Chapter II
The next day, Gimli/Legolas, still fuming about Legolas' underhanded behavior, was hatching a plot. While Legolas had threatened to keep the dwarven elf under constant supervision, Gimli had no trouble giving the elven dwarf the slip, due to Legolas/Gimli's loss of his elven faculties of heightened senses. "I'll show him! Nobody shaves a dwarf's beard! Nobody!" Gimli reached into his haversack and grabbed out his special supply of fabled dwarf hair tonic, applied the solution to his face, and walked around Lothlórien, proudly showing off his new look. Everyone would see pretty-boy Legolas with a shaggy dwarf beard!
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Meanwhile, Merry and Sam were getting along slightly better, thanks to Frodo/Boromir, and only rarely had a relapse of anger at their misfortune. They made some fish stew, which they ate with relish, and generally accompanied each other everywhere, often to obtain more cooking supplies and ingredients. As they clearly were not causing any trouble, the local Elven population (which was completely in the dark about the switch) was only too happy to donate provisions to them, though they wondered why Boromir was suddenly associating exclusively with the Hobbits and had such a high, boyish voice.
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"Hello, Legolas!" said Gimli/Legolas, approaching the elven dwarf from behind. Legolas/Gimli turned around and shrieked in horror. "What have you done to my face?!" he screamed hysterically, covering his (er, Gimli's) eyes with his hands and hardly daring to peek through his fingers.
"I gave you a dwarven makeover!" replied Gimli, smugly. "Do you like it?"
"Do I like it? Do I like it?!" Legolas' pitch grew increasingly higher. "Are you cracked? You have destroyed my face! It's horrible! I cannot bear to look at you…I mean me. Oh, my poor face. I hate beards! They're hairy and dirty and… and…"
Legolas would have punched Gimli, but he did not want to exacerbate his face's sorry condition any more than Gimli had already done. So instead, he just stomped away screaming, wringing his hands, and generally throwing a tantrum. "This means war!" he growled vehemently to himself.
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Boromir/Frodo, undaunted by Celeborn's derision, strolled to the impressively designed, very large stable and crept inside. Therein were about a dozen fine-looking horses in separate stalls, but no people in sight, except a single guard, his back turned – a perfect target for a thrown apple! The guard rendered unconscious, Boromir/Frodo was free to choose a steed. He decided upon a sturdy chestnut mare, and with the help of a nearby hay bale, leapt astride his selection. Unfortunately, however, this particular horse was used to Elves, not Hobbits, and jumped from a standstill into a frightened gallop. After Boromir had regained consciousness, he found himself lying ignominiously in a mud puddle outside the stable.
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Meanwhile, Legolas had been busy revamping Gimli's look. "Now," he said, "to finish my plan. So Gimli wants some facial hair, huh?" He grabbed a marker and began to draw several swirly French mustaches on his face, after which, he got dressed in the strangest way possible. He put his socks on his hands, his trousers around his neck, like a scarf, wrapped his jacket around his waist, and then wrapped his belt around his head. "There—perfect!" he exclaimed, peering into a nearby mirror pool. He turned and took a deep breath. "Here I go!" Emerging from behind a large tree, he released a piercing, prolonged yodel. The elven dwarf proceeded to tear through all of Lothlórien, howling and acting like a complete maniac, allowing every elf in sight a most disagreeable spectacle.
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Pippin/Aragorn should have learned his lesson after the umpteenth time that his crazy plans rarely succeeded. This time, however, he was not trying to steal honey from angry bees, but vegetables from an elven garden. Unfortunately, robbing Farmer Maggot was about the sorry apex of his thieving career. Therefore, he did not get far. When he tried to carry out his not-very-well-thought-out plan, he was easily spotted by a passing elf.
"Hey, you!" the elf shouted. "What are you doing? Get out of there!"
Just then, Legolas/Gimli whisked by, shrieking.
Pippin was stunned. "Gimli?" However, he decided to use this wacky occurrence to his advantage. While the elf was thus occupied, observing with obvious amusement the bizarre figure galloping away, Pippin escaped with his arms full of assorted vegetables. He rushed all the way to the Fellowship's clearing, where he found Frodo, Merry, and Sam. The latter two looked at him hungrily (well, rather at his vegetables), and then promptly relieved him of his goods.
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When Boromir had picked himself up out of the mud, he first washed his (well, Frodo's) face and clothes in the river, then resumed his dignified air as he returned to the others. He had decided that being short sucked. There was no way he would make it to Minas Tirith without a horse, and it seemed that all the horses here were in league with the Lady's schemes, and would therefore be no use to him, except to result in his being deposited in the either conveniently located or ubiquitous mud puddles of Lórien. He would have to come up with another plan.
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In the interim, Aragorn/Pippin had been busy imploring Galadriel to restore his true self. "How do you expect me to marry Arwen in Pippin's body?" he pleaded. "She would never believe me if I told her. She would just think that Pippin had a peculiar talent for imitating voices!"
Galadriel appeared to savor this fact immensely. She had been engaged in one of her frequent sunbathing sessions on the top deck of her Royal Mallorn when Aragorn-turned-Pippin had disturbed her with his petty concerns, and was growing wearied of his pestering.
"But…but…if you care about nothing else," said Aragorn, desperately, "at least consider what our children will look like!"
Galadriel peered at him oddly, as if he were dancing around in Tom Bombadil's yellow boots, and frowned. She slathered on more suntan lotion and rolled on her beach chair so that her back was to him.
