Thank you so much Ruiniel for beta-reading!

When Gimli and Legolas visit Fangorn, after the War of the Ring is over.

Making Fire

Sticks and twigs cracked loudly as they broke, before Gimli flung them onto the pile before him. He tried hard to make as much of a noise as possible since he could not bear the silence that seemed to linger all around him.

The elf was out of sight and earshot, somewhere high amidst the trees, leaping lightly between branches. "I will be back soon, my friend, my heart just yearns for a glimpse of starlight," he had called back excitedly, his eyes gleaming, as he scrambled up a close-by trunk with the smoothness of a cat before disappearing with a soft rustling between the leaves.

The air carried this musky scent of moist wood and soil. Wisps of fog hung between the giant trees, letting the close surroundings appear mutely muffled. Gimli shuddered.

It was late summer and thunderstorms often overwhelmed the evenings. They left the air damp and cold, that the night's chill seemed to crawl into the very bones if one's clothes were dripping wet like Gimli's happened to be.

The dwarf looked around for larger firewood to place over his pile. A sudden commotion in the foliage above and a soft thump right behind him made the dwarf whirl around.

"It is me!" The elf announced amusedly, a wide grin brightening his soft features.

"Curse you... reckless princeling!" the dwarf grumbled, annoyed with himself that he still started at the elf's sudden, flighty motions. He subsequently ignored him and turned back to his own business with his pile of dead wood.

Legolas huddled himself comfortably into the embrace of the roots of the large tree beside them, watching the smaller being expectantly.

Gimli demonstratively paid him no mind. The elf had dragged him into this cursed forest. It was somehow... ominous, threatening. Those trees...

'They are only plants'... the dwarf told himself repeatedly in his mind. But he could not repel the feeling that they watched him warily. And they were so many, all around him, as far as the eye could see - which admittedly was not very far this night. But the evidence that they were in the midst of this strange, old forest could not be denied.

He kept himself busy, letting the sparks spring between the twigs until they caught, and then he coddled the small flames.

A deep creaking disrupted the damp silence around them, followed by strange, hoarse murmurs and more creaks reaching from all directions.

Gimli halted abruptly in his motions. "What is this!" he exclaimed choked, eyes wide darting about from trunk to trunk, wandering upwards, scanning the vast, green canopy.

"It is obvious; the trees are complaining," Legolas answered unabashedly.

"Complaining 'bout what?" Gimli wondered, his voice catching hoarsely in his throat.

"They trust not your intentions. You are setting fire to a wood who has been injured and burnt through Saruman's betrayal."

"The trees trust me not...hmmpf," Gimli grumbled and made a face. He tried to hide the shudder that shook him. Tried to sound vexed, instead of frightened. He was indeed surrounded by a whole lot of these mistrusting, creaking and eerily whispering fellows.

He gave up coddling the small flames, which without his support, in the moistness all around them, died out within moments. He huffed and frowned.

"Mistrusting trees...bah...has anyone ever heard such a thing before?" he growled. "And what, pray tell, does it take them to trust me? If I have to jump from branch to branch like a squirrel, to get those gnarled fellows' trust, I fear that was it," he grunted.

"You do not need to, Gimli," Legolas answered seriously, "Give them time to feel you, have patience and listen to the forest's song; they will learn to trust you. – And... above all; do not set fire!"

"I was not setting fire!" Gimli protested vehemently, "I was gently kindling a fire, that is a difference! The chill bites through these damp clothes. I am no flittery elven sprite who possesses not the sense of cold."

"I am sorry Gimli, I know that you are a fragile mortal. But I'm afraid that this night you will have to renounce to the fire, if you want to build a friendship with the trees," Legolas replied with a sympathetic smile.

"A dwarf making friends with leaves and wood... you're speaking a strange tongue, elf. But what options remain, surrounded by those creaking and rustling fellows, and a woodland-sprite," Gimli groaned, looking around him dramatically and frowning deeply.

"Not that I care to make friends with... plants?" Gimli sighed. "But then again, I've already made friends with an elf..."

He laughed out loud to cover his insecurity, but Legolas merely lifted both eyebrows in question, and Gimli quietened.

"Come Gimli, it is time to get some rest," Legolas tried to soothe him.

Gimli knew the elf was tempted to spend the night high above, embraced by green leaves, preferably stretched precariously across a slight branch. He caught him secretly eyeing upwards.

Looking back at the dwarf, and then glancing several times between a lower branch and said dwarf, he narrowed his eyes and probably considered something Gimli cut off abruptly.

"Dare not even try to think what I believe you to be thinking, blasted elf! – With all the good will; nobody with sense could imagine dragging a dwarf even an inch above the ground!" he snapped.

The sheepish grin on Legolas' face confirmed that Gimli had guessed exactly what the elf was scheming. He could not believe this freaky creature could make up such absurdities in this fair mind of his.

"Peace, Gimli, worry not, I would never try such a thing against your will. I wish you to become comfortable in this wood."

"Bah... comfortable is something else..." the dwarf mumbled.

Legolas sighed and settled himself snugly between the high roots of the tree. Gimli was secretly grateful that the elf renounced his favourite sleeping place to stay by his side that night. He was touched because he knew how much the elf longed for the trees and how long he had joyfully anticipated this journey. But he covered his emotion emitting a restrained grunt.

"If you do not mind the closeness of an elf you are free to join me, Gimli. Closeness supplies warmth, even animals do that. It is natural," Legolas offered genuinely.

Gimli looked at the tree behind him, where the elf had settled comfortably between its high roots. It was tall, its trunk broad and the rough bark engraved by age.

