Gloin was terribly unamused. He didn't want to be part of this nonsense alliance business between the Mirkwood elves and Erebor dwarves. Well, technically, they were the Greenwood elves now that Sauron had kicked the bucket for good, and the corruption in the forest was gone.
Gloin would believe that when he saw it.
Really, Gloin was a banker, not a politician. He had no need to be here for the alliance proceedings. It was all just so incredibly boring. As dull as the healing lessons Oin used to always push on him. No, the only reason he was here was for something much worse and more important than any alliance. It was his Gimli. And that elf. Thranduil's Legolas, of all elves.
Just the notion of it boggled his mind. He thought that Gimli had taken well after his mother and father. He looked the part- equal parts gruff and jolly just like a dwarf should. He wielded his axe splendidly, he even played a large role in a quest that Gloin didn't want to admit was probably more important than his own. And he was damn proud of his son, Gimli was a fine dwarf.
Which was why it was so strange that he would fall in with a tree shagger. Not just any tree shagger either, mind you. But Legolas, son of Thranduil, prince of the wood elves! Sure, the boy- and Gloin didn't care how old he was, a brat is a brat is a brat- was polite enough, but you could never trust elves. Well, even Gloin could admit that was a bit unfair- he did have a bias after all- so maybe you could trust them a bit. A smidgeon. And only because he had it on good word that the pair had saved each other's lives. But certainly, that didn't warrant enough trust for his precious son's heart!
Gloin's parenting instincts screamed to tuck Gimli away, no matter how much of an adult he'd grown into. He glared at the pale haired, too tall elf boy. And the prince had the audacity not to take up the challenge, instead barely meeting the glance before turning away uncomfortably. His Gimli, sitting happy as he pleased beside his intended- and again, Gloin shuddered- just laughed and piled more elf food onto his plate.
By Mahal, how could Gimli enjoy this slop? Could elves enchant people? Was that it, was the prince-ling spiriting away Gimli's heart and good taste for food? Gloin frowned. As if in guilt, the prince-ling shifted in his seat, looking to and fro nervously. But there was naught for him to look at, for to the princeling's right was his father the elf king, and to his left, Gimli and a train of elven nobility.
Truly, it was as if his Gimli had wandered to the dark side. Oh what would he do if he decided he's rather live with his intended in the tree shaggers' home? Gloin would not stand for it. But, he also daren't break his boy's fragile little heart. No, for all that Gloin didn't approve, he did not have it in him to truly deny the partnership. If the worst came to be, and they truly did marry, Gloin thought, he would have to make a terrible compromise. The elf would be coming to Erebor. It was an inevitable horror.
He eyed the prince-ling a little more closely. He looked even more uncomfortable, leaning awkwardly in his seat. But still, when Gimli started speaking excitedly, hands waving in what was no doubt an interesting tale, the prince-ling's eyes lit up and he watched attentively. Gloin still didn't approve, but he grudgingly had to accept that Gimli seemed to have the elf's heart in return. If he hadn't there would have been a much greater hell to pay.
Gloin hadn't actually spoken in detail to the prince-ling yet. So far, it had only been veiled insults and parental horror. But, if this were to truly continue, and it must, they would need a civil conversation. Gloin would have to settle for giving that elf the most gruesome bucket talk that ever was. He gave the boy one last stare, a more thoughtful one as he mused over what to say- when it happened.
A fart. Not just a fart, but a loud, roaring, ripping fart followed by the worst stink imaginable. It was worthy of the most rowdy dwarf. It was worthy of Bombur, even. But it didn't come from a dwarf. It came from an elf. It came from Legolas Greenleaf.
Silence settled over the hall, all talking stopped as the gas noise echoed down the chamber. Gloin passively wondered if a dwarf had designed the hall, for it's acoustics were perfect for carrying such a noise.
The silence was broken by Gimli laughing up a storm. “I told ye! I knew ye couldn't handle them! Bow to the mercy of dwarven chili!” Ah, so Gimli had fed his intended his mother's famous chili recipe. Guaranteed to make any dwarf gassy enough to fill a room. And really, Gloin should have recognized it from the unique stench that those particular farts made.
Legolas, for his part, froze as solidly as any of the elves. Then he blushed. The boy had such a pale and delicate skin that the blush turned his entire face red. Even his ears glowed cherry. Then Thranduil, ever the graceful one, took a large breath in preparation to speak- and promptly choked as he got a lungful of the lingering stink.
And then the prince-ling giggled. He pointed at his father and the giggle turned to a chuckle. His ears were still red with embarrassment, but that didn't stop his mirth. “Ada, t-the look on your face!” He let out a full blown roar of laughter that was joined by Gimli. The elves looked disgusted, covering their delicate noses, and giving their meals second looks. The dwarves were not sure what to do, unwilling to offend the elf king in such a political situation. So they smiled and bit their lips, reigning in the usual dwarf cheer for once.
No, there was only one elf and one dwarf laughing. One was his son, and the other could be his son in law.
And just then, Gloin decided he might not mind that at all.