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.