The wind was chilly in the night and he was not allowed to make a fire. He rubbed his hands and looked up grumpily into the greenery.

"If they do not trust me I will not trust them either. It is reciprocal," Gimli uttered in blunt offence.

Legolas sighed. "Peace Gimli. Do as you wish." Legolas let the dwarf be.

It seemed more difficult than he had hoped, to bring the stubborn, short being to trust anything he knew not.

But he decided to be patient. The elf leaned contently against the trunk Gimli had just mustered suspiciously. Legolas softly hummed a song and relaxed completely.

Gimli would not have admitted it, but the soft melody hummed by the elf was reassuring and familiar, and in the midst of this strange forest it offered him comfort.

The melody softened until it silenced and as Gimli looked back at his friend, he saw that the elf's eyes had glazed over in elven sleep.

Still, Gimli dared not close an eye. In the strange silence, he felt alone with the giants of the forest again. Gimli inched back on his bottom towards his sleeping friend and continued mustering the trees warily. He dared not breathe. Only when he felt Legolas' body warmth close to him he released his breath and realized how long he had held it, as he found himself panting for air. Eyes wide open in alertness he scanned the bark of the giant behind and above him from their corners.

'Bah... They are just trees,' he told himself. – Old trees, gnarled trees... trees who had swallowed orcs! – he shivered!

Who was making him do this? He looked at the peacefully sleeping elf beside him. Lying securely in the embrace of the mighty tree's roots, the prince of the great Greenwood looked so strangely young to him tonight.

As annoying as this flighty creature could be... He studied the pale even features now completely relaxed in elven sleep and sighed deeply... Who would have guessed, that he would become so fond of this elf.

If the trees loved this elfling as much as he did, maybe they would accept him in their midst...only maybe... he mused.

But soon he shook his head at the absurdity he was contemplating.

He was becoming mad like the elf. And it was all the elf's fault... Who would not go insane with a flittery woodland sprite dancing relentlessly before their very eyes, jumping like a squirrel from branch to branch and singing like a bird in spring.

Yet his heart warmed at the relief he felt. That was exactly the way he wished to see him.

He had been worried as his elf had become more and more distant, as his lithe frame had become quiet, almost heavy, as he had seen a strange, deep sadness in the grey-blue eyes he could not comprehend.

What would he do to bring the sparkling back to those eyes, the smiles and the smirks back to his beautiful face. That was why he was in that place that night. And he found himself being thankful to the trees.

'How could a dwarf say his thanks to trees?' he mused, grumbling at his unfamiliar thoughts.

That was the price to be elvellon. - Insane like an elf! - He shook his head at himself. And sighed again. But now a smile shone on his beardy face.

His eyelids grew heavy, and as much as he trusted not his surroundings, listening to the deep even breathing of his sleeping elf lulled him into the world of dreams.

My special thank you goes to Ruiniel for beta-reading!

Imagine Legolas got injured in or after the battle of the Hornburg. I like canon, so I try to keep it as close to it as possible, just conceding myself some small modifications for releasing my imagination.

To Win a Friend

I watch him as he lies under the starlit sky. His eyes are lost in its infinity, detached from the stone of the Hornburgh as if in his mind he is flying between those glittering specks of light.

That is so much like him, strange as he always is...

He looks calm and peaceful, his body lithe and weightless even as he is lying on the stone. I ponder at how utterly misplaced he looks. Flying between the stars, that is where his slender, graceful form would naturally suit.

...My woodland sprite, how close I have come to lose him. My heart has almost shattered. Who had thought I would ever be shaken by the prospect of the death of an elf!

Suddenly he turns his golden head towards me. I register it somewhere at the edge of my awareness, as I stay immersed in my musings. And I nearly jostle as I hear the croaked question from his pale lips.

"You are still here..."

Even in this state, he manages to startle me.

It is a statement, not a question. But I feel a hint of surprise in his voice. A voice that has temporarily lost its music, by the strain of cries of pain.

I shudder. My insides cramp and churn. I do not want to remember.

"It is much like you to state the obvious," I reply grumpily. "And if you want to know the reason why; I am here for your security."

I struck him where I intended to; his irritating elven pride. I know, because he lifts a delicate eyebrow at my reply.

"My security? And whom do you want to protect me from?!" He mocks me, his voice slowly regaining its musicality and the sound of mirth.

"From your own flighty mischief, and anything that could cross this breezy mind of yours, where you could hurt yourself; like climbing this very wall to the top of the tower and make a balance performance on its highest point, to greet your glittering friends up there. I know very well the deeds you are capable of."

Somehow my tirade makes him smile.

But my look is one of concern. I've not yet recovered from the shock.

He knows. He senses my commotion. Because he takes my hand and places it right over his heart, holding it there under both of his own with firm reassurance. The steady beat I feel under my palm and the constant rhythm of his breathing comfort me more than any words. It confirms that he lives, and he is fine and will be as strong as ever. My elf...

He knows.

... I have learnt to love him with all his flighty, annoying habits, and with his joyful, cheering nature. I have learnt to respect – and even if I want not to admit it; admire! – the mighty warrior, steadfast companion and true friend he is.

I thought him undestroyable. Because he is an elf.

Now I know he is not. He is as vulnerable as any man or dwarf, if not more, because of his selfless dedication and love.

He has gone through all of this to save Aragorn, his brother by heart. He is the promised King, the hope of Middle-earth. Though I know with certainty that he would have done the same for me.

He still looks at the stars above, bathing in their light. He glows slightly as if his delicate, fair skin absorbs their shine.

