thanks to the fashion sense of the Fab Five and the magic of product placement, Gimli was ready for his close-up.  The room was filled with the aroma of grilled dragon garnished with athelas and decorated with tastefully arranged iridescent scales.  The dowdy tables and stools had been replaced with clean-lined furniture that reflected the most up-to-date styles out of Gondor.  Gimli himself was fashionably coifed, and his beard was elegantly trimmed into something resembling a Van Dyke.  And his clothes!  They were the latest in haute couture.  "You're going to particularly appreciate this Lothlorien cloak," Haldir assured Gimli as he put the finishing touches on his outfit.  "Not only does it make you look quite debonnaire; you can use its camouflage feature to make a quick getaway if a date is not working out."

Gloin had begun to recover from the Dorwinion wine at this point, and even he was impressed.

"My son, I do believe that you will be viewed as the most dashing and desirable Dwarf this side of the Misty Mountains."

"Uh, Dad, we're directly underneath the Misty Mountains, so which side would that be?"

Gloin waved off his question.  "Never you mind, son.  The point is that every dwarf-woman within ten leagues of Moria will be lining up to hit on you."

Probably literally, thought Thranduil.

Just at that moment, there came a knock on the doorframe to Gimli's chamber—I say the doorframe because, as you will remember, Gloin had earlier knocked the door off its hinges.  One of Gimli's friends had stopped by to see if Gimli wanted to go exploring in one of Moria's less frequented corridors.

Gloin looked at the interloper with an unfriendly eye.  "You've come at a bad time, Darren son of Dilbert.  Gimli is about to throw himself wholeheartedly into the dwarven social scene."

"Oh," said Darren son of Dilbert, disappointed, "halfling-tossing and all that?"

            "Actually," replied Gimli, "I'm looking for, ah, more refined action tonight."

Darren's eyes gleamed.  "More refined action?"

"Yes.  To be precise, I plan to spend tonight in the company of a dwarf-woman rather than a dwarf-man—or mayhap even in the company of more than one dwarf-woman."

"That's the spirit!" exclaimed Haldir.

"Oh, but I think you should spend the evening with me," declared Darren son of Dilbert.

"Darren," growled Gloin, "I know we Dwarves can't hear as well as Elves, but surely you can tell the difference between 'dwarf-woman' and 'dwarf-man'."

"Actually," replied Darren son of Dilbert, "the difference is not always as clear cut as you might think.  That is an insight that I have recently acquired from the wise wizard Gandalf."

"Uh oh," whispered Elrond to Celeborn.  "What has Mithrandir gone and done now!?"

            Gloin harrumphed.  "What in Middle Earth are you babbling about!?"

"Merely that because of the magic of Mithrandir, the greatness of the Grey Pilgrim, the—"

            "WHAT has that wizened wizard done!?" bellowed Gloin.

            "Um, Dad, he's not really a wizened wizard.  Why, I remember once when we were on the ramparts of Rohan—it's very windy there, you know—and a gust lifted his robe, and I couldn't help but notice—"

            "Shaddup before I rampart you!"

            "Ooh! ooh!" squealed Haldir, "Me first!  Me—ooomph!"

            Elrond had backhanded Haldir, who flew into the arms of Legolas, who dispensed with grinning and smirking and went straight to leering.

            "Oh, you poor dear," he whispered to Haldir.  "You'd better let me check to see if all your parts are working.  Here, let's get back into the closet so that I can examine you in privacy."

            "Mmm," agreed Haldir.  "You know, I always liked playing healer and wounded warrior when I was an Elfling."

            The two disappeared back into the closet.  Meanwhile, Gloin was glaring at Darren son of Dilbert.  Through gritted teeth, the angry Gloin growled, "Now, you tell me exactly what that wretched wizard has done."

            "Well," said Darren son of Dilbert, "he has solicitously assisted me in solving a pressing personal problem that has perennially and painfully perplexed me."

            Elrond groaned.  "Could we have a little less alliteration and a little more illumination."

            Celeborn poked him.  "You're doing it yourself, you know."

            "What?"

            "Alliterating—although, to be precise, I think I might have detected a touch of assonance as well."

            Gloin snarled, "I'll ass—"

            "Yes, yes," sighed Elrond.  "I know: you'll assonance me."  The Elf turned to Darren son of Dilbert.  "Look, could you just tell us what Mithrandir has done?"

            "Oh, very well.  You see before you not Darren son of Dilbert"—he paused dramatically and then went on with a flourish—but Darleen daughter of Dorothea!"

            Everyone gaped, even the Elves, who should have known better.

            "Y-y-you are a dwarf-woman!?" stuttered Gimli.

            "Yes," replied Darre—er, Darleen.  "I was hardly a century old before I began to feel that I didn't fit into my body.  At first I thought it was size problem—me being a Dwarf and all.  But after a while I realized that I really wasn't comfortable with the warg-gutting, troll-baiting, brew-hoisting, halfling-tossing lifestyle.  Actually," Darleen giggled, "I think halflings are kinda cute."

Everyone grimaced and said 'Eeew—yuck', even the Elves, who should have known better.

"But, Darre—er, Darleen," Gimli continued.  "Just because you don't like that lifestyle, that doesn't mean you're a woman."

"I know I used the word lifestyle, but, actually, my gender identity was probably fixed at birth."

