Even in armour - unused as he may be to such weight - his steps are light, his motions elegant when Legolas sweeps Arwen off her seat and onto her feet in a light spin as if to begin a dance swift, and perhaps a little wild as they have been known in Eryn Lasgalen. There is joy to see her face once more, after the many long years that have passed since she and Aragorn both have left Arda to whatever fates await those of the mortal birth. Or choice, when given such.

But there is also anger with the monarchs for ensnaring more yet of those dear to his heart, for the moment, however, he puts it aside to bask instead in the company.

"I rejoice and grieve both to see you here," Legolas says a moment lasting no longer than a blink of an eye, his gauntlet-clad hands most gentle on her delicate wrists, his smile reflecting the very same emotions he speaks of, "Rejoice selfishly to see you, and grieve for this world, while beautiful, has more suffering to offer than happiness to all brought into it."

Out of the many, he would know it best. Thought he marks are hidden beneath soft leathers and smooth armour plates, and his hair grown out once more, longer than it has ever been, the phantom pains still follow him everywhere he goes, running along the lines of scars.