I watch him, and my thoughts keep wandering. He looks pale and beautiful and incredibly young right now. I shiver as the recent memory pushes its way through to my mind once more.

I do not want to remember what the lad went through.

His blue eyes are strangely deep tonight. As if he allows me to see into his very soul. I shift uncomfortably. I fear what I will find if I dig too deep. Maybe I will see what I want to forget, maybe I see a vulnerability I refuse to accept.

Tenacious and irrepressible he was, graceful and lethal, and at times cheerful beyond measure.

I avert my eyes and look at the bandage wrapped around his chest. It is a slim white gauze, covering the stab wound. A narrow, but deep injury that almost touched his heart...and the poison...

...No! I have to look elsewhere. I do not want to remember!

But he is persistent in his gaze. He wants me to see! Stubborn as he is.

His eyes are pooling blue and they glitter in the starlight. Finally I sigh and I give up evading their insistence.

I'm touched by the trust he bestows unto me. I feel a sting in my eyes and I know they must be glittering as well.

He has scored the point! Challenging pointy-ear that he is!

And then he smiles at me. It is not the mischievous grin, nor the mirthful laughter I'm used to when he wins a challenge or throws a joke. It is a warm, genuine smile, and in his eyes, I see true friendship and open trust.

Who would ever have thought I would win an elf...

I cannot swallow around the sweet pain in my throat, that springs more tears into my eyes.

I think he notices because he releases my hand and asks me bluntly, "So when are we departing? There are orcs and Uruk-hai waiting for my bow out there, not to speak about this traitor of a Maia...!"

I cannot help but wonder at his elven strength and healing. I am so glad he is an elf. I would never have thought such reasoning to come from my own mind. But on this journey so much has changed.

And I groan my reply at least as bluntly, "Poison or not, do not think that I will allow you a vantage!"

I am somehow relieved that we are back to our usual behaviour.

I grumble something just for the sake of grumbling.

At that we both laugh. It is a merry laugh. The music is back to his voice.

I lie down beside him. He slides a strong, slender arm under my neck and pats my shoulder. I grumble again, just for the sake of grumbling. And he laughs again.

I love his laugh. It can be annoying at times, but now it is just splendid and heartwarming. – Of course, I shan't tell him...

We watch the stars together. They are marvelous.

He makes me do things I would never have done without him. Dwarfs do not do such things as contemplate the stars. But I do it because my friend is an elf. And I find joy in it. Though I would never admit, and so I grumble again, and he laughs.

I am so far that I will grumble just to make him laugh because his laughter is lighting up my heart.

My thoughts wander again between the stars.

He will soon be back to his usual strength. I recall the deadly warrior he is, the lethal sharpness of his agile, sleek body, and I am glad that he makes it so difficult for me to score him. – Though I would never openly admit.

I grumble again at my own thoughts, and again he laughs, my elf. He seems to enjoy my grumbling. Odd creature that he is.

I have won an elf, and he has won a dwarf.

To Ruiniel, my wonderful beta: This would not be the same without you. Thank you so much for your precious help and your encouraging comments!

When Gimli and Legolas visit Aglarond, after the War of the Ring is over. Legolas' POV.

Unguessed Beauty

We are back to this depressing stone once more. Dark grey as it is, numb and cold. Memories resurface akin to threatening demons. I cannot control it. Memories of war, death, and my own weakness. I know that I have fought to my fullest extent, I have not disappointed. Together we have given our all, for victory, for life, for friendship. But I cannot breathe as the thoughts take hold. I was surrounded by these very same walls, gasping and struggling with the pain, and I cannot breathe.

I cannot breathe...

My heart hammers hard and desperately within my chest, leaping to my throat. I see panicked faces around me, hovering over me, and hands wanting to offer aid, but breathing comes hard and wearily. There is nothing but the crushing storm of this agony. And I panic. I breathe much too fast with the memory.

The dwarf is beside me, but I avoid looking at him. I have made a promise and under no circumstance will I break it. If I should suffocate within these very caves, surrounded by cold stone, I would still enter. He would never let me live it down if I did not. And yet, I know the real reason is I could never disappoint him so deeply.

He stands beside me and in a haze, I hear his worried voice, "Laddie, are you fine?"

It cannot be, the dwarf should not see! He worries too much for me lately. I can do nothing but retreat away from him, and leap onto the closest wall.

"I am... fine," I lie, without facing him. I hope the broken voice coming from my throat will not betray me.

My gaze climbs down the wall, over the deepening coomb... so many have died here. I hear the sounds of battle, the cries. I see the blood, the corpses littering the ground. And then behind me, I hear sturdy feet, shuffling hurriedly towards the wall I stand on.

The sun warms my face as my wandering gaze drifts over the valley and surrounding hills, where the grass shines lush and green. In the distance, I can see woods and the deepening shades of trees. The wind beats against my face and neck, and I feel the urge to open my tunic and shirt to receive more of the freeing energy. I can feel my hair blow behind me, and I breathe...

I breathe!

The dwarf's voice is gruff as he shouts up to me, "Come down from there, reckless princeling!"

But still, I stand and inhale... I can breathe! I feel my clothes lap freely around me, infused by the same gusts of air now sending my hair astray.

I hear the dwarf's voice gain a shaky urgency as he shouts even harsher, "You want to scare the beard offa' me? Come down!" And then more hesitantly; "Please!"

I relent and turn towards him, hopping from the wall to land lightly before him. He gasps at the suddenness of it, which always amuses me. I look down on him and I smirk, earning a frown from him. I throw back my head and take another filling breath. "I am fine, Gimli. And I am ready."

