It’s a VERY SLOW realization on all parts okay, I can tell you that.

Well.  No.  That’s not quite true.  It takes about three weeks for the dwarves to realize that Legolas is actually…nice.  Which is weird.  Like, he’s an elf.  Elves are not nice.  Elves are dicks (there are a few people who make this generalization in Gimli’s hearing and he gets very defensive of the Lady of Lorien and also of his favorite asshole elf), but more to the point, elves are serious.  And Legolas…is not.  Sure, he can pull it together when he needs to and comport himself like a stiff unsmiling statue, but Gimli stubbornly drags him to Durin’s Day and blatantly ignores every disapproving eye as he teaches Legolas one of the old circle dances.

And like.  There’s no rules that say only dwarves can know the circle dances, not like Khuzdul (”Better not tell them about that yet, amrâlime,” Gimli says, grinning up at Legolas), but there’s sort of an expectation.  And Legolas picks it up quickly but the circle dances are all stomping feet and clapping hands and smiles and laughter and shouting, and it’s just WRONG to see an elf doing that.  It’s weird.  It’s so weird that everyone in Erebor is too in shock to actually protest.  But it does do wonders for proving that Legolas, while kind of an asshole (”’I am going to find the sun,’ remember that?” Gimli asks, arching an eyebrow, and Legolas smirks), is also kind of a puppy.

But the elves.  The ELVES.  Listen.

Listen.

I have many elves I adore with my whole heart, including but not limited to:

• The Lady Galadriel, the Eldritch Being of Light Middle-Earth Needs
• The Lord Celeborn, her loving house husband
  
• Elrond, who has survived approximately one billion horror movies and deserves a goddamn Rest
• Arwen Undomiel, the love of my life who I will defend with my last breath
• Elladan and Elrohir, her brothers who probably don’t give Aragorn a shovel-talk so much as “good luck buddy if you fuck up she’ll end you”
• Lindir, Elrond’s steward who, wow, puts up with so much
• Celebrimbor, the previous elf who had a dwarf buddy and who was also probably considered very weird because he liked smith-work

But the majority of the elves who see Gimli and Legolas wandering around largely respond with “Oh dear Eru Legolas we know you’re weird but you’re going to marry THAT” and Legloas kind of fidgets and their eyes get really big and they go “YOU ALREADY MARRIED THAT?”  (Fun fact: Tolkien elves get married by having sex, the ceremony of a wedding is entirely decorative, and they can tell from the way someone walks if they’re married or not.  And also elf hypermonogamy is a thing, which is 200% my jam.)  And then Legolas gets really angry and protective because HOW DARE YOU INSULT GIMLI, ONE OF THE NINE WALKERS, WARRIOR OF EREBOR.  And Gimli pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders if elf wine is really as strong as Legolas claims it is, and, if so, how much it would take to get him drunk.  But I digress.

It takes the elves a while to figure out that Gimli is, by dwarvish standards, the Ultimate Catch, is my point here.

Years.  It takes a couple years.  Maybe two.  Three.  For the really dense and/or bigoted ones, it might take a decade or more.  

Thranduil gets hate mail, basically, before he understands why he’s getting the hate mail other than the fact that He Is An Elf.  It’s mostly to the tune of “CONTROL YOUR OFFSPRING” and Thranduil sighs and slugs back another goblet of wine (”My Lord, it’s not even noon,” reinstated-as-captain Tauriel says, very flat, and Thranduil glares blearily at her and holds out his goblet because children marrying dwarves justifies many things) because he wishes he had that option.

And then there’s a diplomatic negotiation that comprises the Greenwood and Erebor nobility, and it’s the first time Erebor dwarves have been peacefully invited to Eryn Lasgalen in…ever, maybe.  Certainly in living memory.  And of course Legolas and Gimli are expected to be there, not just because they’re a symbol of the new intensely awkward truce, but also because they have an incredible amount of status themselves by this point–Legolas is a prince and Gimli is Lord of Aglarond, two of the Nine Walkers and the Three Hunters, warriors of renown from the Battle of the Black Gate, trusted advisers and dear friends of the King of Gondor and Arnor…

And there’s Legolas, dressed in silks and an elegant cloak and a crown and a dwarvish clasp in his hair and a cloakpin from the Lady of Lorien herself, and all of Eryn Lasgalen pats themselves on the back because hey, their weird prince did grow up pretty well even if his taste in life partners leaves something to be desired.  

And then there’s the life partner in question, several steps behind Legolas because they’re representing their homelands rather than their marriage and this is Eryn Lasgalen and Legolas is still the King’s son.  And Gimli is dressed in the finery of a dwarf lord, with a crown on his red curls and his beard braided intricately and gold clasps in his hair, with the Lady’s clasp on his cloak and the lines of his tattoos and scars clear on his bare arms, with a finely-worded compliment on his tongue for even Thranduil himself and a laugh that lightens the sky–

“Yavanna save me,” mutters one of Thranduil’s entourage.  “I want one.”