Legolas smiled at his reflection and whipped his long golden locks around one last time.

"I am fabulous," he thought in satisfaction.

This tranquil state of mind lasted approximately five more minutes—long enough for Legolas to position himself squarely in front of the cameras, still smiling demurely. The soft lights of the studio lent a slight glow to his fair elven features. Surely L'Oreal had never had such a model before.

Unfortunately, it was just at this moment that a tall, broad-shouldered man carrying a hammer and clad in a frankly gaudy suit of armor made his way into the room. Legolas only barely managed to maintain his unflappable elvish demeanor.

"FEAR NOT, SMALL CAMERAMEN, FOR I HAVE ARRIVED," boomed the giant. "I BID YOU FORGIVE MY BELATED ENTRANCE, FOR I WAS FEASTING AND FORGOT THE LATENESS OF THE HOUR."

Several of the cameramen cringed away. It was then that the stranger noticed Legolas, still standing serenely in the center of the room and regarding him with elvish disdain.

"BY VALHALLA. WHO IS THIS CHARLATAN I SEE BEFORE ME? REMOVE THYSELF, MORTAL, AND LET THE GOD OF THUNDER TAKE HIS RIGHTFUL PLACE BEFORE THESE MAGICAL DEVICES."

The next second the God of Thunder was peering down the shaft of an arrow.

"Take another step, stranger, and it will be your last," said Legolas quietly. "For you see before you no mortal, but the last of the fair elves, who departed this land many years hence to take their eternal journey into the west. I alone remain, that I may gift the children of men with my glory. Do not suppose, as the weak humans do, that television exists for their petty entertainments. It is I, and I alone, who brought it forth, aye, and I am capable of extending commercial breaks yet further, that all men may see and adore the last glory of the elves."

Thor wrinkled his brow. "Your death glare? Methinks I have seen better, as I have traversed the great bridge between our worlds many times."

"My hair, fool."

Legolas heard a slow rumble building in the distance as the stranger strode forward, stopping barely a pace away. He strained further back on the bowstring but held his fire. No sense getting blood all over the studio when they were just about to start shooting.

"YOUR HAIR?" Thor demanded. He leaned forward, disregarding the arrowhead digging into his breastplate. "As though these mortals care to endure the sight of your unfashionably long tresses, when the glory of all Asgard stands before them!" At these words he whipped his head back slightly, so that the light glinted off his golden hair. Legolas had to admit he was good.

But not good enough.

"FRANK!" Legolas bellowed. Then he grimaced at the slip in poise.

"Frank," he began in a slightly more elven tone. The trembling lead cameraman crawled out of the corner to stand before him.

"Frank, what is the meaning of this?"

"I…er…" Frank whimpered, shaking like a leaf. At last he turned to Thor and addressed him meekly. "Wrong room, sir. Your studio is down the hall."

Frank made as if to leave, but Legolas held him back with an icy glare. He lowered his arrowtip to point at the unfortunate cameraman's chest.

"His…studio?"

"Yes, sir," Frank almost whispered. "L'Oreal retains the right to hire…"

Trapped between an angry elf and a disgruntled God of Thunder, Frank was inches from death and he knew it. There was only one chance to save himself. He gestured frantically behind his back at his colleagues, and fortunately they caught the cue.

"ACTION!" squeaked Frank, and leapt to the side. The elf and Asgardian, caught off guard to see the cameras rolling, rearranged their features quickly. Legolas took on his usual aloof gaze, while Thor went for a smoulder.

It was in the middle of this epic contest that Boromir found himself when he entered the room a minute later. Unnoticed by the two models, the cameramen had snuck out of the room, leaving the cameras rolling. The room was silent apart from the slight sounds of tranquil hair-whipping. Yet the air was filled with a tension that Boromir was familiar with from his long years of battle.

After a quick survey of the room, Boromir gave a booming laugh and flipped the lights on. Two heads turned to face him in unbelieving indignation, and Thor let out an outraged bellow.

"Boromir!" cried Legolas, disbelief marring his normally smooth elven features. "We thought you perished years ago, in the battle at the borders of Mordor."

A smug grin twisted Boromir's features. "That was rather good, wasn't it? I wished you all to believe me dead, so that I could gain an unsuspected head start in the jewelry business."

Thor looked lost. "Jewelry? Do not allow me to believe that such adornments will ever take the place of a fine head of hair."

"But all of that was years ago," Boromir went on, still ignoring Legolas' accusing glare. "The hobbits had their foot in that door already, and their business strategies are brutal. Well, all I can say is, I wondered that Frodo appeared ready to give up the ring so easily."

"Do not dishonor that name! Frodo did his duty to Middle Earth, and to us all," snarled Legolas, then wondered if it was unelflike to snarl.

"Frodo kept the ring for himself, and cast down the dark CEO Sauron to take his place on the throne. He lives still, always profiting from the fashionable powers of the ring and the fell business model of his predecessor. But all that, as I said, came to pass long ago. I have obtained a near monopoly on the hair care market, and I have come to enlist your help. L'Oreal is a dying cause. Join me instead, and together we shall advertise the most shine-bestowing hair products in all of Middle Earth!"

There was silence for a few tense moments. Then…

"I will join you, young mortal, though I know neither your business model nor your shampoo-scent leanings. I have journeyed far and wide to find such a worthy cause, and will take up your fight and carry it before the very Lords of Asgard themselves. I even have some ideas for making our products available in Jotunheim."

Legolas meanwhile had withdrawn into silence, still stunned at the revelations of his rediscovered friend. At length he managed to squeak out, "but…L'Oreal…"

"L'OREAL HAVE PROVEN THEMSELVES UNWORTHY OF MY GODLY GOOD LOOKS," bellowed Thor, "BY HIRING ALONGSIDE ME THIS SKINNY POINTY-EARED CREATURE."

At last the elf snapped. "YOU DON'T…" His voice rose into a magnificent squeak. "YOU DON'T MENTION THE EARS!"

There was a sharp crack, and light split the room.

Boromir uncovered his eyes, expecting with dread to see the tip of an arrow embedded in the chest of his newfound ally. Instead he heard a deep laugh, and witnessed a charred, shell-shocked elf reach a trembling hand up to his hair. The fine golden-white strands stuck out all over his head; an eternal elven monument to the might of static electricity.

Long minutes later, Legolas screamed.

Boromir and Thor heard it, strolling out of the film studio arm in arm. Thor paused for breath in the middle of one of his battle tales, and Boromir ventured to remark, "Did anyone tell him the cameras are still rolling?"

The laughter of the two warriors echoed long and loud through the streets. So loud, that miles away atop a tall tower, a slumbering CEO awoke in his office and stretched forth his piercing gaze across the land.

He then spoke softly to a circle of gold clasped in his hand.

"So, precious. Again we wake…time again, to expand our business strategy."