He tilts his head and skims me over suspiciously. His gaze brushes shortly over the centre of my chest before he abruptly tears it away, looking elsewhere - anywhere else, it seems to me. I know what he remembers, and what he tries to suppress.

"Fasten those flittering clothes, it is damp and fresh in the cave," he mumbles, and I do it for his sake.

I cannot help but smile at our differences.

I hear him release a huff of relief as I finish fastening my tunic.

"Now you are ready." He says, eyeing me seemingly satisfied.

We pass by the fire and each light a torch. And then we walk through the burg towards the mouth of the caves. His steps grow increasingly light for a dwarf. His eyes are wide, filled with expectation. Still, he worriedly observes me several times from the corner of his eye.

I do not look at him again. I concentrate on the path ahead and on breathing levelly. I take in the stone all around us. It is dark and oppressing, only lit by the flickering flame of our torches. He constantly steals slightly worried glances at me. There is deep silence inside the mountain, and the only sound I hear is our own steps on the rock, (more forcefully Gimli's of course) and our breathing. - My breathing... I am again struggling to keep it even, and in the surrounding silence, it comes so harshly and loud, almost threateningly reflecting from the stone around us. It grows exceedingly hard to control. I try to remember the wind on the wall, how it caressed my skin and filled my lungs, and I try to let my mind strive to the shades of green trees and the rays of the sun gleaming on long strands of grass. - But I fail. And my breathing grows louder, deafening.

Gimli grows concerned, I remark. He reaches for my hand and keeps it firmly in his own as we walk. I do not resist, I am glad for his hold. His hand is strong and warm and repeatedly presses mine for comfort. He is so strange this dwarf, sturdy and tender all in one. And in the cold hardness of the encompassing stone, he is steadfast and strong and emanates trust.

I can feel how excited he is for something he wants to show me. Still, I cannot fathom what he expects me to see. If it were for me, I have seen enough. And there is nothing I would welcome more than to turn on my heels and rush out of this darkened recess. But since it is not for me, I force myself on, for him, my friend; this strange, sturdy dwarf. I can feel his nervousness and at the same time his increasingly curious looks at me.

"Take heart, lad, hold on, we are almost there..." His voice is bursting with joyful anticipation, yet guarded by sincere care.

"Look here!" he suddenly bursts out and lets me start. For once it is the other way round. My body is tense as the string of my bow. And the way he looks triumphantly at me is unnerving.

But then I see what he is fondly pointing at. A fine glittering crystal embedded in the ceiling above us, fiercely reflecting the light of our torches. And as we continue on our path, more and more crystals glint sprinkled on the walls. They are beauty in the dark.

Now Gimli is flittery with excitement. I have never seen him this way. His steps increase in length and speed, still holding my hand he pulls at me.

"Come Legolas!" He whispers to me, eagerly, running off.

At the mouth of the tunnel we are in, he suddenly stands still. I am not myself, lost in my constricting feelings about the narrow walls, so I stumble into him.

I am about to utter something about elves not being supposed to stumble over clumsy dwarves who suddenly grow roots in their way, and that it is one of the reasons why it would be better to avoid them in the first place.

But before I can even begin he spreads his arms, solemnly welcoming a great hall. The sight that greets us makes me throw over any sort of muttering or reproach. It is beyond anything I would have expected, and much more. In fact, there is a long silence as I try to get to terms with what I see.

Gimli's eyes beam up at me, glittering with expectancy.

"What do you say now, lad? Does this come up with the promise I made?"

I answer not. I just stand, rooted to the spot. I cannot speak.

"This is more than any promise." I finally manage to say, "This is the sky!"

"Whatever it is to you, I am delighted you find it beautiful. - Remember this, elf, the dwarf makes not empty promises!"

I have to admit that this point is his. Yet if he allowed me just one for killing the mûmakil, I also will credit him just one for this. Although the sparkling crystals are countless upon the high firmament of this wondrous place.

My heart leaps and I run to the middle of the hall, where I am surrounded by bright, twinkling stars, shining straight into my heart. I spread my arms and I turn, glancing upwards and all around me, and I turn and I turn... I feel so free!

I exclaim joyfully, "This is the sky, Gimli!" And as I spin and run and dance, I repeat the same words again, because I am unable to find others in my enthusiasm, "I cannot believe you brought the sky to me down here!"

As I dance and dance he approaches slowly. His face is a bright beam, and his laughter resounds deep and heartily, enveloping me. My heart lightens all the more.

He watches calmly for some time, I can see he is happy.

And then he calls out to me, with laughter in his voice.

"Stop spinning like this, you will make us get dizzy and fall. Come with me, there is more, much more for you to see."

What again might be waiting for us in these unbelievable caves?

"Follow me!" He speaks calmly and confidently. And so I follow obediently.

We leave behind the glistening sky, and as we wind down an unsettling narrow passage, my breath catches in my throat again, and Gimli instantly reaches for my hand. "Do not worry lad, we are right there!" He soothes me. I am even slowly becoming accustomed to it.

And then there we are. My eyes grow wide and I stare. Gimli cannot abstain from pointing out: "Legolas, you are staring! Though I must say, this time not in a very elvish manner."

I must admit he is right. My eyes are wide with unbound amazement, and I barely remember to close my mouth. I am struck dumbfounded as I drink in the sight.

Through cracks above, crisp sunlight filters in sharp beams, striking stems of gold and green, rising from the floor and hanging from the roof. Gemstones in all the colours of the rainbow form wondrous shapes, all around, great and small. They remind me of flowers gleaming with overwhelming splendour. The light breaks on thousands over thousands of crystals running their luminous tracks across the ceiling. It is as when the sky flickers ablaze with Mithrandir's magical flames. The high walls are overgrown with miraculous plants of green stone entwined with sparkling, static waterfalls.