            Gimli stared.  "Your what?"

            "My gender identity," Darleen repeated patiently.

            Gimli gazed around him with a helpless expression.

            "I think Darr—er, Darleen—means," Elrond explained, "that regardless of, ah, his, ahem, his naughty bits, he—I mean, she—was really meant to be a dwarf-woman from the get-go."

            "Yes," Darleen agreed blissfully, "and now, thanks to Mithrandir, my body and mind are in sync."

"You mean," gasped Elrond, "that the wizard has—that he has—"

"Yes," nodded Darleen, "no more bits, which, anyway, were kinda on the small size even for a Dwarf."

            Gimli scrutinized Darleen.  "Well, I never would'uv taken you for a women—"

            "It's the beard," whispered Celeborn to Thranduil.

            "—but, well, now, you mention it, um, if you don't mind me asking, do you have hairy toes?"

            "Oh, yes," said Darleen, in a husky voice—kind of appealing, actually, thought Elrond—"My toes are covered with curly hair—kinky really, if you catch my drift."

            "And do you have a hairy back?"

            "Oh, exceptionally hairy—you should see the tendrils of soft hair curling down my backside," purred Darleen.  "Can't you imagine what it would feel like to caress those downy locks?"

            Gimli licked his lips and peered even more closely at Darleen.  "You know, I never noticed before, but you do have spectacularly hairy ears."

            "Mmm," agreed Darleen, "and they are so sensitive to the lightest touch—as when, for example, someone breathes sweet nothings into my ear.  Would you like a demonstration?"

            Elrond noticed with disapproval that Gimli was drooling—he really needed more work in the culture area—but Darleen didn't seem to mind.  She grabbed Gimli's arm and dragged him to the closet.  She flung open the door and unceremoniously seized Haldir and Legolas, who were in the midst of checking out Haldir's parts, and threw them into the middle of the room.  Then she shoved Gimli into the closest, leaped in after him, and slammed the door shut behind them.

            "Well," said Elrond, exhaling with relief, "I think our work here is done."            Gloin looked as if he'd been poleaxed, and Elrond was anxious to put some distance between the Elves and the older Dwarf before the Dorwinion wine had worn off completely.

            "Been nice working with your son," said Celeborn, shaking the hand of the dazed Dwarf.

            "Felicitations," said Thranduil.

            "Hope it works out between Darleen and Gimli," added Haldir.

            Advised Legolas, "Just tell Gimli not to hold Darleen so tightly around the waist.  I didn't want to complain, but those bruises really hurt sometimes."

            With that, Gloin came out of his stupor.  "You, you, you—"

            "Elves," suggested Elrond.

            "—you brownies, you pixies—"

            "Hey," objected Celeborn, "if you can't tell the difference between a pixie and an Elf—"

            "—you faeries, you gnomes—"

            "Now, really!" protested Thranduil.  "A gnome has much more in common with a Dwarf!"

            "—you, you, you, LAWN ORNAMENTS!"

            The Elves gasped.  This was going way too far, especially from a Dwarf.

            "Lawn ornament," spluttered Elrond, "how jejune, how petit bourgeois, how—how—how—suburban!"

            "Let's go," demanded Thranduil.  "We're not appreciated here; his imagination is simply, ahem, dwarfed by our talents."

            "Yes," sneered Celeborn, "he's so small-minded—his intelligence is a perfect match for his stature."

            Legolas giggled, "Well, you know what they say—size does matter."

Gloin snatched up an ax.  "Oh, so it's gonna be size, is it?  Well, you're all about to find yourselves quite a bit shorter.  "What shall it be?" he said, advancing on Thranduil.  "Which head do you want to sacrifice, the one on top of yer neck or the one ye do all your thinking with?"

"Eeep," squeaked Thranduil, "I was wrong!  You don't have anything in common with a gnome; you're more like a Neanderthal!"

With that the Elves turned tail (but of course—what else were you expecting them to turn?) and fled, not ceasing until they had scrambled all the way back to the entrance to Moria.

"Phew," gasped Celeborn, "I can't believe we got out of there without leaving any pieces behind."

"Yeah," agreed Haldir."

"Haldir," teased Elrond, "are you absolutely sure you didn't leave a piece behind?"

"By the Valar!" shrieked Thranduil.  "Where's Legolas!?"

Fortunately, at that moment the missing piece—er—Elf appeared, his usual dreamy expression on his face."

"Legolas!" exclaimed Thranduil.  "Where were you!?"

"Oh, I took wrong turn and stumbled into a balrog.  Say, you have no idea how huge—"

"Legolas," Elrond interrupted, "I do not want to know.  Now let's mount up!"

"But," protested Legolas, "that was what I was going to suggest!"

"I mean," Elrond said sternly, "let us mount up the horses—and no pun intended, is that clear!"

"Yes, Elrond," Legolas replied, crushed.  Then his face brightened.  "But I bet that if our ratings keep improving, some day the producer is going to send us back to do that balrog—so to speak," he added hastily when he saw Elrond looking daggers at him.  And with that the Fabulous Fellowship of the Five did mount up—the horses—and rode off into the sunset, having rescued yet another lumbering and inept male from poor lighting, tacky furniture, tasteless behavior, garish clothing, bad hair, and worse wine.

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