[ To see him, to hear and touch him - when his hand falls to rest on a shoulder firm and hard like the rock Dwarves so well adore - it is a feeling Legolas had not known before. This relief, happiness quite so intense that, when Gimli turns towards him, very nearly sweeps him off his feet. Like a gust of wind during the wild autumn storms it takes him, while offering the warmth and comfort of a summer Sun in the far North reaches of Eryn Lasgalen.

All those emotions pour into his own laughter, which comes out rich, and heavy with memories. How many years it had been? Far too many and his last memory is so very far from this, instead with hair and beard both having gone entirely white, like snow on mountain peaks, with no longer the same strength in the hands and arms, with all the troubles of a mortal bent beneath the weight of time and age. Here, before him now, stands Gimli in his best years, as Legolas had always choose to remember him after laying his body for eternal rest in a tomb in Valinor.

His brow too, seems unclouded by unnecessary worries or concerns, which gladdens Legolas only further. ]

I am indeed, my friend, and no other Dwarf could make my very soul sing with happiness upon the mere sight of them the way you do.

[ That is moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes, Legolas barely even notices. ]