I am trembling with a feeling overwhelming my senses. I walk into this magnificent glade, leaving Gimli behind. I touch the various sharp and smooth shapes, I do not really know why. It is as if I am hungry to discover their secret, how they can evoke such a spectacle of light.

In the middle of the cavern I reach a pool glistening like clear glass, the silvery water mirrors the whole wonder, doubling it.

I turn back to Gimli, who walks beside me. My joyous gaze meets his brightly smiling face. "You truly are a dwarf of surprises!" I exclaim spiritedly. My voice resounds softly from the walls surrounding us. "This is like a forest glade bathing in sunlight!"

I lean my head back as my spirits soar. And as my eyes climb up the walls they catch sight of a lovely spot. There is a perfect outcropping rock, overgrown with smooth gems like shining moss. It is deliberately calling to me. And instantly I am off. Just a few light leaps, and I am sitting on it, my legs dangling freely.

He tilts his head slightly, looking up at me. And then he laughs heartily.

He comes to stand right under the rock I am perched on, and then he stands still. As still as I have never seen him before. His eyes close solemnly. I think he must feel some kind of presence, an energy drawing from the stone beneath, radiating from above and all around. I can almost feel it myself but I cannot comprehend it. I feel it through him. It is like a melody, a deep, even humming. I feel he is happy, deeply, truly happy. The joy thrums through him. - What a dwarf!

Everything around seems frozen in time, a glade of bright stone forever alight, endlessly amazing.

The sun rays streaming into the cave flicker across my face; a dash of warmth gently tickling my cheeks. And I gleam! I surely must gleam all over by the gentle caress. At least that is how I feel.

He stands naturally firm, steadfast and strong, and emanates confidence and peace. He is every inch the Lord of these halls.

Oh, Gimli!... my precious friend... He always succeeds to gift me with respite, from the aching longing that ever and anon floats into me from across the sea.

I ponder on how this place is so much like my dwarf. Rough from the outside, while shimmering with unguessed beauty hiding within.

Written for Teitho Contest, Challenge 'Renewal' last year, where it placed first. My thanks to all who voted for it.

Thank you Ruiniel for beta-reading. Big hug!

Legolas' homecoming after the War of the Ring in Gimli's company. A journey of emotions and friendship, where adventure is not lacking.

Tender Green Leaves

The journey is long and tiresome. We spend endless days on Arod from dawn to dusk, following the Anduin upstream. The lad is as tireless as always - curse him! - My poor, aching bones cry. At times I doubt he forgets that I am not one of his kin. And when I almost fall from the horse, he asks me if I am fine, if we should rest or keep going. His look then is one of concern. But every time he asks, I say I can make it, of course. What does he think! - I am not a babe! And then, to my dismay, we ride on for another few miles. Obviously, I turn prickly then, and anything he does or says spawns a testy remark from me.

It is a notable skill of his to ignore these gruffy airs. Instead, mostly then, he sees sense and decides to make rest without asking again. To me he pretends it is to give Arod a break, to feed and drink and regain some strength. But I know better - It is a strategy to evade my stubbornness. We both know that I know that. And to be honest, I am glad that he forces me not to admit my mortal limits, but it also makes me ponder. I miss our competition; the game we never seemed to want to give up. It has accompanied us through many hardships. It has lifted our spirits when despair was blanketing our days and all seemed forlorn, spiralling down to the plan of the Evil Lord. But these days he does not take to the game.

On one of these halts to rest Arod, I join him by the riverside, where he retired. The sprite is perched on a stone precariously close to the rapid, streaming water. I consider how to reach him without slipping or stumbling. I remark how his shoulders are slumped, and his back is slightly trembling with every quivering breath. Of course he has noticed my approach. His back straightens as he takes a deep sigh. His form appears lean and light and yet his shoulders are broad; strong shoulders hardened by centuries of fight.

He turns his pale face back at me and regards me wearily, "Come Gimli," he speaks hoarsely, it is almost a whisper, "Come sit beside me, my friend."

He reaches out with his arm towards me. I hop dangerously from stone to stone, and before inevitably I am doomed to lose balance, he grasps my arm with a lean, yet strong and firm hand, securely steadying me. He lets not go of me until I am safely lowered on the wide boulder right beside his precarious outcropping. Satisfied at my position he gives me a sad smile that does not reach his eyes. He moves his gaze back to the stream, breathing in deeply and releasing the air from his lungs in a long noisy rush, closing his eyes.

Is it there he finds relief, in the flowing water?

I do not know what to say, I try to lend comfort by just sitting beside him. I hope he senses it. He feels oddly detached and it worries me.

I see how he stares at the water streaming towards the sea, and it is little to my liking. I feel like the stream is taking his spirit, and carries it away from me. Far away, where I cannot reach, where I can never go. It is the longing of the elves that ails him. It terrifies me and I feel powerless against it.

His patience is unnerving. We sit like this, endlessly for my part. I know he can bear up even longer; he has eternity.

I stir hesitantly and I harrumph. He seems to remember that I am still here and I am impatient and worried for him.

And finally, finally, thank the Valar, he says something. Only one sentence:

"I fear what expects me at home."

He says nothing more.

I can imagine what he is feeling. The war will certainly not have left his forest untouched. They have fought the darkness for years, even centuries - no; millennia! - beyond what I can imagine, and when it was at its peak, he was not there to help his people defend it.