Undeterred, the hobbit rushed around to the other side of the chair. "Well?" he prodded. "You have to admit it. That is a legitimate concern."
They heard a familiar voice approaching them from behind. "I love Galadriel! Mweeheehee! Look at me!" Aragorn and Galadriel turned to see a demented-looking Gimli (actually Legolas) sprinting up the steps on to the deck, flailing his arms and hooting and hollering absurdities. When the crazed, panting figure reached them, he stopped to smooch Galadriel, then sheared off laterally, back down the thousands of stairs to the main portion of the city. Galadriel and Aragorn/Pippin looked dazed.
A few minutes later, Gimli/Legolas came running up the steps, looking about as crazy as Gimli had. The elvish dwarf sported a hot pink mohawk and excessively hairy arms and legs, thanks to Gimli's special tonic and some dye. Gimli/Legolas had also put just enough of the tonic on Legolas' face to grow a beautiful blonde mustache, which he curled artistically with scented oils, until it was a perfect French mustache.
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The day ended with rather unusual mayhem, as Gimli and Legolas stopped at nothing to avenge themselves.
First, Gimli/Legolas surreptitiously dropped a banana peel atop a smooth flight of stone steps, then hid and watched with glee as Legolas/Gimli slipped down the stairs upon aforementioned banana peel, alternately cursing, screaming, and "oof-ing" as he hit each step, only to land face-first in a conveniently placed mud-pie at the end.
Sometime after this, a big, juicy, BBQ ham appeared under a smaller mallorn tree. It was only after Gimli/Legolas took the bait that he discovered it was a tree snare. Legolas handily broke cover from somewhere to jeer at him.
Subsequent to this event, Gimli/Legolas disguised himself as an evil clown (complete with rainbow-hued clown wig, red and white face paint, and fake fangs) and raced past Haldir's window three or four times.
Once Legolas learned of this awful display, he chased Gimli to the shores of the Anduin, wielding a bar of soap. For revenge, Gimli consumed all of Legolas' truffles from his haversack, and then belched in his face, after which Legolas made himself a necklace of daisy chains to wear gaudily around his dwarven neck.
When Gimli saw this, he crept into Galadriel's bathroom and abducted her makeup and jewelry, allowing a palace guard to see him, and then smeared the makeup liberally over Legolas' face, after which he pierced Legolas' eyebrows, nose, ears, and lip with garish hoop earrings.
At this ghastly sight, Legolas flew into a wild rage and pinned Gimli to the wall with an arrow. Once Gimli had freed himself, he confiscated all of Legolas' shampoo and dumped it in the river (the fish were strangely deformed thereafter).
After this event, Legolas/Gimli made off with Gimli's diary (the secret "I may have to kill you" sort) and began reading it over a bullhorn outside Galadriel's bedroom window.
Before the day was through, Gimli and Legolas found time for a mud fight, a food fight, a paint fight, and a pillow fight, after which they "tarred and feathered" themselves and raced through Lothlórien, squawking like chickens.
Celeborn was making his weekly round through the city in his cart, when— Erch! "What was that?" demanded the elf-lord, spilling dorwinion down the front of his royal blue robe.
"Pardon me, sir!" exclaimed the chauffeur, a young, timid elf with a high, mellifluous sort of voice. "We nearly hit a chicken!"
"A chicken?" questioned Celeborn incredulously. "Those are quite large 'chickens.' What, may I ask, have we been feeding them?" The elf-lord sighed rather angrily. "Clearly, my wife's object lesson has gone too far. This will not do."
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"Galadriel, my wife!" Celeborn called, striding into the queen's immaculate study. "Are you not aware of the Fellowship's recent activities? This is getting ridiculous. I hear that the elf and dwarf have wreaked havoc across Lothlórien, creating upsetting displays that are resulting in an enormous uptick in the amount of Elves requiring therapy."
Galadriel just stared. She liked to stare to prove her point, only her point was rather ambiguous at the moment, so she finally said, "You are meddling in my affairs, husband. So—"
Celeborn peered at her strangely, cocking his head to one side—rather like an animal, thought bystanders. Suddenly, the elf-lord went down on all fours and leapt out the door, hooting and shrieking like an ape.
"He has lost his mind," stated a nearby elf in manifest disbelief.
"No, his mind is not lost," said Galadriel, with a clever smirk. "Just replaced, until he can learn to respect my unconventional manner of accomplishing positive outcomes."
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Meanwhile, Pippin/Aragorn sat in the quiet comfortableness of the bole of a mallorn. He was in want of a nap, he decided, but it seemed that he couldn't get to sleep, what with all the bizarre shrieking and yelling that seemed to be pervading the Lórien atmosphere. He tried counting leaves. "22…23…24…" This went on without fruition until he heard a peculiar cry nearby. He leapt clumsily to his feet, and after fumbling at his sword belt for a while, awkwardly drew Aragorn's sword. "Who's there?"
A strange monkey approached and studied him carefully, then— "She—she turned me into an ape!" The voice was Celeborn's. "Of all things, an ape!"
"Wha—?" Pippin's (or rather, Aragorn's) eyes widened. "It's a talking monkey… yahhhhhh! Help!" The hobbitish ranger dropped his sword and dashed away.
The monkey gave chase. "Wait! Please wait! It's me—Celeborn! She turned me into an ape!"
Pippin stopped running and turned. "Y—you? Celeborn? AHHHHHHHHHHH! Merry! Help! Help!"
THUD. Celeborn winced with vicarious pain as Pippin ran straight into a tree.