"You have fought bravely, you have fought for all of Middle-earth, including your home," I reply to my own thoughts.

"As have you, friend Gimli." And now as he turns his fair face towards me, a fine smile graces it. This time it reaches his eyes, even if it is still sad.

"Aye, we all have." I agree thoughtfully.

As we ride on, he dwells in silence. It is not the usual, comfortable quiet enveloping him when he is content and at peace. It is a heavy, oppressing load weighing on him, thick and suffocating. I can say it affects me intensely. And so I am robbed of words as well.

I hold him tight. If my fast grip before was to prevent myself from falling, now it is firm and steady to lend him comfort. Not a word I say again to complain about anything on our way or about anything he does. No grumbling and no teasing. It pains me immensely to see him like this.

At some point, we leave the riverside to continue our ride towards the East. When the great forest appears looming in the distance, Legolas spurs our faithful horse onward.

As we reach the forest's border Legolas dismounts from our steed. Alone on the horse, I watch him from above. He runs from tree to tree almost frantically. He touches their barks, his hands shaking desperately. The trees are marred, some of them viciously twisted, others leafless and dry, or mutilated by cuts and severed limbs or boughs burnt to black coal. Almost detached so high above the ground, I see my elf's eyes fill with tears.

The horse follows him as he makes his way slowly into the thicket, carrying me along. I consider the fact of how high above the ground I am should I fall, but what is most unsettling to me is the state of the elf. He seems to have forgotten that I am with him, forgotten about everything. All that matters to him seem to be his injured, mutilated and dead trees. It saddens me to see him like this; to see him weep at the horror of his destroyed home. War has hit it sharply, his worst fears are now confirmed. And I feel powerless. I suffer with him.

Suddenly he halts and looks back towards me and the horse. - Aye, he remembers that I am still here. But I feel no relief at this, because what I see in his face thoroughly scares me. His fine features are ghastly pale, he looks precariously frail, almost breakable. Tears are streaking his cheeks. His eyes are red-rimmed. He speaks to me, his broken voice shaking.

"They have suffered, Gimli, I can feel their pain, it is tearing at me. They do not sing anymore, their voices are dimmed to hoarse whispers."

"I am so sorry, lad," I manage to croak.

And I think back to the time we spent in Fangorn Forest and the Glittering Caves of Aglarond.

Aye, the caves…

…how he had feared what I appraised.

Surprise hit him then. Suddenly he had danced and spun under a myriad of glittering crystals, and his eyes gleamed as he eagerly announced he had found a glade of shining stone that reminded him of his home.

I remember how I shook my head in amusement. I would never have thought of it that way. And I chuckled then at the absurdity of the idea. I could not believe that pointy-ear sprite would find stars and green leaves wherever he walked; be it under the sky or under ground.

It made me smile as he ran off and found a crevice above, where soon he was perched, comfortably dangling his legs, joyfully beaming down at me.

And yet, if I looked at it all with his eyes, he was right…

I remember how I stood down below, firm and steady on the stone, and felt the mountain's slow and deep thrumming, running waves of peace and happiness through my body and soul. And there, above head he was, light and luminous, a glowing and unbelievable wood-elf who even underground would find the heights.

It pains me immensely to see him now hurting, to witness him discover his home destroyed after all he has suffered.

And as I am distraught at his state and the image of his home, I do not remark the vicious danger approaching…

They suddenly materialize between the dark, twisted boughs. Huge, disgusting vermin crawling towards us. Their numerous, black legs carry them swiftly, and they fix us with plenty of morbid eyes, baring their fangs as they scramble to reach us; the gruesome giant spiders, descendants of Shelob and Ungoliant.

My eyes widen in shock and Arod rises terrified. I fall and bump to the ground. But the looming attack lets me quickly dispatch any ache I feel at the unfortunate landing. I grab my axe tightly.

I see Legolas firing arrows at inhuman speed, his long hair flying behind him as he rushes to the points situated best to aim precisely. He moves with lethal control; a warrior with long experienced practice.

His arrows strike two spiders in the eyes which makes them hurl earsplitting screeches. They rise in agony and there Legolas takes the opportunity to shoot them both in the belly, successively. They screech even louder, then crash to the ground, their hairy limbs curling and twitching for some instants until they completely still.

I shudder.

Legolas' gaze quickly seeks me, "Are you well?" He shouts.

"Aye lad, worry not. My axe is ready to handle your fear-famed spiders."

There is no time for further reassurances. The beasts are near.

One leaps unexpectedly out of the tree at Legolas. In a breathtaking display of agility, the elf swirls around, unsheathes his knives and, quick as a flash, slashes at the dratted creature severing its front legs. He aims at its belly and neatly spears it. He kicks the body away, angrily scrunching his face and uttering a nearly bestial growl.

My axe is at the ready, my eyes blaze. - They shall come to me, the hideous beasts!

I tell myself that I am not terrified at their sight, but that is a lie. They are dreadful indeed! - I feel respect for what Thranduil's elves are dealing with every day since millennia. - Nonetheless, I am prepared for my debut to slay such a legendary beast.

I have seen where Legolas aims. I watch and learn quickly. Already two arachnids rush towards me, I hack at one's legs, it stumbles, but since it got many more limbs, continues to scrabble on the remaining ones. My axe meets its neck with unrestrained violence and nearly chops its head off. I am done with this one.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see the elf dispatching the dratted creatures with ruthless efficiency.

The next one springs down at me from above, getting me unfortunately pinned underneath; they are extremely quick the nasty beasts. And I am desperately overwhelmed by the fall.

"Gimli!..." I hear Legolas scream urgently, even engaged in his own fight, "Aim at the belly!"

With strength borne from utter fear and disgust, I slash out. The spider's black belly makes a scrunching sound as my axe slits it. The hideous thing shrieks and twitches over me. They are extremely hardy, these arachnids. It takes more hard strikes from my axe until it dies, burying me heavily under its body.

Disgusted and cursing I crawl out from under the dead beast, just in time to see the end of Legolas' tempestuous performance. As if possessed by boundless rage he pounces onto the back of the last, living spider, stabbing with his knives into the sides of its head.

I shudder, both at the gruesome corpses littering the ground and the coiled battle rage of my friend.

Legolas' chest heaves with his rushed breathing as he reaches me. "I did not expect them still roaming the forest in groups of such numbers," he snarls. His body is tense, still ready for war; as if in his battle rush he wants to affront all the foul creatures who might still crawl in his home, get rid of them right here and now.

Slowly his rushed breaths ease. The sharp lines of wrath in his face soften, then turn almost fragile and weary as the kick of battle wears off. He closes his eyes and covers them with his lean, pale hand. His slowing breath hitches, his shoulders slump.

I clasp his arm trying to lend him comfort. He turns towards me, and as he looks at my face I remark he is suddenly highly concerned.

"Gimli, you are hurt!" he utters aghast, startling me. His fingers touch my temple and come away bloodied.

I look at them sceptically, and I remember the impact and the pain I pushed away. It overruns me now with intensity. My head throbs, and I feel slightly dizzy.

"Your horse has dumped me," I groan.

He stares at me.

"Oh, it is nothing," I try to dismiss him.

But he will not have it. He suddenly is all worry and care. He forces me to lie down so he can tend to the wound.

As if Arod feels guilty, he is now hovering over me nudging my face with his nose.

"Go away, stubborn horse," I grumble and glower at him.

"He did not mean to hurt you, he was only scared. It was my fault to leave you riding on him alone," Legolas says seriously, "I am so sorry, Gimli."

After he deems that I am rested enough, upon my insistence we continue our silent ride, leaving the wretched bodies of the spiders behind. I am more than relieved to get that image out of my sight.

Legolas' attention is all on me. I am now riding in front of him, leaning against his chest, a white bandage wrapped carefully around my head. It is strange how his lithe, lean frame lends such firm and secure support. I feel his strong and steady heartbeat gently thrumming against my back.

With all my reluctance at being the one who needs to be cared for, I am somehow glad that my injury holds his attention locked onto me, distracting him from the unfortunate plight of his wounded forest.

We spend another few days and nights on this journey. We might still be far from the Elven King's Halls. Yet I do not know, for Legolas speaks not. He has returned to his silence.

Our gait is slow, worryingly uncharacteristic for the elf's usually vigorous pace. All energy is drained from him. He mirrors the forest's misery. He mourns every dead tree we pass and often makes halt to comfort the innumerable marred ones.

Suddenly I can see, not too far before us, a way running its course through the trees.

"We have reached the elf-path," Legolas says. It is the first time in days that he speaks.

I remark how the air gets clearer and brighter as we follow the path. Legolas dismounts once more, carefully helping me down from the horse.

Light shines through the canopy in sharp beams, one tickles my nose, another illuminates Legolas' face. I see his eyes widen, a slight glitter flitting in their blue. He moves to reach the dead tree right before us, as if caught by a vision, gently stretching out his arm towards its lowest bough. I watch him intently, and what I witness has me holding my breath, I am surprised and enchanted. There is a small twig growing from the apparently dry limb, bearing young, tender leaves the brightest of green. His long, graceful fingers softly caress the tiny, living things one by one. I see him gazing up into the tree, searching, and even without elven eyes I can see; there are more of those twigs and brightly green leaves growing hesitantly from this presumably lifeless tree.

Akin to a sign of the Valar themselves a winged, flimsy creature, a shiny butterfly, flutters along the rays that break through the canopy of branches. In this almost unearthly scene, it surprises me not when it lightly settles on the elf's invitingly offered hand. The slight creature's wings mirror in the elf's eyes, blue as the sky. They are delicately rimmed with white, like the glitter flitting in those wide marvelling eyes. – Or the clear waves of the sea on a day of sun, when they get crowned by foam as they break by the shore.

This very last thought sends a sting through my heart.

As if through a haze I see the wet glitter of tears streaking Legolas' pale face. My heart leaps as I realize his blue eyes are freed from the grief and shine now with happiness, pure and untainted.

And as I stand here, feet rooted like one of those plants, he darts off, following the whirling flight of the delicate creature, his feet easily dancing and hopping between gnarled roots and the increasing density of the undergrowth.

I am left with no other choice than to follow, shuffling and stumbling, and cursing at times. Arod is faithfully trotting at my side. I eye him wryly.

As we run, I discover more and more life, pushing up from the ground or gently gracing the limbs above.

The flimsy, winged thing and my flittery sprite swirl excitedly ahead, dwarf and horse in tow (and I curse even more), until we reach a small clearing.

I remain struck by the contrast I find; by the evidence of felled and burned trees, and grey ash upon the soil I can guess that a fire has raged here. Yet in the midst of all the destruction, the sun shines on young and tender green grass. Even flowers grow from the ashy soil, leaves in different shades of green are reviving the battered trees, and vines gently embrace the dead ones among them.

Legolas suddenly stands still under the swaying branches of a great beech.

The sweet and fresh wind slightly tugs at his hair as he exclaims: "The forest lives! Can you hear it Gimli? The song it sings?"

And for a breath a shade darkens his gaze, "It is mourning the lives lost…"

But then his voice turns luminous as he says: "But it praises the return of life with soft elation. The forest lives! It will take time, but it is slowly renewing its strength. Do you hear it Gimli, the song it sings?" he asks again.

I strain my ears, but as much as I try - no - I cannot hear it. Yet I see his joy and the sprouting green life all around us. And so I smile because I can feel it, and I adore the delight radiating from him.

"Aye lad, I can feel what you mean," I say.

He glows even brighter at my reply.

I take my long wished for, and in my opinion well-earned, afternoon nap. The sun tickles my face, warmly flitting through the light foliage. The air is agreeably refreshing.

Legolas is up in the tree above me. He is not resting. He is hopping around in the branches like a fidgety squirrel. From time to time I open an eye just to have a glimpse of him and surveil what he is doing.

Once I see him hanging from a branch, lids closed, face alight by the sun, lightly and rhythmically dangling head down. The next time he scrambles up the trunk… and then again he hums a melody balancing briskly on a bough.

I chuckle softly and contentedly, and then I peacefully doze off.

Suddenly something thumps on my head, unpleasantly startling me out of my cosy daydreams. I jump up alarmed, my heart wildly beating. My eyes dart around in search of whatever it was that just hit me. And with no small annoyance, I see Legolas' boot in the grass close beside me. I want to yell up at the jittery sprite, but as I open my mouth, my voice catches in my throat when with another thump the second boot lands not so neatly right beside it, missing my head by a hair. Very soon his green tunic follows.

What is that freaky elf doing up there?

I decide it is enough now, and I shout up into the tree: "What are you doing you mad-elf? Dropping your clothes onto me? You find this amusing?"

He answers not. He laughs; one of his bright, ringing sounds.

"Well, if so it is, please cease, because I am not amused in the least!" I groan.

"Forgive me. I meant not to upset you, friend Gimli!"

'Look at him', I think, 'he is making fun of me!'

But then he leaps down to me landing perfectly smooth beside his clothes. The breeze catches in his loose shirt and stirs it slightly. The radiant smile he graces me with is incredibly genuine, free of any mischief. Eyes bright with the liveliness of an innocent child. And I realize that he is completely serious with his apology.

"I long to feel light. I used to do this before. I need to feel the forest with all of my senses."

Slowly and gracefully, almost solemnly he climbs onto the branch just above. He crouches down on it and caresses the bark, gently tracing his long fingers over it. His laugh is gone, instead, he seems suddenly distant and pensive.

"Although, it is not the same as before…" his voice drifts down to me softly, carrying a tinge of sadness.

I tilt my head slightly at him and say nothing.

"Walking bare feet in the trees, I mean," he explains gravely, "something has changed… nay… so much has changed…"

And he is still on his branch for a while, his hand motionless on the bark, eyes lost in the void.

Melancholy pools in his blue eyes for some fleeting moments. Because then he blinks and sends it all away.

"Come Gimli, take off your shoes and walk with me on fresh soil and soft moss."

His spirit is light again and he smiles expectantly at me. His eyes gleam.

My eyebrows shoot up almost reaching my hair. I give him a look of utter bewilderment. I cannot believe my ears. Has he lost his mind completely?

I snap at him somewhat too harshly. I regret it as soon as I speak. But my tongue is now loosened and I am no more able to restrain my consternation.

"I am a dwarf, you insane sprite! Have you forgotten?... Do you see?..."

I pat my head from above.

"…I am short and sturdy. Dwarfs, we call beings like me,"

I speak slowly, with emphasis, as I would explain to an unknowing child.

"And we do not walk barefooted. We love heavy, hard, steadfast stone. We are not light at all. We do not scamper through leaves of ephemeral green."

I ask myself if they are all like this. If we are about to enter a realm of elves all running shoeless among the trees. The thought is utterly disconcerting, and I stifle a laugh at the oddness. I heard they are all fine warriors - dangerous, lethal! And with all my best will, I cannot picture the highly notorious Elven King walking around in his palace barefooted.

But I tell him none of these thoughts.

"Come Gimli, I would love to walk freely together!..."

He will not give up! He seems not at all offended. His eagerness is admirable. And as so often he touches that soft spot inside my heart. He knows how to do so. He really knows…

I sigh exasperated, unable to disappoint his gleaming expectation. I roll my eyes and very, very reluctantly I take my boots off.

Legolas smoothly slides down from the branch, to stand right by my side. He looks happy. His fine features shine bright. He picks up both of our boots and flings them into his pack. Ignoring my faint muttering, he takes my hand in his and hastily presses me on, springing weightlessly before me, gently pulling me with, and I follow, somewhat clumsily.

As his laughter rings into the forest clear as a bell, I am not sure if he makes fun of me and the way I am stumbling uneasily behind him. I am slightly annoyed. I feel like a fool. And I fervently hope nobody might see me. If anyone tells my fellow dwarfs, I will be the subject of all their future jibes.

As we move on that way for some time, I slowly gain confidence. I sense the cool soil under my feet. It feels soft and slightly humid. And as we reach another mild clearing, thin strands of grass gently tickle my skin. It is not that bad, I have to admit.

In the meantime the elven princeling, allows me to walk in my own ways and motions, much to my relief. As he has sensed me overcome my initial awkwardness he made for the trees, leaping soundlessly from bough to bough just above me. I take a deep breath and almost imperceptibly shake my head; he was not making fun of me at all, and with his ingenuous, infallible trust, he sneaks his way ever deeper into my heart.